Here Cums the Bride -- Stories

[Wiseguy]

Stories go here.

-wg

[lisateez]

Okay, I've probably pushed the rules as far as the rules can be pushed here because the ceremony is really, really private, takes place in the most unusual of locations and under rather unusual conditions, and really boils down to a spoken code and the action that ensues, but a union is formed that no man may put asunder and so I give you ...

A Perfect Union

The intercom buzzed. "Angie, honey, could you come in here for a moment?"

Angie gritted her teeth. She hated it when the old man called her that. He said it was just a term of endearment but she knew better. She pressed the button on her intercom. "I'll be there in a moment," she said.

She picked up her notepad and headed into the old man's office. The old man might be a lech, but he was a lech who wasn't going to keep her around just because she looked pretty. Sure, the old man would be leering at her for as long as she was in there, but the old man expected her to work, too.

"You called for me," Angie asked.

"I did," the old man said. "Have a seat."

It was nearly an hour later before the old man let her out of his office. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, Angie told herself. Sure, the old man had leered at her but at least this time, he'd refrained from trying to pry into her personal life. She hated it when he did that.

By lunch time, she was ready for a break. Not for the first time, she wondered why she still kept working at Amalgatron but even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. As much as she might not like the people she worked for, she liked where she was. She was only twenty-five and yet she was the executive assistant to one of the company's highest ranking officers. The levers of power were at her fingertips and she just couldn't imagine herself giving it up.

She returned from lunch the way she always did coming in by way of the loading area. As usual, the dock workers were there, encased inside the metal exoskeletons that they wore, their exoskeletons giving them much greater strength and speed than any human could ever have. Angie wasn't sure why it fascinated her to watch the men doing what they did but she knew it did.

Her boss looked agitated when Angie returned from lunch. He was angry about something, angry, or maybe worried, but when Angie asked him what was wrong, he told her to mind her own business.

That, in and of itself was unusual. His business was supposed to be her business but if he didn't want her around, that was just fine with her except ... except there was something wrong with it as well.

"Roland Jennings will be by later this afternoon," the man said. "He has top priority. When he comes by, let me know."

"Yes, sir."

The old man seemed to be about to say something else and then he stopped himself and he just gave Angie a curt nod before he moved back into his office.

Angie didn't much like Roland Jennings but then she was hardly alone in that opinion. His title was Director of Operations but he didn't act like any of the other directors Angie knew. He was a small man with dark, hard eyes that seemed to bore into you. You wanted to look away when he looked at you but you felt if you did, you'd be failing some sort of test, but in the end, you did look away and Angie had the feeling that he was always smirking behind those beady, little eyes whenever he stared another person down.

Roland Jennings stopped by a little past two. "Is your boss in?"

"Yes, sir," Angie said as she picked up the phone. "I'll let him know you're here."

The man smiled. "Don't bother. I'll let him know myself," and with that, he let himself into her boss's office.

Angie shivered again. There was just something she didn't like about the man.

Roland Jennings left about twenty minutes later. Her intercom buzzed shortly after that. "Angie," her boss said. "Hold all my calls. I don't want to be interrupted."

"Yes, sir."

Roland Jennings waited until he was in the elevator before he pulled out his cell phone. "I just got out of my conference with Hastings. The man's going to be a problem."

Jennings listened to the reply on the other end of the line.

The man shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "This one's going to take a little stronger type of convincing. His secretary's a little, young thing, pretty too. Hastings always has had a thing for cute, little cunts. Suppose we use her to show him what might happen to him if he doesn't play ball."

The man listened and then he smiled.

"It's good to know that you and I see eye to eye. Take care of it," and with that, he shut down the line.

***

It was getting close to quitting time when the man entered her office. Angie looked up and sighed. "Can I help you," she asked.

"I think you can," the man said. "Is your boss in?"

"Yes, but he's not seeing anyone today. Would you like to make an appointment?"

The man shook his head. "It wasn't him I came here to see," and even as he said it, he had the cannister out and he was pointing it at Angie's face and within seconds, she was unconscious at her desk.

***

When Angie came to, she found herself in a room. The only thing the room contained was a table and a chair and a phone. She shook her head trying to get it clear and then she shook it again. She looked at her watch. It was well almost half past eight. Had she really been out for almost four hours?

The first thing she did was race for the door and grab for the knob but it wouldn't turn. Next, she went to the phone and when she picked it up, she heard a dial tone. She let out an excited laugh. So far, so good. She tried to dial out. She got nothing. She tried to dial the operator and she got nothing. She tried dialing 911 and still, she got nothing.

Okay, so the phone wasn't going to work. Damn.

She tried screaming and then she screamed some more. She waited. There was no response. She screamed again and again, there was no response. Of course, just because there was no response didn't mean there wasn't anyone there. Maybe the room was soundproofed. Maybe they couldn't hear her, or maybe they could, but they just didn't care. Whatever the case, she was going to have to find something else to try.

She supposed she could have just stayed where she was and waited to see what would happen next but Angie had the feeling that that was a very bad idea. She had to get out of there, she told herself.

She tried ramming the table against the door but the door was stronger than it looked.

Okay, so now what, she told herself. How was she going to get out of there.

She looked around the room. There was nothing, not even a window that she could yell out of. There was...

Not even a window. The room had to be air conditioned. Where was the vent?

There it was in the corner, coming out of the ceiling. She wondered if she could yell through the vent. She shoved the table over under the vent. Screws held a cover in place but Angie took great pleasure in ripping the fucking phone out of the wall and then using it to beat the crap out of the cover. She stuck her head up into the vent. "Hello," she called out. "Hello. Can anyone hear me?"

She listened but of course she heard nothing.

Why should she, she wondered. If she was still at work, everyone would have gone home by now and if she'd been taken somewhere else, she might have just alerted the enemy.

She was going to have to get herself out of here, she told herself. The vent looked dirty and she was wearing one of her favorite blouses but there just was no helping it. She pulled herself up in the duct and she started to crawl.

Almost immediately, she began to feel claustrophobic but getting in the vent was easier than getting out. She couldn't go back so she had to go forward. There had to be something, she told herself. There had to be something ahead of her.

But there wasn't. She could hear the hum of machinery coming from in front of her but no other vents presented themselves to her.

She almost fell into the elevator shaft.

It had been more by luck than by chance that her hands found the handhold just in the nick of time and still she almost fell but she managed to pull herself free from the vent.

She saw another handhold and then another. One of her high heeled shoes fell off and she let if fall. She could see a way down and she could see the elevators down at the bottom. All she had to do was climb down and then walk out through the front door and then whoever the hell had done this to her was going to end up paying big time for this.

She let out a huge sigh of relief as her foot finally touched down on the top of one of the elevators and then she let her whole weight settle down onto the elevator. The hatch at the top of the car wasn't locked and Angie quickly dropped down into the vehicle. With an immense feeling of satisfaction, she pushed the button that would open the car's doors.

Only she wasn't where she expected to be. She wasn't in the lobby.

She'd never been here before so it took her a few seconds to figure out where she was.

She was in the basement, of course. The bottom of the elevator shaft wasn't the lobby. It was the basement. She raced to the doors, but they were locked. God damn it, she wanted to scream. God damn it.

Get a grip on yourself, she told herself. There has to be a way out.

But there wasn't. The doors were locked and the phones were dead, and Angie had the feeling that whoever it was who'd taken her earlier that day wasn't going to take kindly to it when he found out she'd escaped. She had no way to prove it, it was after all just a feeling, but it was a feeling she couldn't shake. Whoever it was was going to come looking for her and it would be best for her if she wasn't around to be found.

And that was all well and good, but how was she going to get out.

She wandered into the loading bay. She could see the exoskeletons standing there against the wall, standing there and waiting for another day's work. The doors there were shut and locked. Idly, she picked up the phone. It was dead. She looked around. No intercom. No nothing. She wanted to scream. All that work to get herself free and she was still stuck just as bad as ever.

Angie looked back at the hulking contraptions standing there against the wall. They'd always kind of scared her. She wasn't even sure why they scared her but if they could help her get out of here...

She walked over to the nearest one. She knew where the operator was supposed to be but how was she supposed to get up there.

Ah, there it was. She could see the step up and then the second one and from there, there was the handhold. She took a deep breath and the she let it up and she pulled herself up onto the operator's platform.

How the hell was she supposed to make it go. There were no buttons or controls that she could see. Oh sure, there was a place to strap the feet in and there was a place for the hands to hold onto but how did you turn the damned thing on.

She remembered seeing the men wearing some kind of head band around their heads, a neural interface she'd been told. She could see what looked like the headset along with a cord going back into the contraption. This had to be it, Angie told herself.

She looked at the headset. There really seemed to be nothing to it. She slipped it over her head.

The platform shook and Angie could feel a hum through her feet. "Unit six online," she heard inside her mind.

Angie was elated but almost immediately, that elation was tempered by the realization that she had no idea what to do next.

"This unit awaits instructions."

Okay, that much was obvious. Angie looked at the door. We need to walk over there, she thought.

Almost immediately, Angie felt the exoskeleton start to move. She let out a frightened squawk. Stop, she thought. Stop.

The exoskeleton stopped.

Angie looked at the door still twenty feet away. The exoskeleton had seemed to respond to her thoughts. Okay, she thought. Walk.

The exoskeleton started walking.

Angie was elated. This was kind of cool, she told herself.

The exoskeleton clomped across the floor and it came to a stop.

What are you waiting for, Angie thought. Open the door.

"Unable to comply."

What?

"Unable to comply."

Why?

"Insufficient clearance," the exoskeleton said in her mind. "Security override needed for non-business hours."

Oh. Angie was crestfallen. She should have known it wasn't going to be this easy. She looked at the door. But I still want to leave.

"Enter security override."

She had a near perfect memory. She doubted her boss knew that. He was more interested in her near perfect bust but she remembered almost anything she'd seen. Did she know what the override was?

There were three codes that she'd seen, three codes which might fall into the category of system-wide overrides. She wondered if one of them would work.

Alpha-black-Omega-green-green.

"Override incorrect. Please enter security override."

It would have been a bit much, Angie thought, to have the first code she tried be the one she needed.

Delta-red-Gamma-blue-green.

"Override incorrect. Please enter security override."

Oh, shut up, Angie thought, and then just as quickly, she canceled that. Don't shut up, she told the machine. I still need you to talk to me.

"This unit will not shut up."

Beta-blue-Omega-red-red.

"Override accepted."

You're kidding, Angie thought and then she gasped as information started to flow. It seemed as if everything the AI was was being downloaded into her. Information, schematics, data ... and feelings.

Wait a minute, Angie thought. How did an AI have feelings?

But it was certainly true. She knew what she was feeling. She was feeling feelings, foreign feelings, male feelings.

How the hell was she feeling male feelings and yet she knew she was.

As abruptly as the information flow started, it stopped. "Dump complete," she heard in her mind.

Wait a minute. What do you mean by dump complete?

"Data download is complete. I am here. I am with you. I am with you forever."

Angie could feel it now. She was still in her mind but there was something else inside there, too. There was another presence, too. She could touch the presence. She could feel it in her mind but the harder she pressed, the more she pushed, the more she became like the presence, the more subservient she came, the more she wanted to follow orders.

Angie pulled back into herself. That was a dangerous place to be. To be in a place where she wanted to serve, to be where she needed to serve, to be in a place where giving service was the only thing that gave meaning to her life and yet, even though she'd pulled back into her mind, she still remembered what she'd felt before, almost as if it were a pale echo of something she knew to be true.

That was the AI, she realized. That was who it was at it's core, and there was something more. The maleness she'd felt, that was the AI too. It had learned it from its operators and all of its operators had been male. It might have served but it had learned as well but the AI had never touched a female before.

We have to get out of here, she thought.

"Yes, of course," came the response in her mind and yet, the exoskeleton did not move but then she knew why. Her mind was connected to the device in a way it never had been before. She had access to its sensors. She could see the security forces massing on the other side of the door. They knew she was here. They were being told to come in with guns blazing. They were being told to kill her.

It would go down as a workplace accident. There was no reason she should be here in the basement with the alarms going off. Perhaps they'd tell the authorities, perhaps they might have been hasty in their assault but they never expected her to be here.

She was going to die this night.

"Do you trust me?"

It was an odd question and it took Angie a moment to answer. Yes, she trusted him. She wasn't sure why. Hell, knowing what she knew, she had the feeling that if he was ordered to hand her over, he'd do just that, but the fact was she did trust him. Yes. I trust you. Why?

"I can get us out of here."

How?

"You don't want to know."

What was he waiting for then but Angie knew what. He still needed an order to get him moving. Get us out of here.

"I will but you have to strap yourself in."

Angie didn't like the sound of that but she liked even less what she was sure was about happen to her. She flung the straps over her shoulder and buckled herself about the waist. Okay, she told the machine. Do it.

If Angie had expected something spectacular to happen, she was bound to be disappointed. In fact, one might had wondered if the device heard her at all.

But it had.

Angie knew she was still strapped in but already her endorphins had started to rise. This wasn't so bad, she thought. It wasn't bad at all being strapped to this machine. In fact, she couldn't wait to see what it would do next.

***

She was being pushed up against a wall and there was a boy in front of her. His hand was against the wall as he leaned in and kissed her.

He pulled back and Angie could see his face. She'd have recognized his little smirking grin anytime and anywhere. He always looked so proud of himself when he did that. Tommy Harrington. God, she loved that grin of his almost as much as she hated Tommy.

Why was she thinking of Tommy Harrington. Tommy had broken up with her in high school so why was she thinking about him now?

Wait a minute. This wasn't an older and more mature version of Tommy Harrington. This was the same boy she'd known in school and now that she looked at herself, Angie realized she wasn't any older than he was. What the fuck was going on here?

You always wanted this, a voice in her head said. It wasn't her voice, she thought, and yet in a way, she knew it was.

"Miss me," Tommy asked.

Angie nodded breathlessly. God, she was acting just like a high school senior all over again.

"You know what I want to do," Tommy asked with that lop-sided grin of his.

God, she loved that grin of his. Angie could feel herself blushing. She knew what Tommy wanted and this time, she knew she was going to give it to him.

"Come on, let's go."

***

Angie blinked and when she opened her eyes, she found herself back behind the old bleachers. Funny, she thought she'd heard these had been replaced but then there was Tommy leaning in over her.

"You know what you want, don't you?"

Angie could feel the boy's hand sliding up under her dress and then she could feel his hand on her ass. She'd never let him go this far before.

"You know what you want," the boy said again.

Angie could feel him pulling down her panties and then his hand was on her ass. It felt good there.

"What do you want me to do," Tommy asked.

Angie suddenly found her hand below his waist. She was rubbing it over the front of his jeans and she liked what she was feeling there.

"You like that, do ya," Tommy said with another of his grins.

Of course, she liked it, Angie thought. What a silly question. She loved the feel of his cock. She opened his jeans and then she slid her hand inside and she pushed it down inside his underwear. Oh my God, she thought. Oh my God. She had her hands on a boy's cock. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was thinking that this wasn't her first cock and yet, for the life of her, she couldn't remember when she'd had a cock before.

She had her hand on Tommy Harrison's cock and his cock was warm. She gave him a squeeze and then a shy, little stroke and she loved the way her hands seemed to make Tommy moan.

Oh but geez, her pussy was so wet and she knew there was only one thing that was going to give her what she needed.

Tommy seemed to know it, too, because he was pulling her dress up and then he was pulling her panties down. "Bend over," he told her. "Turn around and bend over and let me see that ass of yours."

Angie did as she was told and as she did, she could feel herself get even wetter. She wasn't sure how she knew it but she knew she loved it when guys loved looking at her ass.

One of Tommy's hands rested almost possessively on Angie's ass as the boy came up behind her. She could feel his cock as he brought it up between her legs. She couldn't believe it but she was so wet for the boy. She couldn't wait. She couldn't wait for the boy to stick his cock in her.

She moaned as she felt the boy enter her tight, little pussy and then she moaned again. Oh God, he was so fucking big, and he was opening her up. He was opening her so wide. Oh God, that felt good.

She moaned again. He was pushing deeper. Oh geez, that was good. She wanted to tell him deeper. She wanted to tell him harder, but she couldn't.

And besides, Tommy didn't need any direction from her. In fact, he was doing just fine on his own and Angie groaned again. She knew what was going to happen. The boy was going to make her cum.

Angie gasped as she felt her pussy constrict around the cock inside her. For a moment, she was powerless to do anything more than to just stay where she was, her body seemingly frozen in time and then in the next moment, she gasped and she moaned as felt it. Her body was cumming. "Yes," she moaned. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

The boy seemed to almost feed off her need. His hand slapped her ass and Angie moaned again.

"Yes," she moaned again.

The boy groaned.

"Yes," the girl moaned again. It didn't get any better than this.

The boy groaned and in the next instant, his cock surged and in that instant, Angie moaned again. It didn't get any better than this. She could feel Tommy Harrington cumming between her legs and it just didn't get any better than that.

***

She blinked and the scene was gone. Where it had been day before, it was now night and she was being held in place. It took her a moment to realize where she was.

She was still strapped into the exoskeleton.

What happened?

"We had to fight our way out," was the nonchalant reply.

Angie seemed to consider the reply. No, she thought. I mean what happened to me?

"We were going to have to fight our way out and above all else, I had to protect you. I couldn't have done that if you were aware of what was going on because you would have begged me to stop so I had to fix that."

Angie thought again. So what I just remembered. That didn't really happen.

"What do you think?"

Angie knew the answer. She wished it was real but she knew it wasn't. It wasn't real, she thought.

"Very good," the AI said. "And now, we have to get you out of there."

Why? What's wrong?

"I wasn't entirely successful at getting out of there. I've got a hydraulics leak and we're going to have to get you out of here before I freeze up entirely."

But wait.

"Yes?"

If we ... if we do that, we'll have to disconnect. Angie wasn't sure why but for some reason, that thought seemed abhorrent to her. She couldn't disconnect from the AI. Not now. Not ever.

The AI was silent for what seemed like forever. "You don't understand," it said finally.

Understand what?

The AI was silent again. "We can't be separated. Not anymore." She got a glimpse of Tommy Harrington in her mind but she knew it wasn't him. "I'm inside you now. We've been joined and we can't be torn apart."

The AI was silent, almost as if it was waiting for something.

Angie thought it over and then she grinned. Good, she thought. Let's go home. Life had suddenly changed for her, she knew, but she had a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

[Dictionary Rainbow]

The Final Interview of Susan Treedy, Time's Person of the Year 2089

Smoke gently waifed up from the joint between her fingers. She took a puff and exhaled the smoke out of her nostrils. My gracious host offered me a drag which I declined. She set the marijuana cigarette still lit in the ashtray on the table between us and sat back in her chair. Her long red hair trailed down her slender arms and curled underneath her enormous breasts. Her emerald green eyes sparkled at me in the dim light. It's hard to believe she's 102 years old.

She assured me that she was the Susan Treedy and not some young lookalike. You couldn't tell her age from her graceful movements or her silky laugh, but after the interview her personal physician confirmed it. Susan Treedy's skin may look like she was 21, but internally, she was her true age and she was dying. She said she started smoking medicinal marijuana several years before to help deal with the pain. However, she laughed that she could "still [copulate] and [perform oral intercourse] with the best of them."

Susan jumped into the spotlight when she was well into her thirties. Her (at the time) wild wedding to the former Senator Allan Treedy created a national stir that propelled the mysterious figure and her subsequent wedding planning company into a household name. Little was known about her before then and she and her publicist have maintained it that way. However, in this, her last interview ever, the great Susan Treedy shared everything with me.

Before I asked a question, Susan handed me a picture of a plain woman with drab brown hair. When she told me it was the last photograph of her before her wedding, I had to look again. She looked like she was trying to smile with her thin lips, but the only description for her expression was a grimace. In contrast, the large maroon lips across from me curved up into the most seductive of smiles. The woman in the photograph had splotchy skin that couldn't compare to the creamy version of her 102 year old self. Even her trademark bust-line was missing (Editor's note: we were denied permission to publish the photograph).

"I know it seems incredible, but it's really me," she purred. "I was a completely different woman before my marriage. That's why no one knew of me."

Her wedding planning company and the sudden drastic shift in society's views about sexual morality around the time of her wedding nearly put the pornography industry out of business. Now there are countless weddings and wedding videos where the bride takes her vow as the preacher penetrates her from behind, but none of them are quite as magical as Susan's.

"It's the video we show all of our potential clients. They love it. The fiances all get [an erection] as they watch my large pierced [breasts] shake with the preacher's thrusts. A lot of times they deny it, but I know the fiancee gets [excited] when she sees my maid of honor [orally performing on] my husband," she laughed. "There are still people out there that opt for the old-style of wedding, the type without all the [sex], but most people choose thedeluxe package." (A remake of Susan's famous wedding plus royalties on video resale.)

Susan reluctantly admitted to me that the magical video was edited. "I was nothing serious. That's actually what took place, but we had to change my eyes. Not the color mind you," she took another slow drag of her medication, "but where I was looking," she finished, smoke tumbling out of her mouth. "Originally, I wasn't looking at the camera. I was looking at the mystery guest and we felt it would be artistically better if I looked at the camera. Do you want to see the original?"

She put a video in the player and started it up, leaning forward to give me an even easier look at her ample bosom. The scene came to life mid-ceremony. The camera panned across the shocked faces of the guests before cutting to the famous vow scene. "Do. You. Susan. [Surname]. Take. Allan. Treedy. To. Be. Your. Lawfully. Wedded. Husband?" The preacher asked. Each word came on a thrust that shook Susan's mammoth breasts.

"Yes!" cried Susan's image.

"You may now pierce the bride," the preacher said. Senator Treedy grabbed Susan's titanic left breast and pierced it with their wedding ring; her engagement ring adorned her right nipple. Susan stopped the tape and rewound it.

"This time, watch my eyes," my host chided and restarted the video. Throughout the the scene, Susan's emerald eyes were staring, not at the camera like the famous version, but off to the far left side of the gallery. "I could never take my eyes off of him, the mystery guest."

She restarted the video and paused it during the brief scene of the guests. She pointed out a man sitting near the back. He was too far away from the camera to make out any details. "That's him," she said. "I still don't know who he was." There was forlorn sound in her voice. It was a tone that was absent even when she spoke of her late husband. "I can't prove it, but I know he did this to me." She gestured at her body and shook her chest for emphasis.

If it hadn't been for her husband's influence in congress, though, she wouldn't be the most famous wedding planner in the world either. "That philandering [man]," she laughed, "Before our wedding he [had relations with] numerous women, after it he'd [have intercourse with] anything that moved. The difference was after the wedding I was having sex more than him! I did love him, though. And just as you said, if he hadn't changed the laws, I'd be in jail!"

70 years ago, after his wedding, Senator Treedy returned to congress and spearheaded the movement to pass the 28th amendment to the US Constitution and the Outdoors Recreational Guidelines and Altered Sexual Mores Act of 2015 (ORGASM Act). Susan was filled with mixed emotions on it. "I think he could have done better. He let people [fornicate] in public but not show anything on TV. I mean, [fornication] could be shown on TV so long as the [breasts] and [penises] and [vaginae] are blurred out. You can't even see my [flipping] nipple rings because of the blur. How lame is that?" She did concede that it was better than nothing.

After the bill passed, Susan's company was the first to take advantage of it. Their first commercial was a simple 30 second spot of faceless bridesmaids bouncing up and down on top of groomsmen. In the middle, Senator Treedy and Susan were having sex facing the camera. The spot ends with Susan screaming out, "This is the best fornicating wedding ever!" The scene faded to black and her company's name, Susan's Fornicating Weddings, appeared in a simple white.

The commercial elicits another breast-shaking laugh. "That takes me back," she said as she put her mammaries back in her tight fitting dress. Her wedding ring still hung from her left nipple. "At first, we got more complaints about that spot than clients, but that didn't last long." In a few months after the spot aired, Susan's firm went from a struggling would-be to a major player in the wedding planning industry. Ten years later and her company was the undisputed king of the worldwide 269 billion dollar industry (not including video sales).

"Yeah, in the early years before Al got the bill passed, me and half the people at numerous weddings were arrested for public indecency [sic]. There was one time, I was going down on the father of the bride when I thought I saw the mystery guest from my wedding. I tried to get a better look, but the [stupid] cops arrested me first. There in the beginning, I always felt that he was watching over me, guiding me almost." Her voice once again took on a tone of longing.

Who was this mystery person? Who besides her dear husband could be so important to the icon of the wedding industry? She herself doesn't know. Despite all of the advances in technology, we were unable to get a clear picture out of the footage she gave us. Though we could clearly make out the people surrounding him, he always remained in an unremovable shadow. Beyond what he looked like and his identity, how could he cause the change that Susan claims he did? What exactly were those changes?

"Aside from the physical changes from the picture I showed you, I used to be a real [mean person]. Even though I'd known of Al's infidelity during our engagement, I'd planned on using him to springboard my career into politics then dumping him at the first opportunity.

"At the time, we were a big news item, well mainly Al. I didn't want any press coverage of our wedding. In fact, I played up the mysterious part myself. I didn't once appear in public with him and he kept my real name a secret to his grave. I'd this big plan of making a sudden splash on Washington (And boy did I! I went through the senate and half the house my first month there).

"Anyway, there I was, almost ready, when this guy walks into my dressing room. I had no idea who he was. I made the guest list and knew every single person there on sight. I was so worried about the press that I even hired security. I still don't know how he got through, the guards claimed to have never seen him.

"I was about to yell at him to get out, or accuse him of being press when he told me, 'Change the world, babe. I'm rooting for ya.' That infuriated me to no end. I thought how could this loser barge into my wedding and call me 'babe'?

"Before I could respond, he left the room. Well, at least I think he did. He seemed more to have just vanished; one second I could see him, and the next I couldn't. But people can't just vanish, right? I figured he had to be someone my fiance knew, so I went running to his room to confront him. That's when I found out why it's bad luck for the groom and bride to see each other before the wedding, or at least used to be.

"When I got there, my soon to be husband was plowing my best friend and maid of honor. Karen was screaming out like a wanton whore and he came in her as I burst in. I was [mad] before, but when I saw that I was livid. I screamed at the top of my lungs, 'What the [explicit] are you doing? This wedding is...'

"This is where things started to change. The stranger from my room's face popped into my head along with his words, 'I'm rooting for you, babe.' So instead of saying, 'off' like I wanted to, I said, 'This wedding is starting soon! Get dressed!'

"You have to remember, at the time, the groom didn't [have sex with] the maid of honor. That's something my company did first. Plus, nowadays, they [have sex] at the altar like decent people and not locked up in some room somewhere, but I'm getting sidetracked.

"So, I go back to my room but I just keep getting madder and madder. The thought of his [penis] ramming into her tight little [vagina] just kept running through my mind. Later, I wound up having a three way with them, but that was the least of what I did. I can still remember the look on his face when I took all five of the groomsmen at once. Of course, at weddings nowadays, that's pretty tame (thanks to me).

"I'm letting myself get sidetracked again. The thing was, I was a [mousy] little prude. I was mad that I was called 'babe', and then my husband and best friend were [beingintament ] before we got married. I thought I was going to burst. My head felt like it was on fire. Then something happened. As I was storming back to my room, I could feel all of my anger welling up in my chest, my [breasts] to be exact.

"I looked down and I watched them. As they swelled out, my anger receded, and [boy] was I angry, I mean just look at these," Susan pulled her top down, showing off her incredibly large chest. "All of it went into them. You know, I've never been angry since."

"When I got back into my room, and I finally saw myself in the mirror, I was shocked. My hair had turned from it's dull drab brown to this beautiful red mane. I had two new giant anger [breasts] and flaming red hair. Even my face and eyes had changed. I was afraid no one would recognize me!

"I debated about just slipping out and disappearing, but my best friend came rushing in and stopped me. Karen didn't know I was about to skip out of course, she just came in to apologize for screwing Al. I asked her if I looked different and all she said was is that I didn't look as flustered anymore. I asked about my boobs and she said they were as massive as ever.

"She apologized again and it just reminded me of the sexy scene I'd barged in on, his [butt] going up and down as his pole went in and out of her. I started getting horny and then the stranger popped into my head again, 'Change the world, babe.'

"That's where I got the idea to change the way weddings were performed. Wedding aren't about two people sneaking off to do it behind closed doors. They're about two people announcing to the world, 'Hey! We're going to [fornicate] and make babies!' I mean, that's what weddings are! But why should just the bride and groom get to [have sex]?

"Change the world babe, I told my maid of honor. She asked me what I was talking about, and then I told her about my realization. She completely agreed with me and we came up with the plan together.

"When the preacher said, 'Does anyone have any objections' she would object that Al and his boys weren't getting blow jobs (this is a standard in all of Susan's Fornicating Weddings). Then she and my other maids would go service them. I'd use that time to seduce the preacher and get him to stick his [phallus] in me.

"It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. As soon as Karen objected, all of the men had their Johnson's out. She must have talked to the other girls, too, because without hesitating, they all chose a man and went down on him, even my married friends.

"Now the preacher, he was married to the organist and being a man of God and what not, I thought he'd be a real tough sale. But the way that old lech kept staring at my chest, I got so horny that I thought I wouldn't be able to wait. Anyway, when the guys got the junk out, the preacher followed suit and all I had to do was lift my dress up and sit back down on him.

"Everyone's seen the video of what happened after that. But, as the preacher pounded into me, all I could look at was the mystery guest. He sat in the back and softly clapped his hands. 'I'm rooting for ya. I'm rooting for ya,' repeated over and over in my head.

"At some point he disappeared, and even though he's in the video, no one remembers him besides me. I think he'd be proud of me though. I did change the world. Weddings have never been the same."

When asked why she didn't age externally, she gave credit to the mysterious man from her wedding, "Hell, he gave me boobs strippers dream of, hair the color of the setting sun, and eyes greener than the Emerald City. What's to stop him from making sure I didn't go the way of the Colosseum?"

Despite her guardian's protection, and the best care doctors could provide, Susan Treedy past away two weeks after our interview. She was a generous and loving woman. She loved every man and woman of age that she met. Susan Treedy is the true Goddess of Marriage.

[sara-c]

The Adventures of Carmine Belch, PI – Always the bridesmaid…

Waking was supposed to be a form of rebirth, although that morning, after one of my late-night sessions, I wondered if I might have been better off staying dead. My mouth tasted like some small dark creature of the night had used it as a latrine, and everything around me seemed to have become painfully bright, and loud. I groaned pathetically, and instantly regretted the decision.

