Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters XVII And XVIII free porn video

XVII: Mind Over Mammaries After a mere two hours of sleep, Simon Callahan opened his eyes. He was covered, from head to toe, in sweat. His gut was also painfully churning, and his head was throbbing oppressively. The young executive practically curled up into a fetal ball as he moaned and quaked from the excruciating pain, grasping his gut. His head felt like it was about to split in two. Rolling around on his now sweat-soaked bedsheets, he soon went over the edge of the bed and hit the ground beneath him hard, where he continued to grasp at his stomach. A foul-tasting rush of liquid matter began to rush up from his gut, and Simon urgently stumbled forward, desperately opening the door to his bedroom and rushing over to the nearby bathroom even as droplets of vomit, which was bloating his cheeks, leaked out of the corners of his lips. Once his face hovered over a toilet, he opened his mouth and allowed the horrible-looking vomit to splash into the water. It was then that he began heaving more of the same into the bowl. He panted in relaxation for a moment before another rush of vomit streamed out of his open mouth. Simon had gotten drunk enough to suffer similar bouts of nausea in the past, but it was never this intense. As he panted in relaxation once again, however, his headache worsened. Whereas a moment ago, Simon Callahan was clutching his gut, his hands now went to his head as his eyes boggled and his lips puckered. Already on his knees from his vomiting, his head dropped down towards his knees as his hands continued to grasp at it. As he continued to kneel there, he toppled to the left, and was now laying on his side. Three agonizing minutes passed. He awaited the obviously inevitable peace of death. But it did not come. The headache gradually abated as the agony in his gut settled. Although a drop of blood emerged from one nostril, he was otherwise still alive. The air around him, however, was humid, and his body was drenched in sweat. What...happened to... The intense headache returned, and his hands flew back to his sweat- soaked head. Apparently, just thinking seemed to produce intense pain in his mind. Thinking about nothing at all, on the other hand, caused the pain in his head to diminish. When he brought his head back up, Simon reached over to push down the flush lever on the toilet, closing the lid as he steadily rose to his feet. Given the humidity in the closed bathroom, he had to wipe off the concealing haze on the mirror above the sink. He also noticed that his white boxer underpants had slipped down a bit from his waist. His privates were partially exposed now. Looking at his own reflection, he saw that his white, short-sleeved undershirt...which, like his underpants, were drenched in his own perspiration...had tented out a bit at the chest. Pulling the shirt off, he saw that his chest now sported a pair of soft B-cups. His eyes went from the reflection of his chest to the image of his own face, which now looked softer. The cheekbones looked slightly more pronounced. His hair had grown as well. It was now a mullet. At that moment, there was a knock on the door. He knew his wife was out doing her usual late shift, but... ...one of his sons! "Who's in there?" A weary young voice asked. "I-I'll be out in a..." Simon had to stop himself. His voice sounded radically different. It was in a higher register now, and it sounded noticeably squeaky as well. His eyes widened in his disbelief. "Mom?" Young Chester Callahan's voice guessed. "Why are you home? You OK?" Simon tried to make his voice sound a little less squeaky. "I'm fine, honey! You...y-you go on back to bed now." "But I gotta go!" "Well, y..." his headache returned. He squinted his eyes as he tried to speak through the pain. "...go back to your room and...w-wait for me to knock on your door, OK? Then you can go. I'll be right out!" Chester's sigh evidenced his annoyance. "Okaaaay..." He then answered in a resigned voice. Simon waited until he heard the sound of a door closing. Wiping off some of the sweat on his feminine-looking body with sheets ripped from a roll of paper towels, Simon finally opened the door, welcoming the coolness of the air outside of the bathroom. He then stepped over to the door of Chester's bedroom and gave it a couple of knocks. He then hurried over to his bedroom, making it there before Chester came out. The obvious worries over whether or not his three sons would ever notice what had happened to him obviously made it impossible for Simon to get back into his bed and go back to sleep. Pulling out his laptop, he spent about an hour or so browsing through a social media site. As Simon browsed, he gradually fell asleep in his chair. * * * "Niiiice. Very nice." The waif-bodied woman observed as Nathan Barrows rose from his seat at one of the Butterfly Salon's hair dryer machines. "Vije like." The young analyst needed a moment to recover from the barrage of suggestive, subtle words which constituted his new mental conditioning, this being accompanied by the sweetest of instrumental melodies. To go with his mind's conditioning was another reason why Vije took him down to the Salon to begin with: his hair. Once dark brown, it was now a lighter shade of brown, and there was now a mass of curls. His hair remained short, but it had been subjected to a perm treatment and the curls looked fluffy. He had a neutral, and somewhat conflicted expression on his face, reflecting the fact that he was fighting the suggestiveness that was now torturing his mind. I look...nice... He had meant to think the word 'ridiculous', but the word wouldn't manifest! ...no...I look...ridice...nice... A hand went to his head. ...so nice...no, it's not...nice...very nice... The tall, grinning woman lifted Nathan's head up with both hands on either side of his head once he was back in the one-piece dress Vije had convinced him to slip on after she managed, somehow, to convince him to strip out of his regular office suit. She was easily a full head taller than him, and that added to the reason Nathan was attracted to the alien-looking woman in the first place. "Mmmm. You so nice," the thin-figured woman purred. "Now you follow Vije. We shop." Once they were out of the Salon, Vije led her enthralled subject through the shopper lanes of the Mall, hearing more of the pleasant tunes he heard while he was under the hair drying machine. It made him feel all the more docile as Vije tugged him along. Along the way, Nathan tried...and failed...to shake the stream of urges that had overcome his mind during his conditioning. A need for makeup. A hunger for salads. An urge to read romance novels. Feminine dresses in store windows were now catching his eye, and he now wanted to know how he would look in them. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were half-lidded. It looked like he was in a delirium. It was clear that Nathan's thoughts had been hopelessly softened. He desperately tried to mentally reclaim the kind of person he used to be. But he couldn't. The conditioning had burned into his mind like a permanent tattoo. The hornet's sting that Vije claimed was the reason for the pinch at the back of his neck during the dictation he had typed out for her at his office had become a diminishing memory. Whether Vije was right about it or not no longer seemed to matter to him. Vije brought him into one store that was one level beneath the Mall's ground level which had a combination of sultry nightclub and stripper fashions, and a basement level with more kinky outfits and toys. The place was called Toughlove. Rita had told her that this was one of three stores in the Mall which received the first deliveries of cosmetics products from Vije's European business entity. The eyes of the effeminate store clerk, Antoine, went wide upon spotting Vije Nastassje. "Oh, my good GODDESS! It's...it's her! THE Vije Nastassje! IN MY STORE!" As Vije towered over most people, she grinned down to Antoine as she stopped in front of him. "Hi. Is nice to meet. You name?" "Antoine, Miss Nastassje." The young clerk replied. "Ohhh, I have ALWAYS wanted to meet you! This is so fucking awesome! Your products have been selling like gangbusters here. We always need to put in restock orders." "Is great!" Vije chimed back. "Please to say 'Vije'. Vije prefer." "Oh, I could call you GODDESS if you'd let me!" Antoine gushed. Vije giggled. "Goddess work too." She teasingly touched the tip of the clerk's nose as she spoke. "I be you Goddess today." The young clerk...who had a head of small, tight blond curls on his head...flashed a gummy grin. "So how may I serve you today, my Goddess?" "We shop for harness," Vije answered. "Is for Natty here. Is kinky floor downstairs? Yes?" "Ooooh..." Antoine glanced to Nathan. "...someone's getting a bit of the ol' whiplash, eh? Well, we've got all kinds of straps an' studs waiting for your curly little sweetie downstairs, my Goddess." Once they had finished their descent down the staircase within the store, Vije guided Nathan along the aisles until they found an area where the type of outfit the tall, skinny woman desired was on display. Pulling one of the plastic bags containing the strap-based outfit off one of the hooks, Vije brought Nathan to a dressing room stall, and they both went in. Nathan could not resist Vije's request to strip down naked. Whenever Vije came as close as she did to be able to arrange the strap- based outfit on his bare body, Nathan could feel the heat coming off of her. Whenever his bare skin made contact with hers, he felt a palpable thrill run through his body. Even without the conditioning, the attractively alien appearance of a woman like Vije would have naturally caught Nathan's interest, which made his current attraction towards her all the more stimulating. Once she was done applying the tight, strap-based outfit, the tall European woman moved behind Nathan and pulled his mostly bare body against hers as she whispered into his ear. "You want to be Vije." The woman grabbed Nathan by the chin as he panted lustfully. "Say you want to be Vije. You make body thin. You pose for camera. You do as Vije say." "But I..." Nathan whispered, struggling against the conditioning. "...a- analyst..." "NO," Vije asserted. "You model now. You just model. You mine. You are Vije now. Say you model." After a moment of tense silence from Nathan, Vije brought her fingers up to pinch, painfully, at one of Nathan's exposed nipples, causing him to wince with the pain that came with it. "Say...you...model," Vije hissed, pressing harder upon the nipple between her fingers. "I...I model!!" he squealed painfully. "I model! I model! Lemme go!!" "You do as Vije say," she next hissed into his ear. "Because you belong Vije now." "Yes! Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes...owwww....oww..." Tears streamed down Nathan's eyes from the agony of Vije's squeezing. "...hurts...h- hurts...pleeeease stop..." "Hmph. You sissy," Vije scoffed, still squeezing the nipple. "You lucky. I like sissy." "Ooooh g-god...pleeeease...please, Vije...owwwww...o-owwwwww!" "No scream," Vije commanded. "Or you worse pain." "Anything...anything..." Nathan squeaked pathetically. "...just...let...gooooo...!" Vije let out a fiendish giggle. She then touched the tip of Nathan's nose with the index finger of her other hand as she spoke. "I hold you to that." And then, she finally let the nipple go. Nathan started to drop, but Vije wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly as he panted in his recovery. "Now we find collar," Vije then remarked. * * * CIA-Dir Peek-a-boo. MISOGUNIA Oh great. The Sisterhood apologist. Thanks for the reminder that we need to change our passwords again. CIA-Dir Don't bother. We'll crack any password you come up with. You DO know I have a direct, secure line to the NSA, yes? MISOGUNIA Good! You can tell them about the hyper-invasive SurvStar network the Sisterhood uses to shatter everyone's privacy. MISOGUNIA And while you're at it, you can advise the Feds about the murder of one Perry Beauchamp. CIA-Dir The Canadian cyberterrorist? We know all about him. Strangled his own mother to death because he thought she was a 'sheep'. Got out of Canada before they could apprehend him. CIA-Dir But you didn't care about any of that, did you? No. You just wanted him for his hacking skills. CIA-Dir And yes, I know you're hurting over his loss. He was "the best you had". Funny how a criminal record tends to disappear in the name of personal gain. MISOGUNIA PERSONAL GAIN?? YOU THINK THIS IS ALL ABOUT PERSONAL FUCKING GAIN?? THESE WOMEN YOU'RE PROT CIA-Dir I am not protecting anyone. I told you before, and I will tell you again. They are being observed. They tried sending me a message when they compromised Leland Hall, but I know for a fact that they did not kill him. That makes all the difference in the world. I don't like what they did, but I am not going to drop the hammer on them. Not yet. MISOGUNIA YOU'RE ENVIOUS OF THEM, YOU FUCKING COWARD. YOU WANT THEM TO FEMINIZE YOUR ASS! YOU'RE JUST PLAYING HARD TO GET! CIA-Dir And you, sir, are reaching for straws that are not there. I have a responsibility In a position I rightfully earned. And part of that responsibility is to try and make sense of sins committed by past administrations. CIA-Dir Sins that may have turned brilliant scientists into potential gender terrorists. But you cannot deal with a problem as sensitive as this by acting rashly. CIA-Dir