Barford File 3 - The Sandbergs - Chapters VII And VIII free porn video

VII: Estrogenealogy "...well, it's time for you all to get back to work, but as always, I wanna thank you all for letting our home into yours! We'll be back tomorrow, when our houseguests will be Lidia and Joe Bastianich, and then we'll have all you bored housewives salivating as much as I will over that big hunk of Jason Momoa! Until then, the merriest of mornings to you all! Goodbye!" As the studio audience began their typical cacophony of applause and cheering, the end credits for another episode of the frequently saccharine morning program that was The Merry Weather Show began to roll. Pam Merryweather did her usual waves and flashed her perfect white grin while slipping on an office jacket and pretending to step out the front door as if she were actually leaving for work. Paul Vandervelde remembered when the show was a little more hip in its early shows. It had a jazzy melody to begin the proceedings, and the vibe seemed so much more natural. The shows that followed dispensed with this hip approach and made it all seem like a blandly routine succession of fake smiles, an over-reliance on cooking segments and housekeeping tips, and guest stars who were never asked challenging questions, nor did they ever sound like they were not reading off of cue cards. Still...in order to get to the one show he did want to watch, he needed to wait for Pam Merryweather to end hers, and he did not want to be late for this particular episode of Wild Passions. Since the incident at the Bottom of the 9th, where he indulged in many a tainted tap-conjured beer, it was when it looked like his body started to visibly betray him that he had staked a claim to the bedroom he had once shared with his wife, not wanting anyone to see the kind of person he was clearly becoming since the medical examination had confirmed the radical...and apparently irreversible...hormonal imbalance. Day after day, it seemed like his masculinity was melting away. Diminishing. The Bullchester doctors considered it something that would reverse itself and they prescribed medicine which he took on a daily basis that was supposed to inhibit the estrogen spread. Unbeknownst to Paul, however, they were placebos that did nothing to resist what the tainted beer was doing to his body. He was forced to watch his hips widen and soften, and his bosom begin to swell. It also had the effect of increasing his appetite. Even as his body was feminizing, his body was increasing its density, giving his now effeminate frame the appearance of a mullet-haired, gut-heavy suburban housewife, and one who had started a habit of keeping her hair in curlers ever since Ramona came home to give a fresh new set of them to him. He didn't want to stay in the house and suffer his diminishing any further. He didn't want to face his family or his friends this way. He didn't even care to complain to his doctor about the ineffectiveness of the medications. He didn't even want to face his own wife, despite her insistence that his condition didn't make her feel any differently about him. He just wanted to leave. Somehow. Money was a problem, however. Given Paul's apparent withdrawal from life itself, Louise had worried that they would run out of the income necessary to be able to sustain living in their old house. A frequent news report mentioned a funding bill that the Mayoress wanted to have passed which would allow those affected by the "tainted beer incident" to receive compensation funds. Apparently, the President was sandbagging the act of signing the bill for unspecified reasons. For the moment, none of that mattered. Paul just hoped a houseguest of his own would arrive, as she had said she would. Someone who had shared his wife's first name, and who was also once a man. Aside from himself, the house was empty. The kids were away at school, and his wife was away at work. As the pre-show commercials played, a wave of relief washed over Paul as he heard the doorbell pleasantly chime. Confident that the house was empty, he quickly slid a pair of slippers onto his feet and he rushed to the back door to let Louise in. Louise Osterman turned out to be a pixie-haired woman who was only slightly less plus-sized compared to Paul. From the way she was dressed, it looked as if she were on her way to an office job of some sort. She looked to be in her mid to late 50s, and a very pleasant-smelling floral scent seemed to surround her. "Did it start yet?" Louise asked. Paul shook his curler-burdened head as she pulled her guest in. "Commercial break. C'mon! They usually go by fast." They both rushed upstairs as fast as they could to Paul's bedroom just in time for the soap opera's cold opening. They both lapsed into a dull stare as the subtle hypnotic tones in the show's sound mix rooted their eyes to the screen. "Antonio" had apparently chosen to confront "Vanessa". As it was with all of the episodes of Wild Passions, the subtleties of going to the mall and embracing women's fashions and their lifestyle were laced into the otherwise routine dialogue which made up the show's dramatic architecture. By design, the show was yet another Cresswell-engineered trap for the unsuspecting viewers. Many an adolescent boy in Bullchester have had their minds primed for imminent feminization by watching past and present episodes, and today's first-run episode was no exception. As they watched, however, Paul became a bit more enraptured by the scents his guest was emitting. It was not until the first commercial break that the soap opera's hold on their respective attentions was temporarily broken, giving him an opportunity to socialize for a bit. But when his senses returned, he found that his head was resting on Louise's shoulder, and she had wrapped an arm around Paul's shoulders, holding him close. Louise also seemed a little surprised by the way they were positioned. The former Louis Sandberg sheepishly grinned, and let out an embarrassed giggle. "Sorry...must have gotten a little too engrossed in what was going on between Chad and Amanda." Paul nodded. "Well, it was nice of Amanda to show sympathy towards Chad over what happened in the High School locker room. Luther and those other bullies should get what they deserve for being so rough on Chaddie!" Louise nodded in agreement. A long moment of watching commercials followed. "How much longer do those need to stay on?" Louise then asked, gesturing to the curlers. "Huh?" A feminine hand then went to his curlers. "Oh! Goddess...I forgot I had those on! Well...I think they're still a little damp. Maybe when the..." Paul's eyes went back to the Flatscreen TV as the show resumed, subtle hypno-tones and all. "...sh-show is...over..." During the program, and during the course of the episode's story, there would be moments where an actor or actress would look directly into the camera, in a Point-Of-View shot, and make either blatant or subtle suggestions to the character he or she was looking at, while implanting them unto the minds of the viewers at the same time. One of the show's many subplots dealt with two bored housewives...a platinum blonde, and a redhead...both lamenting their largely uninteresting relationships, while at the same time developing affections for one another. In another part of Bullchester, two former young men fitting the descriptions of the characters had to wonder if these particular housewife characters on the soap opera were somehow based on them. Another commercial break, and Louise discovered that she had stepped behind Paul so she could wrap her arms around him and rest her chin on his shoulder. Paul, in turn, had rested his head against hers. And once again, their responses were of bashful surprise, the both of them girlishly giggling their concerns away. "Aren't we such tramps!" Louise mused aloud. "We're a regular Prissy and Ginny, aren't we?" Paul amusedly exclaimed, sending them both into giggle fits. "You think they'll actually do it? Break from their marriages?" "Well, it's not like Ramon and Troy pay any attention to them," Louise responded. "They might as well be trophy wives." "Pfft." Paul waved a hand dismissively. "Men." "Almost reminds me of my Bill," Louise continued. "I make a request? Nine times out of ten, it's always 'yeeesss, deeear, yeeesss, deeear"...I mean, would it kill him if he could say something that proves he was actually listening to me? Comes home from work, pulls a newspaper open, puts a stock market show on, and the only way he breaks from the routine is when I put dinner on the table. It's sooooo monotonous. I could bounce my head off of a wall sometimes. I need something different! Something to break the damn chain! Not a lot to ask, right?" Paul shook his head. "Not at all. You sound like you need to get away from it all." "Oh, that's the understatement of the year, sweetie," Louise remarked, provoking more laughter from the both of them. "I oughta slip away...be a little..." The show came out of its commercial break. "...um...a little...n-naughty..." Lapsing back into their trance-like states, the drama of the episode resumed. As always, they were set-ups for the next day's chapter. The final portion was also loaded with product placements keyed to stores strictly found in Rubie's Mall, effectively providing yet another few reasons for unsuspecting viewers to pay the city's shopping mecca a visit. Once the end credits started rolling, the hypno-tones were gone. When Louise and Paul came out of their respective trances, they found that they were holding hands, and sitting very close to one another. They didn't laugh this off, however. They instead turned to look curiously at each other, staring confusedly. Their heads then closed the distance between them. In the next moment, they were consciously kissing each other. Louise held Paul's chubby face still as they released their own wild passions in that moment, moaning euphorically. They practically kissed their way to the nearby two-person bed, keeping their lips connected as they went. Within Paul's mind, he practically argued his feminized body's apparent betrayal. What am I doing? He mentally protested. Oh, Goddess...her mouth...tastes so good... As they rolled around on the bed, panting heavily, Louise whispered into the visibly female man's ear. "You want me to remove those curlers now?" Paul nodded as she continued to pant. Her thick frame then rolled around so he could once again connect with Louise's lips. As the television set began transmitting the cacophony of studio- audience cheers that preceded the game show that followed Wild Passions, Paul disengaged long enough to reach for the nearby remote and shut off the TV. The two former men then continued emulating the wild passions that they believed Prissy and Ginny were capable of. * * * Peter Sandberg was once again in a state of dread as he started working on the Parking Permit-related job Lt. Drucker had given him. It required him to bring up the Finest machine records for everyone that worked at the command, and provide hard-copy printouts on all of them for the ICO...Drucker...to peruse. Those who usually "protected" Peter from Drucker's bullying, however, were out of the command at the moment, with the exception of the police officer that was assigned to help the Police Administrative Aide by logging into the Finest machine on another computer, and shouldering half the load Drucker had given Peter. Drucker was the acting boss in the absence of the Captain, making the civilian's sense of dread all the more oppressive. At one point, the ICO stepped out of his office and went into the 124 Room where Peter was working. He tried not to look back at Spencer, wanting to concentrate more on his work. "Y'know..." He gestured to the police officer that was helping Peter outside of the 124 Room. "...Bernie is only here because the Captain ordered it. If it were up to me, she'd be out on her beat. Unlike you, she loves working overtime, and if it weren't for the rule on civilian overtime, I would make you do it." He began walking away from the busy PAA, keeping his eyes on him as he approached the door. "Consider yourself lucky, civvie." About half a minute later, Drucker opened the door again as Peter waited for a printout to finish. "By the way...you haven't forgotten what I said about looking at me when I'm talking to you, have you?" "Yes, sir." Peter kept his eyes on the computer screen. "He also told me to let him know if you bother me while he's out of the building." The Lieutenant went quiet. He was obviously trying to think of a way around that. But he just shut the door, and left Peter alone. Once the ICO was back in his office, he saw the Police Officer...Bernadette Cortez...turn her head to Peter. She pointed to him, and mouthed the words 'Are you okay?' Peter nodded. They were able to get all of the plates done about five minutes after the start of his lunch break. P.O. Cortez even insisted on bringing them into the ICO's office, freeing up Peter to begin his lunch break. Walking over to his usual restaurant, he sat at the bar to await the appearance of the bartender so he could put his usual hamburger order in... ...but a radically shapely woman with a familiar body scent settled next