Dean Jones
- 4 years ago
- 26
- 0
Whatever Happened To Summer Jones free porn video
Whatever Happened to Summer Jones?
By Callie Messenger
The call came in from a French woman. I could tell by the accent.
She sounded pleasant, but she was an odd combination of angry and
sad. Her story was common in that her husband had committed
adultery. It was uncommon in that she had not heard from him
since. As there was the matter of the possessions, money and
insurances she needed to find him. She wanted to talk to him too.
I put straight on that. Leopards don't change their spots.
Whatever cause it was never out fault. Don't ever think so or
give in their methods for wanting us back. We can always do
better.
Sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Katy Flynn. I was an
insurance claims investigator until I started following my
husband. When he became my ex other woman enquired after my
services. I went private and here I am, in a poky little office
in a poky little building in a poky little town. I apologise to
those of you who love Easton, but I've lived the lives of those
on its seedier sides and it ain't pretty.
I had other work, but I could kick off with the Simon Jones case
as the first bits of a case are all spent on the phone, or the
PC, now. So I discovered that Simon Jones had disappeared off the
face of the earth. Household bills were still being paid by
direct debit, but they were minimal, and no money was being
replaced into the household account. No calls had been made from
the property since the fatal Saturday.
The case smelled of a pre-planned disappearance, apart from the
woman involved. The only types of disappearance I knew of that
involved other people were kidnapping and murder. No ransom note,
no kidnap. This could be a case I could really get my teeth into.
Evening found me at the Jones' address. Mrs. Jones had sent me a
whole host of useful items, including the key. I've never felt a
place feel so haunted. This was a modern end-terrace two bedder
with a garage. I liked it but it was cold. Why did I like it? It
was clean. First thing you noticed. I mean, this was a place that
had been empty for months. Mrs Jones had left in a flurry of
packing. Mr Jones had apparently never returned following his
wife's departure.
The neighbours reckoned a young woman came by on occasion. They
rarely saw her, but the garden would be tidied, and the windows
polished. I noted their description and then pulled out a
photograph. "Yes, that's her." You couldn't fail to recognise her
if you had seen her. She was one of those sickening people
blessed by such perfect features that you wanted to ruin at least
one of them. Either that or, like me, you thought she could only
be useful for one thing. My ex would have made a beeline for her.
When was she here last? "We didn't see her, but the lawn was
mowed about two weeks ago." Looking at the grass she would be
back soon. I decided to spend a couple of days in the house.
I'm pretty well set up for this kind of stakeout. I set up my
lair in the rear bedroom. I had my gas burner, a torch, a
sleeping bag, my radio and a small TV. Anybody coming through the
front door would have no idea I was there. I only had to
sleepover one night. That Saturday, at about eleven in the
morning, the front door was opened. I waited until the visitor
had headed out into the back garden before heading out the front
door and knocking on it. The door was reopened by exactly the
person I was looking for.
"Hi, miss, I wonder if you can help me? I'm looking for a friend
of mine who gave me this address a while back. He said if I was
ever in the area..." I let it hang, bit of a sob story if he
wasn't there. She would appreciate that, but her eyes narrowed.
"Who is that?" What a voice! Monroe would have been proud. Pure
babysoft sweetness in a whisper.
"His name was Simon. Simon Jones. He gave me this address. This
is 68, Flatholme Way?"
"It is. And he did used to live here, but not any more. Hey,
rather than waste your journey, why don't you come in for a
coffee?"
I was taken aback. Usually I would have to press for that
entrance. I followed her in and joined her in the kitchen.
"So what's your name?" She began.
Truth doesn't hurt in these situations. "Katy, Katy Flynn.
Pleased to meet you."
She took my outstretched hand lightly. "I'm Summer. Listen, Miss
Flynn, you are probably trying to find Simon, but he never knew
you. What are you really doing?"
I hate it when this happens. Play it straight, girl, play it
cool. "I am trying to find Simon. I'm a private detective working
on behalf of his wife."
"Melanie?"
"Marie." Was that a test? Either she was quick or she didn't
really know.
"That's right." She stirred the coffee and picked up the mugs.