And pretending to be this super-secret radical extremist movement is just the kind of rashness that I am referring to. CIA-Dir I am not the one making the big mistake here, Senator. CIA-Dir You are. CIA-Dir And if you are not as careful as I am, Bullchester's Senator...you...will be replaced with a more Sisterhood- friendly representative. CIA-Dir Is that what you want, Senator? Because I guarantee that would make Agatha pleased as punch. MISOGUNIA Over. My. Dead. FUCKING. BODY. CIA-Dir Suit yourself. CIA-Dir Don't say I didn't warn you. Your fate is now your own. We will NOT intervene. The decks are stacked far too heavily against you. MISOGUNIA And you have the nerve to call yourself a man?? CIA-Dir I'd rather call myself a man than develop a reputation for being a terrorist. MISOGUNIA WE ARE NOT TERRORISTS, YOU ASSHOLE! WE ARE CONCERNED FUCKING CITIZENS! CIA-Dir Who just happen to be resorting to terrorist tactics. MISOGUNIA Because you are doing NOTHING! CIA-Dir Did I stutter? For the umpteenth time, they are all under observation. MISOGUNIA i.e. YOU ARE DOING NOTHING. NOTHING. CIA-Dir While you bring In cyberterrorists armed with deadly weapons? Or should I remind you that your new friend from Quebec pulled a knife on an unarmed student? CIA-Dir Is that standard Miso-looney procedure for removing a loose end? CIA-Dir You do realize that this can be traced back to you, yes? Can you imagine what that would do for your re-election efforts? MISOGUNIA Not if I become a hero first. MISOGUNIA "The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." Thomas Jefferson. CIA-Dir Answer me this, then, Senator. You speak of patriots and tyrants. CIA-Dir Which one are you? MISOGUNIA Which one do you think I am, sissy boy? CIA-Dir Both. CIA-Dir "Patriotism is a virtue of the vicious." Oscar Wilde. MISOGUNIA FUCK YOU TOO, LOWENTHAL. * * * - DivineFem '< : Good afternoon, Director Lowenthal. - DivineFem '< : Isn't this nice of me? I gave you a complimentary ccount on our network, seeing as how you've been defending us so fervently. I even gave you a complimentary handle. - DivineFem '< : Go ahead. Give it a try. - DivineFem '< : Tick tock, Director. I can wait. - DivineFem '< : Tick tock. - DivineFem '< : Tick tock. - DivineFem '< : Tick tock. - DivineFem '< : OH JUST TYPE IN A FUCKING TEXT. I KNOW YOU'RE ONLINE, ASSHOLE. STOP HIDING. - DivineFem '< : Fine. Have it your way, you stubborn jackass. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * Denton Lowenthal let out a long sigh upon reviewing the texts which he knew was sent by Agatha, or at least by someone using her account. He could never be sure when it came to cyberspace unless he actually saw the person typing the words out. It was the duel with the Bullchester Senator which he had confirmed was the ringmaster behind the Misogunia movement that felt much more satisfying for him. Replying to Agatha in any way would have given people the impression that he was in on the Bullchester conspiracy, and he suspected that was what Agatha was attempting to do by giving him the 'complimentary account'. A part of Denton felt bothered by Agatha now, apparently, being able to gloat to him via the Speakabout app at her leisure. As he sat in quiet contemplation, he continued to stare at the screen full of Agatha's unanswered texts. What's your game, witch? He thought to himself. Why are you doing all of this? Where did the conspiracy begin? He knew his next line of thought would likely go unanswered no matter how hard he tried. How can I reason with you without compromising myself? * * * "You wanted to see me, Madame Noble?" Rita averted her eyes from the computer screen to look upon the curious expression on Shelley Portnoy's face. "Oh yes, dear. Do come in...and please, close the door behind you. I'd like this to be a private one-on- one." The Junior Executive pushed the door shut and then settled into the seat next to Rita's desk as the radically shapely Loris International CEO turned to face her prized slut's older sister. "First off, I want to repeat my appreciation for the way you handled the CIA man who you've so capably made your new secretary. How is Leigh working out for you?" "Well...I have to admit, she's a fast learner," Shelley replied. "Always on time, sometimes earlier than that, gets the paperwork done promptly, and she's hyper-responsive to my requests. Even for morning coffee. I still find it hard to believe she was once a man. She looks a bit...younger than I remember her being as a man, too." Rita grinned knowingly. "Must have been something in her bathwater." "Well...whatever it is, she's working out just fine," Shelley assured. "And so are you, Shelley dear," Rita added. "But I'm afraid I can't keep you in your current status. It's too...limiting...for a woman of your obvious ambition. I'm told you were even hoping to rise in status so you could elevate your sister's." Shelley's blood ran cold. She obviously tried to hide her surprise. "Madame Noble, I...I wasn't trying to..." "Miss Portnoy," Rita interjected, in a firm tone. "in a situation like this, I would prefer that you call me 'Rita' from now on, seeing as how this will reflect your new status in this company." Shelley's heart sank. She had perceived this to be Rita's way of saying she was going to be let go, and she imagined Sandra would also get the boot. And all because of longterm planning between the two of them. She wondered who it could have been that outed her. Perhaps it was Nathan, who had been curiously absent the past couple of days? That was the only person she had remembered confiding this plan to. "From this day forward, you will be joining us in all of our meetings, including the confidential ones." Rita placed a key on the desk and tapped an index fingernail upon it. "That is for the bathroom which is reserved for people like yourself. I expect you to use it exclusively." She then extended a hand, smiling, to an astonished Shelley. "Congratulations, Senior Executive Portnoy." It took her a moment to process this, but Shelley finally brought her hand up to shake Rita's. "Goddess...th-thank you, Mada...I mean, Rita." "You'll be moving into the larger office Mr. Barrows once inhabited. It's been completely cleared out by now," Rita explained. "Feel free to make it your own...and I think, given your new status, you can inform your sister that if she wishes to advance to the level of Junior Executive, she has my blessings as well. Give her your old office. Assuming, of course, that's what you want?" "Well, I...I...I can review her...qualifications, sure," Shelley cautiously answered. Rita had to giggle over this. "I'll hold off on working you like a dog until you're all settled in...but for now, there's another reason why I called you in here." Shelley tilted her head curiously, listening. Rita went into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a large photograph, presenting it to Loris International's newest Senior Executive. "Do you know this young man, Shelley?" Shelley's expression soured upon recognizing the face in the image. "Yeah. That's my brother Timmy," she replied disgustedly. "Fuckin' mama's boy. Why?" "And...how does your sister feel about him?" Rita then asked. "Pretty much the same, Rita," Shelley responded. "See...when it came to our parents, Mom doted on Timmy, and...we were more like Daddy's little girls. He showed us what it meant to be a strong family unit, but Mom always argued about this. They got into some big fights about it when we were all younger. Kinda fights I'd rather forget. He always told me that he was trying to make Mom stronger than she was. We never forgave her for divorcing Dad. We just felt like he was...well, betrayed. She left, and she took sissy boy with her. The whole thing happened while we were away at College. As far as Sandy and I are concerned, we don't have a Mom anymore, and we sure as hell don't have a brother. I don't give a fuck what they're doing with themselves these days." Rita's expression darkened a bit at the mention of Brock doting on Timmy's sisters, and she made a mental note to have any and all memories of their father cleansed as soon as possible. She also began to quite deviously consider the idea of having them think of Rita Noble as the mother they should have had. "Rita...can I ask why you're bringing up the subject of that little shitstain in the first place?" Shelley asked. A horrific thought then occurred to her. "Wait...he's not working here, is he??" "Oh, no, no," Rita assured, raising a hand in emphasis. "But...well, he looks...quite a bit different these days. In fact, the reason why I wanted you to come down to the Pink Persuasions party was to show you the kind of person I have turned Timothy Portnoy into." "Turned...into?" Shelley then thought of how Leland Hall became Leigh Krystal as Rita once again rummaged through a drawer, and then pulled out a magazine. "Oh, you are fucking kidding me...!" "This is not one of our publications, obviously..." She handed Shelley the magazine that featured 'Tamara' on the cover, looking as plus-sized and as feminine as Rita and Maggie had manipulated Timothy into becoming. "...but the Tamara woman used to be your brother. If what I'm told is true, she's had some plastic surgery done to, well, improve her looks. But your brother is...well, more like your sister now. She has a vagina to go with those big boobs, too." Flipping through the magazine to the photo spread that Tamara was featured in as Rita spoke, Shelley was completely aghast over how radically different her brother now looked. Edgy. Sexy. And his...or rather, her...mammaries were attractively big, too. She also took note of the added weight that gave Tamara her attractively curvy appearance. "Is...her mother here too?" Shelley finally, hesitantly, asked Rita. "I mean, do you know if she..." "Ruth used to be in Bullchester, yes. Would you like some coffee, dear?" Rita answered as she rose to her feet upon seeing Shelley nodding, stepping over to the coffee machine inside her office. "Your Mom went into Witness Protection after providing information to the Feds that helped them to raid a human trafficking operation being run by a greek criminal she was going to marry. It was...an embarrassing little episode, quite frankly, but Ruth had to move out of Bullchester. I don't know where she is now, but...I can tell you that Tamara is still in the city. She's made some...interesting friends, too." Once again, Shelley looked astonished as Rita prepared her coffee. Witness Protection? Greek criminal? HUMAN TRAFFICKING?? "Cream or sugar?" Rita asked. "Both." Concealing the mixture she was preparing, Rita pulled a small glass vial from the pocket of her bolero jacket and discreetly poured the misty gray liquid into the coffee cup. She gave the mixture of coffee, sugar, cream, and the "truth serum"...a tasteless, colorless, and odorless variety of the drug...a couple of stirs with a spoon before bringing it over to Shelley. "I don't think I need to remind you that this is your foot in the door, so to speak," Rita noted as she handed off the full coffee cup. "I expect enough doors to open up for you that will end up making you a very wealthy, and a very powerful woman in our city. Are you a praying woman, Shelley?" The new Senior Executive shook her head as she sipped from her coffee cup, while Rita walked over to a large window overlooking the city. "We've always been atheists." "I'm not much of a zealot either, but..." Rita's peripheral vision confirmed Shelley consuming an adequate portion of the lukewarm coffee as she spoke. "...I have to admit, it does give the devoted a sense of...focus. Devotion is so important, isn't it, Shelley?" Shelley's vision blurred, compelling her to blink in her confusion. "Uhh...y-yes. Devotion is...is...good thing." Rita slowly turned to face her guest as the serum capably settled into her guest's mind, making it far more susceptible to suggestion. "I think we should test that devotion to my words. You will answer my questions truthfully now. No matter how personal. The answers will flow forth from your mouth like water from a spout. There will be no hesitation. Understood?" "Yes." When Rita returned to her seat, Shelley was staring forward, and at no one in particular. It was clear that the drug had taken hold of her, and she was awaiting further inquiries. As she was lost to the serum's effects for the moment, Rita knew any answer Shelley gave would be the truth. "Now..." Rita began, smiling with satisfaction as she settled into the comfortable padding of her seat. "...let's ask you a few more questions about your brother." * * * Seamus Rafferty, the broad-bodied owner of the Bottom of the 9th, had his grayish-brown hair cut short, while keeping his mustache curving down the corners of his lips, routing to his sideburns. A gray T-Shirt stretched tightly over his broad torso, while rugged black jeans covered his legs. Tattoos reflecting his irish pride decorated his arms, which were also marked with the scars of past bare knuckle fights during his fighting days in Belfast, Ireland. He had moved away alongside his wife, Aibreann, to put this wild and crazy past behind him and start a family, but Belfast was now, apparently, calling him back, and his two children were old enough to not only watch over the home, but to handle his Bullchester-based business as well. At first, Aibreann was hesitant to step away from Bullchester in favor of her husband's irish roots, but a woman who had recently befriended her during a shopping