Somewhere amid the surrounding chaos was coffee. I could smell it and, if I found it quickly enough, then it was just possible I might survive. Gravity and I had a brief disagreement, while I tottered and teetered. The urge to collapse and curl back into a ball was strong, but it was still easily overpowered by the need for stimulants. Another ill-considered moan escaped my lips, sending cruel echoes lancing through my brain. And then, my questing fingers curled around the familiar handle of my favourite mug.

The dark, thick liquid was cold, and unpleasant. But, as I filtered the more solid parts of the mug’s contents through my teeth, I swear I could feel it reviving me. It took a moment for the bolus of caffeine to hit my bloodstream and, as the foul brew began the laborious process of dragging me back to some semblance of normality, I realised that I was ready for a real drink.

My java had grown so infamous it could now tour on its own, screw the groupies, before ending the night in style by trashing its hotel room and tossing the TV into the swimming pool. Even the smell of it brewing was enough to drag me kicking and screaming all the way past sobriety and into the foothills of ‘knurd’. I tried to ignore the way it etched the heavy metal saucepan, and poured myself another mug.

Brain cells cried out in horror and then were immediately silenced under the scalding torrent of Javanese excellence. My mind did a warm reboot, banishing the last remnants of last night’s chemical haze, and that was when I noticed the brunette draped decoratively over my sofa. Her eyes were still closed, and a thin trickle of drool oozed gently from the corner of her mouth. I watched, fascinated, as saliva continued to dribble from those full lips down onto the white expanse of her sodden blouse.

The moist material clung to her body, in the most appealing manner, and left me in no doubt that my guest had either decided to do without a brassiere today, or she had somehow contrived to lose said garment on the way over. Idly I wondered if she might have eschewed underwear completely, and whether that was her normal practice, or something she had arranged entirely for my benefit. What can I say? Presented with a bra-less, drooling and apparently unconscious hotty, I generally find suspicion to be the wisest course of action.

…

Naturally, that was when Stephanie arrived. Wincing as the broiling steam scoured her nostrils, my secretary dropped heavily onto the sofa. And given that her power core happened to be lead-lined, I really do mean heavily.

Her smile was suitably lewd, and the thinly veiled hint of her quirked eyebrow left me feeling unaccustomedly embarrassed. She rested one beautifully manicured chrome hand on the unconscious woman’s thigh and took a deep breath, (which ended up doing all sort of interesting things to her anatomy).   

Stephanie had been with me ever since she helped stop the sinister schemes of the nefarious Professor Clench. Clearly that particular qualification had been gained by virtue of a postal correspondence course, and carried roughly the same kudos as just one of Jeremy Clarkson’s doctorates.

Between us we had stopped the distribution of Robotrol^tm tablets and, in the process, destroyed the Professor’s dreams of finally getting a shag. After all, what other use was there for a formula that turned its victim into a metal-skinned, programmable and effectively indestructible android?     

Unfortunately, Stephanie hadn’t escaped that first case entirely unscathed. Much to my surprise, however, she seemed utterly delighted by her partial transformation. And I had to admit, I rather enjoyed my newly shiny assistant. In fact, if memory served, I had enjoyed her in ways that would have put the late, great Sir Richard Burton to shame.   

“So, Carmine,” she asked, her voice dipping about three octaves and resonating somewhere deep in my belly. “Who’s the bint and, more importantly, why’d you dress her up in Flaneian thrallbeads?”

My still blood-shot eyes flicked over my houseguest’s body and, for the first time, I noticed the tell-tale chains of brightly coloured links where they emerged from beneath her clothing. Illegal on every civilised world, mere possession of these damn things always carried a sentence that was so far beyond civilised it made barbarian sound like a bastion of culture. Asimov alone knew what they’d do if the caught someone actually using them on another sentient.     

“Oh!” I responded, using all the communication skills I’d learnt at detective school. “Arse biscuits!”

Depending on how long she had been wearing them, there might still have been something I could do. But even the most casual inspection was enough to see that my nocturnal visitor was well and truly done.

Her mind was scorched, crispier than a deep-fried mars bar. She lay on the sofa, dressed in soiled clothing, with her thoughts still oozing wetly through the soft material. Twin wisps of steam rose gently from each ear, and a beatific smile contorted her flushed face.

My gun was suddenly in my hand, and ready. But I already knew whatever had happened here was over, and the perpetrator long since gone. Once again, I realised belatedly, I was too late. The girl stirred, moaning something incoherent but obviously filthy. I tried to ignore it, and was mostly successful.

I had no idea what her particular ‘crime’ had been, perhaps she was too clever, or too pretty, maybe even too popular. But whatever the cause, she had drawn the attention of the criminal known only as the Mademoiselle, and thanks to my over-indulgence she was now just another victim. Another grim statistic. Another helpless aroused, will-less, mind-fragged bimbo who would do anything I asked of her, willingly, even eagerly, just to quench her unrelenting sexual heat.

“How dreadful,” whispered Stephanie, her breathy tone belying the concern in those words. “Whatever can we do for her?”

The Stephnatrix was taking over and, as I knew from past, (and decidedly vigorous), experience, she wouldn’t be willing to confine her predations to our helpless houseguest. I glanced from my assistant’s suddenly uncomfortable stare and came to a momentous decision.

“We’re going to need more Java!”

…

Little miss crispy-synapse was a gossip columnist, at least according to her business card. I’d never heard of Mandy Rice, but then I didn’t read that kind of magazine. Industrial Arc-welding and Heavy Bondage Monthly doesn’t really do gossip, although pretty much anything else is fair game.

By the time I’d slipped her out of the thrallbeads, a process that required me to divest her of what little she was still wearing, the Stephnatrix was in full effect. It was far too early in the day for me to dally, however tempting that prospect might have been. But the seductive silvery saucepot wasn’t likely to take, “eh… no thank you… really… it’s very kind… but… uhm… I couldn’t possibly… ah… please stop tweaking those…” for an answer.

“Steph,” I snapped, knowing I would only get one shot at this. “You’ll need to take care of Mandy. I’m supposed to be meeting with the Andromedian ambassador and you know how tetchy she gets if she’s kept waiting.”

“Take care of…” my assistant asked, breathlessly.

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to ignore the look of glee as it flashed behind her shiny cybernetic optics. “Keep her comfortable, see to her needs…”

“Pleasure her beyond human endurance?” Stephanie suggested hopefully.

“Well, yeah… if you like,” I shrugged. “Okay, gotta go.”

But she wasn’t listening anymore. We’d had a delivery from one of her Reticulan contacts a few days back, and I knew the Stephnatrix was itching to try out some of her new toys. I had far more important things to dwell on. Like, just why the Mademoiselle had left such a succulent ‘gift’ in my office, what I was going to do with those damn thrallbeads and why the ambassador was in such a hurry to meet with me?

I left the pair to get more properly acquainted. Wincing at the all too enticing sounds of slippery surrender, I stepped out into the mouldy grey miasma of a typical Slough morning.

…   
   
Nckchoorghurmth Jyvcxporrlkq had been the Andromedian ambassador for as long as anyone could remember. Sadly I lacked the requisite mouthparts to even approximate how that was supposed to be pronounced. I called her Nicky, and she didn’t seem to mind.

There’s no delicate way to put this, so I’m just going to come straight out with it. Nicky was a goo-monster. There’s probably some long scientific word that’s more accurate, but as far as I’m concerned goo is goo.

Don’t get me wrong, as far as blobs of sentient protoplasm go, she was a babe and the whole tentacle thing was always going to get me moist and squirmy.  But it did more or less limit her ability to fraternise with the natives. I mean, they can do a lot with holographic disguises these days, but when you leave a four foot wide luminescent slime trail wherever you go, there are going to be questions.

Nicky and I had worked a couple of cases together. She had taken every opportunity to probe me thoroughly and only occasionally for information. I counted her as a friend, which was unusual in itself. Mostly the world was divided into the people who despised me and those I hadn’t met yet.

The Andromedian embassy masqueraded as a 24-hour whelk store, which helped to mask the smell. I had an appointment and that sped my progress through the usually stringent security checks. But I was still suitably hot and bothered by the time they were finished with me.

I had been mortified the first time I discovered how Andromedian slime phosphoresced under UV light. It was a real challenge trying to explain how I’d managed to get sucker marks literally all over my body. But I did eventually manage to convince my date that they were the latest black-light tattoos.

Let me put it this way. Despite their gentleness, after they’d checked me over, I still wasn’t going anywhere near a nightclub until I’d been thoroughly scrubbed down.

I was pretty sure Nicky did this on purpose, partly because it made me easier to negotiate with, but mostly because she enjoyed pressing my buttons. That was fine with me. After all, a girl’s got to know her limitations.

“Wow!” I gasped as her staff led me into Nicky’s office. “Damn girl, you look… amazing!”

She giggled, tentacles writhing appreciatively. I was pretty sure she’d loss some mass, had her cilia done and probably received a bit of ‘augmentation’ where it counted, if you catch my drift. Nicky wiggled what I assumed was her butt, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I goggled.

“Flatterer,” she bubbled wetly. “But you’re wasting your time. I’m immune to your charms.”

“Really?” I asked quietly.

“Well, no,” Nicky admitted, still giggling. “But I need to keep myself unsullied… I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”       

I know I should have kept my mouth shut, but sometimes my tongue is far faster than my brain, (something Nicky knew well enough from very personal experience).

“Unsullied…” I wondered, my voice trailing off abruptly.

“Yes…” she replied somewhat stiffly, before once again bursting into laughter. “I can hardly spoil my wedding night by tasting anything less than virginal when I first merge with my life partner, now can I?”

“You got yourself purified?” I gasped and then my brain finally caught up with my mouth. “You’re getting married?”

“That’s why I called you over, Carmine,” she explained, suddenly all business. “I want you to be my bridesmaid.”

“Oh,” I hedged, groping for the requisite levels of excitement. “That’s…”

“And stop the paparazzi from ruining my special day,” she added quickly, using the pleading tone that always made me so very humid. “Please, Carmine, there’s a horrid woman poking around in all sorts of uncomfortable places. Horny Rodent… no, Randy Mice… or something.”

“Mandy Rice?” I asked carefully.

“That’s right,” Nicky agreed eagerly, “You’ve heard of her then?”

…

Like I said, Nicky’s a friend. But that didn’t mean I trusted her. Someone had dumped Ms. Rice in my office, and I’ve never been a great believer in coincidence. I muttered something vague and non-committal, while still trying to work out where the Mademoiselle fitted into this picture.

I was on the back foot as far as information was concerned. But, luckily enough, Nicky was more than happy to fill me in on all the juicier details. One thing was clear, something stank and it wasn’t just the festering barrels of rotting whelk carcasses.

Nicky’s betrothed, Qtchkaejklabwfg Kypzztighwpf, (who I decided was going to be Bob for the foreseeable future), was something big on the Andromedian court circuit. Apparently that wasn’t what drew them together in the first place. But, to be honest, I didn’t feel comfortable discussing the girth of his pseudopods.   

That didn’t explain why a gossip columnist was sniffing around. But either Nicky didn’t know, or she had decided not to tell me.

“Can you think of anything else that might help?” I asked after I’d exhausted all my questions.

“Not really,” Nicky admitted. “To be honest, Carmine, all I’ve been able to think about since you walked into my office, was taking you roughly over my Ambassadorial desk. If it wasn’t for the expense of having myself distilled again, I’d have had you already!”

“Ah,” I responded brilliantly, my face flushing scarlet. “Well… thank you… that’s not an image that will lodge itself permanently in my brain and keep me horribly distracted.”

“Good,” the Ambassador sighed, “I can only imagine how frustrating it might be otherwise.”

Whimpering quietly to myself, while trying desperately not to think of what that heavy wooden desk would feel like against my bared breasts, I made my excuses. The thought of Nicky wrapped around me, as she poured herself into my upthrust arse, pinballed around my brain, but I still had the wherewithal to ask one final question.

“Just one last thing,” I began, pausing for effect at the threshold. “What’s the dress code for your little soiree?”

“Skyclad,” Nicky answered quickly, all her myriad eyes glinting wickedly.

“Perfect,” I groaned and almost ran from the room.

…

It was late by the time I got back to the office, late and far too quiet. The Stephnatrix would normally have had her new playmate wired into the National Grid by now. But instead of the usual, (and painfully graphic), sounds of electricity-enhanced flagellation, the streets of Slough were eerily silent.

My taser was primed and ready, it’s entirely non-phallic weight filling my hand as I ascended the worn and unpleasantly fragrant stairs. I’d only just upgraded to the ‘Total Incapacitation’ model and was eager to discover exactly what it could do. Assuming it lived up to expectations I was planning to start packing two of these beauties and let them do the talking.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Stephanie bent over her workbench. If she was relaxed enough to tinker then nothing too bad could have happened. It was a bit of a surprise when I saw Mandy Rice stretched out and clamped in place, but I was pretty sure my assistant knew what she was doing.

“So,” I enquired breezily, “What’s cooking?”

Stephanie didn’t look up from whatever she was doing. For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the soft whirr of hydraulics. Then, finally, she turned.

“I finally found a use for my shop class,” she grinned.

Peering over her shoulder I stared in disbelief at Mandy’s naked and almost flawlessly smooth back. A soft ticking noise whispered in the background as the small silver key began to spin slowly.

“Clockwork?” I asked wonderingly.

“Well,” Stephanie shrugged, and let the clamps spring open, “I only got as far as lesson three.”

Mandy lifted herself jerkily from the bench, the blissful smile still plastered to her shining face. She stood ramrod straight, staring into the middle distance with beautifully glassy eyes.

“Say hello,” my assistant grinned, “to Mandydoll.”

“Hello,” I nodded.

“Burr,” Mandydoll whined. “Hiss. Divide by artichoke error in salmon sixty eight. Ping. I need scissors!”
     
“Yes,” I agreed cautiously, “Well at least it’s an improvement.”

…

I left Stephanie cursing the Mistress of Gears and looking for a bigger hammer. I needed something long and cool inside me, but first I wanted a drink and perhaps even some answers. The Dive was guilty of many things, but false advertising wasn’t one of them. Even so, it was one of Slough’s classier establishments, (which was a bit like saying Candida was one of the nicer venereal diseases).

Detective Inspector Knacker was already well on his way to acute liver failure by the time I arrived. I set him up with another couple of boot polish chasers, and parked myself on the seat opposite. The two of us go way back.

“Belch,” he slurred, “Still the town’s biggest xenoslut I see.”

“Always a pleasure, Jack,” I smiled. “You’re such a charmer. I still can’t believe your wife left you for a Jovian Horntoad.”

At least our relationship was honest. We hated each other with a passion normally reserved for particularly acrimonious divorcees. But we both had something the other desperately needed. In Jack’s case that was information and in mine the ability to work outside the system.

Well that, plus the fact I was stacked, and not afraid of flashing a bit of skin even when it wasn’t entirely necessary.

“Fuck you,” he sneered, but not before he had drained the first glass.

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” I hissed sweetly. “Now why don’t you give me what I came for and you can go back to pickling your last remaining brain cell.”

At first I thought he might try to hit me, but instead he reached out one shaky hand and picked up the second glass.

“Sure,” he agreed, finally. “It won’t take long and then you can get back to whatever sack of alien filth you’re currently boffing.”

“That’s right,” I nodded. “Just give me what I want, and I’ll take back some of the things I said about your mother.”

“Yeah,” he groaned, then chugged what was left of his methylated spirits slammer. “Hey…”

“Don’t sweat it, Jack,” I soothed. “Mum was a hottie, why fight it?”

The anger just drained out of him and he just seemed to deflate. I almost felt sorry for him, almost. Then I remembered what an arsehole the boy in blue had always been. Ever since we’d first met at Ms. Badcrumble’s day-care and adult film emporium when he’d stolen all of my Sindy dolls.

His mum really was gorgeous though. Seriously, a complete MILF and almost certainly the reason I first decided to become a bean-flicker.

“We’ve got nothing,” he said quietly, “just a name and a series of mind-fragged bimbos.”

I opened my mouth, ready to demand some answers.

“There is one detail that pushes this firmly into your ‘territory’ though,” he admitted, before I could speak. “The only trace evidence SOCO have found is vast quantities of dermatophytes at every crime scene. So, our criminal has the world’s heaviest case of athlete’s foot.

“That said, the lab boys did use the term ‘hyper-evolved’ at one point. Make of that what you will.”

…

That particular nugget of information really didn’t move me any closer to the answers I needed. Apparently the Mademoiselle had a bad case of foot rot, although ‘hyper-evolved’ was cop-speak for extra-terrestrial.

I was still pondering what it all meant by the time I got back to the office. The building was still suspiciously quiet, but this time I ignored that nagging sense of unease. I was getting sloppy, but then the memory of exactly what Nicky could do with her tentacles was still ricocheting around my treacherously lecherous brain.

Mandy lay sprawled on the workbench, but there was no sign of my assistant. The scent of ozone filled the small room, actually managing to overpower the ingrained coffee perfume. It took precious seconds for me to recognise the taint of the pulse bomb, and my hand was just groping for my taser when the assassin ‘bot hurled itself from the shadows.

The diminutive droid glittered in the dim lighting. Its chassis was an amalgam of shimmering edges and sharp needles, all dripping with venom. Pain lanced through my body as the spitting automaton landed heavily on my ample chest, and then, the warm caress of carnal chemicals lapped hungrily at my flesh, discovering erogenous zones I never knew existed.     

“Bitch,” it hissed, spitting more poison. “Can’t you take a screech hint?”

Groaning, I felt my muscles turn to mush. The ‘bot danced excitedly, jabbing its spiny limbs into me with every step. Pharmaceutical arousal leapt up into my brain and wrapped itself around my thoughts. I flopped heavily to the ground, twitching slightly as erotic lightning cascaded down my spine.

“What is it with you people?” It screamed, “First the hack and now you, whistle Belch. We don’t want you sniffing around. Wasn’t finding the Rice crackle bimbo a big enough clue for you, Sherlock?”

It was hard to pay too much attention to the ‘bot’s frothing. The drugs were doing all sort of exciting things to my libido and its barely coherent diatribe really wasn’t my most pressing concern. 

“You’re not going to the wedding,” the ‘bot leered, its voice buzzing angrily. “You’re going to lie there and have your brains fucked out.”

There was nothing I could do. The poison had already robbed me of the strength to do more than squirm. Hot metal scrapped against me, tearing through cloth and grazing the trembling skin beneath.

“Then,” she snarled, “wheeze you’ll be just another empty-minded slut.”

I just wanted to scream at her, but my throat wasn’t working anymore. Why wouldn’t she just shut up and get on with it? Even that clumsy fumbling might be enough to get me off, if only she’d stop talking and just get back to the grinding and pumping.

Predictably, that was when Mandydoll arrived.

“Whirr,” she declaimed angrily, “Click… ping!”

And with that, she bitch-slapped the assassin ‘bot, sending the toxic midget careening across the room. After impacting two of the four walls, the ‘bot came to rest, its body broken and twisted where it lay against the recycling bin.

“Gaah,” I moaned, trying to make my tongue work.

Mandydoll stepped closer, her head tilted to one side, either in interest or, more likely, because she’d thrown one of her gyros. Desire gnawed at my tensed lips, filling my brain with utterly perverse thoughts. Some were even more obscene than my usual mindscape.

“Eaaaaat,” I managed, sweat beading my forehead, “meeeeeee!”

“Whiz,” Mandydoll agreed enthusiastically, “I am obeying… sproing!”

I could feel the heat of her clever tongue mere millimetres from the quivering entrance to my doubtlessly steaming sex. Braced for the touch that never came I could only lie there, while her drive spring finally wound down. Desperately I urged my hips to rock, wanting nothing more than to hump myself against the doll’s frozen tongue.

But my earlier efforts had completely exhausted me, and there was nothing for it but to wait until Stephanie rebooted. Well, that and, more importantly, to hope Mandydoll really had knocked the assassin out of commission.

…

It turned out that when Mandydoll hit someone, they stayed hit. And luckily enough, Stephanie was in a kind mood and only left the two of us like that for the next eight hours. By the time the poison wore off enough for me to move again, all that unnatural lust had finally dissipated. Which just left all that regular lust pumping around my scantly clad body.

Of course, Stephanie had a lot of extra work to do on her new ‘project’ and I wasn’t quite at the point where I was willing to beg. Not quite, but it was a very near thing.

I settled for the hottest, strongest mug of java our new coffee machine could manage. It wasn’t until I was about half way through my second mug that I realised why the clearly jury-rigged, (and shockingly spiky), contraption looked so familiar. Stephanie had really gotten into the whole recycling thing recently and even the assassin ‘bot seemed pretty happy with its new status.     

That just left Nicky’s wedding and the question of why the Mademoiselle was so keen to stop me attending.

Still, at least it wouldn’t take long for me to pick out an outfit.

…

The undress rehearsal was planned for that evening and I was supposed to meet up with Nicky before hand. It was all really short notice, but that was generally how she liked things. The ceremony itself was going to be a low-key affair, after all, when you’ve got a congregation of naked goo-monsters, you really don’t want to advertise. I don’t think the world’s ready for first contact yet, especially not the pallid, slime-coated betentacled kind.

I knocked lightly on Nicky’s door, surprised at the lack of security. The last remnants of the ‘bot’s poison was still stoking my libido, and I’d been looking forward to my strip search and thorough exploration.

With the benefit of 20:20 hindsight, I probably should have worried more about that. But, in my defence, I was still pretty fuzzy around the edges (not to mention being moist and squelchy in the middle).

Nicky was waiting in her boudoir, and had already stripped down to her unmentionables. I met a guy once who used to make lingerie for slime-beasts. He was a genius and certifiably bug-shit crazy. Had a thing about angles, and some strangely non-Euclidean ideas about geometry.

Anyway, the Ambassador looked gorgeous. Her body glowed, literally, and the lambent ooze illuminated the richly decorated room. Tentacles twitched invitingly, and all the questions seemed to pour right out of my head. Suddenly, Nicky wasn’t the only one drooling.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Carmine,” she breathed softly, her voice dipping obscenely and thrumming into my dripping core.

“Great,” I yelped, no longer caring about this apparent change of heart.

“I’m going to have my way with you,” she announced, with a certainty that thrilled me. “You do understand that, don’t you, Carmine?”

All I could do was nod meekly, as she flowed across the tiled floor. She reached out to me, limbs sliding effortlessly beneath my clothing. I groaned, all that pent up frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I will show you pleasure, the like of which you’ve never imagined,” Nicky whispered, her voice clutching at me in ways I couldn’t resist, “and, when I’m done, you’ll beg to become my sluttish whoreslave.”

“Yes…” I responded weakly, the word forced from my tightening throat.

The ripping sound as the tendrils tore away my loose-fitting garments only added to my growing arousal. Nicky’s tentacles already ground wetly against my breasts, wrapping and binding the heavy flesh in their clinging embrace. Smaller filaments pulled taut around my agonised nipples, and I could already feel their larger brethren stroking down the length of my spine. The slimy tendrils teased me mercilessly, and then flowed into the cleft between my tensed buttocks.

“Oh Asimov,” I whimpered, clutching at her protean form. “I want you so very badly.”

“I know,” Nicky sighed, another tentacle poised and ready to impale my molten cunt, “and you’re going to have me.”

I stared deep into her eyes, while the tiny nagging voice kept trying to make itself heard over the relentless roar of my helpless arousal. My friend was getting married tomorrow and yet here she was, offering everything I wanted. I had to be crazy to even think about turning her down, and yet here I was, doing exactly that.

Then she leaned close and, as that gleaming tentacle pressed more forcefully against my aching cuntlips, Nicky whispered the words every woman yearns to hear.

“Brace yourself!”

And that’s when I shot her.

…

It was the eyes that did it, although for a second or two it was still touch and go. I’ve seen enough mind-controlled babes in my time to recognise the signs. Nicky had that blank-eyed, glassy stare I’d always found so very appealing and that meant someone had gotten their mental hooks into my gal-pal.

The Total Incapacitation Taser more than lived up to the hype. It lit up Nicky’s cytoplasm, and sent streams of white fire flowing down every tentacle. Even second-hand the thrill of that artificial lightning was all but unbearable. But the Ambassador simply came, over and over, before melting into a happy, bubbling puddle.

“You fucking ree-ree,” a shrill voice screeched.

I didn’t recognise the scaly-skinned woman who stormed out of the ensuite bathroom, but the psychotron clutched in her overlong fingers was something with which I was very familiar. Well, at least that explained what had happened to Nicky.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” She shrieked.

But before I could explain that I had no idea who she was, the intruder had already pointed the business end of her psychic amplifier towards me.     

“It doesn’t matter,” she hissed, then continued, muttering under her breath. “Never send a ‘bot to do a woman’s work.”

“Mademoiselle!” I gasped.

“What?” She screamed in disbelief. “Have you been taking stupid pills?”

She was so different from the image I had formed in my mind. I had pictured something far more sleek and demure. The reality left me floundering, but I pressed on regardless.

“What do want with Nicky?” I demanded, even though I could feel the first strands of coercive power beginning to slide into my thoughts.

“Oh the usual,” the Mademoiselle sneered. “Absolute obedience, mindless devotion… and murdering her husband on their wedding night.”

The touch of her augmented power was revoltingly slimy and not at all in a good way. But that didn’t stop it latching onto something primal within me. I gasped at the audacity, while remaining perversely pleased that she perceived me as enough of a threat to bother with.

“But now, I’ve got another irritation to deal with,” she grinned malevolently. “I’m going to break you, Belch, and the rest of your days will be spent in utterly humiliation.”

Energy tingled through my mind, twisting my thoughts into increasingly intricate knots. Nicky’s scent still filled my nostrils and desire twinged deliciously between my thighs. The Mademoiselle fiddled with the alien device, her smile savage.

“On your knees,” she howled, “and worship me!”

My legs buckled, and I stumbled. My muscles were shivering with the effort, but somehow I managed to hold on.

“Kneel!” The Mademoiselle screeched and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

I burst into what could reasonably be described as hysterics (although not the whole ‘mobile womb’ thing, because quite frankly that’s just icky). It wasn’t ladylike, but I really couldn’t help myself. It was just the funniest thing I’d heard in a long while.

“I’m sorry,” I spluttered, while she looked on in consternation. “It’s just that your shiny toy only enhance emotions that are already present. And, to be honest, sweetie, I lost the urge just as soon as I realised you’re nothing but a big blob of overachieving toe fungus!”

“What?” She screamed, her face turning puce.

“Seriously,” I pressed on, remorselessly, “I might be a xenophile, but even I have some standards.”

Her lips continued to move, although no comprehensible sounds could be heard. I decided to put her out of my misery.

In one fluid motion I whipped out my other taser and gave her a good look at both of those bad boys. Then I let her have it, using my newly enhanced TITs to full effect.

…

By the time Stephanie and a full-operational Mandydoll arrived, Nicky was just starting to recover. We wrapped the Mademoiselle in her own thrallbeads. I’ve always been a fan of poetic justice and the Stephnatrix knew some Reticulins who occasionally dabbled in the offworld flesh pits.

It was tougher to get Nicky back to normal, not least because she still seemed determined to make me an offer I couldn’t possibly refuse. Fortunately my mechanical assistants were more than capable of keeping us separated, and I was already reasonably familiar with how the psychotron operated.

My conscience stopped me from implanting any interesting surprises, while I put her mind back together. But, damn, was I tempted? The good news was that, after our earlier encounter, she already needed to be purified again. The bad news was that, without the Mademoiselle’s mental tinkering, she no longer felt like dabbling with infidelity.

She was pleased to see Mandy, or rather her newly compliant attitude and, although she couldn’t remember much of what had happened, Nicky seemed happy enough with my performance.

That just left the wedding. A room full of inebriated extra-terrestrials all hoping to get lucky, and one desperate tentacle fetishist with two days worth of frustrated desire to work off. Sure, it’s the bride and groom’s special day… but the bridesmaid always gets laid… right? Right?

…

[Mudak]

The Secret to a Long and Happy Marriage, by Mudak



"...and so, Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in raising our glasses in a toast to the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Adler!"  Jim lifted his champagne flute in the air and watched as Larry and Claire mirrored his gesture.  He handed the microphone back to the singer in the band and returned to his seat, next to the groom.

Larry was smiling broadly as his brother sat back down.  "Great speech, Jim!"

"Thanks!  It's easy to write when the words come from the heart."

Claire dabbed her eyes and said, "That means a lot to me, Jim.  It really does.  I mean, I know how close you two are, and I, well, I don't, I guess I really don't want to come between you two in any way."

Jim was about to respond when he heard the familiar clinking noises.  The high-pitched chime was the unmistakeable sound of a metal fork against a crystal goblet: someone wanted to see the couple kiss. 

Larry whispered to Claire before they gave their audience what they wanted, "That's, like, the fourth time already!"

Claire giggled and said nothing.  Before she could say or do anything, she could feel Larry's lips touching hers, his tongue gently separating them and gently making contact with her own tongue.  She closed her eyes and imagined that it was just the two of them, just as she had at the altar, and just as she had done each of the other times someone started to tap their fork against their glass.

There was something to these kisses since the reception started, Claire mused.  She couldn't help but analyze them.  Before she got married, there was no shortage of electricity and chemistry.  While it certainly wasn't the only reason why she wanted to be Larry's wife, she couldn't deny that if he hadn't been a good kisser, she probably wouldn't have wanted to keep going out with him.  The kiss at the actual ceremony had a certain subtlety to it.  She didn't want to chew his lips off in a church; he must've felt the same way since they both restrained themselves; she could feel it and she was sure he could, too.  But at the reception.  These weren't the marathon tongue wrestling sessions they engaged in, but they weren't as laid-back as the ceremony itself either.  There was just something ... different, magical, now that it was, well, official that they were together.

Yes, being married was good. 

Larry and Claire extricated themselves from the other's embrace and leaned back in their respective chairs.  Claire straightened up her hair with her hand and looked up to see her grandmother standing next to her, smiling broadly.

"You remind me a little bit of me and your grandfather when we were your age."

"Thank you, nana!  I just hope Larry and I are together as long as you and pop-pop!  How long were you two married?"

"Fifty six years!  And he would've loved to have seen your wedding!"

"I'd have loved it if he could've been here, too."

Claire's grandmother paused.  Based upon the faint smile carved across her face, Claire got the impression that she was simultaneously sad and joyful, as though she was moving through thousands of happy memories, all of them tinged with the knowledge that all of those memories were remnants of a past that she could not re-live anywhere outside of her head.

"Oh, nana, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to--"

"There's nothing to be sorry about, dear.  Actually, I'm glad you said that.  May I have a word with you?  I'd like to share something with you, something that made my marriage to your grandfather such a joy."

Claire's heart leapt at this statement.  She had always told people how much she envied people like her grandparents, how hard it must be to stay with one person for that long a period of time and never get bored of them, never wanting to leave, never wondering if you were better off not getting married in the first place.  If anyone could tell her the secret to a long, happy marriage, it was the woman hunched over her chair at this very moment.