"Why don't we go and sit down? Marie left because she thought
something had gone on between Simon and me."
"Yes, she has the photos, and other circumstantial evidence."
"Did it strike you ever that Simon never appeared in the photos?"
It hadn't. In my dumbfounded shock I grasped the fact that this
girl knew everything, and wanted to show it off. "Because he took
them?"
"Kind of, but the camera was discovered on the tripod and has a
timer. Thing is, he wasn't physically there with me."
"I don't understand. What is this leading to?"
"It's leading to an explanation that you won't be able to
believe, but I'm going to tell you the truth, so do with it what
you will."
For the next hour I sat there desperately trying to take in what
the girl was saying. Sometimes I wanted to laugh, sometimes I
wanted to stick my hands over my ears and just run out. But there
was a certain fragility to this girl - there was no way you could
deny her belief in this story. Apparently she was Simon, but by
luck and poor judgement she had become stuck as Summer. The cause
was a 'magic' bra, belonging to Marie's mother, which was now in
France. The bra changed people physically to match the clothes
they were wearing, and mentally to match the persona they
portrayed.
"So because you went along with Claire when she said you were a
lesbian, you are a lesbian?"
"Yes."
"And you work for her, and live with her?"
"I have to."
"Have you told her this story?"
"I have had to work hard not to. If she didn't believe it I'd be
hurting for weeks. If she did she would take pleasure in slowly
destroying Simon."
"But she's doing that now."
"The speech? And the walking? Yes, hours going up and down a line
with books on my head, and evenings of elocution. Higher and
higher heels then strapped on to her treadmill. Beatings if I
don't sound sexy in the office. But at least I can come here and
walk barefoot, and shout to my heart's content. If she knew about
Simon, there would be no escape. I sometimes consider that. She
is often half-joking when she mentions surgical solutions, drugs,
torture. It's hard to appreciate but I want that. I have to fight
myself to retain my identity."
"You could just leave her."
"Now I know you don't understand. This is me now, and I can't. I
live to please her, and I need her control over me. I need Simon
just for the chance that one day I will be able to get back to
him.
"I know you don't believe me, but the only way to prove it is
with that bra. The least you could do is get hold of it."
I left her shortly after. She had to return to her lover. Me, I
would have decked that woman, but then I've never been as
pathetic as that wretched specimen I'd just left. Still, she was
the only lead I had so far, and she wanted to see that bra.
Obscure, but if it would play to her fantasies and get her to
open up then it was the only choice I had. I booked a cheap
weekend trip to Paris.
Yes, I wanted to talk to Marie, but I wasn't going to be able to
lunch with her and then just ask her to provide a collection of
her mother's bras. So I rocked up at the house when I saw them
both leaving, and let myself in.
Summer had said 40DD. They weren't plentiful but I had a handful
to replace the ones I would be taking. At least she had been able
to remember the make so the switch might not be spotted
immediately. I found three in total, white, in bathroom, bedroom
and the laundry. They went into my bag and I strode out to find a
taxi and keep the appointment I'd set with Marie.
Back in Easton I just had to wait for Summer to turn up at the
house again. Oddly, I waited longer than I thought I would have
to. Summer didn't arrive one week, or even two weeks later.
Finally, one month later, she turned up on the Saturday morning.
I think she knew that I'd be waiting for her. She wasn't
surprised to see me at the door. I was invited in.
"It's been a while." I began.
"I know," she said, avoiding my gaze, "it's been difficult to get
away."
"Has something happened?"
"Do you have the bra?"
"I have a number of bras."
"Thank God! Let me go try them." She took them to the stairs. It
was then that I noticed the difficulty she was having climbing up
them. It wasn't just the high-heeled boots she was wearing; she
was in pain stepping up. And then I remembered that one thing she
came here for was to walk barefoot. Why did she have the boots on
if they caused her pain?
"What's the matter, Summer? Why the boots?"
"They're for support." She replied with a grimace.
"Did you turn an ankle?"
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly? If something happened to you, I
can help, you know. And I can keep a confidence."