trip at Gourmandizer's managed to change her stance. Riley helped his father carry out his luggage, while Shannon aided her mother while the online taxi driver they had called waited. The Russian man emerged from the car to assist in storing away their bags while Seamus turned to his son, gently resting his hands on Riley's shoulders. "See if ye can squeeze a bit more profit outta th' bar, son," Seamus advised. "Ye got a big responsibility ahead a' ye. Don't let meh down." "But Dad..." Riley responded, sounding concerned. "...what if things...you know...work out out there? I know they want you to lend a hand at old man Finnegan's pub, but..." "Ah'm jes gonna help 'em get back on their feet, boy," Seamus assured. "'sides...gotta return ol' Ryan's favor. Ye just mind th' bar out here in ladyland." Riley had to chuckle at the 'ladyland' nickname Seamus had given to Bullchester. It wasn't too far from the truth, either, given the change in atmosphere since Julia Stroud became the city's Mayoress. "I'll keep the taps pourin', Pop." Seamus nodded, smiling as he tapped affectionately at his shoulder. "Good lad." "Ye run into any kinda problem while we're away, ye call meh," Aibreann told her daughter. "That includes problems at th' Ninth." "I'll have a chat about business tonight with Riley, Ma," Shannon responded. "We'll see what kind of ideas we can come up with to turn the place around." "Don't forget ye got that Inspector comin' round t'morrow past noon," Aibreann reminded. "Make sure th' place keeps it's 'A' ratin'." "Ye got th' pest control guy's number, aye, boy?" Seamus asked. "Yup." He lifted up his smartphone. "Got it programmed in." "Ye make a mess o' th' castle, I show ye how much m' bare knuckles still hurt," Seamus reminded. "See ye in two weeks...well, less'n ye do that 'video chat' thing." "Have a good trip, Da!" Shannon waved as she called out, smiling. Their parents secured themselves in the back seats as the Russian driver returned to the driver side of the car. Seamus rolled down a window just before the car started moving and held out a fist. "SLAINTE!" He called out, smiling. His adolescent son and daughter held up their own fists. "SLAINTE!" They called back as the car rolled out of its parking space and began its journey to the Bullchester Airport. "AIBREANN!!" a woman suddenly called out, hurrying in the direction of Riley and Shannon while waving at the departing car. "AIBREANN, WAIT!!" But the car was already disappearing into the distance. "Ahh, shite." The short-haired woman, whose hair was parted down the center in a bob, drooped her hands down. "Just missed 'em." The curiosities of Riley and Shannon were already apparent in their expressions. "Uh, you are...?" The attractive woman turned to them. "Oh, hi. Sorry...I'm Hayley. I met Aibreann at Gourmandizer's. There was something I wanted to tell her before she left, but...I guess it can wait." She looked to the girl. "You must be Shannon. Your Mom told me about you..." Hayley then lifted a hand towards Riley. "...aaand she told me about you too, stud. Your Mom's descriptions obviously didn't do you justice, Riley. Rowr!" Riley smiled, accepting the handshake. "Nice to meet you." Wow... he thought to himself. ...wish I could have been there when Mom met her. "We could always call her, you know," Shannon noted. "If it's anything important." "Oh, no, no. It can wait." Hayley waved a hand dismissively. She then teasingly tapped the back of her hand against Riley's shoulder, grinning suggestively. "So...you planning any wild parties while the folks are away? Hmm?" Riley chuckled. "Nooo, no. Dad would kill us." "Awww, why? You don't clean up after yourself?" Hayley waved a finger at him accusingly. "Naughty boy." "No, no. I...I clean up," Riley whined. "I run a pub. I have to know how to clean up." Hayley narrowed her eyes. "But it's your staff that actually does the work, right?" Shannon smirked at her brother. "She's got ya there, bro." Riley sighed irritably. "I do believe in the importance of a clean establishment, Hayley." "Oh, don't be such a fuddy-duddy, Riley dear. I surely jest." She looked over his physique, which while not as prominent as his father's certainly reflected his track-and-field experiences in his school days. She also noticed the tattoo of a shamrock on his right bicep. "Mmm, and you surely work out, don't you?" Riley shrugged, feeling a bit bashful. "Well...not as much as I used to, but yeah." Shannon's hands went to her hips. "Should I, uh, leave you two alone to get better acquainted?" The young man felt tempted to say 'yes', but... "Uhh, no, no," Riley answered. "Besides...we have to go over the books, yeah?" Shannon nodded. "Mm-hmm." "Ah, well. Maybe later, then." She turned Riley's head back to meet her own gaze. "I assume you mean the Bottom of the 9th when you talk about your 'pub', right?" Riley nodded, glancing down at her exposed cleavage. "Uh...yeah, yeah." "Soooo? I can see you down there when it opens, right?" Hayley noted. "Then you can take me on a tour of your back room." Riley now looked wary. "It's not that kind of place, Hayley." "I'm teasing you again, silly!" The woman lightly slapped his arm. "Go on! Go over the books, like a good girl! I'll just head on back home and, y' know...do my chores." Did she just say 'girl'? "I...guess I'll see you at the pub then." "Damn right, you will." She turned to look at Shannon. "Nice to meet you!" Shannon just waved as she turned and stepped into the house. Once she was gone, Hayley whispered a quick enticement into Riley's ear as he turned towards the house. "Show up fifteen minutes early, and I'll let you touch 'em." A finger traced around the curvature of her boobs as she hissed this. Riley turned around, mystified...but Hayley already turned away and began to leave. "See ya later, stud," she remarked as she walked. The young Irishman couldn't help but to stare at her swaying, well- shaped posterior as she distanced herself from him. His eyes lingered on her progress down the road as he went up the stone stairs leading to the front door of his house. Once he was inside, Shannon gave him a wry look, her arms crossed in front of her. "You done with that cougar, bro?" Riley shrugged, smiling meekly. "Hey...I'm still single. It's a weakness." "Long as it doesn't cost us the pub," Shannon warily responded. "Come on...let's get this budget shit over with." * * * Danny Dilton still found it difficult to believe that his roommate was standing in front of him, showing off how he looked wearing a peach- colored half-slip. "Ohh, man, this feels sooo nice..." Brad cooed as a bulge formed between his legs. Danny couldn't help but notice how odd his roommate's voice now sounded as he looked to him. "...how does this look to you?" "Huh? Uhh, yeah, yeah. It...looks nice." The words didn't exactly reflect Danny's true thoughts, but he tried to make the words sound convincing. Brad stepped close to his nervous-looking roommate. "Be honest with me. Does it look nice, or not?" "Well...Brad, this...this isn't the kind of thing guys wear," Danny responded, trying to reason with him. "I mean...I'm used to seeing you in stuff like, uh...like Football jerseys, or tank-tops." "Ugh. Football jerseys." Brad sounded dismissive. "Too big. Too rough against my skin. I'd rather wear..." He looked around the store, and spotted a nice-looking purple evening gown. He then stepped over to it and gestured to the dress, smiling. "...something like this." "Brad, that's a girl's dress," Danny remarked. "It's gonna look, well, weird on you." "How would you know?" Brad challenged. His eyes then narrowed. "Have you ever tried on dresses, Danny?" "Wh...me??" The flustered student now looked as if he were trying to hide something. "What...what makes you think that??" Brad had to giggle at this reaction to his little tease. He then wrapped his arms around his waist. "Y'know...it felt really good kissing you like we did back in our dorm. It looked like you were enjoying it, too." Danny swallowed hard. "Brad, I..." The pressing of his roommate's lips against his own cut off the geeky-looking student's words, replacing them with light moans as Brad continued to kiss the nervous young man. Danny's muscles slackened as the kiss lingered. The urge to pull away from Brad never manifested. It was as if he peered into an abyss and had found the sight very compelling. When it seemed like Danny needed air, Brad pulled his lips away, but pressed his forehead against Danny's. "Go get yourself contact lenses." Danny blinked. "But...but I..." "You wanna kiss me again?" Brad interjected. "I can see it in your eyes. You want me to kiss you again." His lips now hovered mere inches away from Danny's. "You like how it feels inside when I kiss you the way I do...and I love...I fucking love...kissing you like that, Danny." And then, Brad took a couple of steps back. His expression went neutral. "But we're not gonna do it. Not until you lose those glasses and start wearing contacts." Danny blinked in his surprise. "But...but..." "No 'buts'. I'm tired of looking at those ugly glasses of yours." Brad chided. "Do whatever you have to to get yourself contacts or find yourself a new man." Danny found the sudden about-face uncomfortably jarring as his confused face melted into an angry frown. "Well, shit! I...I'm not into guys anyway!" In a huff, he turned and frumpily walked out of the store. With a snort of derision, Brad looked down at himself, savoring the half-slip he was now wearing. He stepped over to one of the mirrors in the store and began to pose in a feminine fashion. "Mmmmm...I never-r-r figur-r-r-red you to be a dr-r-r-rama queen, Br-r- r-rad," a familiar voice behind him purred as she stepped closer to her childhood friend. "You ought to audition for-r-r an episode of 'Wild Passions'." Brad quickly turned around. "Connor..." "Constance, dear-r-r. Constance," the husky-voiced femme fatale corrected as she looked over Brad's body. "You'r-r-re looking a bit...differ-r-rent lately." Brad noticed a heavy caking of makeup on Constance's face, no doubt intended to hide the blemishes caused by his fist when he knocked her out. "Look...I'm...I'm sorry I hit you." "Consider-r-ring how you'r-r-re looking r-r-r-right now, I'd say we wer- r-re even." Constance's hand grasped at the area between Brad's legs, squeezing the area hard. "Well...par-r-rtially. Who was your-r-r fr-r- riend?" "It's happening to me too, isn't it?" Brad whined. "I'm...I'm changing. Just like you did. But...how did..." He then remembered the sharp pinch he felt as they left their last rendezevous. "...wait...our last date...someone ss-stabbed me with..." "Answer-r-r my question." Constance asserted, pressing her forehead against his. "Who...was...your-r-r...fr-r-riend?" "D-Danny. My roommate," Brad answered. "Something inside me just...wanted him. I-I couldn't help mmmyself..." "Don't fight it, then," Constance cooed into Brad's ear. "Let me help you to get..." She stroked at the edge of the half-slip. "...accustomed to all this. Maybe I can help you lur-r-r-re Danny in." Constance then spent the next few hours picking out garments in the store for Brad to try on, all of them designed for females. After very hesitantly putting some of them on, he found himself posturing effeminately in front of the mirror. It was practically an unconscious, unbidden urge. Dress after dress was carefully slipped on, pulled off, and another slipped on right behind it. Some, he wrinkled his face to in dissatisfaction, while others he seemed to express a visible interest in. Most of these were alluring and revealing garments that clung to his skin. As he stared at his own reflection, this time wearing a silken red gown that felt cool against his skin, Constance stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around her childhood friend. "Constance..." Brad now looked very nervous, as if a part of him were still trying to fight the subliminal urges that had been forced on his mind. "...wh...what will I...tell my parents??" "They'll get used to you," Constance softly assured, keeping her arms around the effeminate young man. "Faster-r-r than you might think. Now let's finish shopping in her-r-r-re and I'll take you a stor-r-re that has the best per-r-r-rfumes." * * * Lawrence Hanel's Office, Bullchester - 12:15 p.m. *click* Burt, an easily-allured, adolescent-aged male locksmith Barbara Walsh had brought with him during the lunch break she knew Larry Hanel and his new secretary...Jemima Poulson...was out somewhere enjoying, smiled meekly up at the busty temptress a condemned man named Barry Walsh had been transformed into some time ago once he had managed to unlock the front door to Larry's office. Once they were inside, he offered the same service for the locked door to Larry's portion of the office, which was behind where Jemima usually sat. Still hopelessly captivated by Barbara's pheromones, she pushed the smaller man's face between her large breasts, smiling sweetly in her gratitude. As she did, a Tear Duct in her right hand squeezed a feminizing serum through the Duct's small needle that Barbara had subtly jabbed into his back, seeing as how she learned that he was among the misogynist patrons that frequented the Bottom of the 9th through a text from a Madame. Once she dismissed Burt, Barbara stepped over to the inner office's Coffee Machine. Giving the pot a couple of quick, light pats, she confirmed that the full cup's worth of coffee contained within it was still hot, indicating that it was a fresh brewing. Her hand then went to the cleavage of her outfit within the low-cut V- neck, and from between the fleshy valleys, she pulled a single vial of a serum her daughter, Leanne, had concocted for her. Opening it up, she poured its contents into the coffee, and watched the nefarious liquid quickly dissolve into the coffee. She was told she didn't even need to stir it. Having been told how to re-lock the doors when she was finished by Burt, she re-secured the doors and hurried away, hoping that Larry and Jemima did not decide to return early. Fortunately, Barbara was able to get away clean. She had a devious smile on her face as she drove out of her parking spot, her mission accomplished. Now, it was time for her to return to the Fertility Clinic to see how the former male that was now her blond, milk-heavy friend...Annie Merrywether...was doing with her daily tasks there. At around 1pm, and quite conveniently around the time the cleaning lady finished vacumming the rugs of the office(a perk Barbara had factored into her visit), Larry re-entered the office with a much more feminine...and Secretary-attired...Jemima Poulson behind him. "So I jus' figured it would be right c'nvenient t' have a paralegal a' my own," Larry explained as the two of them stepped into the lobby area. "Someone I could bounce m' ideas off of." "Well, I think you'd be able to do that with me without my becoming a Paralegal, Mr. Hanel," Jemima explained, adjusting her bra a little. The feel of more prominent breasts on her chest continued to stimulate her as she walked. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Larry responded, smiling. "But...least I can't say I didn't try, eh, sport?" Jemima nodded, smirking as she settled back into her seat. "Even if it's for the twentieth time." "R'flects m' faith in ya, Jem!" With a wink and a smile, the attorney disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him. The afternoon portion of the day was quiet, save for the printer whirring to life every so often to spit out pages of documents Larry had his new secretary type up. His eyes went to a picture of him and Tamara on his desk. As it always did, a smile full of good memories filled his head. Next to it was another picture that was taken of him and the woman named Gwynn. I really do hope y' doin' well, T'mara. He thought to himself. I'm missin' you. Glancing at the photo of Gwynn compelled him to pull out his smartphone and engage her contact number. After a couple of trills, she linked up. "Hey there, honeysuckle!" "How-DEE!" the grinning attorney chimed back. "How y' been doin'?" "This damn workin' thing o' mine been havin' me climbin' th' fuckin' walls as o' late," Gwynn griped. "Like th' Goddess herself been keepin' me from my own damn social life." "Any chance o' you breakin' off sometime soon?" Larry asked, feeling hopeful, and wanting to put his worries about Barbara Walsh behind him once and for all. "Ahhh, sorry, darlin'," Gwynn lamentedly answered. "Work like mine keeps me on call. Jus' bad timin' is all. Firs' chance I git, I'm puttin' in fer some big ol' time off, an' I'm draggin' you with me, yay 'er nay." "Heh...I'll just have t' put m' new hire to th' test o' watchin' ov'r th' farm!" the well-dressed attorney mused aloud. "'noth'r time, then." "How's she workin' out for ya?" Gwynn asked. "Yer new hire, that is." "Well...she ain't no T'mara Portnoy, but...Jem's a peach nev'rth'less." Larry answered. "Feels like she's hidin' somethin' all th' time, but...well, it ain't m' place t' pry too deep on co-work'rs. Maybe in time, she'll op'n up a lil'." "Let her be th' judge o' that, Larry," Gwynn advised. "You jus' keep doin' your thing, an' when I'm ready t' pull stakes, I'll jus' ride on in an' lasso ya." Larry giggled at this. "Sounds like fun! You take care of y'self then, darlin'." "Thanks fer callin', Larry. Really," Gwynn cooed. "An' be careful, will ya? Don't let anyone slip a mickey on ya." Larry nodded, smiling. "Hang in there, darlin'." "You too," Gwynn tenderly replied before the line disconnected. Larry's long and thoughtful sigh was followed by a yawn. A few more hours and the day would be over. Pouring himself a cup of what remained in his pot into his coffee mug, he poured the tainted black liquid down his throat in one tilt and sat back at his desk to finish out the day. XVIII: Targets of Opportunity Riley Rafferty settled his car into his usual parking space near the Bottom of the 9th and stepped out, sprinting towards the corner of the street where he needed to make a right turn to get to the bar's entrance door. The scent of liquor-based bad breath and even worse hygiene filled his nostrils as he neared the corner. The smell, as it turned out, came from a derelict woman wearing horribly unwashed clothing. An empty bottle of liquor was in one of her dirty hands. He tried to ignore the woman, but she started following close behind. "Look...what they did t' me...'s a fuckin' TRAP," the derelict...Leslie Betancourt...mumbled as she followed behind. "My fam'ly...my son..." She suddenly grabbed Riley's shirt with a tight grip. "...MY FUCKIN' SON!! This place is a TRAP, goddammit!!" "Leslie...let me GO!" Riley tried to shove her off, but she seemed a little more determined this time to hold on. She heaved out more of her horrible breath, which was beginning to make the young man nauseous. "Get the hell OFF of me, you...disgusting bitch!" "Yer FUCKED if y' don't do something!" Leslie wailed. "This city's a fuckin' TRAP!! IT'S A TRAP!!" Much as he hated the thought of doing so, Leslie had never grabbed him like this. The past few times he ran into her, it was nothing but her usual 'look what they did to me' and her 'it's a trap' nonsense. This time, however, she was getting physical. He had no other option. Riley's strong, open-handed slap to the face immediately sent Leslie to the ground, knocking her senseless for a moment. The young Irishman glared down at the wrinkled derelict. "Don't you EVER touch me like that again, you hear me? If I have to knock your ass down again, you're not gonna be able to get back up!" Bullchester police officers were hurrying over as Leslie tearfully looked up to Riley. "Y' don't know shit," she mumbled. "I saw one o' those bitches in there! Yer FUCKED!!" She glared around to bystanders that had stopped to watch the scene. "YOU'RE ALL FUCKED!!" The uniformed female officers were on her now, pulling her to her feet as one spoke. "Okay, Mrs. Betancourt. Let's get you away from here. Come on. Don't struggle." "I ain't doin' nothin'!" Leslie whined. "I jus' wanted a drink!" "We'll get you plenty of water at the station, now come on." The cops pulled Leslie away from the area as a third policewoman approached Riley. "Did she do anything other than try to talk to you, Mr. Rafferty?" The policewoman asked. "Yeah. She grabbed me," the young man answered. "I tried to get her off me. She wouldn't let go, so? I had to hit her." The cop nodded. "I'll just chalk this up as self-defense, Mr. Rafferty. This kind of behavior is not uncommon with Leslie anyway. Did you want to press charges, though?" Riley shook his head. "I just wanna get to work, officer." She nodded again, in acknowledgement, as she began to backtrack. "Fine. Have a good night, Mr. Rafferty." Riley just gave an unconscious wave as he turned towards the entrance to the Bottom of the 9th and pulled open the door. The smell of barbecue sauce was heavenly compared to the derelict's stench. The huge flatscreen TV was playing an independently-made movie called In The Company Of Men. This particular feature was recorded by Seamus through DVR and as he knew it was a bar favorite, he had it played on request. As the bar's clientele was mostly made up of men with misogynistic tendencies, and a few females who were apparently tolerant of such behavior, the movie played frequently whenever there was not a prominent sports match to tune into. Other movies with a misogynistic bent...films like Fight Club and Scarface...played on the giant TV as well. Episodes of The A-Team were often shown as well. "I love this place," Riley heard a burly patron comment to his male buddy as he passed them. "Always reminds me that it's good to be a real man." And, apparently, these 'real men' were particularly good at making a bit of a mess. By the end of busy evenings, there was the matter of a floor that was typically wet with spilled beer. The bathrooms in the back were also considerably messy by closing time, no doubt due to notoriously secretive liaisons. Still, the clientele didn't create unsanitary conditions that were beyond repair or restoration, and Riley's staff was pretty good at maintaining the "A" rating they had received in the past, in the times before the regime of Mayoress Julia Stroud. The "A" rating that was currently displayed was actually an old inspection grade. Since Stroud became Mayoress, he had yet to renew it, and inspection time was only a few days away. With the change in regime inevitably came a new inspector, and as Riley suspected, this one was a female. As Riley approached the bar, he signaled for Fiona...a ginger-haired barmaid he always trusted...to join him in the Staff Room. She nodded once, but visually indicated that she had to get a tray full of beers and drinks out to waiting patrons first. Once he was in the Staff Room, Riley settled into the seat behind his desk, letting out a long and tired sigh as he did. Dear God. He griped to himself as he rubbed at his lowered eyelids. Let the next few days pass without any more incidents, if it isn't too much to ask. Although he had always dismissed it as wild and drunken ramblings, he reflected on the words of the derelict. 'Look what they had done to me'. He repeated to himself in the privacy of his thoughts. Look what WHO did to her? And why does she always think of Bullchester as a 'trap'? Damn. I wonder if that woman has ever actually been sober for more than a few minutes of her life. Fucking barfly. On a nearby bulletin board, he stared at a bumper sticker Riley's father had placed there. The message on the sticker read Men mind the store, women mind the kids. Beneath it was a written addition Riley himself had written during a break period: until the kids get older. Fiona finally entered the Staff Room. Like the rest of the staff, she was wearing her black, pocketed apron, and the staff-ordained green T- Shirt with the name of the establishment on the right breast in yellow letters. Her long, straight hair hung down in a high ponytail behind her. "Sorry, boss," she remarked. "Crowd's getting a little thick out there. Had to pull McManus off his ass to cover for me." Riley nodded, diverting his attention from the bumper sticker to Fiona. "How's the till looking?" "Okay so far," Fiona reported. "But, ah...in the words of Led Zeppelin, the song remains the same. Busy nights are, well, few. Tonight's good, but...it's nothing consistent." "Tonight's the retirement gathering for Teddy Alves, right?" Riley asked, receiving a nod from Fiona in reply. "Yeah. That explains it, and our last big night was the Football game a few days ago." "That was the night that big blond woman kicked that creepy guy's ass, right?" "I guess so. I wasn't there that night," Riley replied. "Fee...we need ideas that'll help us kick up attendance. If we can't keep this place busy five days a week at the very least, our upkeep hemorrhaging is gonna get worse." "Did you bring this up with your Dad?" Fiona asked. "He keeps boomeranging the problem back on me," Riley answered. "I couldn't try again, either. He's probably touching down in Belfast as we speak." The pony-tailed girl shrugged. "Maybe Ray can think of something." "Mulkey? Only ideas I get from him are Happy Hours," Riley dismissively responded. "I should also remind you that we're due to be inspected. I need this place cleaned up. Top to bottom. Needs to be as spotless as possible." Fiona let out a bit of a sigh. "Yes, boss." Riley frowned, perceiving irritation. "Why are you always like that when I bring up maintenance?" The barmaid shrugged. "As big as this place is, we find ourselves needing to put in, well, overtime just to swab the decks, so to speak. Sometimes, it's just me and Diane pushing the mops and wiping the counters clean. Ray always hurries out when his shifts end. We could use a little...you know, extra help?" "What, you want me to be on mop detail or something?" Riley chided. "As for Ray, there's a reason he needs to be out of here. He hasn't really come clean as to exactly why, but..." "Have you thought about asking him?" Fiona reasoned. "Ri...you're the boss. I'm just Staff. I can't..." "We've got a couple of days before the Inspector comes," Riley interjected. "Just do a little before you go." "Boss...Diane's out sick this week, remember??" Fiona protested. "If there's an inspection coming, we should have all hands on deck! I think even your Dad would understand that!" "Why don't you let me worry about what my Dad would understand, Fiona??" Riley scolded. "Just do the best you can! Start a couple of hours before your shift ends! Start right now! I don't give a fuck! And no more excuses! We don't get this place looking a little less like a frat house after a wild party, Dad's gonna come home to find his own bar padlocked 'cause we got hit with a health hazard advisory!" "Ri, please," Fiona fretfully appealed. "Just...work with me for one hour. Two if you can. Honestly...I can't go over the whole place in just two days! Not without help!" But as Fiona spoke, Riley got back to his feet in