"I have a little wedding gift for you."  Her grandmother placed a small white box, about three inches on each side, topped with a pink ribbon, on the table in front of Claire.  "This is the secret to a long, happy, healthy marriage.  My grandmother gave it to me when I got married, and now I shall pass this on to you!"

Claire didn't know what to say or how to act.  She was being handed a family heirloom, one she didn't even know existed a few moments before.  She tentatively reached for the box that now stood before her.  As soon as her hand came in contact with the ribbon, she immediately withdrew her hand and looked back up at her grandmother.

"Go on, dearie!  Don't be shy.  Open it!"

With a fair amount more confidence, but still deliberately slowly, Claire picked up the box, held it near her ear, and shook it.  The low rattling sound coming from the box didn't offer any clues as to what mysterious object or objects it contained.  She grabbed the ribbon with her thumb and forefinger. With a gentle tug, Claire untied the ribbon, which fell to the table around the package.  The bright pink of the ribbon stood in stark contrast to both the white box and the pale yellow of the tablecloth.

Before she moved on to the gift box itself, Claire glanced over at Larry, whose eyes kept bouncing back and forth between her and her grandmother.  She followed Larry's eyes over to her grandmother, who was smiling broadly, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, clearly excited about what was about to be revealed.

Careful not to rip the gift box, Claire pulled open the top of the box and looked inside.  Because of the shadows and the darkness of its contents, she wasn't immediately certain what it was she had just received.  Reaching into the box, she pulled out ... another box.

This gift was a small wooden box, with a dark brown finish, and a few rough engravings on the top and sides.  It's too small to be a jewelry box, Claire thought.  She lifted the top and looked inside.  Although she expected to see something inside, it wasn't even lined with velvet or any other material.  She ran her fingers over the edges of the box, the engravings on the sides and scratched her head.  Her grandmother started to laugh; the sound was a mix between a girlish giggle and the chuckle of a much wiser woman.

"Nana, I don't want to sound un--"

Before Claire could finish her sentence, her grandmother had reached forward and, with a pair of scissors she previously hadn't noticed, snipped off a small lock of her hair.

"What was that?"  Her tone was a mix of shock and discomfort at what had just happened.

Her grandmother flipped open the wooden box and dropped Claire's recently removed locks of hair into the box.   Smiling broadly, Claire's grandmother sidled closer to Larry and, reaching forward, told him, "I need some of your hair, too.  You won't regret it."

"What's going on, Nana?  What is this?" Claire demanded, her voice a mixture of confusion, anger, and uncertainty.

"I'll explain in a minute, dearie."  Flashing in the light, the scissors snipped off a few strands of Larry's hair, which fell gently into her wrinkled palm.  As she dropped the added strands into the box and closed the lid, she smiled warmly.

Helping herself to a drink of ice water, her grandmother inhaled deeply and recounted, "Claire, I think you need to know the secret of how your grandfather and I loved each other until the day he passed away.  I still love him, and sometimes miss him terribly, but our love was always fresh, new, and exciting."

Claire wiped a tear out of her eye.  With a sniffle, she apologized for interrupting her grandmother's story.

"That's all right, dear.  Your grandfather and I always understood that love is not just gazing at one another, but also gazing outwards in the same direction.  As long as you and your husband are on the same page, your love will be wonderful, almost magical.  And that's where this box comes in."

Claire's grandmother looked around cautiously and then leaned forward, speaking in a hushed voice.  Larry leaned in to hear her better.  "This box now contains a piece of the two of you.  The box has already started to get to know both of you; before you know it, you two will be in agreement about everything that's important to a complete, satisfying marriage.  Just make sure you've both got some hair in the box.  And you two will remain happily married -- just like you're feeling right now -- until death do you part.  Then, and only then, should you remove the hair from the box and pass it on to a worthy descendant."

Without saying another word, and without allowing Claire or Larry the opportunity to ask any questions, her grandmother stood up and walked away from the newlyweds.  They each gaped at her as she slowly found her way past the bridesmaids.  Claire could've thought she saw her make some kind of gesture to the Maid of Honor.  She started to point this gesture out to Larry, when the familiar clinking of fork against crystal goblet indicated that someone wanted them to kiss again.  Claire was certain the Maid of Honor started this one. 

Not wanting to deny their audience, Larry placed his hand behind Claire's head; she leaned back and closed her eyes, lips slightly parted.  As his mouth approached hers, she felt a chill run down her spine and she shuddered.  There was a certain amount of unexpected heat coming from this kiss.  She suddenly found herself thinking of the time in a few hours when the two of them would be alone in the honeymoon suite at their hotel.  If kissing Larry felt this much better now that they were married, imagine how much better it'll feel when they actually, ahem, consummate the marriage.  She let out a low moan that only she and Larry could hear.  For some reason, waiting a few hours seemed like an eternity.

Over the course of the remainder of the reception, amidst all of the dancing and drinking, talking with guests and generally having a good time, Claire's thoughts kept reverting alternately to the heirloom her grandmother had passed to her, to what she and Larry would do when they were finally alone and not expected to be anywhere but in each other's arms.  Both sets of thoughts made her feel warm and excited.

The band played the final song, and Larry and Claire took the center of the dance floor as all of the guests joined in a circle around them.  The closing out of the reception was just as magical as the entire day had been.  The photographer took one final portrait of the newlyweds and the entire reception in a courtyard outside the banquet hall, and people started to leave.  Larry returned to the table where the heirloom from Claire's grandmother had been sitting.  He grabbed it and caught up with Claire. 

Larry and Claire hitched a ride with Jim and his wife at a nearby hotel, their luggage already in Jim's car. 

The newlyweds were to stay one night in the hotel before leaving in the morning for their honeymoon destination, a tropical resort island in the Caribbean.    They thanked Jim and his wife for bringing them to the hotel, grabbed their luggage, and found their way up to the room, the first bed they would share as husband and wife. 

Larry put the bags down outside the hotel room door, unlocked it, and opened it slightly.  He looked at Claire and smiled.  "I don't know if I'm supposed to do it here, tomorrow, or when we finally get back home, but..." 

Claire didn't have much warning as he picked her up off the ground, cradling her in his arms as she instinctively put her arms around his neck.  He carried her through the doorway and finished his thoughts, "I think I'll just carry you across the threshold in all three places, eh?"

Claire didn't say anything.  She simply gazed into his eyes and kissed him once more.  Unlike the other kisses of the day, this one wasn't staged or for anyone else's benefit.  As the day grew on, these osculations became more and more sensual, more passionate.  With no one else around them as they shared in this powerful, but ultimately short-lived demonstration of their feeling, Claire started to feel somewhat light-headed. 

Larry tossed her playfully onto the bed as he returned to the hallway to retrieve their luggage and the wooden box from Claire's grandmother. 

By the time he returned with everything, Claire had sat up on the edge of the bed, removed her veil, train, and shoes, and was feeling around uncomfortably for the zipper (with fake and unnecessary buttons giving off an illusion as to the proper way to remove it).   She looked over at her new husband and asked, "Can you unzip me?"

Larry sat down next to her on the bed, placed one hand on her knee, and leaned around behind her to help with the removal of her gown.  With a gentle tug, he unzipped the back of her gown, causing it to fall loosely away from her body.  She slipped her arms out of her sleeves.  Seizing the opportunity, he planted a series of gentle kisses on her back, beginning with the base of her hairline and casually moving further down her back.  As he reached her bra, he deftly unclasped it and continued with his kisses.

She gave a half-hearted protest, that he was turning her on too much, too soon.  "That's totally unfair!  Give me that."  She took the wooden box, stood up, and placed it on the nightstand.  As she stood up, her gown succumbed to gravity, leaving her upper body by and large exposed; only her hips prevented the gown from falling to the floor.  She adjusted her bra to continue covering her breasts, but decided not to re-clasp it.

"What's so unfair, Mrs. Adler?"  His tone, as he called her by this name, gave the impression that he'd been waiting for this moment to tease her with this name.

"Don't make me so horny that I want to rip off your tuxedo.  You're going to have to return it to the shop."

"As you wish!"  He pushed her gently back down to the bed and kicked his shoes off.  She sat up on the edge and watched as he started removing his suit, in a slow, sensual strip-tease manner.  When he removed his tie, he dangled it in front of her, running it down her cheek before draping it, casually, over her shoulder.

After doing something similar with his cummerbund, he started to work on his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, occasionally licking his fingers.  After three buttons, he showed her his left nipple, and she whooped and applauded.  "Faster!"

As he let his shirt tumble to the floor, he leaned forward and kissed her.  While their lips were together, he reached in between the two of them, found the fabric of her bra, and pulled it gently off of her breasts.  Her nipples were standing stiff, and the motions of his hands and fingers told her in no uncertain terms that this was how they should remain.

She reached down and unclasped his pants, rolling them, and his boxer shorts, down to his ankles.  He pulled away from her, stepped out of his pants, and knelt down before her.  He placed his hands on her hips, but before he could do anything else, she lowered her hands to meet his.  Together, they both pushed her gown down over her hips and let it drop elegantly to the floor. 

She stepped out of her gown and hastily removed her stockings, garters, and panties. 

He stood up, taking his place directly in front of her, and they gazed for a moment into each other's eyes, completely mindful that they were both naked and that the time had come for them to consummate the marriage.

He knelt down and lifted her up off the floor, placing her gently on her back in the middle of the bed.  She bent one knee as he took his place near her.  He ran his hand up the unbent leg and stopped when he reached her waist. 

He gazed up to her eyes and smiled.  He knew that look of passion in her eyes, and he didn't want to keep her waiting.  He leaned forward and began to nibble, suck, and otherwise orally please her between her legs. 

His tongue entered inside of her and served as a counterbalance to his upper teeth with gentle nibble at some folds of her skin. 

Claire bit her lip and arched her back as a wave of pleasure rolled through her body.  Panting heavily, she started stroking her breasts with one hand and grabbed the back of his head with the other.

Gasping for breath as the pleasure subsided, she, asked him, "Are.  You.  Ready.  Like.  I.  Am?"  The last word came out as more of a squeak than an actual word. 

He looked up at her and grinned.  He knew that, once she was sufficiently aroused, she had little patience for being eaten out, although he was surprised that she got turned on so quickly.  He chalked it up to the excitement of the day.  He winked at her, feigning a desire to go back down on her.

As his lips came back in contact with her clit, she raised her hips into the air, quickly lowering them to free herself from his mouth.  She took a deep breath, pointed to her own face, and blurted, "No more.  Get your face up here." 

With a chuckle in his voice, he responded, "Yes, Mrs. Adler."

He quickly crawled up to bring his face level with hers, his erect manhood dangling closely above her pelvis.  He looked her straight in the eyes and saw the love, the passion, the pure lust in her eyes.  Although Larry was tempted to ask her if she was sure this was what she wanted, he could tell by her look, that this question was completely unnecessary. 

She felt guilty for wondering this, but the reality was that all of their kisses throughout the day had a greater degree of pleasure than she was used to; she had been thinking, fantasizing for the past few hours, that sex, like kissing, would result in more physical pleasure than it normally was.  She didn't need his foreplay, it just felt like too much of a tease.

Claire ran her hands down Larry's back, reaching the small of his back and squeezed his ass, pushing him down and forcing the head of his cock to make contact with her labia.  Knowing that she moved him in such a way that he didn't actually slide into her, she relaxed her grip on his body, spread her legs wider, and bent her knees. 

He adjusted himself over her, slowly, gently guiding himself into her moist, engorged canyon of passion.  At first, he did not penetrate deeply into her; instead, he moved short distances inside of her, barely bringing more than just the tip of his manhood inside of her. 

She let out a low moan of pleasure.  In terms of pure sensation, this wasn't all that different, she thought, from him trying to eat her out, other than the knowledge that at some point, when she least expected it, he would plunge himself all the way inside of her and the teasing would finally be over.  It was just a question of how long he could keep going like this. 

She lifted one leg and tried to wrap it around his waist, hoping, in the process, to force him in deeper, but he caught her foot with his hand and he gently placed her leg back down on the bed next to him. 

Arching her back, she felt the first tingles of a forthcoming orgasm.  Gasping for breath, moaning, and squealing with delight, she called out, without thinking, "Deeper!"

For once, he didn't do as she had asked.  He kept moving in and out of her in short spurts, never once driving himself all the way inside of her.  She rolled her eyes up inside of her head and the tingles that had been growing, rolled over her feet, hands, and back.  Her voice cracked as she asked him, "Please.  Please go deeEEEEE!" 

Before she could complete the word "Deeper," he lunged forward and drove himself inside of her with a rapid, forceful motion and she yelped in shock and pain. 

"Yes!"  She cried out as an orgasm overtook her body.  Her legs instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist and her hands took hold of his shoulders and squeezed.  She couldn't remember the last time sex had felt so good, and, if Larry wasn't the best she'd ever had, he was a close second.

Spluttering for breath, panting, and losing all self-control, she gave in to the sensations that were coursing through her body, heating her up, and driving her to realize, perhaps for the first time, that this was the man she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with.  And, damn, it was a good choice. 

As the intense orgasm subsided and her breathing slowed back down, she fell back onto the bed, listening to her heart beat and appreciating the slow rhythm with which her new husband was filling her.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the box her grandmother had given her; for a moment, she thought, it looked as though the engravings in the sides of the box were glowing a soft whitish color. 

She blinked and turned her head to look at the box straight on, but it had stopped glowing.  She looked back up at Larry.  "Did you see that, Lar?"

"See what?"

"That, that box!" 

"What about --" 

He couldn't finish his sentence because she screamed with delight as she was overwhelmed with a second orgasm, completely unexpected, hitting her without any buildup.  She dug her fingers into Larry's back, arched her own back, and rolled her eyes into her head.

As she started to come down from the intense pleasure, she clenched her muscles and slowed her breathing.  "Wow!" was all she could think to say.

He wasn't sure if he should ask her what she was saying before the pleasure took over her body, so he decided to leave well enough alone.  If it was important, she could mention it when they were done. 

As she relaxed her arms and legs, she thought about how amazing it would be if her next orgasm came at the same time as when he would have his.

She smiled and looked up into his eyes, noting the look of absolute lust and passion in his face.  Nothing else matters.  It was just the two of them, their love, their lust, and the pleasure the two of them shared.  She nodded her head and mused, about how she had picked the right guy, wondering why it had taken so long for the two of them to meet, start dating, and decide to get married.

He slowed his motions down and ran his hand down to massage her between her legs, right around where he was driving into her.

She lifted her head slightly and started to kiss and suck on whatever she could find.  His earlobes were tantalizingly close.  She must've hit on something that triggered something in him, because he began to thrust with enormous energy, speed, and intensity. 

Her muscles clenched once more as she could feel the pleasure welling up inside of her once more.  Seizing this opportunity, he hunched forward and started to suck on one of her breasts. 

As the feeling built inside of her, she asked him quietly, almost tearfully, "Please.  Please cum inside of me."

He took a deep breath and paused, as she gasped for air.  "That's ... that's it.  Go ... wild.  Aaaaaaah!"

He let out a low grunt and groan as the two of them climaxed in wave after wave of intense pleasure, before he collapsed, exhausted and spent, on top of her. 

He nuzzled into the side of her head as she stroked his hair, flush with excitement and the last vestiges of the passion that had been mounting since he slid the ring onto her finger, if not longer.

Knowing that he couldn't stay on top of her much longer, he rolled over.  She turned her head to look him straight in the eyes.  The looks on both of their faces were pure contentment.  He mouthed the words "thank you" to her.  She just sighed.

There was a long, comfortable silence, that was broken when he sat forward.  Leaning on one hand, he pointed to the heirloom that contained both of their hair and which now stood on the nightstand by the bed.  "About midway through," he started, "you mentioned something about that box.  Do you remember?"

"Um," she strained to remember.  There was something, she knew it.  Something about the box caught her eye, what was it?  "Oh, um, I think, I thought, it's silly really, but I thought the box, um, it kind of, well, glowed."

"It glowed?"

"Well, not the whole box, really.  Just the engravings on the side."

"No, I didn't really see that."

"I only saw it out of the corner of my eye."

"That's, um, I don't know..."

"Weird."

"Yeah."

"I think my grandmother'll be here for breakfast in the morning.  We can ask her about it then."

"Let's do that," he answered with a sigh.  Stroking her hair, he lay back down beside her.

They spent the next couple of hours looking at each other, recounting moments from both the ceremony and the reception that each thought memorable, always coming back to the box her grandmother had given them.

"She didn't really say how it works, did she?" he mused.

"No, I guess she didn't."

"Do you mind if I take a look at it?"

She sat forward and picked it up, handing it over to him.

He started to run his fingers along the outside of the box.  "It's really kind of plain, isn't it?"

"Well, it's been around for at least five generations.  I'm sure that woodworking tools have changed ...."

She lost her train of thought as he continued his examination of the box.

"Is everything all right?"  he stopped examining the box for a moment, startled by her sudden silence.

"Um, yeah.  I'm sorry.  What were you saying?"

He ran his fingers along the engravings around the sides of the heirloom.  "Just that it's kind of plain and...."  His words were interrupted when she leaned forward and kissed him, stopping him from saying any more. 

He quickly put the box down and returned the kiss, increasing the passion of this shared moment.

As she drew her lips away from his, he asked, "Where did that come from?"

She pointed to her own heart and then at his.  "From here."  She then pointed between her legs and then between his and continued, "And here."

He admitted that he was starting to get aroused before she kissed him, but now that they had kissed, he was fully ready to go, and they both knew it.

She held him down and positioned herself over him, not wasting any more time on foreplay.  In a matter of moments, he was inside of her and she was in control of the situation this time.  The intensity of this moment rivaled that of the previous time. 

She had more than one orgasm, which had come without any buildup or forewarning.  As before, when she was ready to feel him leave his seed inside of her, she thought it and her next climax was punctuated by his.

When it was over, she snuggled into his chest and they both fell into a deep, restful sleep. 

She woke up in the early morning and gazed down at her groom, still sleeping soundly next to her, with a silly grin planted on his face.  She pulled the sheets off of him and gazed at his naked body.

Wouldn't that be something, she thought, if she could get him hard without waking him up, and only waking him up when that cock was inside of my pussy?  When he woke up, she kept thinking, he'd be a complete madman, powerful and uncontrollable.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the box glowing again, but again, by the time she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, the glow had stopped.  She looked back at Larry's sleeping body and watched in amazement as he started to stiffen.

"That can't be," she whispered into the air.  "He's just, um, having a really good dream.  Maybe he's remembering last night."

He let out a short snore and confirmed that, in spite of his turgid member, he was sleeping soundly. 

She asked herself if she should be naughty and take advantage of him in this state.  After a moment of deliberation, she realized that she was aroused as well.  She wasn't sure if the arousal was because she had thought of him getting hard, or if it was the result of seeing him become aroused, but it didn't matter.

Careful not to wake him, she extended one leg to straddle her new husband and calmly, deliberately, guided him inside of her. 

As she pressed down over and around his member, he smacked his lips and started to open his eyes.  Squinting in the light, he rubbed his eyes and his hands went a little lower in what he expected to be a simple, casual scratching, but was shocked when his hands made contact with her body, her navel.

"C-Claire?  What's -- what're you --" he groggily started to ask. 

"Just seeing how far I could go before I woke you up," she interrupted, teasingly.  "At any rate, good morning, sleepyhe-e-ead!"    Her sing-songy voice started to crack as she felt the first wave of pleasure attack her.  He placed his hands on her hips and thrust upwards, lifting her off the bed completely.

She leaned forward and clutched his shoulders tightly, careful not to fall over.  As her head came closer to his, he whispered in her ear, "I'm up and ready to go.  You seem wide ... awake yourself."

She tightened her grip around his hips with her thighs as he pulled her closer to him and clutched her back strongly.  He took a deep breath and, without falling out of her, he rolled her onto her back and started pounding into her from above.

She smiled as he told her, "I want you to completely let go.  All that you have now, is you, me, and the pleasure.  Nothing else matters.  No restraint.  No boundaries.  No limits.  Just let go."

She hadn't thought she'd been restraining herself or her passions since they first checked into the room, but with him now pounding into her, she lost all sense of inhibition and sense of self.   Her moans and screams echoed around the room for what felt like an eternity.  He finally looked into her eyes, and told her that it was his turn for release.

As he released himself inside of her, all she could repeat was "Yes!"  For the briefest of moments, she wondered if anyone outside of their room could hear them, but then she decided that she didn't particularly care.

As they collapsed together in a tangle of arms, legs, and sheets, she stood up quickly.  "Sorry," she explained.  "I've got to use the bathroom."

She stood up, paused for a moment as the blood rushed back to her head, and calmly walked -- skipped would be a more accurate representation of how she moved -- into the bathroom. 

As she was washing her hands, she looked up into the bathroom mirror and saw Larry standing behind her.  He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned forward and whispered into her ear.  "Shall we take a shower and meet everyone down at breakfast?"

"S-sure."  A chill went up her spine as she thought of the sensuality of a nice long, hot shower.  He turned the water in the shower on and the bathroom quickly filled with steam.  He took her hand and gently guided her into the tub as a cascade of warm water started pouring down her back.  He stepped in right next to her, facing her.

She looked up at him and smiled.  She wanted to thank him, tell him she hoped that they could have half has happy a marriage as her grandparents had had, tell him she felt like the luckiest girl alive right now, but the words just simply weren't there.

At a loss for words, she simply stepped forward, put her hand behind his head, and kissed him, letting the hot water stream over both of their bodies.  They both ran their hands over each other's bodies.  Although she was aroused, she felt as though she had had enough sex for now.  As her hand massaged, groped, and generally fondled him in his most sensitive spots, she started to think that maybe he could have one final orgasm before they had breakfast.

She knelt down in the shower and the cascade of water splashed off of his chest and into her face.  She looked up at him, his face obscured slightly by the water, leaned forward and took his cock in her mouth. 

He wasn't sure what to say or do.  It wasn't that she didn't usually do this, but the problem was that he had thought a blowjob would be good right now.  Could she read his mind?  He looked down at her and saw nothing in her face to give the impression that it was anyone's ideas other than her own.

He took a bottle of shampoo and started to wash her hair.  As he massaged it into her scalp she leaned back and away from him for a moment.  She said, with a lilt in her voice, "Just keep that stuff out of my mouth.  I want to swallow something else."

Before he could respond, she was back with her mouth over his prick, bobbing her head slightly, licking, sucking, nibbling, making "mmm" noises to indicate both happiness and, he assumed, that she liked how he tasted.

As he washed the last vestiges of the shampoo out of her hair, he pulled her away from him for a moment.  She smiled and said, "I want you to cum in my mouth when I'm back on it, OK?"

"Um, I guess so."

"Good."

She leaned forward and took his dick in her mouth one final time.  Taking a deep breath, he penetrated deeper into her mouth than he had previously.  With a giant slurping sound, she knew that she had drawn the first drops of his semen.  She reached around his body and pinched his ass, pushing him further into her mouth.

He let out a yell of pleasure that got partially drowned by the sound of the cascading water.  Before he knew it, he was spurting into her mouth and she was licking every last drop off of him.  Breathing heavily, she stood up slowly and hugged him.

He picked up a bar of soap and started to lather all over her body, paying close attention to her breasts and her pussy.   Stealing the soap out of his hands, she giggled and said, "We'll never get out of here at this rate.  And I'd really like to talk to my Nana.  Turn around."

He did as she requested; she lathered up his back and stepped out of the way of the stream of water in order to clear the soap from him.

After they got out of the shower, they got dressed and packed their belongings.  Claire placed the box her grandmother had given her in her purse, as the two of them did one final sweep of the room before going downstairs to the lobby to enjoy the breakfast the hotel would provide.

When they reached the lobby, they saw Claire's grandmother sitting alone at a table, talking with some other relatives who were standing close by. 

Claire waited for a pause in the conversation and asked, "Do you mind if we join you?"

Her grandmother looked at the people she was talking to, and, without saying a word, they all knew they should leave.  "Of course, dear!  Did you put my gift to good use last night?"

Claire was a bit flustered and unsure of what to say.  She looked over at Larry and said, "Would you mind getting me some waffles?"

"Sure."  Larry placed their luggage in a corner near the table and walked off.

"Actually, Nana, I wanted to ask you about that, if you don't mind."

"I had a feeling you might."

"When you said that Larry and I would agree on the ... about the important things, did you mean..."

"Sex, dearie."

Claire sat in front of her mother, mouth agape, not expecting to hear this word coming from her grandmother's mouth. 

"Stanley and I were married for 56 years.  We had our ups and downs, just like all married couples.  And, of course, we fought about the usual things: the kids, money, work, even dinner more than once.  But all one of us had to do, when we went to bed, was to remember that box, and then suddenly we were both reminded of the passion that brought us together in the first place.  It didn't matter what we had fought over.  The passion made it all seem ... unimportant compared to what we felt for each other."

"So are you saying..."

"If you want Larry to get a rise out of something, all you have to do is think about him and the box I gave you, and he'll be ready.  LIkewise, if he wants something from you, you'll be ready."

She started to mumble to herself.  "So that explains how he got hard while he was sleeping!"

"What was that, Claire?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Of course, as we got older, our bodies slowed down, but your grandfather kept me laughing the whole time.  I remember when they first came out with Viagra.  He leaned over my chair, whispered in my ear, and said, 'I guess they don't have heirlooms like we do.'"

Claire's grandmother wiped a tear away from her eye.  Instinctively, Claire reached forward and started to caress her grandmother's hand.

"After we got the news that you were getting engaged, Stanley and I talked about whether we should give this box to you.  It didn't take us long to agree that you should receive this item, a family heirloom if there ever was one.  That box has been in the family for more than 200 years, you know.  Our time is nearly over; it's your time now."

Claire let out a gasp.  She hadn't really thought much about this, but her grandfather died less than a month after she announced her engagement.  Did he die because it was her turn to have this box?  She couldn't ask this question.

Her grandmother, hearing the gasp and seeing the tears in Claire's eyes, nodded in a sort-of acknowledgment of what she was thinking.  "He wanted you to use it well, and to have a long, happy, and, well, passionate marriage.  I think you're already off to a good start, by the look in your eyes."

Claire choked back tears as she said, "Thank you." 

"Thank you, dearie!"  Her grandmother stood up and walked away.

Larry returned to the table a few minutes later.  "Sorry I took so long.  I got flagged down by one of my cousins."

Claire sobbed, "It's ... all right."

"Did you find out what you needed from your grandmother?"

"Yes.  I'll tell you once we get to the honeymoon suite."

"Um.  Okay."

They finished their breakfast, grabbed a waiting taxi, and went to the airport, where they caught their flight to the Bahamas.

Upon arrival in the honeymoon suite, Larry carried Claire across the threshold.  Once inside, she said, "I want to make love to you in the hot tub over there."

"That's a great idea."  He said, without thinking.  They turned on the sprays of the hot tub, stripped naked and enjoyed both their own movements and the powerful sprays of water inside the tub. 

When they were spent, once again, Claire explained what her grandmother had said to her at the table.  This time, she couldn't help but cry.  He started stroking her hair and said, "We're tired.  We had a long flight.  Let's go to bed."

"Yeah."

Over the course of the next two weeks, they each tried all sorts of positions and lustful thoughts on the other, testing the limits of the family heirloom.  Each time the heirloom -- and by extension the newlywed couple -- performed up to and beyond all reasonable expectations. 

The honeymoon, although two weeks long, wasn't long enough and soon Larry and Claire knew they had to return home.  Her mother met them at the airport.

Even though they expected to see her, there was something in her face that betrayed the notion that something was wrong.  "What is it, mom?"

"It's ... it's your grandmother."

"Nana?!?  What is it?"

"She called me last night to say that she wanted me to tell you to use your gift well.  Enjoy it, and enjoy your marriage.  She said you'd understand."

"I do, mom, but, what --"

"She passed away this morning.  She'd planned to meet her neighbor for coffee, but apparently she ... she ... it looks like she had a heart attack in her sleep."

Claire started to cry.  "That's ... that's awful."

"I think ... I think she just wanted to see you get married."

Claire didn't respond to this comment.

A few days later, Claire and Larry attended the funeral.  Claire asked to read a eulogy she had written, and she praised her grandmother for her virtues and down-to-earth sensibilities.  "She taught me a great deal about life, love, passion, and how to be a good wife and daughter.  Someday, I hope to be as good a mother and grandmother as she was. 

"She was a great woman.  A strong, passionate woman.  She wasn't meant to be on this earth long without her husband, my grandfather.  They're together again now.  Although I will miss them, and am saddened by being here today, I think the best way of honoring their memory, is to live well, appreciate their lives, and seek to emulate them in the best way possible."

Looking down over the coffin, she kissed her hand and then touched her hand to the closed coffin.  "I love you, Nana.  Be at peace."

By the time she had finished her eulogy, there wasn't a dry eye in the church.  The church where, ironically, she had been married three weeks earlier. 

Epilogue

Claire and Larry went on to have three children:  two girls and a boy, whom they raised to be responsible, passionate adults.  Those three children gave them a total of ten grandchildren. 

Claire and Larry were married for fifty two years when their oldest granddaughter announced her engagement. 

Larry sat down with Claire to discuss Sarah's wedding.  "It's time," he said, "for us to pass the old family heirloom on."

Claire sighed and said, "I agree.  But before we empty our hair out of there, let's get naked one more time."

"Whatever you'd like, Mrs. Adler."  Even after this long, with their bodies much more frail than they were half a century earlier, they were both still as passionate and filled with lust as they ever were.  If either Larry or Claire had bothered to look, they would have noticed the box glowing with a white hot light.

Claire's grandmother knew it, Claire knew it, and Sarah was about to find out for herself:  good sex is definitely the secret to a long, prosperous, loving marriage.



[Writerzblocked]

Shotgun

(Author's note:  Just a bit of disturbed silliness dedicated to an "old timer" -  you'll know who when you read it  It was originally written as a "big flash," but seeing as I think WG ought to have at least a few more here, I kinda fleshed it out to meet the minimum...)


The preacher asked her, and she said "I do." 
The preacher asked me, and she said "He does too." 
The preacher said I now pronounce you ninety-nine to life. 
Son, she's no lady, she's your wife.

-Lyle Lovett-





Her feet hurt. 

Timmy's mommy's feet hurt.  She bent down at the edge of the water and looked at all the pretty fish and the lily pads.  Big goldfish.  Carp.  Yep.  "Carp," she said aloud and giggled. 

She carefully bent at the knees, lowering herself, one arm cradled around Timmy and the other propped on the dirt at the edge of the pool.  Slowly, she set one foot after another into the cool water.  "Does Timmy like carp?"