"The last time you were here, I went home to find the house
empty. Still, I had work to do and I got in my uniform and set
about my chores. Well, I had enjoyed being barefoot - it felt so
much more relaxed - so I kicked off my shoes. When Claire came in
she informed me that I wasn't to relax on duty, that the shoes
were part of the uniform, and that I wasn't ever to undo the work
she put into training me - to walk or anything else. The next
day, at a private hospital, my Achilles tendons were mostly
removed, and replaced with shorter strips taken from the
gastrocnemius muscles. The cosmetic result is slimmer, tighter
calves. Intended side effects are weakened calf muscles, and the
raised heel, forcing me to wear my high heels all the time."
"She hobbled you, disabled you for her pleasure?"
"Yes," she whispered, dropping her head again, "and mine." She
carried on up the stairs.
Simon came down the stairs a few minutes later. It took a mere
moment for the fact to register. I know he hadn't been up there.
"Where's Summer?"
"You didn't believe, did you? Come upstairs, and I'll show you."
I entered the bedroom, and whilst I initially complained as the
guy stripped off, my embarrassment turned to disbelief as he
redressed as a girl, and Summer stood before me. He quickly
changed back. I quickly sat on the bed before my legs gave way.
"So you can contact Marie? Let her know that you found me and it
was all a big mistake?"
"I don't know how I'm going to explain this one." I replied
honestly. "I'm still not sure I believe it."
"Would you like to try it on? I haven't got a clue how it would
affect a woman."
"No I wouldn't. I'm quite big enough, thank you."
"That you are!" He replied with a little smile. He was looking at
me like a man would. It was something I was very used to, but to
see such a tremendous physical change hadn't even prepared me for
the tremendous psychological change that had obviously
accompanied it. He was not just back to being a man, but back to
being a Man.
My observations were interrupted by a knock at the front door.
Simon buttoned his jeans and headed down. From the ensuing
snippets of conversation I could hear that he had invited in a
woman, but no one whose voice I recognised. "Is this Marie?" She
asked him as I descended.
"No," I quickly replied, taking an immediate dislike to this
woman and her condescending tone, "I'm Katy, and you are?"
"Oh," she said, changing her tone entirely, "I'm a friend of
Summer's. I expected her to be here. Is she?"
"She called in but she's gone home." I answered, pre-empting
Simon's answer.
"Her car's outside."
Good observation, especially of weak points, is the key to
dismantling any fabrication. This woman now suspected something
was up.
"She may be with the neighbours. She hasn't been here for a
month." I turned to address Simon avoiding further conversation
with her. "We have to go." He excused himself as I returned up
the stairs.
"Have you got a bag? Stuff her clothes and the bra in it and give
it to me."
"What are you doing?"
"That's Claire, right?"
"Yes."
"Well she's going to stay here until Summer returns. If she
doesn't then she's going to get mighty suspicious. If she never
returns then she might do what your wife did, only the guys she
hires aren't going to be as understanding as me when they ask
questions. Give me the bag. Let's go."
Simon paused to offer Claire the run of the house until Summer
returned while he walked me home. Around the side of the house I
kept an eye out while he changed in the alleyway.
***
It's crazy! You think you've just got your life back when some
woman you hardly know tells you it isn't over yet. Katy was
probably right though. I could imagine how Claire would react
when she found Summer missing, and I would be the first person in
the line of fire. If she then found out who Marie really was,
well, who knows what she might think. Probably not the truth, as
I don't think anyone could come to that conclusion.
I slipped on the bra, and knickers. Katy ran over and started to
throw my blouse on.
"Wait, I need to change bras"
"No time, there's someone coming. Here, step into this," she
said, crouching down to offer my skirt.
I tiptoed into the short skirt. "Could you hand me the boots,
please? That's better!" I sighed, the high heels supporting mine.
"Weird, my ankles don't hurt?"
"Which means?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps the bra has healed you up."
"Then I'm stuck this way."
"Only as long as you're stuck as Summer." She picked up my bag
with Simon's clothes in and we started walking back to the front
of the house just as an old woman entered the alley with her dog.
"And you're only stuck as Summer until you get away from her,
permanently."