a huff and stepped back out of the Staff Room, leaving the experienced barmaid to heavily sigh out in her complete frustration. He immediately went to the bar, where Ray Mulkey...a crop-topped, black- haired man wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a black tie above a pair of black slacks...was mixing up a Sex On The Beach. He also noticed that the woman he had met as his parents drove away from the Barford house...the "cougar" called Hayley...was sitting among the patrons. "Ray..." Riley tried getting his attention after he had served the Sex On The Beach. "...gotta steal you for a moment." The bartender nodded. "Hope this is gonna be quick," he called out to the patrons, many of them still waiting...some of them irritably...for their drinks. "Be back in a moment, everyone." Stepping away to a quiet area of the establishment, Riley turned to the barkeep, whose arms were crossed in front of him. "Look...I know you are...who you are, agent man, but...would it honestly kill you to give us a hand in cleaning the place up? If only to keep up your little 'cover story'? I don't want Fiona swabbing around on her own, and Diane's out sick. I should also remind you that we're due to be inspected in two days." "Uh-huh...and I'm due to report in before then," Ray countered. Riley sighed in visible irritation. This wasn't the first time Ray used that excuse to evade a maintenance request. "Can't it wait??" "Look, boss...if you're so hard-up for a cleanin', why don't you call in for domestic services?" Ray replied. "I'm hearin' some patrons say they've got maids cleanin' their houses, and some o' those houses're pretty fuckin' big." "Oh, swell," Riley irritably shot back. "Just what we need, another expense." "Y' want me t' pay for it? I'll fund it," Ray unexpectedly offered, his voice still calm. "I got back pay I can use t' cover it. Just tell me who t' call." Riley blinked in his amazement. "Really? You'd do that?" Ray shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I could foot th' bill an' still have enough t' pay for a trip to Vegas. Thought I heard a woman at th' bar waitin' for her red wine talkin' 'bout someone who trains maids." Riley frowned in his curiosity. "This...woman...wouldn't happen to be the one with the short black hair, would it? Has her hair parted in the middle?" "Yeah," Ray confirmed. "Said her name was Hayley." Riley nodded. "I...think I'll take you up on that offer then. You handle everyone else. I'll get Hayley's red wine." They both returned to the bar and got right back to work. Picking out the bar's best wine glass, Riley filled it up as Ray got right back into drink-serving mode. As Riley worked, he caught sight of Fiona out on the floor angling a dirty look at him. Wine glass in hand, Riley stepped over to where Hayley was sitting with a cordial smile on his face. "Heard you were looking for this. How're you doing tonight, Hayley?" Hayley, however, had a long face as the young man stepped over to serve her drink. "I'm pretty fucking disappointed in you, Riley. I came as early as I could because I figured you'd take me up on my offer." "Yeah, well...like my father says, life sucks, and then you're late." Riley answered. "Besides...isn't it kind of odd that someone you've just met is offering a bar owner the chance to touch her boobs? I mean...that may work with some of these other booze-hounds, but..." "What makes you think I wanted you to feel me up like that, Riley?" Hayley interjected. "I only told you that so I could talk to you about your inspections visit before you opened. You do have one coming up, don't you?" Riley blinked in his surprise. "How did you...?" "Well?" Hayley gave him an authoritative look. "Do you have an inspections visit coming up or not?" "Well...yeah, but..." "You do, right? Well, this place could certainly use a lot of professional cleaning." Hayley explained. "I hope you don't expect a skeleton crew of servers and your bartender to do all of that work for you? I'm not afraid to tell you that this place is a fucking pigsty, and if they find out that your inspections grade is out-of-date, they will lock you out of your own place. You do know this, right?" "Yeah, I know it, sure." Riley answered. "But the real question is, how do y..." "I just happen to have access to domestic cleaning services," Hayley noted, obviously quick on her interventions in Riley's attempts at counter-questioning. "Give them a single evening, and they can have this place looking...and smelling...like an A-plus establishment." "Jesus..." Riley obviously found such a boast difficult to believe. "...one evening?" "The catch is that you would have to stay and supervise them," Hayley added. "You, and you alone. You can't have your veteran servers do it, or Ray there. It has to be you, since you're the owner." "Well...if it's just supervision, that sounds fair," Riley responded. "But...what kind of an expense are we looking at?" "That's where you luck out, kiddo," Hayley answered. "See...the woman offering up domestic help is getting her private business started, so she's offering two or three fully-trained domestics at half the cost of what she would usually ask for their services." She then handed a business card to Riley. "Call that number ASAP, and Evangeline should be able to set everything up for you. You can have them come down tomorrow night, if you like, or the day before little Miss Inspector arrives." Her other hand held the glass of wine, which she finally took a sip of. "Mmmm. Very nice." Riley quickly went over to Ray and gave her the business card, discreetly giving instructions. Hayley saw Ray nod in confirmation. How nice of him to leech vital expenses off of his co-workers. Hayley thought to herself as she discreetly slipped a wide-banded, silver ring onto her finger. The young man had a hopeful smile on his face as he returned to the attractive woman. "I think we'll take Miss Pierson up on her offer, Hayley. Thanks!" "Anything for a handsome young man like yourself, sweetie." She held up a hand and crooked a finger to beckon him closer. "Now let's give Auntie Hayley a nice, big, appreciative peck on the cheek, dear." Chuckling, Riley craned his head forward as Hayley offered her cheek. Just as the young man's lips were about to touch the woman's skin, she placed her hand on the back of Riley's neck... ...and sank a small needle that was sticking out on one side of the silver ring into Riley's skin, effectively injecting another nefarious, mind-bending serum into his bloodstream. Within seconds, the young man's mind became hyper-susceptible to suggestion. Hayley continued to hold him close as she gently spoke into his ear. "Now this is what you're going to do, and you will not know who it was who gave you these instructions, nor why they were given to you. Listen carefully..." * * * Delilah Stockholm was finally at the end of her rope with her husband. It was as if he had quite suddenly ceased to exist in her eyes. She knew she couldn't remain in the house. It was time to go, even though the divorce action was impending. She did not want to hazard her kids against the possibility of them being caught up in the odd circumstances that was clearly eroding the natural life of Simon Callahan. Robert, being the oldest brother, was the most upset of the three Callahan brothers. Martin found the intrusion of their normal life(and his gaming habits) irritating, and Chester was the only one who felt any sympathy for what his father was going through. In fact, of the three brothers, he was the most dead set against leaving his father. "Have you been seeing what's been happening to your father, Chester?" Delilah irritably reminded. "I don't want you around that...thing...any further, you understand?" "You really want to hang around that...that...freak??" Robert gestured to the closed door of Simon's room, which they all knew their changing father was behind. "But...but...he's Dad," Chester reasoned, looking a little more crestfallen. "We can't just leave him. We're family. We should..." Delilah angrily grabbed Chester's arm as she glared down at him, speaking through clenched teeth. "Look, Chester Samuel Callahan. We are leaving, you understand?? I am not staying one minute longer in this house, and neither are you! I just got us a bigger house in Barford, and I need to get us in there since the window period on it closes tomorrow, you understand?? We are getting OUT, and your...your former father is NOT coming with us!" "Then I'm not going either!" Chester stubbornly shot back, trying to free himself from Delilah's grip. "Lemme go!!" "Mom, just leave him," Martin irritably remarked. "If he wants to stay, let him stay." "NO!!" Delilah angrily barked back. "I won't let that..." She pointed to the closed door of the bedroom they once shared. "...that...thing corrupt any of you! You're all coming with me, and that's final!" Delilah then felt a sharp pain impact her right shinbone, the hard shot from Chester's kick forcing her to let go of the young man, who immediately rushed over to the closed door of his father's room and pulled it open, quickly closing it behind him. He was also quick to lock it with a twist of its old-fashioned lock mechanism. Sure enough, the door began to shake violently from Delilah's frantic efforts to open it. "Goddamn it, Chester! You open this door right now!" He heard her yell from the other side. But Chester chose to reinforce the door by placing the backrest of a chair beneath the doorknob, positioning the chair at an angle. Ignoring the protests and the shaking of the door, Chester walked over to the double bed, where he knew his father had completely buried himself under the covers. He could hear distinct feminine moans emanating from around the area where his head was. The bedcovers trembled as Chester slowly stepped over. "Dad??" Chester was now at the side of the bed. "Mmmmhhh..." The bedsheets trembled again. "...Chesss-ter?" "Mom's leaving. She's taking Marty and Rob." Chester reported. "I'm not going. I'm staying here. I don't wanna go with her!" "No..." Simon's muffled, squeaky voice replied. "...go, Ches. D- Daddy...Daddy's sick." "NO!" Chester cried out. "I'm not leaving you!" "Chess...please," Simon weakly remarked. "Please go." Chester noticed that the rumbling at the door, and the screaming and the arguing, had stopped. It was now quiet save for the sound of Simon's effeminate breathing, and the occasional feminine moan. "I...I think they're gone, Dad," Chester observed. "Pleeeeease go..." Simon whispered, sounding a bit desperate. "...Daddy's ssss-sssoooo sick..." But Chester simply went to another chair in the room and quietly, stubbornly sat there. He figured if he went quiet, Simon would eventually pull aside the covers and reveal what was wrong with him. Eventually, the moans and the shaking of the covers gave way to the more quiet breathing of a deep sleep. Chester tried to keep from nodding off himself as he continued to sit there. Pulling his smartphone, he figured he'd mute the sound and play a game or two, if not sift through social media pages. Half an hour later, there was a quiet knock at the door, followed by a feminine voice Chester did not recognize. "Chester?" the voice remarked. "Chester Callahan? Could you open the door, please? My name is Rita Noble. I?m your father?s boss." "Dad?s sick," he called back. "I know, dear," Rita calmly replied. "I can help your father if you could just let me inside." "What?s wrong with him?" "It?s easier for me to explain if you could open the door," Rita answered in a reasoning tone. "Your father has...a rare condition that I know I can help him with. You do want your father to get better, don?t you?" "I?m not going with Mom!" Chester shot back. "No one says you have to," Rita responded. "I can help you both. I promise. Just open the door. I promise, I won?t hurt you or your father." Chester went quiet as he wondered what he should do. He wasn?t even sure that this ?Rita? was telling the truth. It could be one of his mother?s friends trying to fool him into opening the door. After a long moment, Rita spoke once again, keeping her voice calm. "Chester...if you don?t let me in, your father?s condition will only get worse. He has the kind of problem that will become a life-threatening one if it isn?t properly treated. You don?t want to be the cause of your own father?s death, do you?" Chester remained uncertain of these intentions. "Are you alone?" "Yes, Chester. It?s just me. Don?t worry," Rita assured. "Your mother and your brothers left you here. I won?t take you back to them if you don?t want to return to them. I promise." Chester slowly rose from his seat, and hesitantly approached the bedroom door. As he did, a pleasing scent filled his nostrils. It had the effect of decreasing his worries. "Your father will be fine, dear," Rita?s voice once again assured. "So will you. I will personally see to it. But you have to let me in. Please." Let her in. The notion became agreeable in the young man?s mind. Yes. Let her in. He pulled the chair out, placing it to the side, and disengaged the lock. He expected to see it explode inward, after which he would be grabbed by law enforcement officials, just like he had seen in action movies and thrillers he and his father used to watch as he was growing up. But the door opened more gently...and a woman with a full head of platinum blond hair, and a radically shapely body stepped in and stood before him. Below radically-sculpted cheekbones and a pair of puffy lips, Rita flashed a pleasant