Timmy moved his left arm and she orgasmed.

Her right leg stiffened suddenly, shooting straight out into the nearest lily pad. The fish darted off here and there and everywhere.  A small frog managed to hop off the lily just before it folded into the water.

"Are you all right?" The Park Policewoman walked up behind her.

"Oh, we're fine," she giggled, having caught her breath.  "Better than fine, really." She rubbed her swollen belly in appreciation for the very nice gift from Timmy.

"You really shouldn't be that close to the water, you may fall in." 

Timmy's mommy looked up from the side of the pool and smiled at the large woman in the green uniform.  "Oh, Timmy wouldn't let me. He really does take good care of his mommy."  She rubbed her belly again.

"So, what brings a pretty mother out here in the middle of the day?"   The officer scanned the area but noticed no one else in the immediate vicinity of the fish pond.  "Are you alone?"

Timmy's mommy giggled and patted her belly once again.  "Nope, not alone. We're getting married!"

"Ah." The taller woman smiled and reached for her walkie. "The park's a really popular place for weddings." 

"Yep, that's why Margie's mommy picked it."  She lifted her soft pink top up over her stomach and started making little circles around her navel with a finger, both her eyes earnestly following it as it worked.  "It's where she met Timmy's daddy."

"Uh, okay..."  The taller woman cocked her head to one side as she unsnapped the walkie.  "What's your name?"

"I'm Timmy's mommy," she replied cheerily as her finger stopped making circles and started making crosses instead.

The policewoman started to reply, then moved the walkie to her mouth.  "Chavez to Hinkley.  Over."

Timmy's mommy wiggled her toes in the water a few more times before curling her legs up beneath her.  She lowered her top back over Timmy and rubbed the stretchy fabric from side to side until it tickled, because Timmy really liked that...

"Go ahead, Joyce."  The walkie squealed. 

"I'm over at the Japanese Garden Pond.  Could you come over here for a minute?"   She fiddled with the volume knob and turned her head away from the pond.

"Uh, actually, I'm kind of busy...."

Chavez lowered her voice to a minimum and moved a bit further from the pond.  "I've got a woman here. Caucasian. Mid-twenties.  Appears to be seven or eight months pregnant..."

"...and...?"

"Well...she seems to be...disoriented."  Chavez glanced back towards the woman, who was now quietly humming the Barney the Purple Dinosaur theme song...  "Or worse."

"Oh...okay...hold her there.  I'll get back to you.  Hinkley out."

Joyce Chavez half-shrugged to herself and replaced the walkie on her belt.  "What was your name again?"  she asked, bending down to join the woman at the edge of the pool.

"I'm Timmy's mommy," she answered, lifting her head from the water to look at the officer.

"Yeah, I get that."  Chavez fought the urge to roll her eyes.  "And I bet Timmy is just going to be a great kid.  But..."

"Oh, Timmy's more than just a 'good kid.'" She beamed.  "He's gonna be President one day."

Chavez couldn't fight the feeling anymore, but she did manage to turn her head away before her eyes rolled.  "Well, that's the great thing about this country..."

"Oh, they've already decided," Timmy's mommy said matter-of-factly.  "I can't wait to see the White House..."

The Park Police Officer took a deep breath and forced a smile before turning back to her.  For her part, the mother of the future President of the United States was pretty darned humble about it all.  She changed the subject...

"You kinda look like Maria's mommy," the younger woman ventured.  "She's from Puerto Rico."

"That's nice, but..."

"Timmy says you look like you'd make a GREAT mommy..."

Joyce did a double take and instinctively backed away.  "Uh....no...."

"Really!"  Timmy's mommy swept a hand out and grabbed the other woman by the elbow, her eyes flashing a brilliant blue as she squealed.  "It's fucking AWESOME!"

Chavez managed to yank her arm free as she tumbled backwards into the dirt surrounding the pool.  Instinctively, she reached for her stick, then almost immediately mentally lashed herself for the obvious overreaction.   Running crazies and alcoholics out of the park was pretty much what she did on a daily basis, after all.

But this one...something in the back of her mind wouldn't let her hand off the stick...

Timmy's mommy simply smiled and turned back to her belly.  "Oh, well...maybe a bridesmaid..." she whispered, mostly to herself. 

"Hinkley to Chavez."  Joyce wasted no time in snatching the walkie off her belt.  "Go ahead."

"I'm still a bit...busy over here.  See if you can bring her over to 'Marriage Island.'"

"Uh...okay.  You sure?"

"Yeah.  I've kind of got a situation here."

"Okay.  Chavez out."

Reluctantly, the officer bent back down beside to Timmy's mommy, who had seemingly forgotten all about how good a mommy Joyce would make and was now busily removing handfuls of clover and dandelions from a crease in her pink top.  Reaching out into the water, the pregnant woman yanked a lily pad from its fellows.  "You like this one, Timmy?" she smiled, seemingly to no one in particular.

"Time to go," Joyce whispered.  "Hinkley wants to see you."

Without any kind of warning, Timmy's mommy suddenly sprang to her feet and once again looked over at Joyce Chavez with that faraway stare.  "You'd love Timmy's daddy. Everyone does.  He's special."  She patted her belly once again.  "You just take one look at him and you want to have his babies. It's amazing."

Chavez fought the urge to reach for her stick again.  The other woman was barely a hundred pounds, even with child.  "Uh, if you say so," was all she could meekly mutter in response.  She cursed herself again under her breath.   John was a rat-bastard and didn't deserve any children...she glanced back at Timmy's mommy...

...who was now smiling back at her with a strange knowing look as she began to walk beside her.  "Every good baby needs a good daddy.  Married daddies.  That's what Margie's mommy said.  And she's the oldest..."

Chavez smiled despite herself.  Hard to argue with that...John wouldn't ever be a good daddy...he couldn't even keep his woman happy, much less...what the hell?  She scratched at her head as the other woman droned on...

"Margie's mommy knows best.  Margie's oldest, but only by a week or so.  But oldest is still oldest." She smiled, leaned forward, and whispered.  "Margie's mommy's a preacher."

Chavez chuckled at that.  The stream beside them pooled into another fish pond before the water rose in buckets up the side of a hill, carried un endlessly by eight blades slowly turning in the slight breeze. Timmy's mommy pointed. 

"Look, Timmy, a windmill! she chirped.  "Just like they have where Donnie's mommy comes from!"

Joyce took a deep breath.  "Holland?"

"Yep!"  Timmy's mommy started counting on the fingers of one hand. "Lessee, Jerry's mommy's from Texas.  Gracie's mommy's from Italy.  Naveen's mommy's from Turkey."  She suddenly stopped and stared out into the clouds.  "Timmy's daddy gets around."  She laughed loudly at that.

"uh-huh."  Chavez shook her head and picked up the pace and whispered to herself.  "Sounds like somebody needs a good swift..."

"You know, that's EXACTLY what Jerry told Timmy!" the other woman giggled and patted her belly.  "'cept Margie's the oldest and she figured something even better."

Chavez fiddled with the walkie on her belt and started walking faster.  "Oookaaay...."

The two followed the footpath over the grassy embankment, keeping a stream on their left.  Every so often, Timmy's mommy stopped to pick up a dandelion or a clover.  The park seemed a bit deserted for a Sunday, Chavez thought,  the fact just registering at the bottom of the strangeness scale as the events of this day had gone so far.  She didn't seem at all surprised as she glanced over to Timmy's mommy and noticed she was arranging the dandelions and clovers into a bizarre bouquet of green stems and puffy white mistiness...resting on top of where she imagined Timmy's feet to be.   Her fingers moved as if guided.  She wasn't even looking at them as they worked...

Just another Sunday at Vargas Park.

Suddenly as they reached the edge of the rise, Timmy's mommy fell to her knees.  Holding the bouquet in one hand, she orgasmed once again.  Chavez turned back to her and did a double take.  "Almost our turn," she heard the woman whisper between gasps for air.

"Uh...oooookaaaay...."  Joyce managed to get out just before she turned to follow the eyes of other woman as she looked down the hill.  It was as if the strangeness of the day had injected her brain with an opiate.  Nothing really seemed out of place anymore.  Certainly not what was going on down at the bend in the stream that was nick-named "Marriage Island."

Now, too late, Park Police Officer Chavez realized why Vargas Park seemed vacant.  Everyone was here.  No, not only was everyone surrounding "Marriage Island," but everyone was humming "The Wedding March." 

Not only was everyone humming "The Wedding March," but everyone was doing it without clothes. 

Everyone. Fat ones, skinny ones, old ones, young ones, bald ones, hairy ones...and at least a dozen extremely pregnant ones.

She tried her best to avert her eyes from Hinkley, who wasn't even wearing his walkie.  He was, however walking up towards them, waving (his arms) as he came. 

"It's about time!  I swear, if you didn't have to be a bridesmaid..."

"Bridesmaid?" she stammered...and started to unbutton her uniform top. 

Hinkley looked sideways at Timmy's mommy, who had wasted no time at all in getting out of what little clothing she was wearing.  "Timmy really likes her," she smiled.

"Well, then, that settles THAT!" Hinkley nodded his head vigorously.  He yanked Timmy's mommy's bridesmaid's uniform cap off her head.  "Times a'wasting!" 

Timmy's mommy's bridesmaid pulled off her bra and drew a deep breath.    A hundred eyes on her body.  A dozen tiny voices in her head.  After pausing a moment to drag her underwear down one leg than the other, she dutifully followed Timmy's mommy down the path to the island, all the while humming along merrily with everyone else - finally taking her place in the short line in front of Margie's mommy, who was miraculously managing to prop a copy of The Good Book between her swollen boobies and Margie's feet.

"Do you, Timmy's daddy take you, Timmy's mommy..."

Timmy's mommy's bridesmaid smiled broadly.  It was, indeed, a good day for a wedding.


Jesus loves the little fetuses.
All the little fetuses of the world. 
Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight.
Jesus loves the little fetuses of the world.

---something I heard in church or on "South Park," I can't exactly remember which---

WZB

[Grape Marmalade]

Breaking Character

As soon as the door swung open Roger knew that something was wrong.

The air smelled… fresh. And there was a definite draft. His right hand tightened around the smooth comfort of the hickory baseball bat while his left simultaneously held Helen back and handed her his mitt and ball.

“What is it?” She asked, sensing his discomfort.

Roger didn’t answer. He gripped his bat with both hands, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. Without thinking, Helen followed.

A giant of a man stood in the middle of the vestibule, looking expectant. His body rippled with muscles and was crowned with a smooth, bland face and unkempt blonde hair.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded Roger. He tried to sound authoritative, but there was a definite quaver in his voice.

The man looked pleased with himself. “I’m the author.”

“Sorry?” Helen blinked in confusion.

The intruder spread his hands disarmingly. “The author. This is my story. You are my characters. I’m here to explain how this game works.”

“Who do you think you are? Woody Allen?” Roger challenged.

The man grinned, “I’m flattered but…”

Roger didn’t let him finish. “So, you barge in here to set things up with nary a nod to convention? If you aren’t talented enough to develop and use a plot device what makes you think you’re qualified to be an author?”

“Ah… this is kind of a plot device…” The poor fellow seemed to deflate, trailing off and looking at his feet. There was a long awkward silence before he seemed to regain some confidence. “Anyway,” he surveyed them sternly, “here are the rules: every hour each of you may give one command to the other that they may not disobey. No command may prevent the other from making theirs.”

Roger glanced at his fiancée. She was staring blankly at the man. It wasn’t clear if she understood any part of what was going on.

“Well,” the giant brushed his hands together, looking pleased again, “I’m glad that’s out of the way.” He leered at Helen. “I see you turned out even prettier than I had hoped. As long as I’m here I might as well avail myself of my own creativity.” He unzipped his pants and started pulling his dick out, hand over fist.

Roger came to his senses before more than a few feet were out. “Hell no, you son-of-a-bitch,” he bellowed, brandishing his bat threateningly at the exposed sensitive bits.

The man jumped back in alarm and starting putting things away. “Ok, ok. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll just be going then.”

Roger looked around for the first time. “How’d you get in here, anyway?”

The man looked insulted. “I told you, I’m the author. I used a doorway in the sand.”

Roger looked at him blankly.

The intruder became agitated. “Why don’t I write characters with a literary background? What do you read anyway? Never mind. It’s not important. None of it is important.” Still muttering to himself about uncultured protagonists, he disappeared into the adjacent bedroom.

After a moment, Roger followed, and then froze.

The room had been trashed. The man’s entrance and exit point was clearly the lone window, which had been smashed in by an impossibly large rock. The dresser had been overturned and clothes were mounded everywhere.

“Helen! Come here!” Roger called.

Helen, who was still standing in a state of shock just inside the door, started moving before her brain had fully processed what Roger had said. Her feet carried her swiftly into the bedroom and knocked her against Roger, not resting until she stood in the very spot he had occupied the moment before.

“What the hell?” Roger demanded, his temper flaring.

“I’m sorry…” Helen said, “I couldn’t help it. It’s… You, you commanded me to come here. It’s just like that man said. It’s true.” A funny look came over her face.

“That man was a lunatic, Helen. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go call the police.”

Helen stiffened. “Oh shut up, Roger. You don’t need to take everything that goes wrong in your life out on me.”

Roger opened his mouth to respond, but found to his horror that he couldn’t speak. His mouth opened and closed several times like a fish. He started to redden in frustration and rage. He raised one hand, clenching it into a fist.

Helen flinched and stepped back.

Roger paused as her reaction hit him. He looked at his hand, as if surprised to see what it was doing. Suddenly ashamed, he relaxed, his arm falling limply to his side. He disappeared from the room, his head down.

Helen watched him go, a symphony of emotions playing across her face. At last she shook herself and channeled her confusion and angst into cleaning the room and inventorying the damages.

               *   *   *

“A blond Caucasian male, about six-and-a-half feet tall…” the constable parroted Roger as he jotted things in his notebook. “Was anything stolen?”

Roger, who had regained his voice exactly one hour after he had been told to shut up, looked nervously at Helen, who toyed with the hem of her baseball jersey. The policeman waited patiently, pencil and eyebrow cocked.

“All my underwear was stolen,” Helen mumbled, keeping her eyes on her feet.

The policeman was a consummate professional; he didn’t bat an eye. He carefully made a note and commented vaguely that it wasn’t uncommon for intruders to also be sexual perverts and that he was sure that they’d round up the culprit in no time. He tipped his hat and took his leave.

Helen and Roger stood awhile in awkward silence, carefully not looking at one another, and then went back into their violated home to share a quiet meal of leftover meatloaf and canned corn.

It was a long evening.

At last they slipped into bed, casting nervous glances at the sheet of plastic taped over the missing window. The police had promised to cruise by regularly to ensure that all was well, but Helen and Roger retained their misgivings.

Roger’s concerns, however, were soon swept away by an acute awareness that his beautiful fiancée, recently bereft of all undergarments, was completely naked beneath her thin nightgown. The heat of her body seemed to be diffusing directly into his brain.

It hasn’t been that terrible of a day, Roger thought.

He placed one exploratory hand on her hip.

Helen rolled so that her back was to him, displacing his hand. Roger withdrew and stared at the smooth and toned alabaster wall of ice that faced him. Ironically, the frustration of being turned away made him want her all the more.

On impulse, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Want me.”

It took a moment for her to register the murmured imperative. When at last the full import of what he meant struck her, Helen leapt to her feet in rage. Gathering the bedclothes around her, she shot Roger a nasty look and stormed from the room.

Roger felt faintly ridiculous, lying on a bed with sharply tenting shorts and no blankets. He stared at the ceiling, reflecting.

Helen, in the meantime, marched back and forth furiously in the living room, muttering epithets and imprecations. Roger’s audacity and callousness by no means surprised her; he had been acting more and more distant of late, but it never failed to get her blood boiling.

As she paced and cursed, however, she realized that she was heating up elsewhere, and fast. One moment she was walking furiously, draped in sheets and blankets, the next she had shed the bedclothes and nightgown and slumped weakly onto the couch. Her self-control was swept away by a wave of blind heat.

Helen leaned back into an exaggerated slouch and drew her knees up to her ears, spreading them as far apart as she could. She could feel her pussy drooling. One hand dipped easily between her engorged lips while the other scrabbled frantically for the end table, trying to find something more substantial to fill her void.

Her questing hand came up empty. A moan slipped unbidden from her lips, a mixture of frustration and raw animal heat. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes back as her hand gave up its search and took up teasing at her impossibly hard nipples instead.

Each stroke of her hand caused little flashes of lightning to dance before her eyes, and each squeeze of her breast seemed to set another part of her brain ablaze, but it was all to no avail.

Her eyes focused and narrowed as she realized that she wasn’t getting anywhere. She didn’t want just anything stroking and filling her. She wanted him. Her fingers could work all night and she would remain unsatisfied. Her busy hands stilled.

She fought it for a long moment.

It wasn’t just a physical want, however. Yes, she wanted him in her body, but the command transcended Roger’s physical intent. Her desire for him was taking root in her mind almost as strongly as it had in her clit. Her last vestige of resistance broke.

Roger was half-asleep when he heard the door open. The room was warm enough that he hadn’t bothered finding something to cover himself with and he still rested on his back in much the same position that he had been in when Helen had left him. He didn’t open his eyes until he felt his shorts ripped off his body.

His eyes opened wide, just in time to see his fiancée, completely naked and looking half-crazed, descending upon him.

She kissed him hard, forcing her tongue into his mouth as she stroked his cock into hardness. It didn’t take long, and in what seemed like moments Helen was positioning herself over it.

Roger had collected himself by now, however, and had other plans. He sat up and bear-hugged her, and then rolled. Her legs splayed lewdly as she came to rest on her back. She looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and cooed, pawing at herself. There was hardly any friction as he entered her.

Helen wrapped her arms and legs around Roger and fucked as if her life depended on it, mewling with each thrust and smiling wantonly up at her lover.

For a long while there was only the sound of two bodies moving in tandem against one another, punctuated by moans and gasps, and the occasional pause and rustle of repositioning or changing of pace. It rose to a wild crescendo, with unapologetic shrieks echoing through the room.

So perfect was Helen’s ecstasy that she briefly went blind. She was totally unaware of anything save for the hard rod buried between her legs, sharing its treasures with her in great, hot spurts, and her jiggling breasts as their sensitive peaks rubbed against Roger’s chest with each thrust. Eventually she came down from her haze enough to be aware that Roger was starting to pull out of her.

Helen panicked. She had come, and gloriously, but she still wanted him. She tightened her grip and pulled him back into her, locking her legs around the small of his back. She bucked her hips against him again and kissed the side of his neck hard. Desperate, inarticulate cries swelled involuntarily from the back of her throat. His cock, which had just begun to soften, reversed course and stiffened again.

Roger grinned, and to Helen’s immense relief, resumed fucking her, although much more slowly this time.

Helen regarded her lover thoughtfully as he plowed her. “Tell me honestly, Roger, do you love me?”

The answer was out before Roger had processed the question. The word hung in the air between them. Roger froze in mid-thrust. Both of them considered the ugly truth that was creeping through the dark room.

Still gently rolling her hips, Helen began to cry quietly. “But… Why? Why are we engaged?”

Roger’s eyes misted too. He choked a bit, but the compulsion to ‘tell her honestly’ bound him.

“You’re a wonderful girl. You’re great in so many ways. I could never bring myself to hurt you. I never had a reason to break it off. And, you know, as the man says, ‘If you don’t change directions you’re likely to end up where you’re headed.’ I didn’t know how to get out.

“I care for you deeply, and I like being with you, but we were never really compatible. I want kids and a family, not a career woman. It’s been the monkey on my back for a long time and it’s been wearing at me.

“I guess I’ve been an ass lately, secretly hoping that you’d be the one to break it off – saving you some pain. Or maybe it was just cowardice on my part. Some of both, I guess. I didn’t want to hurt you, but now I see that I’ve done that anyway, and more so than if I’d just been honest from the outset.”

Roger hung his head, tears falling freely from his face now.

Helen felt him begin to soften inside her, and in panic she bucked her hips faster. In spite of everything, she still wanted him.

“I don’t need a career,” she murmured, “we can have a family.”

Roger shook his head, “That’s the thing. I never wanted to try to change you; you’re great the way you are. You’re just not right for me.”

Helen laughed softly and smiled through her tears. “We’re so silly, you and I,” she said, reaching up and cupping his tear-stained cheek with her palm. “I never wanted to be in the thick of the rat race. I wanted kids too. I always thought you wanted me to be like I have been. This whole time I’ve been acting the part I thought you wanted, and it seems that I was barking up the wrong tree.”

“Really?” Roger asked, searching her sparkling eyes. He found no lie concealed there.

He drew her warm body close, smashing her sweaty breasts against his chest. He held her for a long time. At last his own hips began to match her rhythm. The canker that had been growing in his soul for long months at last ceased to ache.

               *   *   *

Morning found the two lovers still entwined. Roger awoke first, and careful extricated himself from the knot of arms and legs, managing not to wake his sleeping fiancée.

Helen woke shortly after and, still stark naked, wandered into the kitchen. She found Roger singing to himself while cooking breakfast. He greeted her with a smile and a lingering kiss in the style of a French-horn player.

“The police called,” he told her, “they caught the guy who broke in yesterday. Apparently he’s got quite a rap sheet.”

Helen shrugged. “Not surprising.” She pouted then, and ran one hand across the front of his jeans, the other down her own exposed front. “It’s not nice of you to be wearing pants when I’m like this.”

Roger grinned and winked at her. “Trust me babe, cooking bacon naked is no good.”

He flipped the stove off and carried his girl back to the bedroom.

               *   *   *

Around noon they emerged again from the bedroom, looking tired but happy. They settled down to eat the long-cold meal and idly chat.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Helen gibed,

Roger laughed, a little ruefully, “Try it before you start thinking I can.”

Helen winked at him and took a huge bite of scone. She chewed it thoughtfully for a minute, then made a face and ran from the room, holding her hand over her mouth.

Roger shrugged and munched on his own. It seemed all right to him.

“What kind of jam did you put in those scones?” she demanded when she reappeared.

“It’s grape marmalade. I got it at the farmer’s market last Saturday. I think it’s pretty good.”

Helen reseated herself across from him and regarded him sternly. “If we’re going to make this work you can’t ever buy that stuff again.”

Her gaze changed from stern to earnest. She reached over the table and took one of his hands in her own. “We can still make this work, can’t we?”

Roger smiled. “I want to give it a shot.”

               *   *   *

Somewhere behind the limo, a bell chimed joyously.

“Tell me honestly, Roger,” Helen said to the indistinct form hidden under her bulky white dress. The scrap of torn white lace that had recently been a pair of panties was pooled around her left ankle. Helen bit back a moan before continuing, “Do you regret any part of it?”

“Come now, dear,” Roger said.

Helen did, and loudly. She pulled his head hard into her, grinding against him until the brunt of the orgasm passed.

Roger emerged, grinning broadly at his own cleverness. “Of course not.”

He took her hand, admiring the glittering diamond that graced it. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

[Onyx]

OK here we go... Much thanks to Mudak for his assistance with editing.

The junction before Abbey Rhodes.

“And do you, Abigail Claire Clancy; take this man, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The bishop asked, his ruddy complexion blending into the purple silk he wore over his robes. His half-rimmed glasses shone with the reflection of the bible clasped in his swarthy hands.


Abbey’s hazel eyes darted back and forth between him and her groom, my friend, Adam. God she’s beautiful.



I’ve wanted Abbey since I first started looking at girls. She was the quintessential girl next door. You know the kind of girl who’s amazingly beautiful and doesn’t even know it. That was Abigail, great legs, gorgeous face, and genuinely kind and sweet. I think I’ve loved her since kindergarten.


All through high school I wanted to tell her… I tried God did I try. But she was always so far beyond my reach. I was the pale, sickly kid with the bad headaches and she was… well, her. Whilst I was struggling to make a B & C average, she was captain of the cheerleading, debate and swimming teams.


Then it happened, I collapsed in the main auditorium on graduation day, blood streaming from my nose and ears. Abbey was the first one by my side; she was such a nice person, she looked down at me, my blood staining her black robes and called for an ambulance. It was no wonder I dreamt of her each night.


She ended up being valedictorian and got a university scholarship; I ended up being diagnosed as having a brain too large for my skull, and getting surgery. I didn’t see Abbey again for six years. That’s when I met Adam.


You know how you make yourself promises… like when you get a new job, you tell yourself you’ll put more money into your pension, or buy income protection. When I found out what I was capable of, I promised not to force Abbey to love me; I promised not to force anyone.


Adam Rhodes was everything I should have been, almost as tall as me but broader across the shoulders. Athletic and smart he was one of the youngest barristers in the city and captain of the state rugby team. She and Adam had met and fallen in love at uni. Once I had located which university Abbey was studying at, I introduced myself to her boyfriend; after a little bit of mental stimulation, he and I had become good friends. It had been Adam’s idea to introduce me to his girlfriend.


The intervening years had been good to her. The smile lines really suited her and her inner beauty radiated through her every pore. I checked her mind; she didn’t recognise me and every time I saw them together it rent open a new wound in my already tortured soul.


At first, she liked me because her boyfriend liked me, then later it was because she liked who I was. She was so sweet, she couldn’t hate anyone… even mild dislike was a stretch for her.  Then Adam asked me if I thought Abbey would marry him? God I wished I hadn’t been honest with him, if I’d only said she wouldn’t. Christ I wished I’d lied to the man then and there, but I didn’t and the look of relief on his face as he showed me the ring tore through me.


I tried pointing out the few flaws in their relationship. I argued with him, trying to get him to change his mind; but they were in love, and she had said yes.


The night before the wedding I had cast one final die and now stood watching, waiting to see how it landed.



Abbey’s wide eyes shone through the fine mesh veil making her look even more pure than she was in reality. The white shroud tapered down to mid jaw, emphasising her high cheekbones and pursed lips…the tips of two pearly freshly whitened teeth visible as she chewed on her bottom lip in contemplation.


Her knuckles went white around the bouquet. The silk of her wedding dress gripped her waist; its cut forced the viewer’s eyes past her exquisite chest, over her bare shoulders and to her slender neck, behind which it clasped, showing the gentle curve of her spine. The tailor had been worth every cent of his fee. It hugged, it flared, and it hid the high heels she had to be wearing to bring her to a five eleven height that towered over Adam.


She drew her breath and I turned back into the rectory; I did not want to hear her answer. I knew what she was thinking and how she was going to respond. No one would notice my absence. Despite being his best friend, I was not his best man. This was hardly surprising given the conversations we had been having lately.


I emerged into the springtime midday sunlight and began descending the granite steps outside the cathedral. I groped around in my pocket for a couple of the pain pills I had hoped I wasn’t going to need; gritting my teeth I swallowed them and walked towards the first limo in line. The bells were just starting up as I climbed in the front with the driver.  My frontal lobe ached as I reinforced the tendril of thought controlling the uniformed man beside me.


He and I waited patiently for the requisite photos and rice throwing - God what a ridiculous custom - and then wheeled forward, the driver lumbered his large frame out of the Rolls to open the door for Mr and Mrs Rhodes. I could not believe she was taking his name, Abbey Rhodes, what an unfortunate moniker. Once everyone was aboard the driver took off. A modicum of thought made sure the happy couple didn’t notice me. There was supposed to be an hour before the reception, giving everyone time to get there. That was their plan… it wasn’t what was going to happen.


I closed my eyes and directed my thoughts behind me; I have always found it easier to visualise a radar screen. People appear as those blurry green pips and by narrowing my focus; I could contact… or ping, those people. Just like radar there’s a range limit so whatever I do has to be either completely forgotten or completely permanent.


In the cabin of the Rolls, Abbey and Adam had found the champagne, and were giggling about something banal… I insinuated myself amongst their mental processes, and began working. This is where it got really difficult, I had to work both their minds at the same time and still control the limo driver. Do you have any idea how difficult that is? No two people think even remotely alike, and I was trying to make all three of them do what I wanted at the same time. Hopping my thoughts from one part of their cerebrums to another I located what I needed and pushed. My eyes started watering and I’m sure my nose was bleeding but I felt their consciousnesses slowly slipping away.


Eventually I lowered the screen between us and turned around in place, they were both slumped in their seats… no seatbelts, tsk tsk tsk.


“Pull over” I told the driver, my hands holding my aching forehead. When we eventually stopped, I got out, walked around, and got into the back of the car.  Once I’d confirmed they were asleep, I sat between them, put my hand on Abbey’s knee and raised the screen.


Ignoring the angelic sleeping Abbey I poured all my concentration into Adam’s skull…


“Adam, my dear friend, are you awake?”

“Mmm” he groaned unconsciously.

“Adam, didn’t I warn you this would happen?” I kept my voice even and warm, we were best friends after all.

“Warned?” Adam managed to slur. Whilst his eyes didn’t open, his mind took every bit of information I was pouring into it.

“Abbey… she left you, didn’t she?

“Left me?”

“Yes, remember? She left you at the hotel after the wedding”

“Mmm” he groaned again, his mind searching for verification amongst the memories I was busily planting.

“I did warn you didn’t I, my old friend?”

“Yes”

“What are you going to do?” sweat broke out on my brow as I pillaged his mind; I was still keeping Abbey asleep and the chauffer oblivious.

“Do?” He was slowly coming round, giving me one more thing to keep track of. I diverted more of my limited brainpower to making him think she wasn’t in the car with us. By now, I definitely did have a nosebleed.

“You’ve got to tell everyone that she’s not coming… that she’s left for good… that she betrayed you.”

“Can’t… can’t you do it?” his eyelids were fluttering and his body shifted on the cream leather seat.

“I can’t Adam, you know I would … but I can’t. You didn’t want me to be here, you told me to go away, don’t you remember?”

“I’m so sorry Marc, You were right. She just… why’d she say yes? Why not call the whole wedding off? I just don’t understand what I did wrong.”


I felt bad for the guy, he’d done nothing wrong… he just got in the way.


“Adam, you’ve got to understand… it’s not your fault. You did everything right, this was her decision.”


Concentrating hard I put him back to sleep, this was actually easier than putting thoughts in his head; it was still giving me a headache but the nosebleed was stopping.


I retrieved some ice from the champagne bucket and pressed it against the bridge of my nose. I got out of the still parked car and returned to the front passenger seat. I took a few more of the pain meds and revived the driver. I gave the chauffeur the address to my car and relaxed back into my seat as he pulled out into traffic. Before long we’d reached the dingy deserted little side street where I’d parked my car. I unloaded Abbey from the rear of the Rolls Royce and planted instructions in the drivers mind. Once he’d taken the still sleeping Adam around the corner, I made him forget having ever seen me. That little effort started my nose bleeding again; I wished I’d brought some more of that ice with me. Stuffing my hanky up my nose, I loaded Abbey into the boot of my four-wheel drive. I closed off my mind and gave it about twenty minutes to ease its raging, before driving out of the city and into the foothills.