"How do I do that?" I whispered back.
"Dump her."
"Is there another option? I don't think I could do that."
"You could pack your bags one night and walk out. I hear that
usually gets the message across."
"It might be a better option. Thanks, Katy, I'll call you. I
mean, Simon will call you. Soon." I walked back around to the
front door of my house and let myself in.
Standing in front of Claire I considered the options briefly. I
had male clothes here and could change as soon as I let Claire
know it was over, and she'd left. "Mistress, I saw your car
outside."
"I came to see what you get up to when you're away from me. Why
do you come back here?"
"I have friends here, Mistress. I like to keep in touch."
"Well, I'm glad I finally met them. We should invite them for
dinner some time. In the meanwhile, we need to get home. I need
you for something."
That usually meant sex of some description. Claire had been
fairly restrained recently, following my surgery, but she would
soon know that my ankles were fine and I could end up back on the
wall bars, or strapped into the latex retainer catsuit that she'd
been dying to try out.
"I was thinking," she said as we entered our house, "that I still
allow you too much freedom. I know the last time you exercised it
the punishment was severe. You've been suffering for a month.
Unfortunately I've been suffering too. I hurt you, and I don't
want to hurt you in that way. You know that I don't want to hurt
you without pleasuring you. The only way I can be sure I'll never
hurt you in that way again is if you don't have the freedom to
get into trouble.
"If I take away your freedom I don't know how that would harm
you. I want you to give up your freedom to me."
"Mistress, I don't understand. I do everything to please you.
Everything you desire."
"Would you give up your friends for me?" I couldn't answer that.
"You see, I can see it in your face that you don't desire
everything that I do. That would hurt you." She stroked my face
with her hand. "I need you to want everything I want, and nothing
more, nor anything less. You want that too, don't you?" I nodded.
"We can have that, but I need you to give up everything to me. Do
you trust me?"
"Yes, mistress, ever since I first spoke to you."
"I know. Here, sit down, take the weight off your ankles. I'll go
fix us a drink." She returned in a moment with two glasses of red
wine.
"To continue," she began, "I am asking for your complete
submission because I love you and I need you for life. I never
want to hurt you or drive you away." She leaned forward. "I am
willing to swear my life over to you, loving you and caring for
you, if you will obey me in thought, word and deed. You know
those words, Summer, to love, honour and obey. It's like that, I
want you to marry me, only my way, where the oath to obey is
paramount. Will you marry me, Summer? Do you love me?"
"I... I do," I managed to stammer, "but..." I couldn't get the
words out. Claire jumped up and put a finger over my mouth. I
looked at her. I did love her, because that was the person I had
become, those months back, designed to love her. But there was
another person inside me, with another marriage, and I couldn't
accept her offer. I had to tell her somehow.
"Shh, my sweetheart, don't talk. Let's toast our love!" With that
she took a gulp from my glass and brought her mouth to mine,
forcing the liquid into it while her tongue forced itself into my
throat. She broke off, and dipped a finger into her glass before
slowly sucking it into her mouth. "Drink! Let's get drunk and get
married, the only way it should be done." I took the last of my
glass down and she gulped hers down in one. This looked like
being a heavy night.
But I was feeling tired. I was beginning to feel like I'd drunk
more than one glass as Claire's lips on mine began to feel fuzzy
and dissociated. Then I could hear her voice questioning me.
"What's wrong, Summer?" I had to concentrate on it. "Are you
feeling it already? Those powders are strong." I tried to move my
hand to touch the dulling vision of Claire above me, but it would
hardly respond. "It's a hypnotic, my darling, designed to put you
into a relaxed state. It also depresses the higher areas of the
brain making you very suggestible." Claire was beginning to fade
to grey, and nothing was making sense, but I could just hear. "I
haven't used it before, but you know I'm trained, so I'll take
good care of you. Don't worry though, you won't remember a thing.
Tomorrow morning we'll be married, just like I want, and just
like you agreed. I'm so glad you said 'I do!'" From then on I
couldn't even hold onto the voice.
***
"Did you manage to find anything at all, Katy?"