to the PAA. Peter's peripheral vision noted the long black hair spilling down behind the shapely figurehead of the Mistresses sex club. As Peter's head turned to Olivia Tench, the bartender stopped in front of them. "Hey, Pete!" he began smiling. "You looking for the..." The barkeep's eyes went to Olivia. "...usual?" "No," Olivia answered, her eyes locking on the now-flustered barkeep. "He wants a large salad, and a diet soda. He needs to watch his figure." The bartender's eyes switched to Peter for the confirm. Peter just nodded, sending the bartender away to put the order in. His eyes then turned back to the oversexed Madame, whose lips formed a slight smile. "Hello, Petra," she began. "I hope you're not having another bad day, are you?" "Well..." Peter shrugged. "...challenging, I guess." Olivia nodded. "Have you given any thought to my offer? The girls have been asking me about you day after day, wondering...hoping...that you would show up just so you can say..." She brought her lips close to Peter's ear. "...'yes'." "Um...well..." Peter logically looked visibly flustered now. "...l-like I said...I'm thinking about it." "You'd never be bullied," Olivia enticingly reminded. "You'd practically be one of the girls. It's like my own little family down there. I wouldn't let anyone bother you. The work is pressure-free, too. You could take your time with any little project I give you." "Yeah, I...I'm aware," Peter replied. "Did you look at those websites I told you to access?" Olivia asked. The civilian office worker nodded. "Yes." Olivia put a finger to her ear. "Yes...what?" Peter blushed. "Yes, Madame Olivia." The radically shapely woman looked skeptical. "What is a popular material used to create lingerie?" "Lace," Peter immediately answered. Olivia nodded, knowing that the conditioning component of the Loris-made websites she recommended had done their job. "And from what country does the term 'lingerie' come from?" "France," Peter responded. The dark-haired woman nodded again, smiling deviously. "Translate the word 'linge' for me." "L-Linen," Peter answered. "Very good," Olivia praised as the bartender placed a bowl of salad in front of Peter. "See? You know more now about lingerie compared to the average porn addict." Uhh...yay me? Peter thought to himself as he went to grab the nearby fork next to the bowl. I still don't know why I stayed on that site for two hours after glancing at it for a little over a minute! Olivia, however, pulled the fork from the young man's grasp, sifting through the leafy vegetables as she poured a provided salad dressing over it. He couldn't help but stare into the Madame's eyes as she stabbed some of the bowl's contents and brought the dripping contents up to Peter's mouth. Although he had never tried salad before, he opened his mouth so that the wildly attractive woman in front of him could place it in his mouth. Closing his mouth around the food, Olivia pulled the fork out and impaled more of the bowl's contents onto it. "Remember...you have until Monday." Olivia fed her enthralled subject once again. "Otherwise, I'll just have to find someone else, and you may never again see me, or my girls." Peter crunched on the salad's contents, finding it surprisingly tasty as he continued to stare back at Olivia. He could feel the eyes of the men in the restaurant stare over at them, and even a couple of conservative ladies glanced over, shaking their heads and murmuring over how provocative she looked, and how revealing her skimpy outfit was. After swallowing three forks worth of salad, Olivia handed Peter the utensil. "Your turn. Feed me." "O-Okay." He saw Olivia's eyes flare angrily. "I-I MEAN...yes, Madame Olivia." The woman lingered a very alluring gaze upon Peter as he fed her about four forkfuls of salad, subtly signaling him when she was ready for another mouthful. It seemed as if she were deliberately filling her mouth up with salad, as she did not swallow down what Peter was feeding her. With cheeks slightly puffed from the food, Olivia suddenly placed a hand on the back of Peter's head and pulled it in until she was able to lock lips with him, and he felt her mouthful of food enter his own mouth as his eyes boggled. Once her tongue was able to get as much of the food she had chewed into the PAA's mouth as possible, she pulled away as Peter began to chew upon it. "Good girl," she whispered. "Do you know what the French term 'faire le linge' means?" Peter nodded, and Olivia waited, observing the young civilian worker's flustered expression amusedly, until Peter was able to swallow all of the salad that was in his mouth before he provided the answer that he had learned from one of the websites she had him visit. "It means...'do the laundry'." Olivia nodded. "And when you stop by my club on the way home from work, the bouncer at the front door will give you a laundry bag. Faire le linge, Petra. I want them all clean, and brought back to the bouncer the very next day," She then slipped off the stool she was sitting on and tapped Peter's forehead before departing. "Don't forget." Once she was gone, Peter finished the salad he had been given, paid his bill, and headed back to the precinct house. The whole encounter with Olivia replayed in his head as he walked. The afternoon hours went by slowly. The taste of the salad still lingered in his mouth as Peter kept himself available for any complaint report requests that were made of him. He did not see any more ladies from Mistresses coming through the front door of the command as he lingered in the 124 Room. He did, however, see Lt. Drucker heading towards the 124 Room once again. His eyes had locked onto Peter as he opened the door. He held up a hand and crooked his finger. "Come with me," he tersely ordered. With an irritated sigh, Peter rose from his seat and followed the ICO. He was already dreading whatever business Spencer was gonna force on him. The Integrity Control Officer, however, did not have the PAA follow him into his office. Spencer had brought Peter into the Men's Bathroom. A look of wild confusion was on the civilian worker's face as Drucker turned to face him. His request, however, made Peter's blood run cold. "Pull down your pants," the Lieutenant ordered. Peter frowned. "Why?" "Because I said so. I outrank you," Drucker shot back. "Pull down your pants. Right now." Peter swallowed hard. If he disobeyed, Drucker would put the black mark of insubordination on his otherwise spotless record. He had no choice but to loosen the restraints at the waist of his jeans, and push his pants down, exposing the female panties he was wearing. He made a herculean effort to hold back the tears of embarrassment that he figured was going to begin streaming from his eyes as his head angled down in his shame. Drucker just stared at the pink-colored feminine undergarment, slowly walking around him. Not a word emerged from his lips until he was back in front of him. "Y'know...this doesn't surprise me one bit," the Lieutenant remarked, looking amused. "I knew there was something wrong with you. Why are you wearing a girl's panties to work?" "It's not like anyone can see it, Lieutenant," Peter reasoned. "I can see it right now, can't I?" Drucker countered. "You ordered me to take my pants down," Peter shot back. "If you expect me to work like this, I will file a complaint." "Don't get smart with me!" The ICO had brought his face angrily close to Peter's. "It's disgusting that you should be wearing such a thing. Real men don't crossdress! Are you some kind of a sissy, Sandberg? Maybe I should start calling you 'Patty'! Do you play with dolls back home, Patty?" "What I do on my own time is none of your business, Lieutenant," Peter evasively countered. "Now may I pull my pants back up?" "I could write you up for this, you know," Drucker sneered. "Indecency. Perversion." After a moment, his expression...and the tone of his voice...softened. "I really don't want to do that, though. Let me help you. Have you ever thought about going to church on Sunday? We could go together, and I could forget that this little situation ever happened." It wasn't the first time the ICO tried a radical switch of tactics, so Peter was easily able to see through this ploy. He knew a backstabbing leopard like Spencer Drucker wouldn't change his spots when it came to his ambitions to become a Police Chief. "Forget it, Lieutenant," the PAA disgustedly replied. "Have fun writing me up while I call the Civilian Complaint Review Board and talk to them about how much you harass me." "You really think they'd be so willing to defend you if they knew you're a sissy, Patty?" Spencer cruelly countered. Peter had to restrain his anger. "I'm not a sissy, Lieutenant, and my name is..." "I'LL CALL YOU WHATEVER I WANT, SISSY!!" Drucker yelled, forcing a flinch from the civilian worker. "Now pull your pants up and get back to work, and start wearing more male-appropriate underwear from now on before I drag you to church with me whether CCRB likes it or not, you pervert!" The ICO stormed out of the lavatory, and while Peter did pull his pants back up, he didn't leave immediately. He instead closed the door to one of the toilet stalls, sat upon the toilet seat, and buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. I hate him. Peter angrily reaffirmed to himself as he continued crying. I hate him so fucking much! * * * - ImHerRomeo '< : Hey darling - JulietVee '< : Jeez...could you be anymore obvious with your handle? - ImHerRomeo '< : LOL! I figured you'd get a kick out of it. - JulietVee '< : And what was it before you changed it? - ImHerRomeo '< : SandyDave - ImHerRomeo '< : Your turn. - JulietVee '< : Oh, I've always been JulietVee. Romeo & Juliet was always my favorite Shakespeare play. - ImHerRomeo '< : So am I right? Am I your Romeo? - JulietVee '< : Hee hee...what do YOU think? - JulietVee '< : David? - JulietVee '< : Are you still there? - ImHerRomeo '< : I'd die for you. - ImHerRomeo '< : No joke. - ImHerRomeo '< : You're the most beautiful person I've ever met. - ImHerRomeo '< : I love being with you. I love sleeping with you. I love talking with you. - ImHerRomeo '< : I can't help it. I have to come clean about these things. - ImHerRomeo '< : I love you, Brooke. I really do. - ImHerRomeo '< : I love you so much. - ImHerRomeo '< : Are you still there? - JulietVee '< : Yes. I'm still here, David. - ImHerRomeo '< : I'm not scaring you, am I? - JulietVee '< : No - ImHerRomeo '< : Do you feel the same way about me? - JulietVee '< : Yes - JulietVee '< : I love you too, Dave. - JulietVee '< : But can I ask you a favor? - ImHerRomeo '< : Anything, my love. - JulietVee '< : Could you stop coming to my house during the week? - JulietVee '< : I mean, it was very sweet of you to come by the past couple of nights, but don't you think we need to concentrate on our schoolwork? - JulietVee '< : Neither of us have been getting much sleep, and that's kind of fucking up our concentration in class...and I'll be honest. Falling asleep during assembly was embarrassing. - ImHerRomeo '< : Yeah but Brooke, I knew enough about what they announced about the school changing. I mean...where are you gonna go next semester? Are you gonna need to go out of state to finish your compulsory education? - JulietVee '< : I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. I mean, I wanna stay in the Big Bull, but...if there isn't another option, I may not have a choice. - JulietVee '< : But if you're suggesting that I be less serious about my schoolwork BECAUSE the school is being changed? I can't do that, David. I want to finish out the school year with passing grades. - ImHerRomeo '< : You're not gonna stay with the school after it changes, are you? - JulietVee '< : I don't know. Mom thinks I should. - ImHerRomeo '< : I don't agree. - JulietVee '< : Why? What's wrong with a parochial school? David...that school is in walking distance. It's very convenient. - ImHerRomeo '< : Brooke...do you know anything about all those local disappearances? About what happened at that bar? The tainted beer thing? - JulietVee '< : I told you I didn't want to talk about that tainted beer thing. - JulietVee '< : And there hasn't been any proof of those disappearances. All those missing persons reports came to dead ends. - ImHerRomeo '< : Brooke, one of my cousins was looking into all that. A gay photographer. His name was Jonathan Eberhardt. We chatted each other up a lot. He became interested in those missing persons reports and paid Bullchester a visit. - ImHerRomeo '< : Within three weeks of his investigation, he sent me one last offline text. - ImHerRomeo '< : - JayEberhardt '< : I think Im dying - ImHerRomeo '< : I tried texting him back. Several times. He never got back to me, Brooke. He wasn't an old man, either. He was in his 30s. - ImHerRomeo '< : I even went to the Municipal Building to check on his records. Know what they told me? - ImHerRomeo '< : That no such person existed. Ever. - ImHerRomeo '< : Brooke, my cousin has been a Bullchester resident since he was born here. He was one of the first residents to pick up on the way things were changing in the city. - JulietVee '< : Okay - JulietVee '< : Let's assume you're right. - JulietVee '< : What were you thinking of doing