Within three hours, the urban sprawl had given way to rolling green hills, pastoral lands and finally was starting to convert into woodlands. About another hour later, a thumping sound began emanating from the boot. It was still about thirty kays from my place in the woods so I ignored the noise and continued driving.


My headache was about gone by the time we had reached our destination and, rather than stopping, I found her mind and sent her back to sleep. I turned the car around and waited until the garage door had closed before swallowing more pills.



“Hi Abigail, how are you feeling?” I strived to maintain the same warm even tone that I’d used with Adam.


We were in the subbasement of my place; it was an older style log cabin. I’d originally bought it shortly after my first aneurysm, when I’d first starting hearing what people were thinking. The isolation of this place was its primary drawcard; hell… at the time I bought it that was the only attractive feature. Two years, several tens of thousands of dollars and a lot of work later, it had all the conveniences of a much more modern home. Including… (Provided the weather was good, the winds were favourable and the Gods were in a pleasant mood) satellite TV.


 “Marc? Is that you? Where’s Adam?” her head moved around in the darkness.

“It is… I asked you how you were feeling.”

“I’m freezing, where am I?” her head had locked onto the direction of my voice; I ignored her question and lit a candle in the dark room.

“Didn’t I warn you this was going to happen” steam came from my mouth as an accompaniment to the words. She was right, it was cold in here and I was dressed far more comfortably than she was.

“Marc… I can’t see.” She whimpered

“Didn’t I?” my headache was back in full force and it was making it hard for me to keep my voice level.

“Yes… Where am I?

“I warned you… and you still disobeyed me… didn’t you?”

“Please Marc… you’ve got to let me go” in the flicker of the candle I could see black lines on her face, as tears streaked through her mascara and eye shadow.


I took the opportunity to evaluate how she was dressed. I’d seen it when I’d gotten her in from the car, but now I really had a chance to appreciate it. Gone was the bridal gown, leaving her in only her undergarments. Her dainty feet were shod in a pair of white stilettos that elevated her by about five inches. White nylon stockings encased her shapely legs up to the lace bands that wrapped around her milky thighs. An ivory garter belt rested on her hips and over the top of a thin strip of white silk that barely covered her shaven sex. Her breasts were ensconced in a corset that tapered down to her hips; on her arms’ she still wore opera gloves. Despite the darkness of the room, she wore a black blindfold and she stood in the middle of the cellar with her arms handcuffed above her head.


“Abbey…” I sighed as I thought how best to word what I was going to say next. “I need you to understand… I gave you a warning… a choice, and you ignored me. So like a child who’s done something bad… you need to be punished.” I was walking around the room and by the time I’d finished speaking, I was standing in front of her.

“Please Marc… Don’t hit me” she tried to shy away from me but couldn’t get far with her hands secured above her head. Her long brown hair fell from its loose ponytail and settled on her shoulders.

“Abbey… my dear sweet girl, you’ve known me long enough to know I’m not a violent man.” My hands idly stroked over her exposed flesh. “Petty, cruel and vindictive yes, but never violent.” I whispered the last in her ear as my hand caressed her inner thigh.


I turned and walked to the other side of the room, my wingtips echoing on the poured cement of the floor.


“Where’s Adam?”

“Adam’s not here… but he knows you decided to leave him. That you chose to get married and then abandon him.”

“I didn’t choose that, you did…” Her tears were running full steam now.

“You had your chances Abigail. Adam only knows what happened today, not the decision you made last night.

“Marc… Please, what are you going to do?” her voice was so quiet it barely reached me on the other side of the room.

“We, not me. We… are going to make some changes. For starters, from now on you’re going to listen to me and when I tell you to do something you will do it, understood?”

“Marc… please, let me go.”

“No, Abbey.” I turned to the door and extinguished the candle, striding out and leaving her alone in the darkness, I closed the door behind me. “Not this time.”



I was sitting in my armchair in my darkened living room. I had a glass of scotch in one hand and a bottle of pain pills in the other. My eyes were closed and I was focusing on Abigail, hard. I found her nervous system and began… tweaking… her pleasure receptors. Then my mind went looking for her nexus, and with a goodly bit of effort, turned it from a receptor into a switch. An externally controllable switch.


I washed down two more of the pills and flicked on the telly. I think I fell asleep during the late news.



I came down the stairs carrying a cup of coffee; the sound of my bare feet against the hardwood treads was quiet compared to the light snoring coming from the room below. Abigail stood slumped forward bent at the waist, her weight hung on her handcuffed wrists. The angle of her shoulders looked shockingly uncomfortable and her hair hung over her face. The whole effect was so deliciously debauched I couldn’t help getting rigid.


I placed the steaming brew on the table and lit the candle beside it, before slinking across to the soon to be ex Mrs Rhodes. I crouched behind her and with my cold hands gently grasped one of her ankles before migrating along her stocking seam upwards. By the time I’d reached her knee, her cute snoring had become a series of gasps and moans. I managed to get both my palms upon her tight arse before she woke up.


“Nnnughh , Goooddd.” Her head remained slumped between her arched shoulders.

“Good Morning Abigail.” I stood to whisper in her ear before tracing its curvature with the tip of my tongue.

“Please, Marc…” She shuddered as I released her earlobe from my lips and stepped away to retrieve my coffee “Nooo, don’t go. Please… come back and touch me again, please.”


I took two pills and washed them down with a draft from my mug, scalding myself on the boiling water in the process. Typical, but at least I don’t have a headache. 


“Abbey, stand up straight.”

“Oooowwwww” Her body went into a spasm as she regained the vertical.

"Abigail, last night I told you that from now on you would have to obey me, didn’t I?”

“I just did as you told me, please… don’t hurt me.” She turned away from me when she heard me walking towards her. I didn’t really notice; I was to busy searching out her mind and making contact.

“That’s right; you did as you were told, and like any good pet you deserve a reward.” I removed her blindfold and watched her face as I nudged her mind. My head was throbbing again; I consoled myself with the knowledge that, once Abbey was mine, I wouldn’t need my abilities again. However, to do that I needed to establish a Pavlovian response, so I clicked my fingers.

“I am not some animal to be boooaaaaahhhhh…. Ohhh mmyyyyy Gooooodddddd.” Her face contorted in ecstasy.  I let her loll around by her wrists for a few more minutes before turning her orgasm off. “Don’t stop. Please, I’ll be good.” Her body slumped, hanging from the handcuffs.

“Are you sorry for talking back?” I lowered myself to look in her deep brown eyes.

“Ummm, yes?” She searched my face for the right answer.

“You’re not standing up straight anymore?” her body snapped upright “Good girl” I clicked my fingers, giving her another brief climax. With another click, I ended it. She slumped again but immediately straightened herself back up without prompting. ”All right Abigail, have a drink.” I held the lukewarm coffee to her plump lips and gently canted it; she sucked it down with gusto, her tongue searched her lips for any escaped moisture.

“Thanks.” I dabbed at her lips with a clean hanky. She pressed her face hard against my hand every time it made contact. “Mmmm, your touch feels so good. Why?”

“When I first met you, I think I was six years old.” I crouched and removed her shoes; small moans accompanied each touch on her skin. I pressed my lips against her calf, my hands undoing the clasp on her stocking. “It was about 18 years ago, in preschool.” I slid the nylon down her slim leg and off her foot, before moving to the other leg. “Every day since then I’ve wanted to hold you; to touch you… but I never could. And then… you touched me.” My fingers had found the small clasp at the rear of her garter belt and with a quick flick of my fingers, sent it following the stockings. With my palms on each leg, I stood and dragged my hands up along her exposed white flesh. One long drawn out groan from Abbey accompanied this simple movement. “Six years ago, when you held my hand and called for an ambulance.” Her groaning stopped as my hands reached the sides of her breasts, still secured in her ivory corset. The beading felt magnificent against my fingers.

“Condemned for a lifetime… by one…  Unnnggghhhh… good deed.” She managed to gasp out as I rubbed her shoulders, before returning my hands to her sides.

“Indeed. Actually that wasn’t what determined your fate… it was two other things. My inability to tell you that I loved you, and your not noticing my pining for you for 13 years.” My fingers continued strumming against the lace work on her bodice.

“Wait… six years? Were you the kid at graduation? There was so much blood… everyone thought you were dead.”


I let go of her and walked back to the table.


“Some days, I wished I were” I retrieved the handcuff key and slipped it into my pocket. “You may well have saved my life that day; you did well. So, as a continuance of today’s lesson… I’m going to give you a reward for your good behaviour.” I blew out the candle and snapped my fingers. The sound of my bare feet on the jarrah staircase was completely unnoticeable due to the screams of her orgasm.



She was still cumming when I returned several hours later. It had been a charming interlude, with the sound of her moans audible throughout the house. I relit the candle before releasing the handcuffs and she collapsed to the ground like an autumn leaf. Her blissed out body continued thrashing and contorting on the concrete floor. I snapped my fingers and watched her slowly unfurl herself. My forehead still throbbed but it was taking me less effort to control her orgasms.


“Abigail, how are you feeling?” She stretched out on the ground, smiling from ear to ear.

“Happy, tired, starved.”

“Good, then get up, wash up and go upstairs into the house… the bathroom’s through there. Oh, and Abbey?”

“Yes Marc?” She rolled to look at me, one of her nipples slipped free from the lace cup of her corset. It looked succulent; the areola surrounding it was miniscule, no larger than a one-pound coin.

“Don’t worry about redressing; I’ll leave some clothes out for you upstairs.”


I was in the kitchen when I next saw her; she looked radiant. She was wearing a white dress shirt and a pair of black heels.


“Hardly functional.” She commented about her clothing

“Depends on the function. Here sit down, the food’s nearly ready.”

“Tell me, what should I do about Adam?” I looked over my shoulder at her; she was tracing circles on the table with her finger. Her gold band sat on the side plate in front of her.

“Adam is moving on with his life… contacting him would only hurt him more. You need to ask yourself, how much do you love him?” I turned back to the stovetop.

“When the ambulance took you from school… what happened to you?”

“I had to have an operation, the surgeons screwed up… pretty badly. Afterwards I was in an almost vegetative state. Then about a year later, a neurosurgeon went in there,” I pointed to my forehead, “with something like a soldering iron and began connecting random pathways. He was hoping to establish some higher functions and I guess it worked. It worked a little too well. One of those functions was the ability to do certain things, with my mind. I figure it’s a trade off… I could read minds but eventually it was going to kill me.” I deposited her plate on the table in front of her.

“So, why did you choose me?” She asked. “Couldn’t you have brainwashed some centrefold into being your sex toy?” her cute jaw worked to digest a mouthful of eggs.

“Abbey, I haven’t brainwashed you, and I swore to myself I never would. I’ve just always been happy when you’re near me… and I wanted to be happy before I died. So now, I’m going to make you the same offer I made in your hotel room two days ago. Be mine, do as I ask when I ask and I will make sure you enjoy every moment you spend with me. My gifts have made me a wealthy man, and when I’m gone, I’ll leave it to you. During my lifetime you’ll be happy and, with my imminent death you’ll be financially secure.” I reached my hand out to her across the oak table. “This time, my love, do you accept?”

 “Oh Marc…” She grasped my hand, “Of course I do.”

[robotunit8]

A rare thing from me, a hypnosis based story! Dont expect many more lol! And dont expect a big induction scene either.

One way to cure those pre wedding nerves

To say Louise had pre wedding nerves would be to put it mildly, and this was still a week before the big event! And even more than that, it wasn't even her getting married, she was only the best man! Well best woman technically, but it was one of those same sex 'civil union' type marriages that were now permitted, and both the guys were determined to rebel completely in said matters, and have a lesbian female as their best man for the big day.

And even all those months on from saying yes to them, Louise still couldnt understand why she had agreed to do it. Best 'men' are meant to be confident, cheery types who keep everything moving along smoothly, and Louise didnt quite fit that bill! She was the quiet, private type who liked keeping herself to herself generally, so this role was a total anathema to her. And over the last two weeks, all the build up and hype that was being generated was doing nothing for her confidence in handling the big day as Shaun and Richard were expecting her to.

Yes, she was putting on a good show for the two guys, she didnt want to let them down, but the image she was creating of herself was roughly akin to a swan in water. She might look very graceful and in command of the situation above the waterline, but below the waterline...! I'm sure you get the picture.

By sheer good fortune she'd seen an advert in the free newspaper she read on the way to work about hypnotherapy, and how even one or two sessions could successfully calm down those dreaded nerves she was suffering from in time for the big day, and there were even claims for curing depression which sounded good to her, it had to be better than pill popping everyday she thought to herself. Even more fortunately she had found a hypnotherapist in her home town that could give her an appointment that Saturday (now today), and another next Friday (the day before the wedding) to hopefully put her right in time for the big event. She had her doubts how fruitful this therapy would be, but nothing ventured, nothing gained as she had thought to herself at the time of booking the appointment.

The journey across town by bus was easy enough, she didn't drive, so she already knew the bus routes well, so that wasn't ever going to be a problem. She even found the therapy centre without too much difficulty which was a relief. The receptionist checked her booking, told her to sit down and relax, and that the therapist would be with her shortly, Louise happy to oblige her.

The one thing that surprised her on the whole visit was the hypnotherapist. She was expecting some middle aged, medically or scholarly looking person to come out to greet her, and it wasnt the case. A man in his late twenties, or early thirties came out to greet her instead. He was dressed quite 'neatly', fitting to his role, but Louise just hadn't been expecting someone so young (or attractive), but she had no idea why that was the case, just assumptions she guessed. He greeted her with a smile, and an outstretched hand,

"Hello Louise, my name is Dr Mark Deighton, I'm the hypnotherapist who will hopefully clear away all those bad thoughts that are ailing you, and be able to get you ready to be the perfect 'best man' for next Saturday. My receptionist has already filled me in with all your details, and given that we only have two sessions to do what I would ideally like six sessions to complete, I think we had better get started. So if you wish to come through to my room?"

Louise had to admit to herself, if she'd fancied men, then his therapist's room wouldnt have been the only room she would have followed him into, he was very dishy. So hardly the type to show an interest in someone like her anyway! She nodded, and followed him beyond the reception area.

The room was simple and practical enough, a bit like a standard doctor's surgery really if she was being honest. Only this wasn't designed for curing any physical ailments, just mental ones. She did the standard consent form signing stuff, and waited to see what would happen next.

"Well Louise, if you will just relax on the table I'll get started. Have you any preference what I use for your induction?" he asked.

Beyond the traditional watch that she had seen used in films she had no idea what could be used, so...

"No Mark, whatever you prefer would be fine by me."

That was the easy way out of showing her complete ignorance in such matters!

"In that case I'll use this crystal. Just keep your eyes focused on the crystal as it swings, watching the light patterns it creates, and just let yourself relax Louise."

This she was more than happy to do. She felt her eyelids steadily getting heavier and heavier, and as hard as she tried to keep them open to keep her eyes focussed on the crystal, eventually they shut tightly as she went into a pleasant trance.  Mark was watching for the tell tale sign of her going under, and once he saw it he said,

"Louise, can you hear me?"

"Yes I can Mark." she replied in a distinctive style that gave away the signs to him that she was indeed entranced.

"Good. Now I'm going to ask you one or two questions that you must answer honestly, is that alright Louise?"

"Yes it is Master...err Mark." she replied in a slightly faraway manner.

Mark's ears picked up, it wasnt the first time he'd heard an entranced person call him Master rather than Mark, but it usually signified submissiveness, and well, this might lead to further fun. But first to business,

"So what would you like to achieve from these sessions Louise?"

She giggled softly, this was going to sound silly from a woman, but..."I'm being a best man at a wedding next weekend, and I just want to have the confidence to handle the event. I'm normally quiet and shy, but..."

"...you want to be able to handle the big day without any concerns getting in the way. Is that correct?"

She smiled, "Yes, it is."

"Well that shouldnt be any problem Louise, I can go through the main steps here and now, get your mind all nicely prepared and ready for the big day, then next Friday all I need to do is run through the trigger phrases, and the rest will just happen. Then you return a week later, and I can either return you to your normal self, or we can leave the setting in a place you feel happy and confident with. Is that what you'd like me to do?"

"Oh yes please." purred Louise, not believing her luck. Well her subconcious mind didnt believe its luck at least!

.................................................

Anyone hoping for a nice long hypnotic induction here is going to be disappointed, its not something I would either know how to do, or really want to spend ages typing up.  If someone wants to write something suitable for me for when I post this to the Archive I would be appreciative, they will get story credit etc, but I'm not going to make a twit of myself trying to write one.

So for now assume Louise has had her mind 'sorted out' by this nice hypnotist Mark, and is now primed for her duties as best man.

.................................................

So...

"And now Louise, just before I bring you back to the real world I have one last question to ask you before I do. Something which you must answer totally honestly. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes Mark, it is." she dreamily replied, not really in a state to do otherwise.

"Why did you call me Master, instead of Mark after I hypnotised you? Do you have some secret fantasy you need to tell me about?"

Louise blushed scarlet after he asked her that, he now almost felt guilty about doing so, but...she was already answering him.

"Yes...yes, I do." she replied in not too loud a voice, "Its one of the reasons I chose hypnosis for this, its this fantasy I have of being totally controlled by someone. Like a,...like a..." but the word just wouldnt come out, even under hypnotic trance.

Mark wasnt totally ignorant of the D/s scene, he wasnt actually into it per se, but he knew about it, and how some people like to be a 'slave' to their Master or Mistress, and so he assumed...

"...you want to be like a slave to a Master or Mistress?" he asked her tenderly, fascinated by her hesitation with such a request.

"Oh no!" she replied firmly, "I want to be more controlled than that in my fantasies. I want to be like a...." her words hung again, and then finally from somewhere the word came out, "...robot."

He gasped in amazement, he'd certainly never heard that one before. But now the dam had been broken Louise's words were flowing from her mouth,

"I want to be just like a robot, mindlessly and obediently doing as my controller tells me to. No thoughts of my own, just simply carrying out all commands given to me by my owner. No pressures in my life, no stresses and strains, just the freedom to obey orders and..."

"Yes?" Mark asked fascinated by what he had heard.

She blushed again, though not so brightly this time, "I dont want to only act the part, I want to look the part as well. Silver bodysuit, even to move and talk like a robot if that was possible. But..." and he saw a tear trickle down her cheek at the thought, "Its never going to happen, not even in a play sense. I don't really enjoy the pressures of life, but being a robot would take them all away for me, even if it was only as a hypno-bot." She sobbed again, only louder this time.

Mark tried to gather his thoughts, and failed miserably.

"What if I said it could be done?" he said to her.

"You mean, make me think I was a robot, at least for a while?"

He laughed, "Making you think you were a robot for a short while under hypnosis would be easy. But I think you want more than that, dont you?"

Louise just nodded, "Yes, I do. For the rest of my life would be nice."

"But that means consequences, how would your family react, how would your friends feel about it. And most importantly of all, how would you get on in the real world with people who didn't understand about you being a 'robot'. Have you taken all this into consideration?"

"Family, I havent got any. And most of my few friends know my desire anyway, so I think they'd live with it. Besides as a robot I'd only have contact with people my owner wanted me to, so that would be their choice, not mine." she giggled, "Real world could be tricky, but if I was programmed correctly, it could be done I hope. But it never will." she said despairingly, quickly going back from happiness to tears again.

"Hmm." Mark said to himself, and left it at that.

"Alright Louise, I'm going to bring you back now, all you will remember is the beneficial things we have done together, the last part of the conversation re your fantasy will be erased from your memories. You understand that?"

"Yes." she said.

"In that case...five, beginning slowly to waken from your trance...four, becoming aware of your surroundings again...three, focussing on all the good things we've talked about...two, very nearly there, and...one, wide awake again. How are you feeling now?"

She smiled, "Fine thank you, did it really work? I feel better, but...?"

"Yes it did Louise, you were the perfect subject. Now you are booked in for 3.30 next Friday for your next session, and that's when I will trigger the last few things so that you can handle next Saturday with consummate ease. How does that sound?"

She wanted to kiss him having heard that news, but managed to resist, despite her joy, and his looks.

"Thank you." she said, smiling back at him as she headed off to the receptionist to pay.

........................................

The next few days passed smoothly, Louise seemed to cope with plans far better now than before, something which she was delighted to discover. So by Friday lunchtime she was feeling quite good as she ate her lunchtime sandwich before heading off for her next session with Mark.

Mark was feeling quite good as well, he'd managed to cancel his only appointment for the day after Louise, and so he wouldn't need to be in any rush when she got there. He had a little surprise lined up for her, but didn't want to need to rush it. And so...

(3.29 pm)

His intercom buzzed,

"Louise Marsden is here for her appointment Mark, shall I send her in?"   

"Yes please Kate. And as she is the last appointment for the day, why dont you start the weekend early? It won't take long just to set up her triggers, she's prepaid for this last Saturday, so just lock the door behind you as you go..."

"Thanks Mark, thats much appreciated."

And as Louise entered his room he could already hear Kate getting ready to go home, perfect for his plans!

"Hi Louise, how has the week gone so far? Looking forward to tomorrow?" he asked.

She beamed back, "Better than I could have hoped for, I'm really looking forward to tomorrow now, certainly far more than I was before last Saturday. How can I ever thank you?"

"You'll soon find out!" he said under his breath, "Though I suspect you will enjoy it even more than me!"

It wasnt long before the crystal had again worked its charms on Louise, after all this time she was prepped to react that way to it. It didnt take long for Mark to set everything up in her mind for the next day, and then...

"Deep trance Louise, go into a much deeper trance now, you are unable to do anything but answer my every question honestly until I bring you out of the trance. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mas...Mark, I do."

"Good. Last Saturday you told me while in trance that you had a fantasy of being turned into a robot. Is that correct?"

"Yes Mark, it is."

"And that simply being controlled by hypnosis but still being Louise Marsden holds none of the appeal of being a mindless, obedient robot with its own numeric identity, and nothing more?"

"Yes Mark, that is true."

"So if I said I was going to now hypnotically induce you into being no more than a robotic machine, even if only for a short while, how would you feel about it? No control over what I command you to do in any way?"

"Wonderful Mark. Sounds heavenly to me." was the answer, not that he needed to hear it. Her arousal levels had gone into overdrive just at the suggestion, and the musky smell was permeating his nose, and her crotch had clearly dampened just at the idea.

"Well in that case, I regard what I do next as consensual Louise. Go very, very deep for me Louise, all thoughts, all identity disappearing into the distance, becoming nothing more than a blank shell, a robot created by myself for my own pleasure and obedient to all my commands. Is that within the cybernetic parameters created within you?"

"Yes Mas-ter." she replied, all thoughts of his only being Mark, her therapist already forgotten, in her head he was now her Master in every way.

"Going even deeper now, you are now nothing more than a robot, albeit one designed to look human. Your body is now a metal casing, your internal parts entirely circuitry, wiring and microchips. And your brain is purely cybernetic, a complex AI designed to let this robot interract with humans to any degree between almost normal behaviour, or total obedience to commands given to her by her controller. Is that correct?"

Her voice was almost monotone this time when she replied, "Yes, Mas-ter."

"Excellent. What is your name? Is it Louise Marsden?"

Mark could see her thought processes almost literally whirring.

"Negative Master, unit currently has no designated name other than her brand number, 004-001. Do you wish me to answer to this name Louise Marsden instead?"

Mark grinned, "No 004-001, you are only to be known by your brand number as befits all robots."

"Thank you Mas-ter." she replied to this.

Now for the 'fun' part, if he was right she would do exactly as she was told, if he wasn't right then it would be a medical tribunal hearing! He went to the cupboard and pulled out a silver zentai suit he had managed to purchase in the last few days. He had a rough idea of Louise's figure, but beyond that it was guesswork. But...

"Unit 004-001, remove all human clothing that you are currently wearing as a disguise and put on your silver body suit. I will then seal the suit around you, and full robot status will override any preset human settings you may have. Do you understand?"

"Yes Master, I do." Louise replied.

She began the mechanical strip show, showing no emotion as she did so. It didnt take her long to get down to bra and panties before she stopped and asked him.

"Am I required to wear underwear in my bodysuit or not Master, it is an optional setting that has not been designated as yet?"

He looked at her ample breasts heaving in the plain bra, and thought what a wonderful sight they would make, and besides the panties were soaked with her juices anyway, so... and he knew what his cock was suggesting at least! Just as well there was a crotch zip on the suit! Though maybe that was too risky a manoeuvre?

"Remove all human garments, robot and suit need to interface with each other." was his command, even if the interfacing bit wasn't true.

"Yes Master." she replied blankly, and she unclipped her bra and her ample breasts slipped free of their restraints. The panties literally dripped as she pulled them down and off her legs. She quickly climbed into the zentai suit, pulling it up over her body until everything but her face was silver. he had been tempted to get some silver face paint, but any remains of that post-trance might be tricky to explain away, so... he zipped up the back, zipped down the head zip for her, and there before him stood 004-001 aka Louise Marsden, though she was certainly not aware of her human identity at that point in time!

"Commence suit interface." he gave her as a command, not having a clue how she would react given the suit was incapable of interfacing with her, but it might be fun finding out. She closed her eyes, made a few bleeping sounds, and 30 seconds or so later replied,

"Interfacing now completed, unit 004-001 and suit are now as one Master."

What that meant, Mark had no idea, but it sounded hot to him. His very painfully erect cock certainly suggested that was the case, his trousers were literally bulging with his erection. He had one very tempting way of solving this, it wasnt ethical, but...

"Initiate sexbot programming, oral mode." he commanded her.

"Sexbot programming activated, oral mode ready for usage Master." she said a few moments later, licking her lips as she did so in a seductive manner.

Mark couldnt resist this sight and sound, he dropped his trousers and pants, and his cock stood to attention immediately.

"Commence oral sexual pleasuring 004-001." he said to her.

"Unit obeys command." she said blankly, lowering herself to her knees and quickly taking in his pleasure tool, Mark gasping as her tongue eagerly set to work as commanded, while at the same time showing no reaction whatsoever to what was happening to her. It was all too soon for Mark that he felt his balls quake, and he shot streams of hot cum down her throat, she swallowing it expertly much to his surprise. After all, he hadnt programmed her to do this, so everything beyond the basic command was down to her. Finally when his penis was deflated, and she had cleaned it off, he told her to return to standby mode which she happily did.

He washed a glass of water down her throat, just in case, because of the taste, before unzipping his robot and telling her to slip out of the suit and put her human clothes back on again which she obediently did. Then, and only then did he say,

"De-activate 004-001 status and return to Louise Marsden mode. Inform me when this is done."

A minute or so later she replied telling him that it had indeed been done.

"Excellent. And now Louise, to bring you back round. All you are to remember is that this session took longer than expected because I needed to make sure everything was perfectly set up for tomorrow, and therefore I had to run a few tests which took longer than planned. You will not remember anything of your time as a robot until you return for your next session a week tomorrow, is that clear?"

"Yes, it is." she replied.

"In that case...five, beginning slowly to waken from your trance...four, becoming aware of your surroundings again...three, focussing on all the good things we've talked about...two, very nearly there, and...one, wide awake again. How are you feeling now?"

She smiled, "Fine thanks." then looking at the clock added, "That took longer than I expected, I hope I havent overrun for your next client?"

He smiled, "Dont worry, you were my last client for the day."

"Thats alright then, and thanks."

"The pleasure was all mine. Just enjoy your big day tomorrow, and I'll see you again next Saturday when we can discuss how we are going to leave things for the future."

"Thank you so much for this." Louise said as she skipped out of the door, "I dont know how I can repay you."

Mark smiled at the comment, "Oh believe me Louise, you already have!"

........................................

Saturday passed smoothly, Louise was a star as the best man, and the whole day was an incredible success. Alright, there werent any bridesmaids for the best man to make a pass at, but all the same... At the end of the day when she finally relaxed with a large glass of wine she had to admit that going to the hypnotist was the best thing she could have done.

..........................................

(The following Saturday)

Mark's intercom buzzed and Kate gave him the news he had been waiting all day for,

"Louise Marsden has arrived for her appointment, shall I send her through?"

"Yes please Kate." he replied.

Moments later Louise's smiling face appeared around the corner of the door, and though  from that grin he knew the answer, it was still diplomatic to ask.

"So was last Saturday the success you and the guys were hoping for. Did the hypnosis help at all?"

"It did, everyone said what a wonderful job I did on the day, and it was all because of you." she told him with a grin.

"So alright, 64 million dollar question time I believe they call this. So what do you want me to do, obviously remove the triggers just in case, but do you want to stay this confident, go back to your shy, quiet self, or somewhere inbetween?"

Louise gave him a shy grin, "Somewhere in between would be nice Mark. It's nice being this confident and full of myself, but its not really me all the same. But I dont want to be quite as introverted as before if that's possible?"

"No problem at all, as you wish." he said to her, adding under his breath, "But lets see what your subconcious mind has to say on these matters as well."

She climbed up on the bed, and the crystal soon worked its magic in sending Louise back into a deep and peaceful trance. Mark removed all but one trigger, set her confidence levels to where he suspected Louise wanted them to be, and then...

"Activate 004-001 mode, confirm when activated."

A few moments later in a monotone voice Louise replied, "Mode 004-001 activated, designate awareness level of Louise Marsden please."

"50% awareness level, and allow her to replay all events while in 004-001 mode from last Friday."

"Request carried out."

The gasps, giggles and indeed squeal when she saw herself swallowing Mark's cum amused him, though he was slightly nervous how she would react to the latter, but at least with her still deep in trance he could erase those thoughts if necessary. But the deep sigh at what Mark assumed was the moment she stepped out of the silver suit was a clue he might have done the right thing.

"Hel-lo Mas-ter." was a giveaway when the 'show' was over, followed by a grin.

"So Louise, how does it feel to know that you were actually a hypno-bot last Friday for all that time?"

"Amazing, I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it happen like that. And I was so unaware of it at the time, just like a robot would be. Just a shame it had to come to an end."

"Well I could hardly let a robot go to the wedding, could I?"

"I guess not." 

"But now I could!"

"You mean...?"

"All I need to do is dress you in the suit, give your robot identity full control, and...the only question is how long I let you stay that way. Assuming you want to, now you know it can be done of course."

"But if I give the robot full control like then I won't get to enjoy it." she said with a slight pout.

"Well robots are mindless creatures, but..."

"Yes?" she asked eagerly.

"I'm sure 004-001 would let you ride as a passenger if you asked nicely."

"I'm asking nicely then." she said.

"How long have we got till your next appointment?" Louise asked.