smile as she gazed back at Chester, who breathed in more of the much stronger scent Rita was emitting. All he could do was stare, slack-jawed, at the indescribably beautiful woman that was now in front of him, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "Hello, Chester," she cooed. "Next time, when I ask you to do something for me, you will do it. Without hesitation, and without argument. Understood?" "Yes," the listlessly staring young man replied. "I also want you to call me Madame Noble from now on," Rita calmly instructed, already seeing the clear potential for femininity in the face of Chester Callahan. "You?re going to help me tend to your father. You?re going to help me make him better, and that means doing what I ask you to do, no matter how strange it may seem. Pleasing me by doing as I tell you will always...always...result in rewards. Are you ready to help me, Chester?" "Yes." "Hm?" Rita tilted her head in apparent confusion. "Yes what, dear?" "Y-Yes...Madame Noble," Chester calmly replied. "Good boy." Rita rubbed gently at the young man?s hair. It was clear that the pheromone-based perfume the shapely debutante was wearing quite easily overcame the young man?s resistant nature. Her knee-jerk thoughts were conflicted between the notion of Chester either becoming a part of the housewives program, or the Callahan household?s resident maid. The latter seemed a better choice, since Simone Callahan would be too much of an airhead to be able to clean her own house responsibly. * * * Danny Dilton was in the midst of studying in the dorm room he shared with Brad Rollins when Brad himself...accompanied by a very sultry- looking Constance James...opened the door and stepped in. A heavy perfume scent filled the room once they were inside. It was plainly apparent that Brad had been subjected to a full makeover. His face was covered in professionally-applied feminine makeup. His eyebrows were now femininely thin, and he had a smoky manner of eyeshadow. A dark brown application of blush made his cheekbones look a little more prominent, and a bronze layer of lipstick had been painted upon his lips. His mullet of hair had been combed back, and looked perpetually moist from the multiple applications of hairspray upon it. The moment Danny?s eyes found Constance, however, he did an immediate doubletake. He tried to return to his studies, but this proved futile as his eyes kept returning to Constance?s radically effeminate body shape. Brad pulled over a chair and sat near Danny. "Have you been thinking about what I asked you to do?" "Actually..." Danny?s eyes stayed on Constance as he spoke, and as Constance stepped over to sit upon the side of the table the young Freshman?s books were on. "...I...I was...gonna go and see if I could..." Constance lifted a lock of hair out of Danny?s eyes. "...I could...go..." Brad frowned. "Go? Go where?" Constance kept playing with Danny?s hair as he continued to stare at her. "Out. I-I mean...room. New...new room." Brad raised a thinner, and much more feminine-looking eyebrow. "You want to leave me?" "Awww, don?t do that," Constance cooed, pouting in her apparent disappointment. "I wanted to get to know Br-r-rad?s r-r-roommate better- r-r. He told me so much about you...but now you want to leave?" "Is it because of the contact lenses thing, dear?" Brad asked. "It?s okay. Just raise your right hand and say ?I promise to get myself a pair of contact lenses the next time I have money?." "I think you?d look soooo much better-r-r with contact lenses on," Constance added. She turned Danny?s head to face hers and tilted her head, pleadingly, to the side. "Pleeeease r-r-r-reconsider-r-r. For-r-r me. I r-r-r-really want to get to know you." Brad stepped over to stand behind Danny as Constance spoke, and he wrapped his arms around the flustered Freshman from behind. His painted lips came close to one ear. "Don?t you want to kiss me again?" Constance pulled Danny out of his seat, continuing to stare into his eyes. "Don?t you want to have two...not one, but two...of the hottest bitches in all of Feetham?s attached to your-r-r-r big...wide...soft hipssss?" Brad and Constance practically sandwiched the socially awkward freshman student as he stood there, trembling. They pressed their bodies up against his as Constance ran fingers through Danny?s hair, while Brad rubbed at his butt, giving it a sharp smack at one point. "We?ll start up our own little three-girl gang." Brad teased, speaking gently into Danny?s ear. "The Three Little Bitches." "Buh...B-but..." Danny nervously stammered. "...I?m not...I?m not a girl. I-I don?t..." His eyes returned to Constance. "...wanna be..." Constance grinned, pulling Danny?s glasses off. "Don?t knock it until you?ve tr-r-r-ried it." Brad then turned the flustered Freshman around and once again connected his lips to Danny?s. Constance slipped her hands beneath Danny?s shirt and began rubbing at his back as the two continued kissing each other. Within a few minutes, the trio were naked, and writhing passionately against each other on Danny?s bed. * * * Before she became the wife of Nathan Barrows, she was Harriet Crowe, the tough daughter of a soldier in the corrupt unit of U.S. Army Captain Sam James. It was through the no-nonsense influence of Lt. Ben Crowe, Harriet?s Dad, that Harriet became known for her persistent nature. If there was ever anything wrong, her first instinct would be to stare the problem down with her own eyes and resolve it by any means necessary. Which explained why she was gunning the motor of her gray Corvette Stingray, which sped along a Bullchester highway towards a locale which an anonymous tip indicated was the last known location of her missing husband. It was odd that the locale identified in the tip...which she later parked her vehicle in the close vicinity of...turned out to be a quaint, two-level home in the Barford suburbs. Undaunted, she marched right up to the nice-looking front door and pressed the doorbell button. Opening the door was what looked like a thin-figured young woman who was bald save for a patch of platinum blond hair on her head, just above her forehead. Her skin had the appearance of rubber, and her face was expertly and alluringly covered in makeup. Although her feet were clad in a pair of slippers, her legs were covered in stockings which gave her legs a brownish sheen. Wrapped tightly around her torso was a corset, which partially covered the swells of a pair of C-cup breasts. The appearance of this young female alone gave Harriet a reason to hesitate, but this scantily-clad occupant flashed a sweet smile anyway. "Can I help you?" She squeaked. "I?m looking for a man named Nathan," Harriet answered. "I was told that he?s here." "Nathan?" The young woman looked puzzled. "Nathan, Nathan Nathan Nathan...oh! You must mean the new model." Harriet?s eyes widened. "Model?? My husband is an Analyst for Loris International!" The woman shrugged, smiling meekly. "We don?t have any analysts here! Sorry! You must have the wrong house." This raised Harriet?s suspicious nature considerably. "This is the exact address I was given in the message. Unless there are two houses with the same address in the same area..." At that moment, a well-built, bulky man in a black suit and a bald head gently shoved the young woman aside to confront Harriet with a cold, stern expression. "You will go now." He placed his hand on Harriet?s shoulder. "Do not come ba...OOOWWW!!" The subtle sound of cracking bones could be heard as Harriet wrenched the man?s hand in a painful direction after grabbing it. The suited man attempted a punch with his other hand, but Harriet was able to evade it. Trained in the art of Aikido, Harriet?s grip on the injured hand remained solid as she wrenched it behind the man?s back. Her other arm wrapped around the man?s neck and squeezed as hard as she could. And since she was well-toned and fairly muscular, the suited man?s face immediately reddened from the pressure. "One of two things are gonna happen next, skinhead," Harriet snarled. "You agree with my rationale and bring my husband to me, or I agree with that other side of me that wants to break your neck. Don?t test my ability to do the latter." The man began protesting in a language completely unfamiliar to Harriet. His groans, however, made it clear that he was hurting as she continued to apply pressure. "So what?s it gonna be, baldy?" Harriet asked. The trained woman bent the injured hand a little more in emphasis of her point, and the man cried out in agony. It was then that Harriet felt a bare hand press against the back of her own neck, which resulted in her concentration...and her every thought...suddenly going haywire. "You?re not going to do anything to that man," a female voice behind her firmly instructed. Harriet?s eyes boggled as her grip loosened, allowing the bald bodyguard to free himself from the painful hold. He then looked at the young, latex-clad woman behind Harriet fearfully. "I-I?m sorry, Miss Rona...I didn?t expect her to..." "Shut up and get back downstairs, Alexi." Rona...the young, latex- masked, latex-clad woman that used to be Ron Bailey...tersely commanded. She then turned her attention back to Harriet once Alexi was gone. "Miss Vije does not appreciate violence like this on her home grounds, Harriet Barrows. You will not make the mistake of repeating such actions. You will calm yourself until I dismiss you." The mind-jumbled woman?s eyes remained wide as Rona maintained her grip. "M-my...head...wh...no mm-mistake...not...repeat...no violence...??" The other young woman stepped over to look upon Harriet as the Aikido- trained, slack-jawed woman lowered her head as her thoughts continued to jumble chaotically. "Miss Vije doesn?t need anymore models, does she?" "No, Fifi." Rona replied as she shook her head. "But this one has already demonstrated her potential to be another of our bodyguards." * * * - DivineFem ?< : Hello, Constance. Did you want to speak to me? - ConstanceMinx ?< : Can I ask what happened to Brad Rollins? - ConstanceMinx ?< : He?s becoming...um...more like me. He?s gone all girly. - DivineFem ?< : Oh? OH...yes, well...he must have been the one that literally ran into Judith Newlington that night during your last date. Believe it or not, I had her planted there for your protection in case Brad got rowdy. He must have ran into her ring needle. - ConstanceMinx ?< : Uh...ring needle? - DivineFem ?< : Long story...but, let?s just say that you have many powerful friends now that you?re one of us. You?ll get acquainted with them all sooner than you think. - DivineFem ?< : What happened to you is also happening to Brad. I understand you?re aiding in his transition. That?s good. - ConstanceMinx ?< : Can you...teach me how to be sexy, Auntie Agatha? - DivineFem ?< : WE will do that, Constance. - ConstanceMinx ?< : We? - DivineFem ?< : The true power behind everything that happens in Bullchester. The reason why violent crime is consistently low and the quality of life is very high. - DivineFem ?< : You should have no reason to fear for what we have planned. Soon, we will eradicate the most grievous disease to ever plague humankind. That which we have already cleansed from people like you and Brad. - DivineFem ?< : Woman and beast alike will thank us, and praise us like the Goddesses that we are for putting an end to the pain that toxic masculinity has brought to this world. - ConstanceMinx ?< : You want to kill men? - DivineFem ?< : Kill? No, dear. They?re going to change. They will all be graced by the judgment of the Divine Feminine once Her fist comes down, righteously, upon the spoils and the shrines of man?s hubris. None will be able to escape it, but no one will die, either. - ConstanceMinx ?< : But...if there?s no men, how will life go on? - DivineFem ?< : You leave us to worry about that, dear. Why don?t you tell me about what you did after your shopping trip with Brad? - ConstanceMinx ?< : Well...um...we met Brad?s roommate. Danny Dilton. I think he?s in love with Brad. I?ve seen them kiss. On the lips, I mean. - DivineFem ?< : Is that why you asked about learning how to be more sexy? - DivineFem ?< : Because maybe...you want to steal Brad away from Danny? - ConstanceMinx ?< : No, uh...truthfully... - ConstanceMinx ?< : ...I wanna see what happened to Brad happen to Danny. - ConstanceMinx ?< : How do I do that? - DivineFem ?< : Ohhhhh. I see. - DivineFem ?< : That can be arranged, dear. - DivineFem ?< : May I ask why, though? - ConstanceMinx ?< : Well, I just had this idea. If we were all females, we could be, like, the Three Little Bitches. - ConstanceMinx ?< : I know Brad isn?t a Freshman like Danny and I, but... - DivineFem ?< : Don?t say anything more, Constance. I like it. I like your thinking. - DivineFem ?< : I knew you had potential to be a weapon. That?s the kind of thinking the Sisterhood needs more of. You could become very dangerous, my little minx. - DivineFem ?< : Check your mailbox tomorrow morning before you go to school. I?m going to have something sent to you. Make sure you get it before that silly Samantha does. - DivineFem ?< : How is Samantha doing, by the way? - ConstanceMinx ?< : She keeps talking about pussy, and she?s always rubbing at her crotch. She really needs to, like, get a job or something. - DivineFem ?< : Mmmm. Perhaps she can become one of the girls at Mistresses. Someone like her could make good money there. - DivineFem ?< : I?ll text you the address if you agree. - ConstanceMinx ?< : Could they teach me a thing or two about being sexy? - DivineFem ?