about it? - ImHerRomeo '< : I think we should go. As in, leave Bullchester. - ImHerRomeo '< : I'm thinking of doing it after graduation. - ImHerRomeo '< : And I want you to come with me. - JulietVee '< : Not without Mom. - ImHerRomeo '< : What if she doesn't want to go? - JulietVee '< : Then I guess I'm staying, aren't I? - ImHerRomeo '< : Can you at least talk to your mother about this? I mean, about the disappearances? Try to convince her to look into it? - ImHerRomeo '< : Maybe you and I can get her to come with us. - JulietVee '< : I can't promise anything, David. I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, and I'm turning in earlier so I can get a little more sleep. - JulietVee '< : You should do the same. - ImHerRomeo '< : I was gonna visit you. - JulietVee '< : NO. I want you to promise me now that you won't. David...we'll have all the time in the world to hang out together on weekends. - JulietVee '< : And we can still walk to and from school together. But these night visits during the week have to stop. I'm sorry. - ImHerRomeo '< : I don't think I can sleep alone anymore. - JulietVee '< : Yes you can. Put it this way. You can always look forward to weekend sleepovers. On Friday, you can come home with me and we can spend as much time together as you want. Go to the dance club, see movies, walk through the park...whatever you wanna do. But on Sunday night, you need to get back to your own home and concentrate on your schoolwork. - ImHerRomeo '< : Can you promise me you'll talk to your mother about getting out of Bullchester next June? - ImHerRomeo '< : Brooke? - JulietVee '< : Okay. I promise. I'll talk to her. Don't be upset if she decides to stay though. Alright? - JulietVee '< : Now promise me you'll stay home tonight. Get some sleep. - JulietVee '< : Come on, SandyDave. Be fair. - JulietVee '< : Daaaaaaaaave... - ImHerRomeo '< : I promise. - JulietVee '< : Good. Now go get some studying done, SandyDave. - ImHerRomeo '< : You're never gonna let me forget that handle, will you? - JulietVee '< : Hee hee...NOPE! - JulietVee '< : I have to get back to my studies now. Have a good night... SandyDave. ;) - ImHerRomeo '< : Good night, JulietVee. :) ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * Captain Joe Cicero of the 19th Precinct patiently waited for the sexy young woman who he had arranged to get a private lapdance from. He had just finished texting his wife about the overtime he claimed to be going through at the command, and she had texted back on her understanding. A part of Cicero felt a little ashamed over what he was doing. Not because of the inclinations towards infidelity that this lapdance was suggesting, but because a lapdance was technically illegal. But then, he had heard of Bullchester Police Lieutenants...even Captains from other commands, and even ICOs...bending the rules a little at a place like this. On past, recent visits to Mistresses, he had his eye on one particular dancer, and she had been on his mind for some time. Just this once. He thought to himself. Then I'll go back to playing Mr. Good Captain until the retirement party. Another part of him realized that he was essentially embracing hypocrisy, given Spencer Drucker's essentially outrageous claims of corruption within the Bullchester PD. He had certainly become aware of other uniformed members of the force frequenting exotic dance venues, and it was because of this that Cicero imagined he'd stay true to the tenets of the badge, rather than to cave and pull a stunt like what was about to happen. A stunt that he was paying a lot of money for. Not the kind of money the dancer called Cuddles commanded, but nevertheless significant. When she finally stepped into the private parlor, the Captain's eyes scanned over the irresistible young dancer's body, which was bare save for a pair of panties which perfectly matched the expertly-applied gold paint that covered her skin from head to toe. Alexis flashed a grin as she advanced towards Cicero, remembering the instructions Olivia had given her prior to honoring the lapdance arrangement. "Sorry for the wait. I had to, uh...powder my nose." Cicero shrugged, smiling. "Whatever you need to do. You look...well, you look hot." Alexis pouted playfully. "I wanted to look solid gold. Just for you." "Oh, you do! You do!" Cicero assured. "I mean...no matter how you look, you...you're solid gold." The young dancer...formerly a Behemongers player named Alex Lattimer...maintained her sexy grin, rubbing at the Captain's shoulders as she came close to him. "I want you to think of me as a solid gold bar that you can put in your pocket." "So I can feel like a million dollars?" Cicero mused. Alexis shrugged, smiling meekly. "However much you think a single gold bar is worth...but you wouldn't sell me off, would you? Wouldn't you rather keep me? Make all your friends and family jealous?" She settled her gold-painted posterior onto Cicero's lap. "I wanna be your own personal gold bar." Alexis had to admit that the Captain's grin looked a bit goofy as he replied. "Oh, I'd like that!" he eagerly responded. The exotic dancer just giggled as she began her lapdance routine alongside a tune by the Red Hot Chili Peppers called Warped. It was a tune she always liked to use whenever being called upon to do a lapdance for someone. It made her feel unrestrained as she worked her practiced, erotic magic. Cicero certainly fell under her spell within a minute of her routine. Not only did she rub her firm, round breasts in his face, she did the same with her crotch, wiggling her generous posterior as she did so. As she brought her lips near one of Joe's ears, he heard her whisper "Are you enjoying yourself, Captain?" Joe just nodded. "I'm such a bad, bad girl," Alexis sensually purred upon bringing her lips close to Cicero's again. "You should lock me up and sssss-pank me." She punctuated this last statement with a loud slap to her right buttcheek. The perfume Alexis was wearing had no real effect on the former young man, but as the Captain's nostrils took in the pleasing scent, his mind became a little more pliable as his nose accepted the building effect inherent in the subtly nefarious fragrance. When she saw his eyes become half-lidded, with a blissful smile still on his face, Alexis knew she was in a position to start speaking more suggestively. Although the Captain had paid for one dance, and the song was in its slower final section, she'd give him the benefit of another song so she could apply her suggestions unto his more open mind. "Answer me honestly, now," Alexis began. "Do you like your command's Integrity Control Officer?" Cicero shook his head. "No one likes him. He's...crazy. His own wife doesn't even like him. He's...too much of a...a 'God-squadder'." "Ewww. I hate those kinds of people, Joey," Alexis responded as she twerked in his lap. "So why do you keep him around?" "He's well-connected," the Captain answered. "His older brother is a Police Chief who works with the BPD's Commissioner. I can't transfer Spence anywhere, either. We're...kinda stuck with him." Alexis nodded as she continued her erotic movements. "Sounds like the kind of person who would give people a hard time. Like the kind of person who would go behind your back, and give people a hard time when you're not around." Joe slowly nodded, still looking enraptured as the words flowed out of his mouth like water. "He's been giving one of our civilians a particularly hard time. Pete's a good worker, too. Always on time, gets right to work, and a lot of the cops like him. I've talked to Spence in the past about leaving him alone, but he just doesn't seem to want to take the hint." "And...you wouldn't judge him?" Alexis asked. "I mean...if you found out he had unusual habits, like...wearing feminine underwear under his pants?" "Something like that wouldn't affect his work, so no," Cicero earnestly replied. "Hell, he could wear a fucking bra under his shirt and we wouldn't care. As long as he keeps it hidden beneath a regulation shirt while he's on the clock." Alexis knew that this was coming straight from the Captain's heart. It wasn't conditioned thinking, and she had to respect his earnest replies. "You should tell Pete all of this, if you haven't already. You'd be surprised at how much more he would respect you for giving him that kind of assurance," She wrapped her arms around him, bringing her face alluringly close to his. "You'll be sure to tell him, won't you, Joey? For me?" She brought her bare, gold-painted breasts up, rubbing them together fetchingly. "For them?" Joe nodded slowly. "I-I will." His eyes went between the breasts, and the exotic dancer's face. "Yeah, I will. No...no problem." Smiling, Alexis placed her hands on either side of the Captain's face. "I think you're a good man, Joey..." It was now time for her to get to the subtleties Olivia asked Alexis to seep into the family man's subconscious mind. "...but sometimes, when you look at me, I think you wonder what it's like to be someone like me..." * * * As his mind was still troubled over the thought of not feeling the body of Brooke Vandervelde pressed against his own, David Sandberg found it very difficult to fall asleep. He found it difficult to think as he tried to do his homework assignments as well. His unconditioned, yet obsession-plagued mind kept drifting back to all the times he had snuck over to Brooke's house just to be with her, and be near her. The very appearance of her face just continued to linger on his mind. And yet, he had a promise to keep. He had consciously chosen to turn in for the night earlier than he usually did, and he figured that he would eventually drift off and fall asleep within an hour or so. Three hours passed, and he was unable to keep his eyes closed. The silence of the evening, however, was cut short by the sound of a sharp thud at his nearby window. Frowning, his upper body began to rise up from his bed, but a big yawn brought his head back to the pillow. Perhaps now, his body got the message. Perhaps now, he would finally be able to get some sleep. A second thud...clearly, the sound of a rock striking the window...followed. This time, David emerged from his bed and went to the window. Squinting, he was able to see a familiar-looking young woman standing below. Without even bothering to throw a robe on, David quietly went through the hallway to get to the door to the stairs leading down to the front door of the two-family residence. Making an effort to keep things quiet, as he knew his brother and his mother were both asleep, he was able to make it to the door and open it. Standing in front of the front door was a fully clothed Brooke Vandervelde. She had an expression on her face that was neither happy or sad, but it seemed to indicate, nevertheless, that something was on her mind. David didn't say a word. He urged Brooke to follow him in, and to keep it quiet as they made their way back to his room. David locked the door to his bedroom behind him once they were both inside, and he turned to Brooke, who remained emotionless as she stared back at him. The Senior classman shook his head in confusion as he whispered. "Why are you..." Brooke brought an index finger up to press against her boyfriend's lips. Slowly pulling it away, she began to quietly undress. As she did, David removed the undershirt and the boxers he was wearing. They then got into David's bed, wrapped their arms around each other, and... ...froze at the sound of a sharp knocking at the bedroom door. David made an effort to sound weary, as if he had been freshly roused from a deep sleep. "Wha...whaat? Mom?" "Just wanted to make sure you were in there," Mildred was heard responding from the other side of the door. He then heard his mother's footsteps retreat back to her bedroom. David just sighed out irritably. He then turned his head towards Brooke, and they once again locked lips in their mutual passion. Keeping their voices as quiet as they could, David pulled away for a moment. "What about...getting a good night's sleep?" Brooke spoke tenderly as her fingers caressed David's left cheek. "That's what we're gonna do." Although it was two people in a bed meant for a single person, it made their slumbering all the more cozy as their eyes finally fluttered shut, and a dreamless sleep took them both. * * * Once again, Philip Patterson's hand hung down from the bed as he slept...and once again, his feisty cat Tesla decided to sharply bite at the fingers of this hand. This instantly brought the educator out of his sleep with a squeak of surprise. His reaction had Tesla dashing away in her fright. When Philip looked at the bitten finger, he was relieved to see that she did not draw blood. There was no puncture wound. As he was within fifteen minutes of his smartphone's alarm going off, he was able to reach over and disengage it. He then let out a high-pitched yawn as he slipped out of the bed. Rising to his feet after putting on his glasses, he felt slightly imbalanced as he awkwardly went to a closet in his bedroom. He almost stumbled as his hand went to his short, but fuller head of hair. His eyes were wearily half-lidded as he opened the closet door to pick out another white, button-down shirt. He picked out a tie as well