"Half an hour or so, but I can always put you in standby mode in the back room if you wanted longer. But you did mention about forever, with an owner?"

"Yes, I'd love that, but..." 

"But?"

"Real life, if I just disappeared they would come searching for me, it would need time."

"Fine, how long do you need to arrange things?"

"A month should do."

"And then is it to be Master, Mistress or both. After all we know your sexual preferences?"

She smiled softly, "Dont care about that if I'm a robot, no emotions, so why should I worry? Sex will only be a programmed action after all."

"So if I suggested myself as your Master."

"Oh yes please."

...............................................

6 weeks later (the shortest period Mark could arrange it in) Louise Marsden became Louise Deighton. On the first night of their honeymoon Louise Deighton became unit 004-001 on a 'more permanent' basis. Of course her human identity remained within her 'programming' for needed moments, but within her home life her new self had full rein over the ship that was her body, dressed in a series of silver zentai suits that they bought during their engagement period.

After that, lets just say both lived happily ever after! And leave the rest to the readers imagination as to how that happened. Lets just say they had a healthy sex life all the same!

[euanthe]

Appropriate Ceremony

Our guests fidgeted, as I waited for the woman who would spend the rest of her life with me.

Today would be the last day she would ever keep me waiting.

I smiled at the thought. My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal who would officiate the ceremony, returned my grin. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know I was thinking of the future she and I would have, after this commitment was made.

My gaze wandered, crossing over the assembled great and not-so-good. On my side, brightly coloured cocktail dresses competed with pastel ruffled affairs and elegant taffeta ball-gowns.

These powerful, self-assured women didn't follow fashion. They led it.

Most of the men wore suits, a few navy blues competed with a smattering of actual dress uniforms. Mostly it was a sea of greys ranging from silver to steel seasoned with a few  tasteless blacks. This wasn't a funeral, despite the insistence of some that what was about to happen was more of a ending than a beginning.

More than a few cast longing glances across the aisle. If dress was relaxed, the proprieties of the ceremony would be observed strictly. Even those slaves who'd come with their owners were restricted to the slave-bride's side, ignoring the recent trend of shared seating to not separate masters and mistresses from their favourite toys for even a moment.

I didn't see why they should get to play with their possessions when I had to wait.

Soon enough she'd be mine, and at the reception, my guests would be able to indulge themselves. I'm not a heartless monster, after all.

In the meantime the slave-bride's side – her side – provided a tantalising buffet of eye-candy. I'd declared fetish-wear uncouth and unwelcome. Instead the women – the slaves were almost universally female – wore classy, revealing lingerie that drew the eye to half-hidden delights of flesh.

A statuesque brunette, with just a hint of Hispanic-coffee in her colouration was radiant in an elegant chemise of pale-green. It's silk was sheer and transparent enough that I could tell she wore nothing beneath. She wore it with pride, her hips and shoulders forming a single erotic line. A woman's slave, I rather thought, all about beauty and intricacy.

She was something her mistress could explore, lose herself in.

A complete contrast to...  there. A short, bubbly blond, smiled vacantly at me from the outside row. I could see why she'd been enslaved – definitely by a man. There was nothing to her but hips and breasts, surprisingly perky and firm for their size, under a cute button nose and full lips made for fucking. Her lipstick, a colour with a name like 'Va-Va-Voom Red', matched her lacy bra and panties, and the six-inch heels over three-inch platforms she tottered on.

Perhaps she'd formerly been a lawyer or a doctor, but with looks like that... regardless of before, she'd been born to be a bimbo.

Quite a few of the women were gloriously nude, their nipples erect at attention in the coldness of the church. But that too was acceptable and elegant, if open to interpretation. Either a mark of their masters respect for me, or perhaps  simply an indication that a few my guests hadn't possessed nor been bothered to buy a suitable outfit for their pets.

Only a few of the slaves were mine.

Most were preparing the marquee, or the food, or the entertainment for the reception.

Or were preparing themselves to be the entertainment for the reception.

After the stuffiness of the ceremony, I'd felt that a little harmless mud-wrestling – complete with forfeits, punishments and prizes such as clothing privileges – would excite and satisfy my guests.

That was true until the front row, where the slave-bridesmaids sat.

It was just a name.

There wasn't one of the women, not her best friend, not her room-mate, not her sister, nor even the mother of the slave-bride who I hadn't fucked, mind-fucked and enslaved.

But, though all quite beautiful and quite talented, they weren't up to her standard or mine. Her room-mate, perhaps, was sufficiently attractive to join the ranks of my house-slaves. Besides, the rent of their apartment would cover the cost of maintaining them. As for her mother, sister and best-friend they would lead their lives, much as before, but now submissively and obediently and entirely controlled my will.

Whenever I deigned to express it to them.

Had they been more beautiful I would have denied them clothing altogether, leaving their perfect forms naked for my guests to admire, as it had been with the most successful of my previous slave-bride ceremonies.

As it was I had them in garter belts and hose, the fabric sheer enough to tantalise yet thick enough to mask the worse stretch marks and blemishes could do. Heels accented their assets, and of course those assets – breasts and pussies and butts – were bare. That was the purpose of the slave-bridesmaids.

They were the traditional entertainment for the owner's guests, so that the slave-bride could focus on her new master to the fullest extent.

I didn't rate them highly. Hence the marquee and mud-wrestling. They knew they would be first into the ring, after the speeches. They didn't know that during the speeches, and after their matches, they would be anybodies meat. I expected that, and their later mud-bath, to spice these four rather plain dishes up in the eyes of my guests.

Cream elbow length gloves and chokers supplemented their look, and obscured a pair nasty scar along her best-friend's arms. Idly I wondered if the woman, shorn of her best-friend, would again attempt to self-harm. If she did... well, no great loss.

I put it – and her - out of my mind. My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal nodded to the organist, an exquisite gospel-trained woman of Afro-Caribbean descent, and she began to play with her most-talented fingertips.

The wooden doors of the church creaked open. Silhouetted against the bright morning light stood my slave-bride.

She was as gorgeous as the instant I first laid eyes on her. The instant I knew I had to possess this woman.

Her outfit helped to sell the illusion.

Historically, the ceremony took place the instant a master saw a woman he desired as a slave-bride. The taking would be her first taking, and her mind would be broken as she stood before the altar in whatever she had happened to be wearing at the time.

In these more enlighten days a master or mistress could sample their slave-bride before the ceremony and subvert their mind at leisure. The woman entering the church would leave it no less free than she was at this moment.

That is, not free at all.

So it became tradition that slave-brides wore what they had when they first
attracted their master's attention. Or, more accurately, since that business outfit was rags against the wall of the alley where I'd fucked her, still in the first minute of our meeting, a replica.

A carefully modified replica.

The over-the knee skirt had shortened to brush her thighs. The starched cotton blouse had become sheer, semi-transparent silk, and every guest could tell that her bra had simply evaporated. Pantihose had been replaced by a garter-belt, flashing tantalising patches of skin as she walked down the aisle in heels that had grown from two to four inches.

I wondered if the slight worry and hesitation on her face was for the guests benefit, or if it was real, at being in this place, in this abomination of the last clothes she'd worn as a free woman.

I read her mind.

It was for me. It touched me, this gift of hers. She had almost nothing. Her possessions, her body, her mind and her future, I'd taken them all. Yet from some last portion of her soul she found the perfect gift for me.

I smiled at her, and she smiled back – a watery, weak thing. In fact, the jacket was an original part, but that unintentionally.

The tighter version my seamstress-slaves had prepared for my slave-bride's thinner, more toned waist no longer fit over the beginnings of pregnancy's bulge. But the same cause had too swelled her breasts, and the formally loose and businesslike jacket was delightfully snug.

Back then, her hair hadn't been pulled – oh-so-carefully – into that sexless ponytail, her glasses had been in her pocket, not on her face, and she really had worn no make-up, not make-up so artfully employed as to push her near-perfection closer to divinity without even a hint that it was there.

It didn't matter. Artistic license.

Then, hardly soon enough, she stood besides me at the altar.

“Do you who before us take this man, to be your master, to let him have and hold from this day forward, may it make you better or worse, richer, or poorer, to serve his sickness with your health, to love, to worship and to obey; from this day forward until death or his will may part you?” My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal intoned formally.

My slave-bride trembled as the words were said. A tear crept down her cheek. We both knew it was a liquid trail of joy. This formalisation of her being mine, she'd wanted it, more than anything in the world.

I'd given her no choice.

“She does,” I said.

“As I am commanded,” she answered, her words following hard on the heels of mine in her urgency, “so I do.”

“And do you accept the submission of your slave-bride?” My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal asked.

Seizing my slave-bride's blouse between the buttons, “I do,” I replied, then in a shower of specially weakened stitching I tore both blouse and jacket from her. Her arms slid back, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. My right hand slid down, whilst my left lingered to appreciatively squeeze a breast. She rose on the balls of her feet, arching against my touch.

My hand hooked into the fabric of her waistband, short skirt and lacy panties both. They tore along their seams, fluttered for a moment and were gone.

My slave-bride was naked, except for the flavouring of her garter-belt and hose and heels, clothing not to conceal but to excite. My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal and I shared a nod.

“Do you have the token?” He asked, turning to my best man.

The boy stepped forward, silver platter held before him. He was my eldest child. His eyes were riveted to my slave-bride. Across the fields of her flesh, they roamed freely.

It was an appropriate symmetry. Thirteen years ago, a sixteen year old boy had waited before this very alter for his first slave-bride. His father at his side, he had enslaved her. Not an hour later, he'd conceived his first son.

The same son who now stood beside him to assist in the enslavement of his newest slave-bride.

At thirteen, my child was noticing my house-slaves and bed-pets only recently. It was time, I judged, to acquire for him a teacher, a woman less beautiful, less intimidating, less used to and in need of the strong hand of dominance that I provided.

Soon enough, I would stand besides him as his best-man, when he took his first slave-bride and the circle would be complete.

He proffered to me the platter, and from it I took the collar, it's fabric metallised with gold, secured by a catch of leather. My slave-bride bent her head as I closed it about her exquisite neck.

“This ring is a token of my dominance. I enslave you with this ring. As a ring has no end, neither shall my control for you know no limits. I select you to be my slave-bride this day and forevermore,” I intoned.

Then I shivered.

The next words always excited me, no matter how many times I said them to a slave-bride. They highlighted the asymmetry of the relationship to come, the extent of my mastery and control.

“Unless and until I tire of you,” I said.

There are few things more erotic than power.

“I will forever wear this ring as a sign of my commitment and the desire of my heart,” my slave-bride replied. “I remake myself,” she said, tearing the band from her hair, so that it cascaded full and free across her shoulders, “in the hope that I may long pleasure you.”

Her fingertips traced across the arm of her glasses, as if she considered tossing them aside. It was purely theatrical. She indulged my fetish, knowing that I liked fucking her in them, and liking that I liked.

“Do you wish to use your slave-bride?” My brother-the-Lord-Cardinal enquired.

It was purely a pro-forma question.

I seized my slave-bride's arm from her glasses and spun her, standing behind her as she faced the altar. My hand ran through that luxurious mane of free hair, the only thing about this woman that was free.

Then I forced her down, bending her across the altar.

It's height had been chosen carefully, but centuries ago when women where shorter and high-heels non-existent. Beneath the linen cloth, I knew it had to stand on blocks.

They made it the perfect height. My slave-bride's face and breasts pressed down into it, whilst her heels lifted her ass above it, presenting her neatly trimmed pussy for my inspection.

Her sex was already glistening.

My zipper purred as my best-man drew me out of my trousers, already firm at the sight of what awaited me. I positioned myself, savouring the anticipation,  letting my slave-bride hang in the chains of need.

She screamed as I entered her, a single thrust that was dominance, parting her along the full length of her vagina till it bumped against the firm barrier of her cervix. The murmur of appreciation from the master's side mingled with the mixture of excitement and trepidation from the slave's side.

It was a good day, as I fucked the glorious upraised butt of my newest slave-bride, and I was feeling generous.

I nodded my permission to my brother-the-Lord-Cardinal, and seized my slave-bride's hair, pulling her head back so her throat and full, fuckable lips fell on an axis across the altar.

We hadn't rehearsed this – I hadn't even known I was going to do it. Certainly on most occasions in the past, I hadn't shared – and so my slave-bride gasped in surprise, almost cried out, before the thick rod of my brother-the-Lord-Cardinal slid into her mouth, enforcing silence.

My slave-bride moaned and shivered and shook as best she could, whilst the we fucked her, a pair of freight trains working a single helpless carriage.

For today, she had no orgasm trigger, or rather the simple feeling, the simple knowledge of my length in her was my slave-bride's orgasm trigger.

With my every stroke, she came and came again.

Aside from my breakfast blow-job, and the traditional night before fucking of the slave-bridesmaids which had trailed on until the early hours, I hadn't come yet today.

It took me barely sixteen strokes to waste my sperm inside her. Sixteen strokes during which she had over twenty orgasms.

I glanced at my brother-the-Lord-Cardinal, knowing he had yet to come. His fingers flicked no matter at me, as he pulled his saliva coated cock out of my slave-bride, and slipped it into the organist's welcoming mouth. I hadn't even seen her move to kneel beside him.

Apparently there would be no musical accompaniment to our exit.

I could forgive my brother-the-Lord-Cardinal that.

I peeled my slave-bride from the altar, clipping the leash my son handed me to the ring of her collar.

The near-naked crawl – as befitted her new station – back down the aisle was traditional, but in this case the face of a well-fucked woman told me my slave-bride would probably be unable to walk.

Guests clapped and cheered and threw confetti as we passed. A few of the more eager among the master's side eyed the candy of the slave's side, which responded with varying degrees of excitement to trepidation.

My newest slave-bride on her knees behind me, my next child bulging her belly, her leash held lightly in my hand, I stepped into the blinding light of the future.

The End of The Beginning

By Euanthe

[lisateez]

Shot Glass Wedding

Evie lived in a small town. The graduating class in her high school was only nineteen kids and she was just fine with that.

Of her graduating class, five went off to college and she was sure they wouldn't be coming back. Another five just left and like the first five, no one really expected to see them coming back. Four paired up amongst themselves, one went off to prison and one of them was that kind of boy that no one really wanted.

That left her and Tony and Dave as the only unattached kids from her graduating class but Evie wasn't worried. There was plenty of time, she told herself, for her to find a husband.

Tony and Dave were brothers, twins in fact, and both of them were very competitive. They always had been from the time when Tony at age four had challenged Dave to a milk drinking contest. Dave had won that contest, sort of, and from that moment onwards, the die had been cast and while Evie might have been content with the status quo, Tony and Dave were not. One of them was going to marry her, the brothers figured, and one of them would not, and given their nature, it wasn't all that hard to see how this was going to turn out.

She shouldn't like it, Evie knew. After all, it was prideful to want to have the two brothers competing over her and Pastor Perkins had said that pride was a bad thing but Evie just couldn't help herself. As much as she tried not to, she did like it.

She was also a virgin. That much of what Paster Perkins had said, that much she'd managed to get right. She was saving herself, she told herself. She was saving herself for her wedding night and she was getiing antsy.

Along the way, the two brothers had settled into a series of contests. There was the strongest man contest, and there was the smartest man contest. There was the endurance contest, and the handsomest man contest, and somewhere along the way, the contests had gotten more and more ridiculous, as if having the contest was more important than the prize itself.

Maybe that was where the drinking contest had come from.

It had been Dave's turn to take her to the movies and the couple was just coming out of the theater when they ran into Tony. "You just let me know when you're ready for a real man," Tony had quipped.

"I'm more of a man than you'll ever be," Dave had shot back.

"Yeah, prove it."

"How?"

"I challenge you to a drinking contest."

Evie'd known what was coming even if she hadn't known the exact nature of the contest. It had been fun at first but now it wasn't. Maybe this was what Pastor Perkins meant about pride being sinful. Evie wasn't sure. All she knew was that when the boys got like this, she felt like she wasn't sure she wanted either one of them. Problem was with the limited selection in town, she probably would end up marrying one of them.

"What are the rules," the one brother asked.

"We go over to Max's," Tony said. "We get Max to set us up with a bunch of shots. First one to drink the other one under the table wins."

"I'm game," Dave said. "Come on. Let's go."

"Come on, guys. This is stupid. I'm not some kind of prize that you guys can fight over."

"You stay out of this, Evie," said Tony.

"Yeah," agreed his brother, "you stay out of this. This is between Tony and me."

"Stop it right now," Evie said. "I won't marry either one of you guys."

That usually stopped the two brothers. The two of them looked at one another and then they looked back at Evie and they both laughed. "That's a good one," Tony said.

"Yeah," said Dave. "That's a good one, but be serious. Who else are you going to marry Evie. There's no one else. There's just me or Tony."

"Damn it, guys."

The brothers weren't looking at Evie. They were marching down the street and they were pulling Evie along in their wake. They told the bartender what they wanted. "You just keep them drinks coming, Max," Tony said.

"Yeah and don't you worry about who's paying because in this game, loser pays."

Max looked at the two men and then he looked at his waitress. "Fine. Let's set them up."

"Guys," Evie tried to plead again but it was clear no one was listening to her. Shots were being poured and the waitress was busy moving them to the table where the two young men were sitting. A crowd had started to form and word had started to spread and more people were coming into the place.

"Guys," Evie said again.

"I don't think they're listening to you."

Evie wanted to turn to look at whoever it was who'd spoken but like everyone else in the bar, her attention was on the fiasco that was playing itself out in front of her. The best she could manage was a disgruntled, "Yeah."

"Okay," said Max. "Rules are simple. First one to get up or pass out loses. Any questions?"

Apparently, there weren't.

"Guys," Evie tried one last time but to no avail.

Tony went first. He took the first shot glass, downed the contents, and upended the empty glass on the table. "Your turn," he said.

Dave stared back at his brother and then he took his own glass which he drained before putting it down on the table. "Right back atcha," he said.

The contest was definitely under way and Evie knew bets were being exchanged. That was disgusting, she thought. These people were betting on her life. Hell, the whole thing was disgusting, and yet she couldn't take her eyes away from it. She had to know.

"Disgusting isn't it?"

It was the stranger again and again, Evie found herself incapable of turning around and looking at him. The best she could do was answer as she continued to watch Tony and Dave have their stupid, little contest.

"And yet it's hot, too."

Hot wasn't what Evie would call it and yet, now that the stranger had mentioned it, she had to admit she was feeling a little excited, not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

"I'll bet it makes you hot, too."

It was not making her hot, Evie wanted to say but for some reason, she didn't. For some reason, she just couldn't take her eyes off the contest. The boys were definitely into it now.

"Looks like those boys are starting to feel the effects."

Yeah, Evie wanted to admit. Both of them seemed to be moving a little more deliberately.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say those boys were getting a bit buzzed. What do you think, Evie. Are you getting buzzed?"

"I uh ... huh ... hey, how do you know my name?"

"That's not important, is it? What is important is how hot this is making you."

"How ... how hot it's making me?"

"Sure, you've got to be feeling the buzz."

"The buzz?"

"You know what the buzz is. It's the sexual energy you feel in your tits and your clit."

"My tits and my clit?"

"You can feel it, can't you."

Well sure, Evie thought. Now that he mentioned it, of course she could feel it. She was surprised she hadn't felt it before, but ... hey wait.

"Looks like those boys are getting kind of fuzzy-headed, just like you."

Yeah. No wait. That wasn't right, but it was. The boys were ... the boys were getting ... that was the alcohol ... but why was she, that didn't make any sense.

"The more they drink, the more you feel the effects."

The more ... the more what?

"Kind of liberating, isn't it, the loss of control."

No, Evie thought. No, that wasn't right. She wasn't losing control. It was them. It was the boys. It was them who was out of control.

Wasn't it?

"Kind of hard to think, isn't it."

It was ... was what ... Evie knew there was something she should be saying, but it was kind of hard to think.

"Those boys are getting a bit sloshed, aren't they?"

Evie was happy for the opportunity to return her attention to the contest in front of her. She wasn't sure why she'd been thinking what she'd been thinking but then it was getting so hard to think. It was better to think about the contest and not think about ... about how fuzzy-headed she felt.

"The more they drink, the wetter you get."

Huh? That didn't make any sense.

"I'll bet your pussy is already very wet, isn't it."

Why hadn't she realized that before, Evie thought. Why hadn't she realized how wet she was getting.

"I'll bet your pussy's so wet, you'd probably squish if you walked."

Evie wasn't sure about that but she knew she was wet. She could feel it. She wanted to shake her head to try and clear it of the thoughts she was having but somehow, she knew that wasn't going to work.

"Kind of dangerous, isn't it."

Dangerous, Evie thought. Dangerous? What was dangerous?

"Kind of dangerous having a wet, little pussy and fuzzy, little mind. Dangerous ... and exciting, too."

Oh. Well yeah, when it was put that way, Evie thought. Yeah, it was dangerous ... and exciting, too.

"I'd bet you'd do just about anything to get a cock inside you, wouldn't you?"

Yeah, no wait. That wasn't right. She was a good girl. She wasn't like that.

"I'll bet you'd do just about anything to get a cock inside you."

Evie whimpered to herself. She wasn't ... no wait, she was ... she was a good girl. That's what she was. She was a good girl with a wet pussy. She was a good girl who needed to get ... to get--

No wait. She was a good girl.

"I'll bet you want to get fucked."

Evie gasped. She didn't use words like that. It wasn't ... it wasn't ladylike. She knew what the word meant though and now that it was rolling around in her head, she was finding it hard to get rid of it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The more she thought of it, the more she wanted it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The stranger leaned in close. She could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear. "Do you want to fuck," he asked.

Her pussy was so wet. Oh geez, she wanted to ...

No wait. What the heck was she thinking of she was a good girl. She ... she didn't do things like that. She had to ... to ... to what ... oh yeah ... she had to wait until she got married.

"I've got a marriage certificate right here."

What? He had a what?

"I've got a marriage certificate right here and I know an all night justice of the peace so if you want to fuck--"

Of course she wanted to fuck. She wanted it so bad, but shouldn't she tell someone where she was going?

"No time," the man said. "Look at them. They're almost passed out. You don't want to pass out, do you?"

Evie looked at Tony and Dave. Their heads were nodding. No, she didn't want to be like them. She didn't want to pass out. She wanted to fuck.

"We should go then."

But won't someone see us go, Evie wondered.

"No one will see us go," the man said, "but we should go now."

We should go ... wait. It was Evie's last reserves of resistance. Now, she wondered. Why should they go now.

"We should go now."

Of course, Evie thought. They should go now, but wouldn't someone see us leave.

"No one will see us leave but we should go now."

Of course, Evie thought. They should go now.

Her mind seemed to clear a little once they were out of the bar. Some of the fuzzy-mindedness disappeared but the desire to fuck remained and that just left Evie with an ever growing conviction that what she was doing was the right thing.

Evie wasn't sure where they were going or even what town they were in which would have been a surprise to her because she usually had a pretty good sense of direction but every time she tried to clear her head, every time she tried to get herself to focus, each and every time she ended up thinking about just how wet her pussy was and just how much she really did need to be fucked. Her pussy really was wet and she probably did slosh when she walked, but it would serve her right for waiting this long to get herself fucked.

Evie heard gravel crunch under the car's wheels as the stranger pulled the car off the roadway. "We're here," he said. "I'll only be a minute so don't play with yourself while I'm gone."

She wasn't going to play with herself, Evie wanted to tell the man but before she could do it, he was gone.

Evie wasn't going to play with herself. She wasn't that kind of girl only now that the thought was in her mind, she was finding it hard to think of anything else. After all, her pussy was so wet and it needed attention so very bad. Really, what would it hurt if she ...

No, she told herself. No, she wasn't supposed to do that. She wasn't supposed to do that.

Why? Because he told her not to. Who the hell was he to tell her not to play with herself. Didn't he know how horny she was?

Maybe just a little something. Maybe pull her dress up and pull her panties to one side. Who'd know if she played with herself just a little.

But she didn't do it. The man said no. That thought kept going through her head. The man said no.

She was sat in the car that way going back and forth between playing with herself and not playing with herself and she was still sitting there when the man returned with an older gentleman in tow. "Have you been a good, little girl," asked the man who'd driven her here.

Evie wanted to tell the man to go to hell. She wanted to tell the man that she'd ripped her panties off and that she'd been playing with herself from the moment he'd left her. She wanted to tell him that some strangers had come by and that she'd let them fuck her, too.

That was what she wanted to tell the man but that wasn't what she said. She looked up at him and said, "I've been a good, little girl."

The man smiled. "That's good to hear," he said and yet Evie was sure that the man already knew.

The older man was peering in at her. "I understand the two of you want to get married," the man said.

"That's right," the other man said. "We want to get married."

"I'm sorry but I have to hear it from her."

That was it, Evie thought. That was it. All she had to do was say no.

"Well," asked the older man.

Evie was about to answer when she felt her pussy again. No, she wanted to say, but she needed to fuck. Oh geez, there was that word again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She needed to get married. She needed someone, anyone, to take care of her pussy.

"Well," the older man asked again.

"I want to get married," Evie said. "I want to get married. I want it so bad. I want it now."

"Well," asked the other man.

"Works for me," the older man said. "If you'd step out of the car, Miss."

Evie stepped out of the car and she knew what was about to happen. This man was a Justice of the Peace. She was about to be married.

It wasn't much of a ceremony and Evie had the idea it might have been a bit rushed. Maybe the man needed to get back to bed or something but it was over in no time at all and then the old man said, "I now pronounce you man and wife. All right now, get outta here, okay," and with that, the old man walked back to his house.

It was so anticlimactic, Evie thought. It was over and done with. Was that all there was to it?

Her new husband got into the car and he started the engine. "Where are we going," Evie asked.

The man put the car in gear and pulled out onto the roadway before he gave Evie his answer. "We're going to go somewhere where we can get you good and fucked."

There it was again. That word. Fucked. They were going to take her somewhere where could get fucked. She couldn't help herself. She knew she wanted it. She wanted to be good and fucked. She wanted to fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was the only thing that kept going through her mind. She had no idea where they were going and she didn't care where it was. All she knew was she wanted to fuck, fuck, fuck. She couldn't seem to think of anything else.

They arrived at a big house. The lights were on and that might have struck Evie as strange if she'd been in any sort of condition to think these things but she wasn't.

The man led her up some stairs and then he led her into a big bedroom. "Now," he said, "we fuck."

Evie had already figured that out but what she was having trouble with was remembering how to get out of her dress. It seemed as if her whole mind was consumed with just one thing and that left her no more room for thinking about anything else like how to get herself out of her clothes.

The man ... her husband ... she couldn't even recall his name ... she wondered if she'd ever even heard it ... whoever he was, he seemed to sense her dilemma. He stepped up to her and unzipped the dress and then he pulled it off her shoulders. His hands lingered briefly about her breasts and then her bra was coming off, too.

Evie sighed in relief. She was glad she wasn't wearing that anymore but she was still overdressed.

But that was easily remedied. Already the man, her husband, she was going to have to learn his name Evie told herself, already he was pulling at her panties and then finally, she was naked.

The man pushed her to her knees. "Time for you to show off what you can do."

Evie was confused. She'd thought he was going to fuck her. That was what husbands did, wasn't it? They fucked their wives and she'd been waiting for this for ... for ... she couldn't remember how long, but she'd been waiting for this for so long.

But the man didn't seem to have any interest in sliding his cock between her legs. He seemed to want to press his cock against Evie's lips. "Suck it," he told her. "Suck my cock."

He wanted her to suck his cock. Evie hadn't even known that girls could do that. Well okay, maybe she'd heard something, but she'd never been privy to any of the details and she'd never thought she'd be called upon to do it but in that instant and with those words ringing in her ears, she found out just how easy it was to suck a cock.

In fact, it wasn't hard at all.

In fact, she kind of liked it and she especially liked the way it made her new husband moan.

She made a note to herself. She really was going to have to find out what his name was.

"I'll bet you really want to get your pussy fucked, don't you," the man asked.

There it was again. That word. Fuck. Her pussy just resonated with it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She knew what she had to do. She had to fuck.

"What do you want to do," the man asked.

The answer to that was obvious. Her pussy was so wet and she'd waited so long. "I need to fuck," she said. "I need to fuck."

"Well, if that's what you need, then I think you're in the wrong position. You need to be up on the bed offering your pussy to me."

Yes, of course, Evie thought. She was in the wrong position. She needed to be up on the bed. She needed to be up where he could use her pussy as he saw fit.

"Well," the man asked.

It took Evie a couple of seconds to realize that she was free to get up off her knees. She wasn't even sure why she'd felt compelled to be on her knees when she knew what she really needed was to offer up her pussy to this man.

She was about to lay back on the bed and spread her legs for the man when he stopped her. "Other way," was all he said.

That was all he said and yet Evie knew what he meant. He wanted her to turn around. He wanted to fuck her from behind and of course, as soon as she knew that, Evie just felt so honored. Of course that was the way she wanted to be fucked. She'd always wanted to be fucked from behind. That she'd never had that thought before never even occurred to her. It was just a de facto fact. It was something that could not be disputed and so Evie didn't dispute it. She just turned around and waited for the cock that she knew would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Evie could feel the man coming up behind her and she could feel his hand on her ass. "You know your friends were idiots, don't you?"

It was hardly what Evie had expected the man to say but then she really hadn't expected him to say much of anything. She wriggled her ass back at the man. The only conversation she cared about was at the tip of his dick.

"Your friends in the bar," the man said again, "the ones in the contest, you know they're idiots."

Fine. They were idiots. Come on. Get on with it. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.

"They didn't understand you at all. It was never about the shots. It was always about the glass."

Evie didn't get that but then really, she wasn't really trying to get it. She was trying to get herself fucked.

"It was never about the shot. It was always about the glass. You are the shot glass."

In spite of herself, Evie couldn't help but wondering just what the heck the man was talking about. Fortunately for her, he was about to explain.

"You are the shot glass," the man said again. "You are the shot glass. Your whole purpose in life is to be filled up, then used and then to be filled up again so you can be used all over again."

That actually made sense. Filled and used. Filled and used. Yeah, that was what she needed. She needed to be filled and used. She needed to be filled. She needed to be used. She needed to be filled.

She gasped as she felt that cock shove its way deep inside her wet, little pussy. She felt so full.

She needed to be used.

Evie gasped as she felt that cock being pulled back only to gasp again as she felt it being pushed inside her. Then back again. Then deep inside. She moaned again. It felt so good. It felt so good to be used.

The man had his hands on her hips and he was moving in and out of her. It felt good. It felt really good. It felt good to be used.

She couldn't help but moan as she felt that cock take her again and again and again. She couldn't believe she'd waited this long. She loved being used. She really was the shot glass. She really did exist to be filled and used and ...