< : Oh yes, but...you?re far too classy to get mixed up with those girls, dear. You should be your own beast. - DivineFem ?< : Samantha, on the other hand, would be perfect. - ConstanceMinx ?< : Okay. Text me the address. - DivineFem ?< : Good girl. - DivineFem ?< : Do you have homework to do? - ConstanceMinx ?< : Yes, Auntie Agatha. - DivineFem ?< : Get to it, then. Don?t forget to check the mail before you go to school tomorrow, and remember to read the instructions. - ConstanceMinx ?< : I won?t forget. Thank you, Auntie Agatha. - DivineFem ?< : Have a good night, my little bitch. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * It was always a chore for Shannon Rafferty to be the smartest of the family. At least, when it came to balancing the books for her father?s business. There were times when the young woman...who had pleasant, girl-next-door looks to go with a head of straight, dark brown hair...was called upon to come up with financially viable ideas to increase revenue, but these ideas were almost always dropped in favor of suggestions of a more masculine flavor that were often proposed by her brother, Riley. In the past, these ideas actually did generate a bit of revenue, but Shannon financially saw them as ?spurts?, which was her way of saying that it would spike earnings for a couple of days or weeks, and then the revenue would begin to lower once more as ennui set in. It got to the point where Shannon chose to stop making suggestions. Seamus and Riley always reminded her that she was an important asset in her bookkeeping skills, and told her that she would always be a part of the reason why the business was so successful, which more or less assuaged her in those moments where she felt useless and insignificant. While Seamus was mature enough to show patience and understanding when they managed the books, it was a bit more stressful for Shannon to do this routine with Riley, and that was because he not only didn?t know a thing about the intricacies of bookkeeping and finances, but he never really cared to learn such skills. Riley would occasionally promise to do a bit of research on such business aspects, but there was never any follow-through. Only a variety of excuses. The latest meeting she had with her brother was not much different. She had to repeat herself several times, and provide more than a handful of reminders and explanations when it came to budgeting and profitability. Once the stressful meeting was over, she had an urge to fill up the bathtub and submerge herself in the warm water to relax... ...but she noticed something odd about the foamy water that filled the tub space. It wasn?t the clear water that she had expected. This time, the water had a pinkish hue. The foam was also unusually thick. Shannon acted on her first instinct, and contacted a local plumber. A woman picked up the line. "Bullhorn WaterWorks, Tracie speaking, may I help you?" "Hi..." Shannon began. "...um, have you been called about any bathwater complaints as of late? I just filled our tub with water, and it?s all..." "Pink and foamy?" Tracie interjected. "Yes, that stuff is harmless. We did have people call us about it before, but they?ve been bathing in it, and they?re all just fine. It?s not toxic at all." "But...what is it?" Shannon protested. "I mean...why can?t I just bathe in clean water?" "Miss, I assure you," Tracie gently replied. "We have tested it many times. That water is completely safe despite its unusual nature. It was a happy accident, in fact. See...there was an incident near the water mains that crossed them with a factory that develops harmless bubble bath mixtures. Every now and then, there?s a surge, and one or more houses find that their bathwater is saturated with the bubble bath mixtures. Repair work is constantly delayed, but like I said...it?s a happy accident." Shannon sighed out irritably. "Is it possible that this particular house can be routed to a clean water source?" "Only if the water is legitimately harmful," Tracie answered, "which it quite frankly isn?t. I promise you that there?s no reason to worry, Miss." Still not satisfied with what she was told, she rolled her eyes. "Okay, thank you." She immediately closed the line and stepped back over beside the tub full of pink, foamy water. The floral scent wafting up from the warm water?s foamy surface was certainly alluring. Slowly stripping away her clothes, she plunged an arm into the murky pink depths. Her eyes and her brows raised upon receipt of how good her submerged arm felt after lingering the limb in the water for a few seconds. She then submerged the rest of her bare body into the foamy waters, feeling her stress melt away in a matter of minutes. As she laid there, drowsiness set in, and her eyes gently closed as the Cresswell-engineered chemical agents in the water subtly began working on Shannon Rafferty?s young body. * * * An Air BNB 25 miles beyond the Bullchester borders ? 9:00 p.m. The Bed and Breakfast establishment was a quaint, but well-kept suburban household that was home to an older couple. Their latest occupant was the reason Maggie Katzhoff?s car settled into the house?s empty driveway in front of the garage. As Maggie confirmed that this was an openly-advertised business in the locality, she knew that this was not some kind of a trap. A number marked as "unknown" had sent her the text regarding the meeting locale, and the time. This, and the presence of a suspect black car parked near the BNB, fueled Maggie?s suspicion that this was to be another encounter with the Sisterhood-hungry Feds. The raven-haired hellraiser had a few friends among their people, and they were also play partners as well. Whenever they texted her to meet up somewhere, there was always a certain word that they used to indicate that it was them. The text that led her to the BNB, however, had no such identifying factors. The female half of the couple...a nice-looking old woman...answered the old-school gong chimes that were set off by the pressing of the doorbell. "Good evening, dear," she cordially began. "May I help you?" "Yes," Maggie answered. "You have a guest here that I?m supposed to meet up with?? "Hmmm..." The woman was lost in thought for a moment before returning her gaze to the raven-haired visitor. "...he never mentioned a name, but he did say something about ?meeting the devil? here..." Maggie grinned as she interjected. "That?s me." The old woman stepped to the side, smiling, to allow Maggie to enter. The moment she did, a man with a well-combed head of short black hair, parted to one side, rose up from a nearby seat in the lobby/foyer area. Despite the fact that he did not have the stereotypical suit-and-tie that most believed federal agents to wear, the polo shirt and the casual black jeans didn?t fool his raven-haired visitor at all. "Hiya, Den." Maggie flashed a grin. "I?m the Devil." Denton Lowenthal smirked. "My idea of a low profile, obviously." "And not a bad one," Maggie admitted. "25 miles outside the city limits. I?d say that qualifies as a minimum safe distance, so to speak." "It was either this, or a Holiday Inn 50 miles out," Denton noted. "But there?s rumors flying about Loris buying them out. Can we continue this in the room I rented?" Maggie gestured towards the nearby stairs. "After you." "Heh...yeah," Denton mused as they began moving. "Better chance for you to grab me from behind and crack my neck." "I don?t do that to the good ones, Director," Maggie responded as they climbed the stairs. Denton couldn?t help but feel a little relieved upon hearing this. ?Bout damn time someone called me a good guy. He courteously opened the door for Maggie to pass through, and also pulled a seat for her to sit in. Once they were both settled, and facing each other with only a table full of drinks and snacks in close vicinity, Denton Lowenthal opened the discussion. "First off..." Denton began. "...if I made a reference to the ?Queen Bee?, would you know who I was talking about?" "Hagatha, right?" Denton had to chuckle. "One and the same. But seriously...my gut instincts, and the evidence we?ve been compiling to date, tells me that she?s planning something big. It?s gotten to the point where I?ve had nightmares about it. Military assets like Hammerson, a black ops unit called the Nightshifters that went off the grid, and the disappearance of an army captain who has ties to a Black Market operation outside of the continental United States." "Mmmm. Nightshifters," Maggie mused. "Bunch of pussies. They hit like girls." Denton?s right eyebrow raised. "You speak from personal experience?" "Uh-huh." Maggie nodded as she spoke. "I threw down with two of ?em. Put one in Intensive Care, the other couldn?t break a bone if he tried. They should be lucky I spared them." The CIA Director nodded, looking impressed. "If only you saw their grocery lists of confirmed kills." "Pfft." Maggie waved dismissively. "Betcha they were all amateurs." "The Black Marketeer is more of a big deal anyway by comparison." Denton pulled his smartphone to bring up a WordProc Mobile file containing his encrypted notes. "Captain Samuel James. He and his boy Connor live in the Bullchester suburbs. The marketeers he?s associated with specialize in the trafficking of explosive devices, and we?re not talking grenades." His eyes returned to Maggie. "This is the kind of ordnance that could collapse buildings while spreading a pathogen at the same time." Maggie nodded slowly, already deep in thought as she spoke. "Anyone try reaching out to this Samuel James?" "I?ve advised everyone not to," Denton answered. "My lingering field agents confirmed he and Connor have been stung by the Queen Bee herself. Connor was just a kid, too." Maggie sighed out regretfully. I?m obviously slacking. Looks like I?ll need to step up my development of Griggs and Bunton. She thought to herself. "Now I?ve also heard about that ?Devil of Bullchester? stuff, Miss Katzhoff," Denton added. "Are any of your, uh...anti-Sisterhood activities corresponding to some kind of a plan?" Maggie grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe me if I told you I was making it up as I went along?" Denton smirked. "Mary...I can assume you and I share the same adversaries, so I think it only wise and fair to inform you that you should start becoming a little more organized." The raven-haired woman shook her head. "I?m much better at thinking outside the box." "Which suggests that we might actually butt heads." Denton countered. "Look...I didn?t come here to formally recruit you. Based on your reputation alone, I can pretty much conclude just how impossible that might be. But, I am in dire need of your alliance, and whatever related knowledge...insignificant or otherwise...that you can give us, Miss Katzhoff, because there?s no way I?m going to just head on over to Capitol Hill with these findings and ask for a course of action, because I know from my own personal experience that said findings will compel them to turn everything and everyone in Bullchester into a big, black, lifeless crater. They may even have the media classify the Sisterhood as a domestic terror cell, which I?m sure you might agree would not be too far from the truth, and when the words ?domestic terror cell? are mentioned in a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the odds are good that they?ll consider dropping a Fuel-Air Bomb...if not a Tac- Nuke...right in the center of the city." Maggie frowned, coming to the only feasible conclusion based on what she was told. "You think Aggie?s planning a bombing??" After a moment of thought, Denton nodded. "Yes, Miss Katzhoff. I do. Can you give me any reason to believe otherwise?" Maggie lowered her head thoughtfully. She?s definitely radical enough to try a stunt like that. "No," she finally replied. "Have you ever actually confronted her, Miss Katzhoff?" Denton asked. "Who, Miss grand witchy-poobah herself? Queen Bee-bop?" Maggie nodded. "I surely did." Denton nodded back in acknowledgement. "Forgive me if this sounds like a stupid question, but...do you think it?s possible to reason with her? Get her to back down, perhaps?" Maggie broke into an unavoidable laughing fit upon hearing this inquiry. "That would be like asking Hitler to call off the Final Solution." The Director nodded, somewhat regretfully. "That?s what I figured." "My turn to ask a question," Maggie remarked, moments after the curiosity manifested in her mind. "Why would you even consider opening a dialogue with a woman like Agatha?" Denton?s eyes lowered thoughtfully. He tried to find the right words to say without being blunt about it. Maggie?s guess, however, felt like a bee sting. "You envy her, don?t you?" Denton stayed quiet, but his expression confirmed how correct Maggie was. "The lowest crime rate of any city in the world." Maggie continued. "Violent crime practically non-existent. Prison inmates re-conditioned to become harmless females. You know she engineered it all, and you want to take notes." "Noooo, no, no." It was Denton?s turn to wave dismissively. "C?mon, Mary..." "By the way, Den..." Maggie quickly interjected. "...I would appreciate it if you called me ?Maggie? from now on. Don?t call me Mary. I?m not a fucking Saint." Denton quickly and apologetically nodded. "Maggie...if you think I?m gonna capitulate at all to a woman like Agatha for any reason, you?re pathetically mistaken. I know that bitch wants to put a goddamn crosshairs on a heavily-populated city to show off her nihilistic, pro- feminist ideals, and