as one hand scratched at a lingering itch at the nipple of one of the two fleshy protrusions that had developed on his chest, which were concealed beneath the white undershirt he was wearing. Mentally locked in his routine, he began buttoning up the shirt over these protrusions, and found it difficult to do seeing as how the shirt was meant for a person with a flat chest. As much as he tried to push the fleshy mammaries down, the buttons would not reach the holes on the other side without stretching to the point of tearing the fabric. He was forced to make a mental note of getting something to make it easier to flatten his chest enough to be able to wear the shirt which, in his frustration, he was forced to remove. He substituted it with a loose-fitting pink T-shirt with a rainbow- colored beach design on the chest. Walking became an exercise in balancing out as he went to a full-length mirror, still in his boxers, which also fit him oddly. It was a bit tight at the waist. When he caught sight of his body frame, he was able to figure out why this was so. As much as the developed mammaries on his chest were a dead giveaway, the widened hips and the narrowed torso was another dead giveaway. Since his wildly erotic encounter with Hilary Van Owen, his body seemed to want to punish him for it by becoming far more female than male. As he stared back at himself, he felt a need to itch at his nipple once again...and when he did, he panted out from an intense sensation that spread into his body from the point he was rubbing at. Carefully walking back to his bed, he sat on the side of the bed, pulled up both his shirt and his undershirt, and began rubbing at the nipples of his developed breasts in his self-examination. After only a few minutes of curious rubbing and tweaking, the pleasurable sensations surged through his feminizing body once again, this time from both of the grown-out swells. He found himself panting loudly as his eyes passionately closed. He found himself tweaking them more and more as his heavy breathing became more audible. His mouth hung open as he kept rubbing. His upper body leaned forward a bit. The quiet moans that emerged from his mouth were strangely higher in pitch, as well. He had to stop for a moment to realize the obvious truth, and that made him begin to grope at his crotch, concerned as to how thorough this obvious gender change was. To his relief, he felt the familiar bulge between his legs, although it was much smaller than he remembered it being. "S-school..." His higher voice whispered, realizing that if he lingered too long with his impromptu self-pleasuring, he would be late to teach his classes. Bringing a hand to his throat, he spoke the word again in his natural voice. "...school..." His natural voice remained in its high, girlish pitch. He was quick to slip on a pair of black slacks, which led to the next, and more paralyzing issue. He could not fasten the buckle, nor could he pull the zipper all the way up. His hips were too wide! Philip contemplated calling the school and putting in a sick day as he went through his other pairs of clean slacks, and found them to be similarly incapable of fitting around his waist. His best bet was to grab a pair of swimming trunks that he had, and hope that they could pass for masculine shorts. As the trunks were tightened by an elastic tie, it was the clear choice. He could still, however, feel the fabric strain against his wider hips as he moved. Now it was just a matter of enduring the cold temperatures outside. Maybe all of my embarrassed blushing will keep me warm. He mused to himself. He was at least relieved to see that his shoes were still a snug fit, and after bundling up, he raced out the door. The cold winds whistling against his bare legs were already making him shiver as he moved. Damn it, damn it, damn it... He protested to himself as another cold chill made him shudder. ...I can't believe I have to get on a BUS looking like this! A loud honking to his left, however, caught his attention, as did the driver doing the honking in the sporty vehicle Hilary Van Owen was occupying. She gestured for Philip to hurry over to the passenger side and get in. Philip was understandably hesitant. It was that one night where he lost all control of his discipline that made him start changing in the first place. He was certain that she wanted to twist the knife deeper into him. And yet, she was in a car with a potentially warm interior. Despite the fact that Philip saw the bus he needed round a corner and head for the stop he was approaching, the feminized educator ultimately stepped over to the passenger side and opened the door. Once he closed it, he savored the warm climate Hilary had generated from her car's air conditioner. As Philip reached over to buckle himself in, a grin formed on Hilary's face when she realized how different the geeky schoolteacher looked. "Let me guess. Slacks wouldn't fit, so you used a pair of swimming trunks?" Philip sighed. "Please don't remind me." "Oooh, and you sound so much different, too." Her eyes returned to the road as she coasted the vehicle past the green light. "Welcome to our side of the gender fence." "I am not..." Sighing after he realized that a deeper voice couldn't even make him sound masculine, he just kept speaking in the more feminine version of his natural voice tone. "...I am not a woman. I still have my..." He gestured to his crotch. "...you know." "So? Get it chopped off!" Hilary giggled at her own attempt at mirth. "You're not going to school looking like that, by the way." "Oh? Do you know of a 24-hour clothing shop?" Philip remarked. "The Mall stores don't open until 11!" "Oh, we'll be going to the Mall. Just not right now," Hilary responded as the now girlish educator saw Lloyd H. Kemp High School rush past. "You need to put in your registration papers for Feetham's. I already called Kemp's Principal, and told him to have a substitute cover your classes." So much for having a perfect attendance record. Philip lamented to himself. "After we're done, the Mall should be open," Hilary continued. "You'll obviously need a new wardrobe. I can't wait to see how you look in skirts." "Sss-skirts?" Philip fretfully remarked. "Come on, Philly. Face the fucking music already," Hilary amusedly noted. "You're one of us now. If Ron Fontaine can come to accept it, so can you." "R-Ron?" Philip knew the name. Ron Fontaine was a pleasant-mannered single man who excessively puffed weed, and shared a lot of the counter- culture beliefs of the hippie movement of the 1960s. He always wished he could have been there for the original Woodstock concert of that era, but he was sadly born a few years after the event had taken place at Max Yasgur's farm. "Oh, did I say Ron Fontaine? I'm sorry. I meant Renee Fontanelle." Hilary paused a moment to make a sharp left turn. "I envy that woman. Such a gorgeous head of curly red hair." "What...what's going on?" Philip finally found the strength to try and get answers. "What did you do to me...and why??" "Well, if you're going to be teaching at Feetham's, you're going to need to fit in with the faculty preference," Hilary replied. "No men. You'll be sticking to Computer Sciences, too. With the growing Matriarchy in place, the young women of Bullchester will need to know how to capably use computers. No one else in the Bullchester educational program knows that subject better than you." "Sssso you...you're turning me...into a girl..." Philip tried working the rationale in his head as he spoke. "...because you don't want any men among the faculty of this Feetham's place??" Stopping the car at a red light, Hilary turned her head to Philip and nodded, smiling. "Mm-hmm!" "B-but...what...what do you have against men??" Philip whined. Hilary had to giggle at that question, having dealt with cruel acts of misogynism prior to becoming a devoted Sisterhood agent. "That's a really long story, and we're too close to Feetham's for me to waste time giving you a proper answer to that question." Philip felt like a pet on a leash as he meekly followed Hilary through the pleasantly-scented hallways of Feetham's once they had arrived. Quiet and serene music could be heard as the feminized educator drifted through the remarkably clean hallways. It was difficult for him to think altogether as his mind seemed lost in the subtle melodies that lingered in the brightly-lit school passages. Glancing at the windows on the doors of the active classes, he did not see a single male. There were plenty of nationalities among the students and the faculty, but never a single boy. Anyone that even remotely resembled a male looked like they had lost a battle to maintain their natural gender, and were just as much coming to grips with an imposed femininity as Philip was. Some of the hallway conversations he caught among the faculty certainly made this propensity clear. Philip got the sense that he was becoming a part of some kind of radical takeover. Like he was becoming part of some pro-feminine cult of some kind. But...would that be so bad? Philip found himself rationalizing despite his better judgment. These are the cleanest halls I've ever seen in a school. So much nicer than Kemp's grimy passages...and this hallway music sounds so...sweet... "Now before we have you register, there's someone I'd like you to spend a little time with," Hilary explained as they neared a left-side hallway door. "She can help you adjust to your current situation, Philly. Give you a little...perspective. By the time you're done speaking with her, you should be in a better condition, mentally, to be able to fill out your registration forms." Hilary then opened the door, and leaned in to speak to the room's sole occupant. "Miss Fryer? I have Philip Patterson with me." Lois Fryer initially looked confused, but she then consulted a scheduling file on her tablet. "Oh, yes. The new Computer Sciences teacher. Go ahead and send her in, Hilary." Philip nervously stepped inside the office, scratching that same itch at her left nipple as she moved. As Hilary shut the door behind her, Lois tapped at a space on a nearby couch, indicating a place to sit. Once Philip had settled into it, the incredibly attractive counselor settled in right next to him, tapping and swiping at her tablet for a brief moment before placing it on a nearby coffee table. "So, Phyllis..." Lois began, flashing a full smile. "...what shall we talk about first?" * * * Dearest Louise - First off, I want to thank you, Brooke, and Ramona for your understanding of my need for privacy as my...condition...progressed. I particularly want to thank Ramona for being such a big help in seeing to my needs. She'll make a great nurse someday, if she ever had any interest in such a career. Not too long ago, an old business associate of mine came back into my life. Remember Lou Sandberg? He's doing well for himself ever since he separated from his family, and he says he has the perfect job for someone like me outside of Bullchester. It's good money, too, and he assures me that no one is going to bully me around for looking the way I do now. I can't go into too many details in one letter, but the one important caveat is that I need to go away for awhile. I'm sorry that I could not say my goodbyes in person, but I just didn't wish to be a burden to you three any further than I already have. I am aware of your financial situation, and once the checks start coming in, I will try and set aside a portion of each paycheck to you. Between your current earnings and mine, you should be able to keep up payments on the house. That's the good news. The bad news is that I may not see you again for awhile. I realize this is a hard pill to swallow, but Louise couldn't read any further. Fighting back tears, she tore the letter to pieces and dumped the fragments into a nearby garbage bin. She then sat on the side of the queen-size bed and allowed the tears to flow freely. "Stupid. Stupid!" She griped openly through her sobbing. "You've always been so STUPID!!" After a long, quiet moment of just sitting at the side of the bed, weeping uncontrollably, Louise slowly rose up and walked to the refrigerator of the house's kitchen with hurried steps. From a cabinet was pulled a large glass. From another cabinet was extracted a full bottle of vodka. After filling the first of many servings to slightly below the edge of the glass, she began to drink. Four subsequent full glasses later, she started to feel a little better... ...and then, she refilled the glass for the fifth time. * * * "Pete! Good morning." Smiling, Captain Joe Cicero gestured for the crestfallen PAA to come into the office. "Come on in and have a seat. Oh, and close the door behind you." Hesitantly, Peter Sandberg complied. Despite the ordeal of the previous day, he saw no reason to keep from embracing his habit of wearing feminine undergarments. He went into the office of the command's C.O. knowingly and bravely wearing a fresh pair of pink panties beneath his pair of black jeans. Moving towards the offered seat, he had to wonder if he was about to be grilled. This was not a pre-scheduled meeting. It was impromptu. Which quite possibly meant that Lt. Drucker had told the Captain about what he had learned the previous day. About Peter's little...habit. Once the civilian worker was secure in the nicely-cushioned seat, Cicero leaned forward as he began to speak. "So I heard the ICO was giving you grief again?" Peter nodded, feeling like a condemned man being sent to the gallows to be hung. Cicero, however, sounded sympathetic. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here to, uh...mitigate things, but...I want to assure you that I didn't call you in here to chew you out. You're in no danger of suspension, or anything of that nature. Can I ask you, though, if what Drucker said was true? About you wearing...you know...under your pants?" The Administrative Aide sighed out. "Yes, sir." The Captain nodded. "Well...I called you in here to let you know that as long as you keep it hidden under your pants, we don't have a problem. You could be wearing a ballerina's tutu beneath those pants and I wouldn't care, and I don't see you as the kind of civvie that would ever want to do your work during the day with your pants down, right?" Peter looked a little surprised, and the beginnings of a smile formed on his lips. "No, sir. Of course not." Cicero smiled back, but then his expression went serious once again. "If it's any consolation, I ordered Spence to leave you alone for as long as you do your work, which I'm always confident that you perform as well as you've been doing. Your evaluations are always fine, and as such, you really don't deserve to be tormented by anyone here during your tour." Peter looked much more relieved now. "Thank you, sir. I...I appreciate that. Very much." "That's it, Sandberg." The Captain gestured to the office door. "Head on back to the 124 Room." The PAA rose up, nodding in acknowledgement, and once he was out of the office, he heaved out a relieved sigh. Feeling a bit more confident, he pulled a written complaint report and began typing its details into the system. As he did, he noticed Drucker mulling about outside the 124 Room. Peter noticed him glancing to the office window, his expression noticeably unpleasant. The ICO then began walking towards the door of the clerical office... ...only to be audibly stopped by Captain Cicero. He then gestured for Drucker to join him in his office. By now, Peter had finished typing in the complaint. With the door to the Captain's Office shut, and a short distance from the closed door of the 124 Room, there was no way Peter could tell if there were raised voices, or any kind of arguing. As he idled in the office, he noticed a familiar face sway enticingly towards the Desk Sergeant. It was Lupita Aquino. When the Sergeant gestured to the 124 Room, Peter knew who she had wanted to see, and when her eyes fell on him, Peter gave her a cordial wave. Flashing a smile, Lupita stepped into the room, instantaneously filling the room with a potent and pleasant perfume scent. She then clacked her high heels over to the Police Administrative Aide, her generous boobs jiggling as she moved. "Hola, Pete," Lupita began, stopping very close to where he was sitting, and then sliding her fleshy butt onto the table in front of him. Two French-cut fingernails pushed a bit of hair out of Peter's eyes as she spoke. "I wanted to thank you again for taking my complaint. Cops found dat puta givin' me shit an' had a few words with him. Would you believe they found guns on 'im? Unlicensed? They even got 'im for drugs, man. Dragged his ass to jail," She then ran her long fingernails lightly down his cheek. "Got you to thank for helping me." Peter just shrugged, smiling meekly. "Just doin' my job." "So we can do our job, si?" Lupita cooed. She then rose to her feet, still smiling down at the seated civilian employee. She then gestured for him to rise. "Levantate." Peter curiously rose to his feet, still staring upon the inescapably alluring latino dancer as she turned, and suggestively rubbed a hand over her generous posterior. "What you like about a woman, novio?" the dark-haired exotic dancer asked, looking back at him over her shoulder with sensuously half-lidded eyes. Peter shrugged again. "Their, uh...hourglass shapes, I guess." Lupita nodded, still smiling. She then turned to face him, stepping up close. "For me, it's a nice...big...fleshy..." She then rubbed at Peter's posterior, giving it a suggestive squeeze. "...butt." The PAA nervously glanced to the side. It seemed like the others in the command were not staring upon this suggestive scene. His concern was not for himself, but for the wildly attractive woman in front of him. He was afraid that she would be spotted being as suggestive as she was, and not only would she get in trouble, Peter might find himself hit with a command discipline because he didn't stop what could be perceived as an unlawful gratuity. "Uhh...L-Lupita..." Peter began, trying to find the right words as the dancer remained very close to him, rubbing at his butt once again. "...I'm...honestly happy that I was able to help you with..." A finger went over Peter's lips, stopping his concern cold. "Shhhhhh. Madame Olivia take care of everything. Don't you worry. You help us..." She then gave Peter's posterior an enticing slap. "...we help you. It'd be easier if you come work for us, though. You still thinking about that part time job offer, baby?" Lupita faced him away from the window, but as she did, his peripheral vision caught sight of Spencer Drucker giving him an accusing stare from outside the office. "I-I just..." Peter began to quake with concern. "...I just don't want you to get into trouble is all." The exotic dancer just grinned deviously as she wrapped her arms around his head. "People like you serve and protect the people of Bullchester." She then pressed her forehead against his. "Women like us? We are Bullchester, novio...or would you rather I call you..." A finger traced around the front of his neck, from ear to ear. "...esclavo?" Peter found this statement oddly ominous. Was Lupita a part of this oft- rumored conspiracy the civilian worker had heard about every so often, ever since Julia Stroud became the city's Mayoress? Was there something to that smelly, disgusting bag lady's constant exhortations throughout Bullchester, claiming that the city was one big 'trap'? "Would it help your thinking if you just came to work for us for one week?" Lupita suggested, finally getting to one of the real reasons for her visit. "Just come to the club after you done here. You get paid at the end of the week, then you decide if you wanna stay on. Is fair, yes?" "Would I..." He did see the fairness in the suggestion. "...would I still be able to work here at the command if I decided to stay?" Lupita smiled. "Madame Olivia would not have it any other way, baby. You come to us after work. Is your way of saying 'yes'." She then pressed her red-painted lips against Peter's for a moment. Pulling away, she confirmed the lipstick mark she had pressed over his mouth. "We waiting for you, esclavo." Once Lupita was gone, Peter pulled out his smartphone and brought up a translator app. Knowing it was good at detecting languages, he typed in the word 'esclavo'. Seeing the english translation caused his cock to become a bit erect. Lupita had called him a slave. * * * Once Spencer Drucker had finished doing his customary overtime with the command(much to the chagrin of those that had to share it with him), he drove back to his house, where he knew his wife and three sons were waiting for him... ...but it was his custom to stop and park the car in front of the house, wait five minutes, and then drive back out of the parking space to make his usual after-work visit to a bar he began frequenting since the Bottom of the 9th made its shocking transformation. On that bar's last fateful evening, Spencer had to decline an invitation that was given to him that night by the secret association of men who were going to subtly take back 'their city' from the 'feminine disease'. They called themselves 'Misogunia', and they were an association of hackers and 'real men' who had recently attempted more extreme methods of re-establishing their dominance. Among these methods was to spring criminal hackers from serving jail time for the sake of helping Misogunia seize the Bullchester internet by force. That attempt resulted in an assassination. The young hacker had been shot and killed. No investigations commenced to find out who had pulled the trigger. The group was going to re-convene at the Bottom of the 9th to go over their next step, but the second-in-command...the so-called 'sergeant-at- arms'...had become one of the victims of the tainted beer. Their masculinity effectively and irreversibly eroding, they fled the city. The proudly misogynistic Bullchester Senator which was the figurehead of the secret group, however, was not among those affected that night, and no one had heard a peep out of the jumpy and impulsive politician since the news broke regarding the closing of the Bottom of the 9th. Spencer was one of five members of Misogunia that was unable to attend the ill-fated bar that night, and he wanted to see if they were at the 'backup bar', which was a consistently humid downtown dive called Bullish. He knew the five 'survivors' by their first names: Ryan, Geoff, Arthur, Samson, and Hal. Ryan was the more vocal of the five, and was a cousin of the bar's former owner, Seamus Rafferty. Ryan was also much more boisterous in nature after five straight mugs of beer. The bar itself had been given a "B" rating, and bar owner Mike Gaff wore this rating like a badge of honor. His bathrooms were moldy, and fruitflies were a common infestation not only at the bar, but in idle bottles of liquor as well. As much as Spencer found the place to be less than sanitary, he understood that Misogunia had little to no other choices outside of arranging private meetings at a member's household. Gaff also deliberately spread rumors of frequent rat infestations just to keep women out of his bar. To the ICO's surprise, however, there was a woman at the bar! There she was. A short-haired blonde sharing shots with Geoff, Samson, and Hal. She even seemed to be complying to the more lewd methods of drinking shots. She poured a shot between the valleys of her exposed cleavage, and allowed the guys to lick and slurp it off of her. "Oi! Spence!" Ryan pulled at one of the policeman's shoulders, turning him to face the middle-aged, spike-haired irishman. He then grabbed the back of Drucker's neck and pulled his head back, pouring a mug of beer into his open mouth. "Down the 'atch!" Ryan exclaimed. Once Spencer recovered from the deluge of beer, and stopped coughing wildly, the redhead got right down to business. "Who's that woman, and what's she doing in a place like this?" "Oh, the lassie? That's Stef!" Ryan answered. "Hal brought 'er in. Stephanie Walker. Got a tongue for politics, she does. Might as well be one o' the guys. I know what you're thinking, but...I figure we'll need someone on the inside track, y'know? After what happened at B9..." Spencer knew 'B9' was Misogunia's shorthand for the now-defunct Bottom of the 9th. "...we need ta step up our tactics, and she's totally on board for them." Spencer looked wary. "But...given the way she's dressed, you don't think that she might be..." "Ahh, don't be a fuckin' prude, boyo!" Ryan had an arm around Spencer and was already pulling him towards the table where Stef was chatting up the guys. "Oi! Steffo! This here's Spence! Show 'im the twins!" The ICO raised his hands in restraint. "Uh, no, no thanks. I'm a..." With a lewd face, Stephanie pulled open her blouse, exposing an impressively large pair of mammaries. "...I-I'm a...married man..." Looking intoxicated, Stephanie turned to Geoff. "Whaddya think?" "I think he needs a drink," Geoff replied, setting off a fit of laughter from everyone at the table, including Ryan. Spencer just flashed a patronizing grin. "Wait a sec..." Stephanie slurred. "...y' say you're Spence? Spence Fucker?" "Spencer Drucker," The Police Lieutenant firmly corrected, still distrusting this woman. "I'm the Integrity Control Officer for the Bullchester Police Department's 19th Precinct." "Ohhhh shit! He's FIVE-O!!" Stephanie boisterously exclaimed. She then turned to Geoff, once again presenting her breasts to him. "Lick th' rest of th' fuckin' beer off, bitch!" She then pointed to Hal. "Y' can arrest him first. He brought me in here." She then brought her finger to Ryan. "Get him, too. He's irish, They're always fuckin' trouble." They all continued their laughter, their minds buzzed beyond the legal limit. Spencer found himself staring at Stephanie before he realized it, and when he came to his senses, out came the question that typically killed the mood. "Are you a praying woman, Stef?" Spencer inquired, to a chorus of irritation and 'boo's from his fellow Misogunia advocates. "Do you believe in God?" Stephanie Walker...who was once Steve Walker, a very male member of the City Council before his maleness was completely compromised by Mayoress Julia Stroud's Angel semen...downed another shot before answering. "I believe..." She seemed to think on Spencer's words, even through her intoxication. "...I belieeeeeve...." Her head turned to Geoff. "...wha' do I believe?" Geoff shrugged. "Fuck if I know," Another