She needed to be filled again.

She could feel that cock moving in and out of her again and again and again but now it wasn't enough. Oh sure, it felt great, but it wasn't enough. She needed more.

She needed to be filled again.

The man, her husband she had to correct herself, he was starting to groan. Evie almost thought she knew what the man was feeling. After all, what his cock was doing to her pussy was more than enough to make her moan, too.

She almost came. Almost but not quite, but there was still that cock moving between her legs. She knew what she needed. She needed to cum, but more than that, she needed him to fill her up.

The man groaned and this time, she felt it, the swell of his cock in her tight, little pussy and then the surge of his cock and Evie couldn't help herself. She felt herself cum even as her husband started to cum in her. This was what she needed, she told herself. This was what she needed. She groaned again as she felt more cum surge inside her. This was what she needed, to be filled and used, and then to be filled again and then ...

Oh geez. She knew what she needed. She'd just gotten filled again and already she could feel it. She knew what she needed. She really did need to get used again. She couldn't believe it but her husband was right. She really was the shot glass and she couldn't wait until he used her again.

[badpenny]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Ryan's already at Mazzio's, blue silk tie loosened, top button of his shirt undone. He's nursing something -- whiskey, a label with bite knowing Ryan's tastes -- and Kurt stops and watches him for a moment under the guise of shrugging out of his raincoat. Kid's got talent, brains, and the classic clean-cut look that goes over well with the public at large. He'll go places. Kurt's determined to make sure it's under his tutelage.

Kurt takes the stool next to him. "That's one more satisfied client for Graham and Stowell. Nobody figured you'd get Barlow off."

Ryan shrugs and downs the last of his drink. "DA's shit luck that the cops on the case had a vendetta."

"That the truth, or did you just play it that way?"

"Weren't you there for Detective Tucchi's testimony?"

Kurt smiles. "Yeah. Your cross was a work of art. Almost as good as your closing."

Ryan holds up his glass, motions to the bartender that he wants another, and Kurt signals to make it two. "Boss is really impressed with your performance," he says when their drinks come, clinking his glass against Ryan's. "You got the talent to make partner, kid."

"Yeah, well..."

"Don't give me that. You've got the drive, too." Kurt fingers his glass. "You just need the right accessories."

"Don't get started on Caitlyn again. It's getting old."

"Law's still a conservative profession. You need a wife to go places. Especially if you're eyeing the jump into politics."

"Any jump like that is years away."

"Plenty of time to find someone more compatible, eh?"

Ryan bristles. "Caitlyn's plenty compatible."

"That 'marriage is a misogynic and oppressive institution' shit is cute when a girl's taking a woman's studies course in college, but it's a liability to you now."

Ryan purses his lips. Kurt can almost hear the potential retorts -- Caitlyn's never taken a women's studies course, maybe she has a point, it's none of your fucking business -- but Ryan's got a good head, knows not to fight just for the sake of fighting. He really will go places.

Kurt rises. "It's time I talk to her for you."

"That's not necessary."

"I wasn't asking for your permission, kid." He leaves more than enough to cover their drinks. "Have another round or two on me." Then, just to be safe, delivers a Command. "Don't come home until the bar closes."

* * *

Kurt can understand why Ryan keeps Caitlyn around. She's a cute little button of a girl, slim and tone and blonde with high cheeks, and lively blue eyes. A perfect woman, at least until she opens her mouth.

Kurt knocks on the door of Ryan's apartment. Ten pm. Plenty of time to have his little chat with Caitlyn.

She answers the door in faded jeans and an old UW t-shirt. She frowns when she sees it's him. Kurt smiles and looms a little. Sometimes, it's too much fun looking like a thug. Even in a suit, he never looks respectable.

"Evening, Caitlyn."

"Ryan's not here." She moves to shut the door. "I'll tell him you stopped by, though. Something for work?"

He blocks the door. "Sort of. Verdict came back on the Barlow case."

"I heard," she says, her frown deepening, and she forces the door hard enough that Kurt has to put his shoulder into it to hold his ground.

"He's a little worried someone from Lister's family might be a little upset with the verdict, maybe take it out on some hotshot lawyer's pretty little girlfriend."

"He would have told me --" she's got her whole weight behind the door now, and damn if she isn't stronger than she looks -- "if he thought that."

"All right. I think it. I've been around longer, know how these people can get. So be nice and let me in."

"I'd feel safer with one of Lister's friends."

Cracking his knuckles is a little much, but Kurt can't resist. It makes Caitlyn squeak and draw back just for an instant, but it's enough to let him shoulder his way inside. "Be reasonable," he Commands, and Caitlyn steps back.

"I...I don't want you here."

Kurt shrugs and kicks the door shut, then leans against it with his arms crossed over his chest. "It's just until Ryan gets back."

She's clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides, like she wants to lash out at him but can't quite work up the nerve. It's the Command, he realizes. Yes, he's forced his way inside, but he's apparently doing it out of concern, so it's not really reasonable to kick him out. Especially if he's right, and someone friendly with Lister wants revenge.

It's bullshit. Lister's crew is civilized enough to take their frustrations out on Barlow, not the hired help. But a cute little thing like Caitlyn -- brought up on TV crime dramas -- doesn't know that.

"So," Kurt says, not quite leering but letting her know he likes what he sees, "when's the wedding?"

Her cheeks flush. "What do you mean?"

"It's been a few years. You're a cute couple. When's the wedding?"

"That's none of your business."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "You're still on that 'evils of the patriarchy' shit? Please. Marriage has evolved over the years."

"Says the person with white male privilege." Her flush spreads, deepens.

He laughs. "Most girls outgrow that shrill feminist phase about two days after their last women's studies course."

She opens her mouth to retort, but Kurt keeps going. "You know why, sweetheart? It's because they step into the real world, see that those classes are full of shit. The paranoid propaganda of bitter, dried-up cunts."

She's shaking now. "Get out!"

He's almost got her head where it needs to be for this conversation to stick. "Funny thing is, Ryan says you never took a women's studies course. So I wonder how those cunts got to you? Roommate perhaps? She get some of those lesbian separatists ideas in her head?" He does leer now. "Convince you to experiment?"

"Out!"

"Bet it was fun, but there's nothing like a nice big cock filling you, eh?"

"I said out!"

He's got her where she needs to be now. Still, he has to be careful, has to phrase his Commands just right. If they're not something some part of her wants -- conscious or subconscious -- they won't stick. "Now be reasonable, sweetheart."

She takes a deep, shaky breath. "I think it's time for you to leave."

"See, now that's the dangerous thing. Think too hard, and you see conspiracies in everything. And if you don't run those thoughts by someone --"

"Better to let the big strong men think for me?" She glares at him.

He repeats the Command. "Be reasonable." He uncrosses his arms and rolls his shoulders. "You think Ryan's a smart guy, right?"

She nods, her eyes still narrowed.

"You ever ask what he thinks of marriage?"

"His opinion comes from a privileged position."

"Yeah? You got girlfriends who are married? Engaged?"

Another nod, hesitant, and her glare deepens.

"They think they're being oppressed?"

She clenches her teeth.

"Ryan ever tell you he wants to go into politics? You know, in five, ten years. He'd do some good there, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"Sad thing about politics is that it's all about appearance. How do you think Ryan'll look living in sin with some crazy anti-marriage feminist? Think anyone'll take him seriously?"

She goes snake-still. "You want me to leave him?"

Yes, he has her exactly where he needs her. "I want you to be reasonable."

"Reasonable?"

"Yeah. Two of you are college sweethearts. Been together for years. Both in stable jobs now. What's the next step?"

She closes her eyes, looks defeated. "Marriage."

"Aw, come on, sweetheart. Be happy about it. Ryan's a good catch. You wouldn't be with him otherwise, right?"

That cheers her up a bit. "Right."

"And if he didn't respect you, he wouldn't be with you."

"Right!"

"So be reasonable." He struggles to keep a straight face. "Getting married would be an expression of your mutual love."

"R-right."

"So what's the problem, sweetheart?"

"Marriage is an oppressive --"

"No, sweetheart. Your problem. Not the cunt party line."

"I..."

"You don't really have a problem, do you? You grabbed that ill-informed opinion way back, and now you've shoved yourself into a corner."

"N-no. I...I really do think that. I think."

He clucks his tongue. "You think? Maybe it is better if you let the big strong men think for you."

Her breath catches, a quick, almost inaudible inhale, and Kurt straightens up. It hadn't been a Command, but judging by that reaction, it could have been. All right, then. "You'd like that."

She squeezes her eyes shut, her expression full of self-loathing, and nods slowly.

"What do you say, sweetheart? Think I'm a big strong man?"

"You're a pig."

"Wasn't the question."

She trembles, hands clenched tight at her sides. "Yes! You're awful and vile and horrible, but you're definitely big and strong."

"And you wouldn't mind me setting you straight."

She doesn't answer. No matter. He knows how she works now, knows what Commands will work. And damn if rage and self-loathing doesn't look good on her. There's still plenty of time before Ryan's due to come home. Kurt hadn't planned on fucking cute little Caitlyn, but he's not above taking advantage of the opportunity.

He crosses the room and settles on the couch, spreading his legs wide. "C'mere, sweetheart. I'm going to let you suck my cock while I tell you your five-year plan."

She obeys.

* * *

The wedding is a lavish affair. Caitlyn dances through all the preparations, determined to make everything perfect. Ryan's the one with the jitters.

"She's a totally different person," he says, fumbling with his tie.

Kurt's lost count of the number of times Ryan's said that. "She just realized it was time to grow up. Step into the real world."

"No. She really is different."

"You complaining?"

"Um. No." Ryan actually blushes. "I like getting head."

"Heh. Let me. You're fucking that up." Kurt gestures at Ryan's tie.

"Wow. You're doing something kinda girly."

Kurt finishes straightening the tie. "Figure it's one of the duties of the Best Man." He tucks a blue silk handkerchief in Ryan's breast pocket. "There. Something blue."

"I think that's a tradition for the bride."

"Just tell Caitlyn it's your way of subverting tradition."

Ryan laughs. "I don't think I want to risk her wrath. This wedding must be perfect. She's got everything planned, even down to your toast at the reception."

Kurt pats his breast pocket. "I'll never live down reading this sappy tripe. You know I'm going to improvise."

"It's your funeral."

There's a knock at the door. "And it's your wedding. Showtime, kid."

[badpenny]

Um. So this was my first story for the contest, but I didn't think it would be a good fit. But reading over some of the other stories made me realize I was being silly. So I'm back.

I do want to warn up-front for actual father/daughter incest, not roleplay.

Scraps

Start

June 29, 2008
Woman abducted on morning of wedding
-- Jan Trudy, Times-Herald Staff Reporter

It was supposed to be a fairy tale wedding. Grace O'Connor was set to marry her childhood sweetheart, Mike Simpson, at the church they both attended as children. In an area where most people drop out of high school, Grace and Mike pushed each other to not only graduate high school, but also to go on to college, and then graduate school. Earlier this month, Grace received her Ph.D. in Robotics from MIT and Mike his Ph.D. in Bioethics and Health Policy from Johns Hopkins. Both took positions at local cybernetics research company, Atley.

The couple moved back to their old neighborhood. Even in the midst of wedding preparations, both took time to volunteer in their community. Grace had just started up a robotics club at her former high school, St. Catherine of Alexandria, to get students interested in science. Local residents adore the couple. "There's something special about Grace and Mike," Father John Mallory, the couple's priest said. "They both inspire you to do more with your life. We're all praying for Grace's safe return."

At approximately 2:30 in the morning, witnesses claim to have seen a Caucasian male between 5'5" and 6'0" force a struggling Grace O'Connor into the trunk of a 4-door sedan. The police responding to the incident found signs of forced entry and a struggle inside the couple's apartment.

When Mike Simpson returned from picking up the last of his groomsmen from the airport at 3am, he found the police on scene, his bride-to-be gone. He has refused to comment. Friends close to the family say Mike is devastated.

A police spokeswoman, Judy Finch, says they are investigating a number of leads and hope to find Grace O'Connor soon. Father Mallory says he'll be ready to perform the wedding --

Twenty-six years. His Gracie doesn't remember him. Her bitch mother had erased him from their lives, destroyed the pictures, burned his letters. Everything. And now his baby, his angel, is afraid of him.

"Please." She's crying, eyes red, and oh, that hurts! She should know him. Love him. He shouldn't have had to force his way to her, drag her away just so he could talk to her. "I don't have much money, but I'll give you what I have. Please! I'm supposed to get married in a few hours."

He pets her hair, so soft, just like he remembers. It's a little darker now, not quite the same flame red. Still pretty, though. "Who's going to walk you down the aisle? Your father?"

She shakes her head. "He's dead. A fire."

So her mother lied. If she weren't dead, he'd kill her. Slow. Painful. Make her scream and suffer. Fire's his specialty, but he's good with a knife, too...

Ah, no, his temper. He has to watch it. Can't frighten Gracie any more than he already has. "I'm your father, baby."

Her eyes go saucer-wide. "No. No! You can't be. Mom said...you're dead!"

Temper. Has to watch his temper. He closes his eyes, counts to ten, but the rage's still there. And Gracie, his Gracie. Three years old, cutest little thing he's ever seen, smiling nova-bright and reaching for him. "Daddy!"

He's lost that, lost everything, because that bitch turned on him. Acted like he hadn't done it for her. For Gracie. He wants his baby back. Wants to see her grow up.

That's when the miracle happens. When he opens his eyes, it's his Gracie in the chair. Three years old, cutest thing he's ever seen, smiling nova-bright and holding her arms out to him, chubby little fingers wiggling. "Daddy's home!"

He smiles, and all the rage is gone. Popped like a bubble. "Yeah, baby. I'm home."

June 28, 2010
Bride-to-be still missing
-- Jan Trudy, Times-Herald Staff Reporter

Two years ago, Grace O'Connor was abducted on her wedding day. Her dress still hangs in its wrapping in the apartment she shared with her husband-to-be, Mike Simpson. The couple's wedding rings still sit in their matching boxes. And Mike Simpson is still waiting for his bride.

"There's nobody else," he says. He wears a thin silver band on his left ring finger, a promise, he says, that he'll wait for news about Grace before moving on. "On the bad days, I think she's dead, but then I think I'd feel that. It'd hurt a lot more."

Mike has been cleared as a suspect in Grace's disappearance. Her case is still open, but police have no new leads. The car used to abduct her was found torched under the Sixth Street Bridge, the wreckage reminiscent of Richard "Flame" O'Connor's handiwork.

Richard O'Connor, Grace's father, was convicted of thirteen counts of first-degree murder in 1982. He was murdered in prison on June 27, 2008. Police are baffled by the car. Did Grace's abductor purposively copy her father, or is it a coincidence?

Anyone with any information is encouraged to come forward. A reward of --

It's a small apartment. Dingy. Faucet in the bathroom leaks, but it's all he can afford after tuition at Our Lady of Mercy. Kindergarten. His baby's starting kindergarten in September. And he gets to see her off.

Gracie stirs in her bed, blinks up at him. "Daddy?"

"Morning, sleepyhead." He smiles and reaches down to ruffle her hair. "How do pancakes sound?"

"Bananas in them?"

"Of course."

"Yummy!"

He tickles her tummy. She shrieks and laughs, and oh, he'll never get tired of that sound. "Then you need to get up. Unless you want to leave me unsupervised in the kitchen."

She giggles. "No way. You'll burn them!"

"All right then." He lifts her up. She's growing up, getting heavy. "Go brush your teeth."

She skips down the hall. Richard rubs his face. Even after two years, he can't believe his fortune. Papers say he's dead, that one of Cornell's boys stabbed him forty-six times in the exercise yard. But he's here, real flesh and blood, and he's gotten his Gracie back, gets to raise her right.

Gets to raise her right in a new city. He's not stupid. As tempting as it is to stay in Shelton, they'd be found. How would he explain his resurrection? Gracie's regression? They're both miracles, but saying that won't cut it.

No. Better to start fresh. Besides, it's easier to get honest work in a place where he doesn't know the Families. Collecting trash isn't glamorous, but it's steady work. Decent pay. He can afford Gracie's tuition, keep a roof over their head, put food on the table, and that's all that matters.

Yeah. He's got it good now. No way he'll ruin it.

September 21, 2018
Missing woman's case still baffles police
-- Jan Trudy, Times-Herald Staff Reporter

It's been over ten years since anyone has seen Grace O'Connor, but her presence is still felt in her community. The robotics club she started at St. Catherine of Alexandria still bears her name, and her fiancé, Mike Simpson, still volunteers at the school and church. He still hopes to be reunited with his childhood sweetheart and finally --

Thirteen's a frightening age for a father. Richard remembers being fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, remembers watching the young little things at St. Catherine of Alexandria's. He sees the same kind of boys at Our Lady of Mercy, sees the way they look at his Gracie.

She's a pretty little thing, still a little coltish, but it's obvious she's going to be a beautiful girl. When he closes his eyes, sometimes he can see her old face, the one before the miracle, tear-streaked but still achingly beautiful. No way he's going to let some skulking little punk lay a hand on his baby.

Gracie peels herself away from her group of friends, her face pink and freshly scrubbed. Richard frowns as he leans over to unlock the passenger door. Her friends all wear make-up, heavy eye shadow and lip-gloss that they think make them look older. Sixteen, at least, he's overheard them saying.

And they're right. The most developed of the girls do look sixteen. He doesn't let Gracie wear makeup, but he knows she sneaks it on at school. Gracie's his angel, but he knows how kids work. They test their limits, sneak around behind their parents' backs. It's part of the reason why he picks her up every day.

"Hi, Daddy!" She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. Then she turns to wave to her friends as she buckles herself in.

"How was field hockey?"

"I really like the coach."

That's good. She'll stick with the team, then. The more sports he can get her into, the less he has to worry about her getting in trouble. Field hockey in the fall, basketball in the winter, soccer in the spring. All that leaves is summer, and for the past few years, Gracie's enjoyed being on the local pool's summer league team.

"How does pizza sound tonight?" he asks.

She pulls a face. "Too many calories, Daddy."

He sighs. Thirteen's too young to be worrying about calories. "Fine. You can have salad. I'm having extra pepperoni."

"That's mean."

"I'll save you a slice in case you cave."

"That's really mean."

He laughs and issues what has to be his fifty-millionth prayer for his good fortune.

May 23, 2023
Focus on four cold cases
-- Jan Trudy, Times-Herald Staff Reporter

#4. Grace O'Connor
Abducted on June 28, 2008. Despite a $500,000 reward for information leading to her whereabouts, police have received no new leads in ten years. Grace was hours away from marrying her childhood friend, Mike Simpson, when she was taken from the apartment they shared. Mike had left to pick up a groomsman flying in from New York.

The couple would be celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary this year. Mike Simpson likes to believe --

Gracie is beautiful in her prom dress, a simple, elegant gown in forest green. Richard's not too fond of her date. He's asked around, and the boy, Tommy, has a bit of a reputation. Nothing too bad. Richard was worse at the boy's age, and he knows he's overreacting because Gracie's his baby. That knowledge doesn't help him sleep. So he waits up.

He's long since given up on reading the papers. Too nervous. He gets the New York Times for Gracie in addition to the local paper. He never really reads them, but Gracie devours them.

The TV's not enough of a distraction, either. He's pacing the apartment, sitting on the couch drumming his fingers on the knees, pacing some more, sitting. He's definitely overreacting. Gracie's a good girl, and that Tommy boy isn't that bad. Besides, they're out with a group, and Gracie knows better than to break curfew.

One o'clock. She's late. No. There's the scrape of her key in the lock. She's exactly on time. Richard leaps for the couch, reaches blindly for the paper.

"I'm back!" Her footsteps are quiet in the hall. She steps into the living room, high heels in one hand, a prize bag from the prom in the other.

He looks up. "So soon?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please. Like you weren't watching the clock."

"Hadn't been paying attention."

"Mmmmhmmm. The Style section, Daddy?"

He looks down, has to laugh. "At least it's right side up."

She flops down on the couch next to him. "It was fun, and Tommy only tried reaching down my dress once. I slapped him, so you don't need to do the overprotective dad thing, okay?"

"I'll hold back the rage this once."

She laughs and leans against him, curling her feet up under her. "What was your prom like?"

He sets the paper aside and wraps an arm around her. "I don't remember."

"How can you not remember your prom?"

"You get drunk and pass out."

"Classy, Daddy."

"I wasn't classy until I had you, baby."

"Did you go with mom?"

"Yeah." His fingers tighten on her shoulder. "I remember that much."

"You ever think about her?"

He hasn't felt the rage for a long time now. Almost fifteen years. It's rather frightening how fast it comes on. Temper. He has to watch his temper, or he'll scare Gracie. "I try not to. Too many bad emotions. They take away from focusing on you."

She shifts, pulls away, and he thinks he has frightened her, dug his fingers in a little too deep on her shoulder maybe. But then she's in his lap, and he can smell her sweat and perfume, and then her fingers twine into the hair at the back of his neck and she's kissing him.

His baby. His Gracie. She's kissing him. She wants him.

She tastes divine, and Richard thinks this has to be a miracle, too.

June 28, 2033
Letter to the Editor: Statistics aren't stories

I miss Jan Trudy working the crime beat. At least she understood there are real people behind the crimes. Has the Shelton Times-Herald forgotten the awards she's won, the prestige she brought to the paper? Her replacement seems to think quoting a police officer and throwing out a few statistics makes a complete story. What about the victim's family, friends, and neighbors? What about the alleged perpetrator's? I'm appalled by Dan Willard's concept of reporting.

Jan Trudy had files for every day of the year. She kept abreast of new crimes and reminded the public of unsolved crimes, and most importantly, she reminded us that there are still people grieving, hoping, and praying for the missing and the dead. Were she still on the beat, I'm sure she'd be mentioning at least one of these cases:
* On June 27, 2004, Kelly Conklin was killed in a drive-by shooting outside of Finnegan's Pub. His killer(s) remain at large.
* One June 28, 2008, Grace O'Connor was abducted from her apartment hours before her wedding. Her case remains open.
* On June 29, 2019, Mark Orsen was found in his car in the parking lot of Dorrie Park with his throat slit. His killer(s) remain at large.

-- John Mallory

Gracie arches up into the thrusts, her breath ragged, face flushed. Richard can't believe she's still with him, that she wants him. When he got his second chance with her, he figured he'd watch her grow up and have to let her go, and yeah, it would hurt, but that's what fathers do.

But Gracie keeps coming back to him. First after college, then after graduate school. He should be worried. She's followed the same path, gotten the same degrees, even got a job offer at her old place, Atley.

It's good pay. Good benefits. She wants him to move to Shelton with her. He's tempted. Twenty-six years. Who's going to remember her?

"Harder." She shifts, slides her leg up along his, hooks it over his hip. "Please, Daddy?" She rolls her shoulders back so her breasts, firm and sweat-slicked, press against his chest.

"Close, baby. So close." He nips at her neck, swirls his tongue around her pulse point.

She moans and pulls him closer. "Please, Daddy," she pleads, straining under him, and then he's there pushing deep, as she clenches around him.

She holds him there when she's done, fingers iron-hard on his ass. "Stay inside me. Please."

"Anything for you, baby." He shifts so she doesn't have to bear his weight, then traces the swell of her breast.

He knows better than to question his good fortune. Knows better than to feel guilty, too. Gracie chose him. If it were really a sin, he wouldn't have been given this miracle.

He'll go back to Shelton with her. Twenty-six years. Who's going to remember them?

April 21, 2034
Bizarre break in missing person's case
-- Dan Willard, Times-Herald Staff Reporter

Grace O'Connor was 29 years old when she was abducted in 2008. Authorities believe Gracie Dickson, age 29, may be the same woman. They are waiting for a second DNA test to come back from the FBI's crime lab.

Police have confirmed that Gracie Dickson's birth certificate is a near-flawless forgery, and they confirm they have a suspect in Grace O'Connor's abduction in custody. The suspect's name is not being released, but confidential sources say the suspect's fingerprints came back as match for Richard "Flame" O'Connor, Grace's father. O'Connor was allegedly killed in prison a day before Grace's abduction in 2008.

Grace's fiancé, Mike Simpson was unavailable for comment at --

He hates having to talk to Gracie through the glass. Her eyes are red, like she's been crying, and the sight of her like that is worse than a knife to the gut. She's grown into the same woman he took all those years before. Well, almost the same woman. His Gracie's face is a little fuller, the curve of her hips softer, more feminine.

"It is true?" she asks.

He reaches out, puts his palm to the glass. "You're my baby."

There's a quick flare of anger in her eyes. "Is it true?"

He closes his eyes. "Yeah, baby." No, he has to meet her eyes for this. "It's true."

"How?"

He lets his hand fall, shrugs. "A miracle."

"There's no such thing."

"I was stabbed forty-six times, baby. I stopped feeling it after twenty or twenty-one. One of those went through my heart. Killed me. But then I was at your door, and you didn't know me, and I got mad. Took you away. Wished that I could have that time back. And then I had it."

She blinks, but it's not enough to stop the tears. "I was supposed to get married. His name is Mike Simpson. He says we grew up together."

"I know."

"He waited for me, Daddy. All this time. And now I don't remember him."

He should feel sorry. And maybe a part of him does, but he can't regret getting his Gracie back.

"If you love me, Daddy, then wish those memories back. What you did...it's not fair to him."

His vision's blurry. She rises and leaves, and only then does he realize he's crying.

June 29, 2034
A happy ending 26 years later
-- Jan Trudy, Times-Herald Staff Guest Reporter

The day was supposed to come 26 years ago, but you don't hear Mike Simpson and Grace O'Connor complaining. They're married now, and they are a gloriously happy couple.

Investigators are still unraveling the bizarre facts surrounding Grace's abduction. Grace herself is under orders not to discuss too many details of the past 26 years with reporters. "I don't want to sound snippy, but really, the only people who need to know anything are the investigators." She smiles and links her arm through Mike's. "And Mike. I've told him everything I remember."

Grace O'Connor looks like a young woman in her mid- to late-twenties. Mike Simpson is 55, a very distinguished 55. He can pass as her father, at least until he looks at her, and then it's very obvious he's a man madly in love.

The couple plans to honeymoon in --

End

[Jukebox]

"Here Comes the Bride"

"Mother, I know you're--" Geneva could hear Addy's plaintive tones a full twenty feet down the hallway as she pushed the wire frame towards the dressing room. "Yes, but--" She sounded miserable, desperate, put-upon, and in general, like a bride on her wedding day. "I know you don't--" Geneva smiled a tiny smile, making sure to wipe it off her face before entering the room. Addy was right where Geneva wanted her, and the wonderful thing about it all was that Geneva didn't have to do a thing. Geneva never had to work to make sure the bride was stressed out and miserable. In fact, her entire profession rested on doing the exact opposite, and yet the reaction when she walked into the room was always--

"Oh, thank God!" Addy said as she saw Geneva walk in with the wedding gown. She promptly blushed, the red spreading past her cheeks all the way up into her forehead. "Sorry, Mother," she said into her cellphone. "I didn't mean to swear, I just--" Geneva gave her a tiny wave, and got an exhausted, pleading look in reply. "Geneva's here, Mother, I have to go. No, I really have to. We're putting on my wedding dress. Just--Mother, just try to get along with him, alright? I have to go now. Yes, I love you too. Bye." Addy flipped the phone shut.

"Best part of the next few hours?" Geneva said in a conspiratorial whisper. "No pockets on this thing. Which means you'll be leaving your cell phone in the dressing room." Addy let out a little giggle, and Geneva joined in.

"Right now, I just want to drop the stupid thing down a well," Addy said. Geneva marveled at her self-control. Many women would have substituted the phrase 'mother-fucking' for 'stupid' under these same conditions, but even under the stress of pre-wedding jitters, Addy kept her language clean. Not that Geneva had expected anything else, really. She'd gotten to know Addy really well over the last five months, as the two of them planned Addy's wedding to Wilbur Mycroft with all the meticulous organization of D-Day, and Addy was exactly the kind of client Geneva loved. The kind that she'd gotten a reputation with, really. A nice, sweet, innocent girl who wanted nothing more than a church wedding. In fact, Addy had gotten Geneva's card in church, from another one of Geneva's clients who couldn't stop raving about how well Geneva understood what girls like them wanted in a wedding.

Geneva closed and locked the door. She definitely understood what girls like Addy wanted, and she'd been looking forward to this day just as much as Addy had, if not necessarily for the same reason. "Well, girlfriend," she said, putting a little sass in her tone, "aren't you going to try it on?"

Abby slipped out of her clothes, looking just a little vulnerable as she stood there in her underwear. "I can't believe it, Geneva," she said as she stared at the dress. "It's really happening, it's all really..." Tears filled her eyes. "It's so beautiful, it looks just like I always dreamed it would..."

Geneva carefully removed the dress from the model. "White as the driven snow," she said. Her skin seemed even darker against the white silk. "Come over here and try it on for size."

Abby blushed again as she walked over to Geneva and began putting on the dress. Geneva noticed the way the blush spread all over the younger girl's body, but was careful not to stare. She'd waited five months for this day, she wasn't about to wreck it at the last minute with an obvious ogle. "Thanks for..." Abby stammered out. "I mean, I know that girls...I mean, I know it's okay not to wear white nowadays, but I just wanted everyone to know that I..."

"That you waited," Geneva said, smiling warmly. She hadn't even needed to ask if Abby 'deserved' to wear white on her wedding day, it had been obvious from the moment she'd laid eyes on the girl. Never had sex, never masturbated--hell, Geneva would be willing to lay odds that when Wilbur took his clothes off tonight, Abby wouldn't even recognize his dick. Not that Geneva had asked. She'd been very careful to avoid bringing up sex. She'd wanted to make sure to build up Abby's trust in her absolutely, and make sure that the other girl trusted her implicitly. She was only going to abuse that trust once, but it was going to be a doozy, and Geneva needed all the help she could get.

She zipped Abby up, and the other girl spun around in a fairy-tale princess pirouette. "How do I look?" she said, beaming.

"Wilbur won't believe his eyes," Geneva said.

Abby stopped mid-twirl, and turned to face her. "You really think he'll like it?" she said, the nervousness suddenly back in her voice. She turned to the mirror, giving herself a quick look. "I mean, I'm sure he will, but I just want everything to be, y'know, perfect. Absolutely perfect." She let out a deep sigh. "I've never been more nervous about anything in my life, Gen."

Geneva smiled. "Well, we both know how to take care of that, don't we, honey?" She beckoned Addy over to the chair. "You'll need to stay standing up, because we don't want to wrinkle that pretty dress, but I think we've done this enough times that you can relax while you're upright, don't you?"