What could I say? I'd found him and lost him again? He was
supposed to call, and I had this guilty feeling that forcing him
to go back to that woman was a bad mistake.
"No, I haven't been able to get the time, but I have friends out
there."
"Thanks for trying, anyway."
I put the phone down. I was keeping the investigation open even
though I'd closed the account with Mrs Jones. That was definitely
guilt at losing her husband. Also, you could feel that she really
did want him back. There was a strong love there, and she wanted
to forgive his mistake, though I couldn't tell her yet exactly
what that mistake was. One other prime piece of evidence was
missing, and Summer was wearing it the last time I saw her.
Claire Hunter was the link I was following up now. It had taken
me a while to remember the surname, having not taken notes at the
interview with Summer. Once I had the name she was easy to find,
at least in print, as she was rarely out of the rising stars
columns of industry journals. She was the name in fashion
management. I couldn't find a home phone number, and believe me,
not every private detective has an old pal at directory enquiries
who can sort that one out. I did have the number for the head
office of her store in Easton, where I presume she worked. I
could find her there, but what then? I needed a plan, and I
needed to avoid Miss Hunter if I could help it.
There's a very easy way to discover who drives what at a large
office. The top spots are reserved. Unfortunately, three spots
said 'Director'. Well, I only had to watch three spots. And I
reckon I knew which car belonged to the woman, as the other two
had big roadmaps on display. It's not that women can't read maps,
but we ask for our directions when we're asked to go to a new
place, rather than interpreting cartoons. Also, we keep our cars
tidier.
I'm only one person, in one car, so when Miss Hunter exited the
car park I followed her immediately, but turned off after a few
roads. She drives the same route, probably every day, so next
time I would catch her later on the route. If I could keep my
eyes open waiting for someone who left at nine instead of five-
thirty. It wouldn't be hard spotting the gold Lexus however.
On a hunch, I left early the next morning and, passing the
offices to check she wasn't already in, drove a few streets past
my mark and looked for her on the way in. She passed at about
five to eight, followed by a smart Porsche that I had definitely
spotted in the office car park. Was it too much to ask that that
could be Summer? Well, she had said she worked for her. I took
breakfast in a cheap caf?. I mulled over Summer's lack of
response. She had the bra, so she must be able to change back to
Simon. But she wouldn't unless she left Claire. So why was she
not leaving Claire?
She had told me her situation, but I hadn't understood. She was
virtually a slave to Claire, and hadn't wanted to go back to her
when she had the opportunity to leave. She couldn't summon the
willpower to dump her. And what if Claire had punished her again.
The surgical solution had been disgusting, and not only a
mutilation of Summer's body, but of her mind and her rights. What
if something else had happened? What if Summer had tried to get
out of the relationship, and Claire had taken even more drastic
measures?
I needed to talk to Summer, to find out what had happened and how
I could help her. And I was thinking of some pretty vile things
to do to her lover, too.
It took three days to find the address. Fortunately I found that
the Porsche driver was Summer, who used the same route but at a
reasonable hour. This meant I could follow two of them each
evening. The house looked like a fairly standard four bed, set
back not far from the road. Every evening Summer had got there
about six. Claire got there around nine-fifteen, having much the
better of the traffic at that time of night. So now I knew where
they lived, but I still needed a plan. On the basis of 'the
simpler, the better', I was considering just arriving at six to
talk to Summer and leaving before Claire got there.
I couldn't think of anything better, so I knocked on the door the
next Monday. The door was opened to reveal Summer in a very brief
maid's outfit, towering over me in her heels.
"Summer?" I queried.
She took a moment to respond. "Katy?"
"May I come in?"
"I... Yes, please do."
I entered into a large lounge, smartly done out and clean as an
operating theatre. I took a seat. "Would you sit down a moment,
Summer?"
"I prefer not to. I am on duty."
"Er, okay." Who was this here? This wasn't even the old Summer,
let alone Simon. Something had happened. "Do you know why I'm
here?"
"You wish to find out why Simon hasn't called? I don't wish to
leave."
"At all? What did she do to you?"