I know people are gonna suffer for it one way or the other. I just want to see if there?s any kind of a rationale behind such actions before I drop the hammer! I?m not hearing about deaths, Maggie. These are disappearances. Whole families, too. Merrywethers, Portnoys, Poulsons, Brents, the James family, Walshes, Braithwaites...if it?s not the whole family, it?s pieces of them. Outside the borders of the city, Missing Persons reports have skyrocketed, and said reports were filed by extended family members! Aunts! Uncles! Ex-Husbands! Ex- Wives! Girlfriends, boyfriends, godmothers, godfathers...hell, it wouldn?t surprise me if there was a missing persons report on file signed by a paw-print from an abandoned family dog, Maggie!" Maggie slowly nodded, once again sighing regretfully. She knew Denton was right. Left idle, the complainants could become something akin to a lynch mob. People would get hurt. Or they?d book passage to Bullchester, and they would never be seen again. "And I?ll tell you something else, Miss Katzhoff..." The tension was clearly rising in Denton?s voice. "...I?M ONE OF THEM! My best friend. A colleague. A fellow agent. Maybe a little headstrong, but still a damn good man. The furthest thing from a misogynist and they blew his fucking cover! I don?t know what Leland Hall looks like nowadays and quite frankly, I don?t WANNA know! And THAT?S why I?m asking you...hell, fuck it! I?m damn well BEGGING you...to THROW ME A BONE HERE!!" Maggie frowned after a long moment of tense silence. "Why don?t you talk a little louder, Denton? Maybe take a break so the other guests outside the room can conveniently grab some popcorn!" "This place is my own personal Camp David, Maggie," Denton tersely revealed. "What, you think I just picked out an Air BNB on the fly?? That old couple downstairs? They?re deep cover agents! They?re CIA! So yeah, if I wanted to, I could press a button and have federal agents surrounding this house in seconds." His tone then became much less agitated. "But I don?t want to do that, Maggie. Not to you. I don?t wanna do that to your friends, your allies...anyone who might actually want to resist that damn Sisterhood. There has got to be some kind of a reason why a person as crazy as Agatha is going to these lengths. Is it too much to ask for a way to figure that out? If I had a choice, Maggie, I?d beg, borrow, and even steal for the kind of resolution where no one gets hurt, or gets forced into a role against their will. Can we not agree that freedom to do what Agatha and her Sisterhood allows is not freedom?" "Director..." Maggie calmly replied. "...if I didn?t agree, Timmy Portnoy would be Rita Noble?s personal slut. But as Tamara Portnoy, she?s her own woman, and a pretty tough one at that. In fact, you could say she?s my pride and joy in this little fight. She?s having plastic surgery done at the moment, but when she?s done, she?s due to begin working as the secretary for Bullchester?s Mayoress, Julia Stroud, who I managed to slap some sense into not too long ago." This caught Denton?s interest. "So Mayoress Stroud is...anti- Sisterhood?" "Yes, and...no." Maggie answered. "See...the thing is that when you?re dealing with the Sisterhood, it?s important for some people, like Tamara and Julia, to ?keep up appearances?. I?m sure you, of all people, recognize the importance of having deep cover agents?" Denton nodded. "Touch?." "Someone like me, however, doesn?t give a shit about all that," Maggie continued. "I?m more about direct action, but I don?t want to be reckless about it. That?s why Tamara?s so important to me. She?s in a perfect position to get some choice information so I can figure out who?s worth saving...and who isn?t...among the men of this city." The Director nodded again. "Shrewd approach. I like it." "But you should be reminded that even though Hagatha?s a bad seed, there are still men...and even a few women...in that city who are rotten. Misogynistic men, selfish women...I?m not about to keep the Sisterhood from applying the rod to those kinds of assholes. Hell, I may even help them. But the Sisterhood has been swallowing up family members who aren?t rotten as if they?re guilty by association...and that, Director, I cannot allow." "Looks like you and I share similar angles," Denton remarked. "Even Tamara would tell you that there are aspects to what the Sisterhood is doing that are good," Maggie reminded. "What I said about the low rate of violent crime in the city is, well, accurate. But what you?re telling me about Aggie?s more military interests as of late is news to me, and it makes me think...hell, it makes me believe...that she is planning a bombing of some kind." "And it?s clear that I can count on you and Tamara, at least, for assistance in preventing this, yes? In as...clandestine a manner as possible, so I?m not forced to bring this before the Joint Chiefs?" Maggie smirked. "There are more than just the two of us, Denton. There?s also a friend of mine who happens to be a really good attorney. Larry Hanel. Tamara used to be his secretary, but...well, it?s a long story. But the three of us are still...well, as you might put it, committed to the cause." The Director nodded. "Anyone else?" A part of Maggie felt compelled to mention Grace Lees, but...she didn?t feel comfortable adding that name to Denton?s subconscious. "Just...go with the three of us. For now." Denton once again perused the notes on his smartphone. "Oh...what about this ?misogunia? thing? You have a hand in any of that?" Maggie frowned, obviously completely unfamiliar, but fiercely curious at the same time. "No...but you?d be doing me a favor by acquainting me with it." "Well, from what I know of them, they?re apparently a cyberspace movement," the Director responded. "They?re anti-Sisterhood, but...based on their actions, they could be misogynist holdouts native to the city. I confirmed that a Bullchester Senator is behind it. I wouldn?t recommend involving yourself with ?em, though. They?re reckless. They?ve been getting outside talent with criminal records to help them. One of ?em was recently shot and killed by a Sisterhood sniper." Maggie?s eyes widened. Sisterhood...SNIPER?? Mmmm...probably another Nightshifter punk. Gotta look into that. "They also, somehow, got my number, so to speak," Denton continued. "Kept bugging me to drop the hammer on the city. That?s probably why I got a follow-up taunt from the Queen Bee herself." One of Maggie?s eyebrows raised high. "Hagatha chatted you up? You realize that?s the same as saying ?game over?, don?t you?" "If I replied, which I didn?t," the Director answered. "I knew that little Speakabout widget of theirs zaps compromising information on a new user to a database upon receipt of any chat response. I had all my online IDs changed and re-secured after Agatha tried to hook me. And if she does it again, I?ll change it again." "And if she comes at you personally?" Denton shrugged. "Keep a distance at all times, if possible, and if I can?t talk her down..." He then pulled a pistol from behind him and displayed the sidearm. "...I?ll just have to put a leak in her kneecap." Maggie smirked. "How about your family? I know you have a wife and kids." "I...already have a plan for that." Denton answered. "I suggested that they move away so she can?t get us all at once. They?re way beyond Bullchester?s reach. I catch up to ?em regularly, though." "Well...I hate to sound like a fatalist, Director..." "Yeah, I know," Denton interjected. "They?ll find a way around that. I?ll cross that bridge when I come to it, though. I can?t give those bitches any reason to think I?m running scared." Maggie nodded. "By the way...you don?t have any, uh, male field agents aside from Leland Hall within the city, do you?" The Director shook his head. "I had all those men recalled. Replaced them with female ones. All except one. Ray Mulkey. He?s tending bar at a place called..." "...Bottom of the 9th?" the raven-haired woman interjected. "What makes you think they?re not on to him?" "Well...let?s put it this way." Denton responded. "I sent him the recall order six times, the last one was early last week. But that stubborn irish bastard insists he can keep them from messing with not only his head, but his gender. He also told me that there?s been some activity there as of late. Spotted a woman who may be one of those Madames from the Sisterhood and he was chatting up the owner?s son. Promised me he?d follow up on his leads and get me a full report by the week?s end." "If you don?t hear from him," Maggie warned. "don?t say I didn?t warn you. How well does he know you?" Denton chuckled. "I know what you?re thinking, and believe me...Ray doesn?t know me that well." Although she didn?t look convinced, Maggie shrugged. "If you say so." "So...seeing as how we?re still talking..." Denton rose from his seat. "...does this mean I can call you a friend? Or an ally, at least?" Maggie also rose to her feet, surmising that the meeting was about to end. "Only if you can be trusted to stall the Joint Chiefs if they order you in to make a progress report." Denton smirked. "If I wasn?t good at sandbagging them, I wouldn?t be the Director of the CIA." "If I make any new friends I think you should know, Director..." Maggie noted. "...I?ll, uh, let you know through your field agents." "Do I get to meet Tamara, at least?" Maggie giggled. "I?ll see what I can arrange." "Don?t think I won?t show my appreciation for your help, Maggie." Denton cryptically reminded. "Because I will. I promise." Maggie shrugged again in her amusement. "If you say so." "You, uhhh..." Denton held out his hand. "...trust me enough to shake my hand?" The raven-haired hellraiser smirked. She then stepped up close to a surprised Denton Lowenthal and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. The Director?s eyes boggled. After disconnecting her lips, Maggie grinned. "No." And then, with a wave, she stepped out of the room and headed back over to the BNB?s front door. Denton remained in the room, still a little shocked over the kiss. Shaking his head a bit to come back to his senses, a slight smile played on his face as he settled back into his chair. A few minutes later, he heard Maggie?s car roar out of its parking spot. When the door to the room opened once again, the old woman?s ?husband?...a balding, but fit man...looked to the Director with a curious expression. "So do we have her, sir?" he asked. Denton frowned. "That?s none of your business, Agent Riehle." In the Director?s mind, however, he was a bit more ecstatic. I talked to Black Angel and lived to tell the tale. He relievedly mused to himself. I?d say that?s a win. * * * "The Farm" ? 11:00 p.m. Stella Primrose leaned against her car, which was parked in front of the closed door of the garage that was part of the ominous, Bullchester- based facility known as The Farm, which was a secret rehabilitation and re-conditioning facility. She pulled a lit cigarette from her mouth and exhaled a thick cloud of nicotine vapors from her mouth as she waited. She had been listening to the idle cacophony of crickets for the past fifteen minutes, and her eyes alternated between the horizon, and the shimmering stars in the clear black skies above. As she brought the smouldering cigarette back to her mouth, the sound of an approaching truck interrupted the silence. Five minutes later, the cargo truck stopped in front of the garage area, and after Stella gave a signal, employees of the facility pulled open the garage door and hurried over to begin extracting the truck?s cargo. Markings on the boxes confirmed that they contained exactly what Stella?s contact had said it would be. It was a big delivery of liquor that was to be sent to the Bottom of the 9th. A ginger-haired young woman emerged from the passenger side of the semi- trailer vehicle with a clipboard in her hands. She walked right over to Stella, still clad in her staff shirt from the Sports Bar. "Is this everything, Fiona?" the Sisterhood Madame asked. The young staffer nodded. "Every bottle of it. Double-checked it myself." The dark-haired disciplinarian handed a thick envelope full of money to her accomplice. "Good girl. Have a good night. Be sure to let your boss know that the delivery will be a day late." "Yes, Madame Primrose," Fiona replied. She then hurried over to her car, already opening the envelope to count the bribe money she had earned. At the same time, another woman emerged from the large building next to the garage and quickly headed over to where Stella was standing. Once Stella spotted this woman, she turned to her, dropping her cigarette and crushing the smouldering end with her high-heeled shoe- clad foot. "They?re all yours. Work fast, and make sure there is no evidence of tampering when you re-package them. I?m told that one drop of your formula is all that?s necessary to contaminate the whole thing?" The woman...whose hair was wrapped in a tight sock bun...nodded in confirmation. "Good. This all needs to be ready, and on the shelves of the bar, before their Happy Hour begins," Stella reminded. "And this formula will only affect men, correct? It will be harmless to females?" Once again, the woman nodded. "Excellent." Stella?s eyes went to the boxes that were being pulled off of the truck. "Agatha should be pleased as punch when she finds out what?s happening to everyone that swallowed down your tasteless, colorless, and odorless little formula, Leanne." The young Feetham?s student flashed an insidious smile. "I?m sure she will, Madame Primrose."