bout of drunken laughter followed. A smartphone chime then sounded as Ryan watched Geoff lick at the space between Stephanie's breasts, causing the blond woman to fish for her device. "Ay, ay!! When do I get a turn, lass? I want me some milk!" Stephanie frowned as she brought out her smartphone. "I gotta look at my text! Shaddup!" Making sure no one else spied on the words, Stephanie lucidly glanced at the short text. Your mark is the redhead. Get to work. Quickly stashing the smartphone, Stephanie began to move out of the booth she was sitting at, compelling Hal and Samson to slide out so she could get past. "Sssspence..." Stephanie slurred as she made her way out of the booth. "...you know thish place, right? Take me to th' toilet." Frowning, Spencer looked to Ryan. "Do they even have a Ladies Room here?" "Know what?" Ryan dazedly slapped at the redhead's shoulder. "Why don'cha go an' find out, boyo?" Smirking, Spencer led the alluring woman to the area where the lavatories were located. As Stephanie walked, she fished in her pocketbook for the syringe she had taken with her, which was provided by Cresswell's rising young star, Leanne Walsh. When they reached the door to the Ladies Room, Stephanie turned around and raised the syringe. "Would y' do me a favor? Seein' as how I'm so...y'know, bombed? I need my, um...mmmmy uhhhh...insulin shot." Spencer frowned. "Diabetes?" Stephanie just nodded. "I'm sorry...I'm...kind of embarrassed, but..." "No, no. I'll help you," Spencer assured. "Just tell me where the needle goes." Lancing the area of feminized skin Stephanie indicated, Spencer sent Leanne Walsh's serum into the former councilman's bloodstream...but this was, in truth, no Insulin shot. It was actually a unique formula developed by Leanne which was designed to dramatically decrease the level of intoxication in Stephanie's body, effectively restoring her lucidity over the course of five minutes. As her mind began to clear, she fixed an alluring gaze upon the Police Lieutenant after she took the spent syringe and slipped it back into her purse. "Thank you, baby." She stepped up close to him, grinning. "You really are the heroes they say you are." Spencer, however, recoiled, raising the hand and the finger which had a telltale gold ring upon it. "Happy to help, but...I'm a married man, sorry." Stephanie's eyes narrowed. "Are you a happily married man?" Spencer grinned now. "You did see the ring, didn't you?" "That doesn't mean shit, Spence," Stephanie challenged. "That tells me you went through that boring old ritual, but that doesn't tell me if you're happy." Spencer blinked, finding this a little less amusing now. "Stef...whether my marriage is happy or not is none of your business." "There must be something wrong between you and your wife," Stephanie correctly surmised. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have been staring at me. You're still staring at me, too. You can't take your eyes off of me, can you? You can't stop staring at me...you can't stop smelling my perfume...you like it, don't you, Spencer? It smells real nice. Doesn't the scent remind you of naughty places like this one which you snuck away to when you were younger? If only your mommy knew what you were spending your allowance money on." As Stephanie shook her head shamefully, Spencer was in a state of utter confusion. How the heck does she know all of this? Fudge! And...she doesn't sound drunk anymore? What in the world is going on here? Stephanie grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, allowing her generous mammaries to crush onto his chest. "Don't lie to me, Lieutenant. You want a woman like me more than you want some prim and proper prude you met in a Parish." Spencer shook his head, beginning to look nervous. "Stop. I...I love my wife. Just as much as I love my two boys." "But does she love you back?" Stephanie's lips closed in until they were inches away from Spencer's. "Like I could?" Having been educated in the unspectacular, unfulfilling, and routine family life Spencer put his immediate family through, it was easy for Stephanie to push the right buttons and get the appropriately alarmed reactions from the ICO. Even as she was setting Spencer up for a massive fall from grace, she continued to be curious as to what kinds of fates the Sisterhood had in store for his wife Patricia and their two sons, Oliver and Brandon. After a long moment in which he stared right back at Stephanie, he gestured to the entrance door a distance away from where he was standing. "I should...go..." Stephanie smirked, shaking her head. "No. You should...stay here," She then pushed him into the Ladies Room, and then pulled a small vial of aerosol spray from between her cleavage. "Let me show you how much of a bad girl I can be, Mr. Police Lieutenant." Before the ICO could make another word of protest, he was misted with the content of Stephanie's aerosol spray the moment he turned around. Breathing in the vapors unexpectedly, Spencer found himself completely incapable of clear thought within seconds, and a look of utter confusion was on his face as he tried, fruitlessly, to shake off the effect. This made it possible for Stephanie to frisk her neutralized quarry, and she found a pair of handcuffs in one of the Lieutenant's pockets. She was also able to fish out the keys to these restraints. She also found the Lieutenant's gun. This momentarily made her blood run cold. Having been a City Councilman, however, he knew the law. Spencer Drucker was carrying his loaded sidearm into a public place off-duty. Although it was impossible for him to escape his current situation, the laws would still fry his ass. "Listen to the sound of my voice, Spencer Drucker. My voice is all you hear, and the only one you obey," Stephanie's trained voice spoke enticingly into the befuddled ICO's right ear. "Remove all of your clothes, including your underwear." Blankly staring, the bullying redhead complied, pulling off all of his clothing until his heavily-freckled body stood before her, completely naked, and smelling strongly of a tacky cologne. She then stepped behind him and grabbed his wrists, forcing them together so she could tightly and painfully cuff him. Once he was secure, she once again whispered into his ear. "Kneel." And down he went as Stephanie checked the Glock-class pistol's safety lever. It was off! Shaking her head, she engaged the safety and then placed it in the tub of the nearby sink. "You're a very, very naughty boy," Stephanie scolded as Spencer's head hung down in shame. "Bringing a loaded gun into a public place, and with the safety off! You are in very serious trouble, Mr. Policeman. You could lose everything over this. It's what you deserve for all the terrible things you've done in your life." "Sss-sorry, Mommy," Spencer softly responded. Stephanie arched an eyebrow with not only surprise, but with interest. Although the Sisterhood had already dictated what his fate was to be, she had to wonder how Spencer would respond to an age-regression approach. Still, she had to take advantage of this unexpected perk in Spencer's manifested submission. "You're too far gone for mere apologies," She chided. "I can't even call you a policeman anymore. Your life may as well be over. Done. Finished. The only thing you will ever be able to arrest from now on is a bottle of beer. Yes. That's right. Beer. Plenty of it. So much of it. That's right. You can't get enough of it. It makes you feel soooo good to drink it. Would you like me to get you some beer right now, Spencer?" "Y-yes, please," Spencer replied, still lost in the Cresswell formula's effects on his mind. Stephanie was quick to acquire a couple of beer bottles from the bartender, taking Spencer's wallet with her so she could use his money to pay for them. On her way back to the bathroom, a slight smile formed on her face over the satisfaction this job...her first Sisterhood- ordained task...was giving her. Going back into the Ladies Room, she saw that Spencer was beginning to rise to his feet, shaking his head. Alarmed, Stephanie splashed his back with one of the open bottles of beer. "Did I tell you to get back on your feet?" A sharp kick to one of Spencer's leg once again grounded the bullying ICO. She then poured the rest of the beer all over him, filling the red-headed Lieutenant with sheer bliss. He even tried lapping up the spilled beer on the ground. Grabbing at one of his earlobes, she painfully pulled him back up to a kneeling position. All he could do was to moan in pain, his eyes squeezed shut. "You do as your Mommy Stephanie tells you from now on, Mr. Police Lieutenant," Stephanie commanded. "Open your mouth." She then forced his head back. Grabbing the second bottle of beer, she carefully poured it into his open mouth, filling Spencer Drucker with a rush of heavenly bliss as the malt liquor went down his throat. I wonder what Leslie Betancourt will think of her new friend. Stephanie wondered to herself. VIII: Happy Friday? The feel of a series of gentle slaps were able to bring David Sandberg out of his slumber, although he was weary eyed as the lids of his eyes opened. Once Brooke's face came into focus, they opened much wider. "Happy Friday, sleepy-head," Brooke whispered, smiling. "School's waiting. We gotta get up." "Did we...did we actually get some sleep?" David wearily asked. Brooke shrugged. "Six hours, I think." David let out a yawn as his upper body lifted from the bed, keeping his voice silent. "Better than the three or four we've been suffering from." "We just have enough time to change," Brooke reminded, opening a carrying case she brought with her which contained a change of clothes. Nodding in acknowledgement, David began to do the same. They both seemed to strip down naked at the same time, and their eyes fell upon each other once they were both in the buff. They had to stop and keep their eyes on one another. Their minds were mutually lost in each other's bare appearances as they closed the distance between them. It was a primal moment. She placed a hand on David's shoulder, rubbing it lightly. He rubbed a hand against Brooke's back, caressing its smoothness. Their lips locked together in the very next moment, their hands rubbing at each other's bodies lovingly. They lingered against each other for five full minutes before the sound of a door opening, outside of the room, interrupted their moment of raw passion. "School," David reminded before they separated and resumed dressing up. "G'bye, Mom," David heard Peter's voice announce outside the door. "Peter? Do me a quick favor, dear?" David heard Mildred's voice call out. "Check your brother's door and see if it's locked?" David immediately turned to Brooke and brought a finger to his lips. Brooke nodded in acknowledgement. A rattling at the knob of the locked door followed, confirming that the lock was engaged. "Yeah, it's locked," Peter responded. "Oh, listen, Ma...I'm gonna be a little late coming home tonight." "More perfume shopping?" Mildred quipped. "Very funny." "I'm sorry..." Mildred returned, still giggling. "...but shouldn't you be buying cologne? Those are female scents you're wearing." A moment of silence followed before Peter ended the impromptu discussion. "G'bye Mom." "Your brother wears perfume?" Brooke silently asked as they finished dressing. "What Pete does is his own business," He replied as he ran a brush through his hair. "I don't judge." Brooke quickly turned him to face her so she could give him another smooch on his lips. "Just one of the reasons I love you so much," She gestured to the only other means of escape from the room. "Window?" After a moment of thought, he settled on an impromptu strategy. "You go down that way. I have to keep up appearances and leave out the front. Otherwise, Mom will think I'm oversleeping." Brooke nodded in understanding and waited until David was out of the room, closing the door behind him, before the attractive young Freshman opened the window to begin her attempt at a descent to the ground. "See you later, Mom," David attempted as he went for the door to the staircase. Mildred's voice sounded a touch cold in its tone. "Hope you both had a good night's sleep." It was only after David shut the door behind him that he felt his blood run cold. Mildred's statement oozed with suspicion. He had to wonder if she knew about Brooke being in his room, or was she just making an oddly casual statement about both of her sons? The latter hypothesis, under the circumstances, sounded far less likely. Meeting Brooke outside the front door, she immediately wrapped her arms around him and they once again kissed deeply. After releasing, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. "Let's go." As they distanced themselves from the Sandberg home, a single pair of eyes watched them from the window of David's room, gazing upon them as they disappeared into the distance. Furious over her son's disobedience, Mildred Sandberg's angry face pulled away from the window so she could ponder how she was going to punish him. It had to be something...significant. * * * "Good morning, class." Apparently, Mr. Patterson was a no-show to David's Computer Science class. Today, he had apparently been replaced with a tall, and an