"If you wish me to leave, I will have to ask you to go." She
sounded like an automaton sometimes, as though the answers were
scripted.
"I don't, but I want to know what happened."
"Oh, Katy!" Suddenly there was emotion, and the old Summer came
flooding back. "We're married, her way. She tricked me into
agreeing and then drugged me. She hypnotised me to want only to
do her bidding and not to want anything else. But I was wearing
the bra, and now her desires for me are my desires, as soon as
she thinks them. I don't know if she knows it, but she must be
figuring it out. I never make a mistake with her meals, her
drinks, her phone calls, notes, clients, because I know what she
wants. I call her in the evenings and she asks how I knew she was
thinking about me. She thought she would just tell me things and
I would do them, like me not wanting to leave, but she only has
to think them.
"She doesn't have opinions about you, or I don't know what I
would be thinking right now. If I hadn't known you, I wouldn't
have let you in, as I know I never want to let in a stranger,
unless she asks me to." Suddenly she stopped talking, and looked
down at her clothes. "These just don't feel right. I fancy the
old red dress, I think." She made a beeline for the stairs. I
followed her.
"Summer?" I called after her.
"Oh, Katy, sorry, but I really don't want to be in this get up.
Come up to the bedroom."
I followed her in, and she quickly stripped down to nothing and
then pulled on a red underwear set and pulled up a red dress.
"Could you zip me up?" She asked. I complied and then she dug out
a pair of red heels that she switched for the black. She then
raced into the bathroom and began to shuffle jars around. I took
a peek in the underwear drawer, but nothing caught my eye. Summer
returned looking like she'd just stepped out of a beautician's. I
had a spot of insane jealousy at the way she could look before
getting my thoughts under control. The tits and arse look was for
tarts. Still, all the guys would gape.
"Why are you dressed up?"
"I just wanted to look good. I feel like going out tonight."
"Doesn't Claire usually get back about nine?"
"Usually, but I don't want to cook tonight and I'm dressed up.
Shit, Katy, she must be on her way. You'd better go."
"What about the bra?"
"What bra?"
"The magic bra." I felt silly saying that. "Your mother-in-law's
bra?"
"Oh, that ugly thing. Claire saw it on me once. I don't know why
I ever wore it. I threw it out weeks ago!"
***
Katy ran from the bedroom. She looked as white as a sheet. I
guessed she wanted the bra to turn me back, but I didn't want to
anyway, and I would have stopped her. I guess she could have
given it back though, to Marie's mother. Or used it, as it was
pretty powerful. I just didn't want it in the house. It just
wasn't sexy. I remember throwing it out after we got married,
Claire and I. Probably it was in some charity shop still.
I walked down the stairs as I felt like waiting by the door for
my 'husband'. Within moments of me getting there the key was in
the lock and she came in, a brief look of shock on her face. "Why
aren't you in your uniform?" Even as she said it, and I knew I
could be punished, I felt an overwhelming urge to have her kiss
my breasts. I reached behind for my zipper and lowered it, using
both hands to force my shoulders back and chest forwards, as
quickly as possible slipping the dress away from my bra. I pulled
down the straps from my shoulders exposing my hardening nipples
as the bra rolled down. Claire closed the door behind her and
reached forward with her hand, all the while gazing at my perfect
orbs. "Well," she coughed, "I was hungry, but I guess I can eat
you."
Forty minutes later I was laid back on the couch, still coming
down through a haze of over-sensitive ecstasy. Claire was seated
atop me, looking me over thoughtfully. "Mistress?" I queried.
"Yes, my love."
I brought my hands up to lift my breasts as I looked at them.
"I've been thinking my breasts flop too much, and I'd like to try
a lift, and perhaps just to see what they look like bigger. Would
you let me do that?"
It was the second shocked look that evening, followed by a huge
smile. "I'd love to see what they look like with a bit of support
behind them. Why don't we try that? You can book yourself in
tomorrow. If you don't like them, you can always have the
implants removed. I won't force you on that." Somehow I knew it
didn't matter. I was too big already, but if she liked them...
Alma
- 08.04.2022
- 33
- 0