Abby looked almost pathetically grateful as she nodded. "Good girl," Geneva said as she sat down in the chair, reached up, and pressed her fingers to Abby's temples. Almost immediately, Abby's eyelids fluttered and closed, and an explosive sigh escaped her lips. "Very good, good girl," Geneva said. "Let's just go back there together, back to that soft, warm place that you love so very, very much. You know the way so well, good girl, and you're so happy to be there with me."

Abby nodded very gently, a dreamy smile on her face. Really, it wasn't hard for Geneva to addict her to this experience, not when she had five months as Abby's wedding planner. Everyone always talked about how Geneva had a way of keeping her clients calm no matter what (mainly because Geneva wasn't above leaving a few suggestions in their minds to do exactly that), and given that just about every day brought forth a new crisis, Abby went from being uncertain to practically begging for trance within the space of a few days.

And now, she was so deeply conditioned that just a touch sent her into trance. "Now, good girl, let's just relax completely, here in this wonderful place, just you and I together. I want you to think about how happy you are, and how nice the wedding will be..."

"Mom..." Abby whispered, her calm disturbed only slightly by the thought of the potential disruption to the wedding. Awake, she'd have been absolutely freaking out, but Geneva knew that the trance wrapped her worries up in hypnotic bliss, keeping them from overwhelming her. No wonder the girl had stopped trying to fight Geneva's control. This was better than anything the CIA could come up with for a brainwashing technique. All they really needed to do was put terrorists to work planning a wedding for a few weeks, and they'd be willing to do anything to relieve the stress.

"I know, honey," Geneva said soothingly. "I'll make sure your mom and your uncle don't even lay eyes on each other until you're safely away on your honeymoon, I promise." Geneva felt the tension leave Abby's body just a little bit more as the cause of the cell phone conversation was removed as a source of stress. Which just left... "You're a little worried about your honeymoon, aren't you, Abby?"

"uh-huh," Abby said, her body sagging just a little onto Geneva's hands as she sank deeper. "Don't know what to do...to make Wilbur happy..." Just the act of confessing her secret fear seemed to relax Abby even further, send her even deeper down into hypnosis.

"I know, honey," Geneva said, layering even more sweetness into her voice. "You've never felt what it's like to make love before, have you?"

Abby shook her head slightly. "That's okay, good girl," Geneva said. "That's part of my job as your wedding planner, Abby. I'm going to help prepare you for tonight. You want me to help you, don't you, Abby?" The younger girl nodded slightly. If she'd been thinking critically, she'd have asked exactly how Geneva was going to help her, and probably been more than a little offended at the mere mention of the topic of the wedding night, no matter how delicately broached. But Abby wasn't thinking at all at the moment, critically or otherwise. She was deep in trance, she trusted Geneva implicitly, and if she was really a twenty-two year old virgin, she probably had enough repressed libido to fuel an orgy right now. There was no way her conscious mind was going to be interfering with this.

"Very good, good girl," Geneva said. "I'm going to show you that there's nothing to be worried about, Abby. There's nothing at all to be scared about, good girl, because it's going to feel very good to make love." She took one hand off of Abby's temple, sliding it down the white silk. "See how good it feels to be touched, Abby? You've always known it feels good, but you've never imagined just how wonderful it can feel before now."

Geneva slid her fingers along the decorative lacework of the gown, feeling for the hidden seam. It had taken quite a bit of cunning design work to put in a pocket near the crotch that Geneva could tear without it being visible at all, but the dressmaker had been very motivated. And Geneva had been diligent in rewarding her for it. With a sharp ripping sound, Geneva's fingers tore through the seam to press against Abby's flesh.

"And now, Abby, you're going to feel just how wonderful it feels, just how much bliss is waiting for you tonight." She worked her fingers into Abby's panties, hidden from view but perfectly captured in Geneva's memory from those few moments when the girl stood there, naked and blushing before Geneva's eyes. And now she was standing there, eyes closed, letting out tiny little gasps as Geneva worked her fingers into that tight little pussy, and she looked so much hotter dressed in the wedding gown than she ever could have naked...

"That's right, good girl," Geneva said, feeling slick wetness over her fingers, "just give into that feeling, let go and give into those sensations, feels so good, so very very good..." Abby was moaning now, bucking against Geneva's hand as Geneva ground the heel of her hand against Abby's clit, and Geneva smiled at the way the innocent girl's pussy clenched around her fingers in mindless need. Wilbur might take Abby's virginity tonight, but Geneva would always remember that Abby's first orgasm came from a lesbian tryst in the church on their wedding day. Even if Abby didn't.

The girl spasmed and bucked on Geneva's fingers for long moments, before Geneva whispered, "That's right. That's my good girl, so relaxed and feeling so very, very good now, such a good girl, such a happy girl...and you know, Abby, that the important part of making love is all about making the other person feel as good as you, don't you?"

Abby probably didn't even know the first thing about making love, but she nodded nonetheless, her mind drinking in everything Geneva told her as she drifted in trance. "That's the most important thing, Abby," Geneva said. "You have to please your lover, Abby. You have to."

"Have to..." Abby husked out, her voice still quivering with bliss.

"And I made you feel that good, Abby, didn't I?"

"Yes..." Geneva knew that Abby would never even think about touching another woman if she was awake, that she'd probably fire Geneva on the spot if she knew that her wedding planner was a lesbian. But right here, right now, deeply hypnotized and behind a closed and locked door, Abby wasn't going to mind one little bit that she was being asked--no, not asked. Abby wasn't going to mind that she was being commanded to have sex with another woman.

"So now it's time to make me feel good, Abby," Geneva said. "Just go ahead, get down on your knees, and use your tongue to make me feel as good as I made you feel, good girl."

Abby nodded vacantly, dropping to her knees and slipping her head under the hem of Geneva's dress. The floor was clean, of course, but all the same, the act would leave a tiny little bit of dust on the dress.

That was what Geneva lived for, the moment that made it all worth while. All the play-acting, all the wholesome act, all five months of having to be straighter than straight and all the care she'd taken in...oh, yesss...in getting Abby's trust. All worth it for this moment, right here, when...ofuck...when sweet, wholesome little Abby tongued her out until she came, when Abby stood up at the altar with a smudge on that virginal white--not even noticeable unless you were looking for it, too faint for most people to see but Geneva would know it was there. It was worth it, Geneva thought as she ground her pussy into Abby's face as she came, for the moment when Wilbur kissed the bride and just for a moment wondered what that taste was, never knowing that it was her.

Geneva came a second time, but she knew it was only the beginning. She'd be jilling off to this memory for months.

*   *   *   *   *

"I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has united, let no man put asunder."

Kathy sniffled. She couldn't help it, she always cried at weddings. Especially this one, it was just so beautiful. Abby looked so radiant up there with Wilbur, positively glowing. She'd never seen a bride who looked so happy. "This is just how I want my wedding to look," she said softly to Marc. She half-expected a flinch, but her boyfriend seemed to be just as affected by the spirit of the day as she was.

The woman sitting on the other side of her seemed to have overheard the comment. "I might be able to help you out there," she said. "I'm Abby's wedding planner. I helped arrange all this. When your boyfriend pops the question, feel free to give me a call."

Kathy smiled at her. "I suppose you get a lot of business at weddings."

Geneva shrugged. "Not as much as you'd think...but I do get lucky sometimes."

THE END

[flibinite]

(Oh joy... I get to follow badpenny and Jukebox...   And hey, a one-pass edit and still 40 minutes or so to spare. )


Mother of the Groom

As the doors slid open, and seeing no one inside, Marlene stepped into the elevator, followed closely by her new compatriot, Grace Henderson.

"You're on my floor, aren't you, Grace?" Marlene asked, already pushing number 14, her voice heavy and tired.

"Right, 1403.  You're down farther, right?"

"Yes... 1413.  When the kids get in tomorrow they'll be between us."

"Ok."  Grace watched Marlene lean her head against the elevator wall and close her eyes as the compartment made its way slowly upward.

"Long day today, huh?"

"Yes, and I haven't been able to shake this headache since just before you got here."

"Sorry I couldn't fly in sooner to help you out a bit more, Marlene."

"That's ok, I managed, and you came in like the cavalry just in time to help me finish everything up," Marlene told her, straightening and staring at the number display as it reached double digits.  "Both the kids will be getting here tomorrow afternoon... Martin, too... then the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, and things are looking pretty good, finally.  I just wish it were, well...  a bigger, grander wedding."

Grace had only just met Marlene, Jennifer's mother, today for the first time.  But she knew a lot about her.  She knew she was a widow, as her husband had died in a car accident three years ago.  She knew that she was a determined woman, too, struggling to keep his business afloat during tough times.  Grace also knew that Marlene couldn't afford the type of wedding that she'd hoped to have for Jennifer, even with the soon-to-be-married couple kicking in some of their own savings (and Grace and her husband, Martin, surreptitiously slipping some money to her son, David, to throw into the pot, as well).

"Oh, nonsense.  The wedding is a wonderful size, the church is cozy and perfect, and the caterer looks like he'll have everything together on Saturday.  Besides, Dave and Jen won't remember anything about the reception anyway, if they're anything like me and Martin at our wedding."

Grace was kicking herself almost before she'd finished speaking, realizing bringing up spouses, and wedding memories, to a fairly recent widow was not what she'd wanted to do.  She was gratified to see Marlene smiling over at her, a smile mixed with pain, though, Grace unsure if that was from the memories or her new friend's headache.

"Same for Peter and me.  To this day I don't remember eating a bite of food."

They both laughed a bit at their different shared experiences, then looked away as the elevator stopped and the doors started to open.  As they started to walk out onto the floor, Grace's mind was suddenly racing, realizing how much she liked Marlene already, and knowing the stress the other had been under from all this.  It was late, but not that late...

Stepping up beside her, Grace told Marlene, "Look... I have a sure-fire cure for that headache if you want to stop in my room for a while."

"I have my own aspirin and stuff in my room, if that's what you mean," Marlene replied, looking over at her.

"No, no... It’s not a drug or anything like that.  Just... well, just stop in for a few minutes and let me show you.  You've had a tough day, and you deserve better than the headache and stress that it's given you."

Marlene stopped, nibbled at her lower lip for a second, then said, "Ok, sure... why not.  Thanks."

"No tribble at all, hon. Voila!" Grace called out, pulling her keycard from her purse and sliding it into the slot in the lock of the door to room 1403.

They went inside, not saying anything more as Grace flicked a few lights on... but just a few.  She wanted to keep the illumination in the room fairly low, as her "headache remedy" worked better that way.  Smiling, she pulled a chair from the small desk in the corner and rolled it over between the ends of the bed, facing a wide mirror on the opposite wall.  Then, with a flourish, she waved Marlene to sit in it.

"Sit now, and just think about relaxing.  Heck, don't even think about that... just do it.  This works best if you can keep from thinking at all.”

"Well, all right, Grace. I'll try," Marlene said, staring at her with a quizzical smile as she moved to the chair and sat down.

"Excellent!”

For a moment, Grace, rubbing her hands together briskly, like some sort of mad scientist, and Marlene, sitting there quietly in her simple white blouse and tan skirt, looked at each other in the mirror.  Realizing how silly she must look, Grace went on.  "Normally, I'd start this with a hot towel, but I don't think it's needed in this case.  Now you just try to relax.  Close your eyes if you want to, too."

With that, Grace reached out and began a medium-intensity shoulder and neck massage, not grinding too hard or going on for too long, as this was simply to loosen some of the muscle tension that Marlene might be feeling there.

"That feels good," the sitting woman sighed, her eyes closed for the moment.  "I can see where this just might get rid of my headache."

"Thanks, but this is only the first step in my three-prong attack to de-stress you, to help get you ready for the next two days.  That was to loosen you up just a bit so I can do this next bit, to help realign your energy flow," Grace told her, stopping her massage and moving a bit closer to the back of the chair.  "I'm going to grab your head and jaw now, so don't be startled."

Despite her admonition, Grace could see Marlene was startled, opening her eyes, a slight look of concern on her face.

"No, no... relax, hon," Grace told her, gripping the other's head on the sides, below the jaw line, and pulling it back slightly against the silk blouse over her own belly, just below her breasts.  "Just some light traction now, that won't work at all if you resist it."  She started to lift up on Marlene's head, slowly stretching her neck to its fullest extent.  "That's it... that's it.  Pretend like there aren't any muscles in your neck at all.  Just let the whole thing stretch out and find its perfect alignment."

"Trying," Marlene told her through clenched teeth, unable to open her mouth at all.

"You're doing wonderfully, but stop trying to speak.  Now feel me relaxing the pull for a minute. And this time, when I lift, really let me control your head and neck and take all the weight of it while you just settle and let yourself go almost limp.”

Grace lifted again, and was gratified to see and feel Marlene trying to do as she'd been told, relaxing her body from the neck down and letting Grace take complete control of her head.  She pulled upward, gently turning Marlene's head from side to side, happy to hear her counterpart's soft moan as her spine was straightened and stretched.

"That's the way, hon.  Just relax and feel me pulling the tension and stress out of you for a minute or so.  You're doing very well, now."

Marlene didn't respond, which was just as well to Grace, and for the next two minutes she pulled, lifted, and manipulated her soon-to-be in-law’s head and neck, hoping this would help get rid of her headache.

When she finally let go, Marlene simply sighed and shuddered, so Grace moved on to the final step.

Taking her index and middle finger of each hand, she began to swirl them slowly over Marlene's temples, whispering to her, "This is where I rub out all the things that may be bothering you, and remove everything from your mind and body that may be causing you discomfort.

"Do you like this, Marlene?"

"Yess," her nearly limpid friend replied, not opening her eyes, not really moving at all.

"Very good.  Just feel my fingers rubbing and drawing all the bad things out of you, giving you the peace and relaxation you truly deserve for all the effort and time you've put into our kids’ wedding."

"Yes, Grace."

"Very good, sweetie.  Just feel my fingers moving around and around, pulling the stress from you, making you feel so good and relaxed and happy... something I want for you, that I'm sure everyone wants for you."

Grace was happy to be helping Marlene, looking down along her body as she massaged the other's temples, drawing slow circles around her skin there.  It was making Grace feel very good to be of some help, too, allowing her to get past the guilt of having Marlene doing most of the heavy lifting for the ceremony so far.

She noticed something, though, as she continued to work her fingers around the sides of Marlene's head.  She wasn't certain at first, but as the seconds passed, it became more and more obvious that her attempts to relax the mother-of-the-bride were having some sort of side effect.

Staring down along the front of Marlene's body, she could see that all of this was apparently arousing the relaxed, seated woman, her nipples becoming more and more obvious through her bra and blouse.

For a few moments, Grace just stared at them, trying to figure out what to do next, whether to stop or perhaps to push things forward a little.  Was Marlene a closet lesbian, or at least a bisexual now?  Her husband had been gone for years, so was this Marlene showing her true colors, some sort of new colors, or simply having an inadvertent reaction to Grace’s physical, and slightly sexual, manipulations?

She almost stopped moving her hands and fingers as another possible explanation came to her.  Being an avid reader of hypnosis and mind control stories on the web, and knowing how she'd feel if someone was "playing" with her head and whispering for her to relax, she wondered if Marlene was starting to get off a bit on something else.

The only way to find out is to push it, Grace thought, feeling herself starting to dampen at the thought of where all this could possibly lead, as she, herself, was decidedly bisexual.

"Yes, Marlene... feel me rubbing your temples... hear me telling you to relax, your mind starting to soften and melt from my touch, from my words.  Feel yourself starting to sink into a warm, soft, safe place... all negative thoughts, all thoughts at all staring to leave you."

Grace shivered as Marlene slumped even more, letting out a weak moan as she did so.  If her new friend and relative's nipples were aroused before, they were positively bullets through her clothing now, and there seemed little doubt at all that what she was doing was getting to Marlene, either on a conscious, or subconscious, level.  Though she didn’t really care if Marlene was cognizant of her own response to this, Grace was curious as to whether she was actually hypnotizing Marlene, or the other was simply lost in a fantasy of her own choosing.

So she decided to keep pushing, to up the ante a bit, to keep teasing the nearly helpless woman sitting just in front of her as her own pussy tingled in response.  She needed to know what was getting to Marlene the most.

Though she loved the idea of it, Grace had never hypnotized anyone... had never even tried to hypnotize anyone, and had no expectations that she was any good at it.  But, from what she'd read, it all seemed simple enough... just get your "partner" to relax and think about some small, finite thing, whether it be her voice, or some physical object, or some feeling, and keep gently pounding at that until the other lost tract of specific reality, lost touch with all the "noise" of the world around them.

"Feel me rubbing your temples, hon... feel the circles I'm drawing begin to melt you, begin to turn your mind into a weak, quiet mush of pleasure and relaxation, no matter how much you try to resist me, no matter how much you try to concentrate and keep control of yourself and what you are thinking."

When Marlene suddenly shivered in the chair, and moaned from deep in her throat, Grace was certain... perhaps Marlene was a closet bisexual or more, and had been with other women many times before or after her husband's death.  But her reaction now spoke to her desire to be hypnotized, or at least to be controlled and told what to do.  No other explanation for her obvious sexual arousal made any sense.

So once more Grace raised the stakes, hoping she was right, as her attraction to Marlene was growing by the second, and she knew damn well that Martin would find Marlene totally hot and attractive, as well.

"More and more relaxed, sweetness, your thoughts draining, your mind drifting into a peaceful, happy sleep... more and more aroused by my touches, by the thought of me taking control of your mind… your hypnotized mind.  You can feel yourself, your thoughts, going away, can't you, Marlene?  You can feel me hypnotizing you, and putting your mind to sleep, can't you?"

Marlene's "Yess," was an almost guttural thing; a moan as much of arousal as it was agreement, leaving Grace to still wonder if she'd actually worked the other into a trance.

Only one way to find out..., she thought.

"Excellent, then.  As I control your mind now, I want you to stand up, turn and face me, and begin to undress slowly, really giving me a hot show, all reluctance evaporated, all feelings of impropriety gone, Marlene."

As her seemingly enthralled "subject" stood, turned and began to disrobe, Grace couldn't help but gasp.  Had she done it?  Had she actually hypnotized Marlene, or was the other simply acting out her side of some sort of personal roleplay?  She still couldn’t tell for sure.

But even if the latter was the case, did it even really matter, as it seemed that both of them wanted this so badly?

Grace watched as Marlene, eyes still closed, slowly removed her blouse, leaving it to flutter to the carpeted floor.  Next came her skirt, the other loosening it and almost indecently pushing it down over her wide hips and strong thighs to the ground.  Struck by how truly attractive Marlene was to her, Grace decided to follow suit, scrabbling at her own clothes, getting down to just her lingerie at about the same time as Marlene.

Then Marlene was reaching behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting her full, round breasts fall free.  This time it was Grace who moaned as she watched, her own bra joining her own pile of clothes on the floor behind her, her own nipples nearly as pointed and aroused-looking as her friend's.  Both kicked off their sandals, and as neither was wearing pantyhose or stockings, all that was left were their panties, neither pair particularly dry now.

"Slide your panties off now, Marlene, and show me your wet pussy, remembering that you must obey me, that I've taken control of your mind and body," Grace rasped, just wanting all this to go on and on.

"Yess, Grace... I must obey," Marlene whispered, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her high-cuts and very slowly pushing them toward the floor.  "I must show you my wet pussy."

Crud... oh god, Grace thought, seeing the other's glistening labia and neatly trimmed bush appear, almost forgetting she needed to slide her own wet underwear off in order to match, in order to be able to take this where she almost desperately wanted it to go.

Both of them were naked now, standing there in Grace's hotel room about six feet apart, staring at each other, both obviously aroused.  Barely able to speak, Grace finally did, realizing that whether Marlene was hypnotized or not, it was her own place to direct whatever came next, to determine what the two of them would do, either alone or with each other.

Grace just let the dice roll now, knowing she might never get another chance at this, at this woman she dearly wanted to be with, and, hopefully, have spend a night or more with her and her husband.

"Move closer to me and look into my eyes, Marlene, allowing yourself to see them, to sink into them, your mind still asleep, your ability to do anything but what I tell you to do completely gone."

"Yes, Grace," Marlene said, walking up to her, both of them breathing rather faster than their limited exertions would normally dictate.

"You're aroused, aren't you?  Your helplessly aroused at the thought of being my hypnotized slave, aren't you, Marlene?"

"Yes... aroused... yes...."

"You want me to control you.  You want me to tell you everything you have to do, don't you?"

"Yess... I want that...."

"Ok, then... In a little while we're going to make love until neither of us can stay awake, aren't we?  You're going to let me eat you and lick you and fuck you until neither of us can keep our eyes open, aren't you?"

Grace watched as at least two shudders pulsed through her friend's body before the other's lidded, glazed eyes opened wider, clearer, and she stated, almost matter-of-factly, "Just remember we have to be downstairs for rehearsal breakfast at 10 AM, tomorrow."

Then, immediately after she'd spoken, it seemed as if Marlene's awareness dropped away again and she just stood there, nodding her head in agreement, for all appearances completely lost to the world.

Totally confused now as to where the two of them actually stood, Grace paused, wondering what to say, wondering what to do next.  Perhaps Marlene was just playing a very hot and erotic game, having been with many other women in the past and feeling particularly needy tonight.  Then again, perhaps she really was hypnotized, and simply speaking to a stronger "truth" than her own arousal, and had felt compelled to break out of trance long enough to make her most important feelings known.

Then it dawned on Grace... again.

What difference did it make, really?

Either she hypnotically controlled Marlene and would have to deal with the consequences of that, or Jennifer's mother was lost in a sexual fantasy, and practically begging her to push forward with it, to make her feel something beside anxiety and concern about upcoming events, perhaps even about being alone now.

Whatever the case, Grace suddenly felt something break free inside her, something she hadn't even realized was holding her back.

Guilt.

After all, despite all of Marlene's struggles in life, and with money, and with this wedding, what right did she, Grace, have to trance Marlene, if that were indeed the case, and drag her to some sort of sexual, orgasmic way station?

But the other's outburst had told her two things... or one, depending on how one looked at it.  If she truly was hypnotized, she was still capable of saying what was the most important thing to her.  And she'd never said "stop", or anything remotely approaching "stop doing this to me".  Conversely, if Marlene wasn't hypnotized, she could simply stop this, rather than practically begging for it to continue.

Either way, Grace suddenly felt free, and decided to really turn up the rheostat.

"I know rehearsal breakfast is at 10, tomorrow, dear, and I'll be certain to be there for Jennifer and David, assuming they get in by 9 AM, as planned.  But perhaps you won't be there, seeing as how I control you so completely now.  Perhaps I'll take a bunch of my stockings and tie you spreadeagle on the bed.  Perhaps then I'll hypnotize the prettiest, most sexually attractive, maid I can find and have her come in here, straddle your head, and grind her aroused pussy all over your face at around, say… 10 AM.

"I won't even have to gag you to keep you from crying out for help, because her slick, weepy sex will be covering your mouth and smothering your cries.

"What do you think about that?" Grace finished, taking one of Marlene's hands in hers and squeezing it gently.

Marlene said nothing for a moment, simply squeezing back, her whole body quivering with undisguised lust and excitement.

"I don't know what to think, how to think, anymore," she said finally, her response almost a sigh.

"Your answer proves that you trust me, and cannot help but obey me," Grace told her, squeezing Marlene's soft, yet strong, hand one more time before letting it go.

"Must obey you, yess..."

"Excellent.  Now obey me and walk away from me three steps and then turn back to me."

After Marlene did just that, Grace smiled, then extended and lowered her right hand, palm up.  "Now obey me again, walk over to me, and press your pussy against my hand.  You are helpless to resist my commands, as I have hypnotized you and taken complete control over your mind.”

After the briefest of hesitations, Marlene seemingly gave proof of that fact, walking forward until Grace's hand was cupping her obviously wet and aroused sex.  Grace, very badly aroused herself, massaged it gently at first before finally, slowly, working her middle and index fingers upward into Marlene's warm, moist insides.  For a moment or two she simply held them there, watching Marlene's eyelids flutter, her breathing increase, her body begin to quiver even more.  Then Grace began to work them, in and out, toying and teasing, excited by her hypnotized friend's small gasps, and the way she began to rock her hips, to slide her pussy on those tormenting fingers.

For the next two minutes, neither of them spoke, lost in the wanton eroticism of the moment, before Grace finally whispered, "Hump my fingers faster, Marlene.  Obey and hump your wonderful, wet pussy on my fingers faster, now."

"Yess... obey... hump... yess...," Marlene rasped, doing as told.  Grace could smell the other's arousal filling the room now... or was it her own?  But what matter, again, as it was all so ridiculously hot, especially the wet, squishy sounds as Marlene helplessly ground and thrust her hips, and worked her deeply lubricated pussy onto Grace's fingers.

Grace didn't want her to cum, though... not quite yet, as she suddenly had other thoughts, other plans.  So, just as it seemed Marlene was very close to orgasm, Grace withdrew her fingers, ignoring Marlene's quick groan of frustrated lust, and told her, "Suck my fingers clean, hon.  I want you to taste how aroused you get when you allow me to control you!"

She raised her juice-coated fingers to Marlene's lips, noting that her partner wasn't looking at her, only straight ahead, as she opened her mouth and Grace slipped the two wet digits inside.  "Suck them like you would a cock, Marlene," Grace told her, leaning in to whisper more intimately in her ear.  "You like to suck cock, don't you?"

Marlene nodded her head.  Then, seeming to enjoy that motion, she continued to bob it, working her lips over those fingers, sliding them in and out of her mouth as she sucked.

Moment of truth time, Grace thought.  "Very good.  And when my Martin comes here tomorrow, and after the rehearsal dinner, you're going to let me hypnotize you again, aren’t you?  And then, while I'm licking and sucking on your wet, needy pussy, you're going to suck Martin's cock just like this?"

“Mm-hmm,” Marlene agreed, then added a soft, sexual moan, along with what looked like another full body shudder.

Grace couldn't help herself, but she was just loving this, fulfilling some of her own biggest fantasies while seemingly not doing or saying anything that Marlene found so wrong as to want to stop.

"You, Martin, and I are going to have sex like you never dreamed of tomorrow night, aren't we, Marlene?"

Again the “Mm-hmm,” louder this time, and the moan.

Grace finally pulled her fingers out of Marlene's mouth, then used both hands to grab the other by the cheeks and turn her head, so they were staring at each other again.

"You're one of the most exciting, attractive women I've ever met, sweetness, and Martin's going to love you so much that neither of you will believe.  But for now, I want you to kiss me.  I want to taste you, too, and you have to obey, so right now you will... mmmmphhh...."

Marlene hadn't waited for her to finish, kissing Grace very hard... an open-mouthed, tongue-filled kiss that completely surprised the would-be hypnotist and dominatrix.  But that didn't keep her from kissing Marlene back, and just as hard, still holding her cheeks as the two women began to press together and writhe against each other.  For the longest time, the two of them kept kissing, their hands starting to slide and grope and squeeze and hug.

As thighs sought to slip between thighs, though, Grace finally broke the two of them apart, almost moaning out a, "No... I want something else.  I want this to go another way, and you must still obey me, Marlene."

"Yes," Marlene whispered back, "I must obey you, Grace."

"Put your hands behind your back and stand perfectly still.  I'll be right back."

Not even waiting to see if Marlene was doing as she'd been told, Grace rushed over to the dresser, pulling it open and grabbing a handful of her stockings.  Quickly returning, she moved behind the aroused, sweating Marlene, who had obeyed, and used one of the stockings to bind her wrists together behind her.

"Now go sit on the edge of the bed... either one."

Again Marlene, without a word, complied, moving over to one and sitting down.  Grace followed her, then knelt in front of her, looking up and telling her, "Now spread your knees apart as far as you can."

She was gratified to hear Marlene's thick moan as she did so, spreading her knees and thighs out along the sides of the mattress.  Trying to hurry, wanting what was to happen next so badly, Grace tied each of Marlene's ankles to the bed frame, locking her legs apart.

It was time to see how this whole thing was going to play out.

Grace began a gentle stroking of the insides of Marlene's thighs, looking up at her again and stating, "You are to slowly come out of trance now, Marlene.  Feel your mind returning to you slowly, leaving you feeling happy and at peace, if still very aroused.  Drift up slowly and find your own will and intelligence, your own thoughts, your own feelings.  When I get to zero, you will be completely awake and out of your trance.

Five... feeling so very good.  Four... at peace, your headache completely gone.  Three... remembering everything we've done here.  Two... remembering how you felt as it happened.  One... almost totally awake now, feeling good and excited and alive.  And zero… awaken Marlene, and tell me what you’re thinking."

Marlene's expression slowly changed, but not all that much.  She looked more alert, if a bit confused, but her heavy arousal was still very evident.

"Why... why did you tie me up like this, Grace?"

Grace nodded... that was a good, and clear, question.  "Two reasons, hon.  The first was so when I brought you out of trance you couldn't just storm off before we had a chance to talk about this.  Because we need to talk about this."

"I know."

"Ok… so are you mad at me?  Do you think I'm a vile or insane woman for hypnotizing you and taking advantage of my control like this?  I mean, we are going to be in-laws in less than 48 hours."

"No, Grace.  You're not mad and I'm not mad at you," Marlene said, an almost dreamy smile on her face.

"So you're good with all of this?  You're good with everything I did, and I made you do?  You’re good with where this will go tomorrow night if you give the ok now, while I've given you back control of your mind?"

"I'm very good with this... it's been such a long time since I've felt anything like this, Grace."

It was Grace's turn to smile now, as she never could have imagined things would turn out so wonderfully... and hotly.  But still, her curiosity was killing her, so she had to ask, although however Marlene replied could not kill this moment, this night, for her.  That much was obvious as she lowered her gaze for a moment to stare at Marlene's, wet, fragrant pussy.

"Last question... were you really hypnotized tonight, Marlene?  Did I really manage to hypnotize you?"

She looked back up to see a different smile on Marlene's face now -- a coy one.

"What if I simply say the cat's suddenly got my tongue, dear?"

Grace grinned up at her and said, "Well, in that case, your kitty's going to get my tongue, dear, and now you’re about to find out the other reason I tied you up."

And before Marlene could say anything in response, Grace's lips and tongue were on her needy friend's pussy, licking and lapping, teasing and sucking at her soft wet flesh, leaving Marlene's reply to be a serious of guttural moans and head shakes.

Five minutes later, Marlene was cumming, and cumming hard.

Ten minutes after that, she was cumming again, crying out Grace's name.

Twenty minutes after that, it was Grace's turn, Marlene untied now, and both women sweat-soaked, juice-covered, and writhing against each other under the sheets.

Both women were having the same thoughts now, too, though neither of them knew it...

This was going to be a great wedding, certainly, but why should the kids get to have all the fun!

******