extremely attractive woman with ginger hair, and an impressive pair of thighs. She grinned as she scanned over the many faces seated at desks in the classroom as she spoke. There was also an odd scent permeating the room. It was making David's head feel a bit funny. A couple of the other students in the room also seemed to be reacting similarly, while others just seemed to lapse into a kind of trance. "I'm afraid Mr. Patterson will be unable to join us this morning," The provocatively dressed teacher continued. "So, until further notice, I will be taking over. You will call me Mrs. Van Owen. Let's spend a little time getting to know each other." Her high heels clacked near the first desk of the first row as she smiled down to the slim black student sitting there. "Mmm, aren't you a luscious rod of chocolate sweetness. Nice to meet you, Darren," She clacked over to the desk behind him. "Michael. Have you ever thought of getting contacts? Those glasses make you look so...frumpy." She advanced to the next one, maintaining an alluring expression. "Yum, yum. You're my kind of bitch, Samantha. You've got the kind of look that would own a room," Samantha just grinned in response. "Herb, is it? Why so shy? Don't I look attractive to you? Hmm?" She leaned down, bringing her face close to Herb, who was one of the wallflowers of the class. "You shouldn't feel so ashamed, sweetie." Mrs. Van Owen continued to acknowledge each student in the class with a different kind of comment, and rather than respond, the students all just stared at her. It took a moment for David to realize that he was among the enthralled. Then she reached where the Senior Class Valedictorian sat, and David had to give this blond-headed student a doubletake as well. "Ooooh, my, my, my," the ginger-haired educator observed, catching a whiff of the exotic perfume he was wearing. "For a moment, I thought you were a girl. I appreciate that you're man enough to be a woman, Mr. Lawrence...or would you like me to call you...Taylor?" David felt a need to correct the substitute teacher, even though the Valedictorian seemed to warm to this new identity. "His first name is Tyler, Mrs. Van Owen." The woman abruptly turned her head to David, flashing a cordial smile. "Was it? My mistake..." She turned her head back to Tyler. "...but a name like Taylor does suit you, don't you think?" Tyler smiled back. "I like it." David's eyes widened. The pitch of Tyler's natural voice was noticeably higher now, and he seemed to be sitting in an oddly feminine manner. Left to his apparently cheery reverie, Mrs. Van Owen continued her path through each of the remaining students. She eventually reached David. "You seem awfully spooky, David," She began in her odd assessment. "Do you hang out with gothic girls? Might explain your sleeping habits...but don't worry. Goths are beautiful people, too," Her upper body bent down so she could whisper into his ear. "Those dresses looked gorgeous on you. You will buy some more." Clacking past him, David had a look of shock on his face. She was obviously referring to the pictures that Rita Noble had taken of him the night she had crossdressed him for the photo shoot. His shocked expression, however, melted to one of consideration, thinking of the first day he had laid eyes on Abby Stohler, and how interesting her black dress looked. He also found himself thinking, strangely, on how he would look wearing that very same dress. I will buy some more. He wanted to try and dismiss the thought, but it kept rebounding on him. I will buy some more. Glancing to Tyler, who he considered a friend, he saw that the strangely effeminate Valedictorian was now looking right at him, smiling sweetly. The blondness of his hair had also been somehow augmented, looking more like a banana's shade of blond, and was fuller in its volume while maintaining its short length. He blew him a kiss, and gave him a wink, before turning his attention back to Mrs. Van Owen, whose lessons for the day was a review on everything Mr. Patterson had covered, which culminated in a quiz. Although he was able to follow the curriculum of the day, and do well enough on the quiz to pass, David's mind continued to fixate on those same five words. I will buy some more. In the back of his mind, memories of goth music tunes Abby liked to listen to seemed to play alongside the words that kept repeating in his head. I will buy some more. * * * Louise Vandervelde looked catatonic as she sat on a stool in her home studio, staring at the blank white canvas on her painting easel. To her right, on a small, square-shaped, fold-out table that was level with her waist, was a chilled glass of Long Island Iced Tea that was shedding condensation down the sides of the glass, creating a growing wet spot beneath it. Her mind was as blank as the canvas, having drained three full glasses of the strong alcoholic beverage prior to pouring another full glass. The liquor content was definitely giving her a buzz, which was intentional given the anguish over having read that her husband had abandoned her and Brooke. She wanted the memory of this shock to be drowned out through her drinks, and perhaps a dash of inspiration which would go from the creative centers of her mind to the canvas in front of her, but such was her state that she couldn't even summon up the strength to pick up a single brush. You never thought to talk to me. Even privately. I would have understood, or at least TRIED to. The words formed in her mind, the memories far too strong and far too bitter for the liquor to overcome. You fucking coward. So much for your goddamn vows. She felt like she was in a perfect void as she stared upon the canvas. Any shapes or images she could possibly paint would be far too incomprehensible, too misshapen, to constitute any hint of legitimate art. As she reached for her untouched, lingering drink, she heard the doorbell ring. Seeing as she was at least lucid enough to be able to answer the door and give feasible responses, she rose from her stool and drifted towards the front door. When she opened it, a fashionably attractive woman with a trim figure, a head of long, curly black hair which seemed to reference the heroines of old B&W movies from a bygone era, and a conservative gray and white business suit with a knee-high skirt, stood before the drunken bohemian. She immediately held out a business card as she spoke. "Good afternoon, Miss...Vandervelde, is it? Shelley Portnoy. I'm with Loris International." Louise tersely took the card without bothering to read it. She kept her eyes on the Bullchester executive. An unpleasant expression was on her face. "Five minutes. If I don't like what I hear, you fuck off." Shelley's initial response was a smirk, but she continued speaking. "I'm sure you're lucid enough to be aware that one of your patrons is a woman named Rita Noble, yes?" Silence. Even with Shelley's grinning expression indicating a need for a response. Shit. She thought to herself. I had a feeling this wouldn't be easy. Thank the Goddess I had the foresight to bring the tonic bottle. "Keep talking," Louise suddenly blurted out. "Well..." The female executive pulled out the small vial of the clear liquid Rita had provided her with from a pocket of her business jacket. "...can I trouble you to drink this before we continue? It's a tonic that should help clear your head. You look like you've had, well, one too many." Louise stared at the small vial the young Loris woman held up. A long, quiet moment passed as she considered this offer. What the fuck. She reasoned to herself. Even if it were poison, I wouldn't give a shit. Still looking bitter, Louise snatched the small vial out of Shelley's hand, pulled the small, pink-colored cork from it and drained its contents in a single tilt. Her tastebuds were hit with a sharp lemon flavor immediately. Her eyes squinted shut, and she had to shake her head a bit from the intensity of the formula which ultimately had the effect of radically lowering her intoxication level within seconds. Opening her eyes wide as a hand flew to her head, she shook it vigorously before squinting at the Loris Executive, who looked much less blurry now. She no longer looked like she was subtly wavering about. Shelley smiled, seeing Louise's reaction to the tonic. "We call it the Lemon Drop, Mrs. Vandervelde," she explained. "It's a perfectly safe way of clearing your head when you're over the legal limit, if you get my meaning. It's not something we want to publicize, so we'd be appreciative if you kept a lid on the existence of that little wonder drug for the moment. Now, to get back to the question at hand..." "Yes, I know Rita Noble." Louise sounded much less bitter now. "What is this about?" "Well...another question first, if I may," Shelly replied. "Madame Noble tells me that you're an artist of the bohemian variety. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at any and all art pieces you've crafted. I'd like to see the material Rita's been gushing about with my own eyes." "Ss-sorry?" Louise looked a little confused. "You want to see my worthless little scribbles?" Shelley nodded. "I figured you wouldn't mind, since I'm told you have them out on display during your annual outdoor gatherings." After a moment, Louise just shrugged, and stepped aside so Shelley could walk past her. "Sure. Why not? Everyone else seemed to like 'em," She then hurried in front of the executive after shutting the front door behind her. "Some people seemed to think I should open up a gallery, but I can barely keep up payments on this so-called house." "I'm actually envious of where you live," Shelley responded as she followed behind the bohemian woman. "This is a very nice place you have here. I like the Chinese-style d?cor, there's plenty of space, and...is that an old-school divan? VERY nice. Yeah, you could definitely get the impression that an artist lives here. You live alone?" Louise shook her head, still a bit amazed over how effectively the 'Lemon Drop' did its work. "No. I live with my daughter. She's a Freshman at Kemp High." "Really?" She turned to face Louise. "Did you hear that the school was cited by the Mayoress for a repurposing? It's going to become a Parochial School for the local religion." "The Divine Feminine, eh?" Louise looked sold on the idea. "Will Brooke still be able to attend?" "Oh, of course!" Shelley assured. "We can easily transfer her records over to the new administrative systems. She should find the new curriculums to her liking. We're just...removing some of the needless baggage there, and focusing on new initiatives Mayoress Stroud has planned for the city." As Shelley spoke, she scanned over the many art pieces Louise showed her, and she looked genuinely impressed by what she saw. From a visual perspective, the themes that came to mind seemed to vary. She had to surmise that Louise was good with images that reflected personal moods. Anger. Disappointment. Despair. Joy. Contentment. Peace. These words came to mind as her eyes absorbed the individual works. A marketing strategy began to ferment in the ambitious new executive's head. "Have you everrrr...thought about selling any of these works?" Shelley asked, still scanning her other works. "Because contrary to your beliefs, I think these have sale potential." Louise, however, shook her head vigorously. "I'm not parting with any of these," she asserted. "I'm too strongly attached to them. I don't mind showing them off, but...selling them? No chance." Shelley kept her eyes on the art pieces as Louise spoke, absorbing the refusal and considering a second strategy. She had been specifically told by Rita Noble to 'make use of Louise', and to 'make her feel important', with money being no object. "How about putting them on display in a more prominent venue?" Shelley offered. "Bullchester does have an art district, after all. It's in the Coin Quarter." Louise still looked skeptical. "I dunno, Miss Portnoy. I'm just one of the, uh, little people, so to speak. You really think my stuff would fly with the Penthouse crowds?" Shelley shrugged. "Where's the harm in trying, Mrs. Vandervelde? Won't even cost you a cent. We'll put the gallery together. All we'd need are your art pieces. All of them. Once the gallery runs its course, we can talk options. You never know. Maybe they'll petition for you to get a brand new home in the Coin Quarter." Louise had to giggle at such a farfetched notion. "Artists like me rarely leave their roosts. Besides...I like it here. Even if I am struggling to make ends meet." "Then don't move out!" Shelley supportively remarked. "See...the long and the short of it is that based on what I'm seeing here, proverbially speaking, your ship has come in. Whether it's a mere fifteen minutes of fame, or a more lasting arrangement that keeps your life well-funded for the foreseeable future." "Provided I play ball with Loris International," Louise added. "I hope you don't plan on asking me to change any of these pieces in any way. They need to stand on their own merits rather than be shoehorned into whatever theme you're trying to..." "Oh no. No themes at all," Shelley interjected in assurance. "You'd be the Art Director for your own gallery. See...it's not a matter of what you can do for us, Mrs. Vandervelde. It's a matter of what we can do for you." The bohemian kept her eyes on Shelley as she spoke, watching for signs of fabrication. To her surprise, the words sounded genuine, and it didn't seem like there were any catches. All they wanted were her art pieces, and Louise would make the call as to how they were presented. The deal sounded fair enough to warrant her acceptance. But she had one last question. "I have a lot of art pieces in storage. Did you have a specific space in mind? I would need a lot of it." "I could think of...three places in the Coin Quarter that we could use," Shelley replied. "Shall I assume you want the largest one?" Louise nodded. "Well...I'll tell you what. If you don't have any pressing matters at the moment, we could drive out to the Coin Quarter right now and I can show you those three spaces. You just tell me which one you feel will best suit the display of your works, and we'll go from there. I figure...two, maybe three hours tops," Shelley offered. "Sound good?" Louise already looked both intrigued and sold, but she gestured for Shelley to wait as she hurried into her studio and picked up the glass of Long Island Iced Tea she had prepared. She then went into the kitchen to pour the rest of it into the sink drain. When Shelley next saw the bohemian artist approach her, she was bundled in a coat. "Let's go." * * * When Friday's run of classes reached its end, Brooke Vandervelde noticed that David Sandberg was not waiting for her at the door to the classroom for her final class of the day. This was enough to ferment enough concern to pull out her smartphone and send a text to him. Where art thou, Romeo? :) She figured he'd text him by the time she got outside. The text, however, remained unanswered by the time she was past Kemp's weathered entrance doors. Her concern grew as she added another inquiry. David? Are you okay? She reasoned that he was perhaps talking with friends. Maybe even talking with someone on his own smartphone. She chose to continue walking the path back home as she waited for the perfunctory chime, and the quick vibration that accompanied it. Looking ahead of her, however, she saw a familiar-looking individual walking slowly along the route. Having seen David's frame from behind, and his usual mode of school dress, she confirmed that this had to be her boyfriend. She began to hurry over, closing the distance between them quickly. When she finally caught up to him, he seemed to be blankly staring forward, his lips moving as if whispering something she couldn't immediately comprehend. During the day, she had seen other students in the hallways...all of them males...bearing a similar expression, and it was eerie. They were walking just as slowly, too, and a couple of them had traces of feminine makeup on them as well. "David?" Brooke tried to keep in pace with him as he kept walking in a seemingly aimless manner. She tried grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. "Hey! What's wrong with you?" This, at least, compelled David to turn his head to Brooke. He gazed at her for another moment with the same blank expression before his mouth finally formed a smile. "Hi, Brooke." "I texted you. Twice." She still looked concerned as her other hand grasped at his other shoulder. "You didn't answer. Are you okay?" "You did?" He quickly pulled out his smartphone and confirmed the presence of both of Brooke's messages. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Still had my phone silenced. 'Cause, you know, classes. I usually put the sound back on when I come out. Must have forgotten, obviously," He then connected his lips with hers in a loving kiss. "I should have held a mirror up to your face," Brooke remarked as they resumed walking forward. "You looked like some kind of zombie. It wasn't the first time I've seen that kind of an expression today." David nodded. "Yeah. It was kind of spooky today. Did you have a woman named Mrs. Van Owen for your Math class? The one Mr. Patterson usually teaches?" "Yeah," Brooke answered. "She was going from row to row, talking to every single student. She fixated on one person who was staring at her the entire time. She called him 'Georgie'. Geeky guy. She even played with his hair a little before she moved on to the next Freshman." "What did she do when she came to you?" Brooke sighed, obviously finding the memory a bit humiliating. "She called me 'Princess'. Said I was the loveliest girl in the room, yadda, yadda, yadda, ad nauseum," She rolled her eyes over the recollection. "What about you? You have Mr. Patterson for computer science, don't you?" David tried to remember what had happened, but he kept drawing a blank. "I...I don't remember," He turned to him and shrugged, smiling. "Probably wasn't interesting anyway. Listen, you wanna hop on a bus and swing by the mall? I gotta buy some more." Brooke frowned in her confusion. "You gotta buy...what?" The memory of what he needed to buy was also hazy now as he tried to come up with a response. "Well...y-you know. Some...some more, uh...more." Brooke smirked, and then planted her lips on his, kissing deeply. This had the effect of helping him shake off the effect of the mind-bending compound that had been filtered into the classrooms during the day. Only males...such as David...were affected by the compound, giving the Sisterhood-sent instructors an opportunity to implant early triggers into their subconscious minds. The compound, however, was a prototype, and an extreme emotional response...such as a woman's kiss...could temporarily kill the effect, as it did with David, who looked a bit more lucid once Brooke pulled away. "I've got a better idea," Brooke offered. "Why don't we hit up the club tonight? I could use some...you-and-me time after the kind of week we've been through." David nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a date to me." "Great!" the beautiful young Freshman beamed. "So I'll see you in front of the Mall later tonight?" "I'll be there." The lovebirds continued to speak as they continued along the path they usually took to head back home. They eventually reached the point where they needed to separate, and with one last deep kiss, they went on their diverting paths to their respective homes. Upon entering her house, her usual routine was to stop by the closed door of the room Brooke's father occupied to say hello before heading over to wherever her mother was lurking. The door to the bedroom, however, was wide open, and no one was inside. Frowning in her confusion, she slowly stepped inside. Traces of feminine perfume were in the air as she looked around. The bedsheets looked dissheveled. Brooke turned around, wanting to go back out of the room so she could find her mother... ...but Louise Vandervelde stood in the doorway to the bedroom she and her husband once shared prior to his...unique infection. "I meant to text you, but...I was unexpectedly pulled out of the house for awhile," Louise explained. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, sweetheart." Brooke's expression immediately went grave. "Dad...?" After a long moment of trying to find the words to explain, Louise stepped up close to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's...gone, dear. He moved away. He left a note, but...well, I didn't finish reading it. I couldn't." Brooke looked a bit shocked now. "Was it because of...w-what happened to him?" Louise shrugged. "Maybe. I-I don't know, honestly," Hanging her head down, she was overcome with another moment of visible sorrow, and she pulled her daughter in for a tight embrace as she openly sobbed once again. Brooke was too astonished...too shocked...to feel much of anything in that moment. No tears cascaded from her eyes. "He left us," Louise murmured as she sobbed into her shoulder. "He left us. Ten years...ten fucking years..." She could say no more...nothing coherent, at least...as she continued her sobbing fit. "I-I'm so sorry, Mom..." was all she could offer as she hugged her mother back. After a sniffle, and a wipe of her moistened eyes, she pulled away to stare into her daughter's eyes, fighting through a pained voice. "It's...it's okay, though. I found a way to keep us from losing the house," She ran a couple of her fingers through Brooke's hair. "We'll be just fine, dear. Just...just fine." Brooke tilted her head, confused once more. "What are you...what are you talking about?" Another wipe at her eyes, and Louise guided her daughter into the Living Room. "Follow me. I'll explain everything." * * * "So, that's pretty much all I need you to do, Peter," Olivia Tench explained to her new part-time clerk, who conveniently worked for the Bullchester PD as one of their Police Administrative Aides. "I need you to give me some organization on all of these paper files. Mostly tax documents. From there, I can figure out how else you can help us. Just do as much as you can in the hours you have. If you can't finish it, just come back tomorrow and pick up where you left off." Peter nodded in acknowledgement. "Sounds fair enough." Olivia smiled. "And if anyone bullies you around at all, just let me know." The office worker now looked curious. "Is there anyone here who..." "Emily," The shapely, dark-haired Madame interjected. "If you needed to worry about anyone's behavior, it would be her. She can be a real bitch. You can't miss her, either. She's got the biggest lips of all my girls, but she does follow my lead. If she gives you grief, come to me about it. I've already told her about your part-time gig here, so she at least knows you're here." Peter nodded again. "Gotcha." "No..." Olivia rose from her seat behind the desk and clacked over to where Peter was standing, a sly smile on her face. She then pulled his head between her large breasts and pushed them against the sides of his head. "...I've got you." Peter could feel his cock harden. The scent of Olivia's perfume, as always, was spicy and inviting as he felt the smooth skin of her large mammaries rub at both sides of his head. As much as he felt tempted to bring up his hands and make contact with the fleshy mounds, he kept them at his sides. Olivia then put an index finger beneath Peter's chin and lifted it up so she could stare down at him with a lustful gaze. "Payday is every two weeks...and I give raises for good work, so don't disappoint me. I think you'll appreciate the undocumented..." She brought up her other index finger to give his nose a single, flirtatious rub. "...perks..." Her hand went back down. "...that come from working with us, too." Peter swallowed hard as he continued staring up at her. "Y-yes, Madame Olivia." The shapely and seductive woman pressed her lips to Peter's forehead, leaving a visible lipstick mark there. "Good boy. Now get to work, pet." Olivia then turned and swayed her way over to the stairs leading back up to the main level of the club. Once she had shut the door behind her, Peter was all alone, and free to start his work. Although he had to let out a deep, relaxing breath first. Being between Olivia's breasts had made him very erect, to the point where he felt the hair at his scrotum pull uncomfortably. Slipping his hands into his crotch to make adjustments, he resumed his work assessments. As he had been shown where the mess of files were, Peter went right over to them and began taking stock of the folders, which were fortunately wrapped in tight elastic cords. Apparently, Olivia had dropped the folders in stacks next to a brand new metal file cabinet. She had already marked the drawers with alphabetic indicators. Peter's task was to file them accordingly, and in alphabetical order. Wouldn't tax forms be separated by year? Peter asked himself. The files themselves, however, had names on them, and while some were thin in their bulk, others were noticeably thick. He had to be careful picking any of them up. Being so careless as to grab them from one side would result in the files sliding out the other end of their folders, creating a mess on the basement floor which Peter would have to clean up. Not wanting to make a bad impression on his very first day, the PAA was super cautious as he began looking for any 'A'-based files. The basement level of Mistresses was spacious, but not at all dank or musty. Obviously, Olivia wanted each and every level of her establishment to be as pristine as possible. The painted-over walls were cherry red in color, and his sneakers stepped on rows of evenly-arranged square tiles lined with white. Square columns could also be seen here and there within the basement area, which had a low ceiling. The thumps of people moving about could be heard as Peter worked, and occasionally, there were whoops and hollers from horny men, and the droning beat of bass-empowered music played along with the entire cacophony. Obviously, the club was in full swing above him. As he worked, he heard the door to the basement open up, and a pair of heels clack down the stairs. Figuring it was Olivia, he stopped his work and turned around. It wasn't Olivia at all. It was a woman with a pair of oversized lips, dressed as provocatively as the other exotic dancers. She had a particularly wicked expression as she stepped towards Peter. "You must be the new bitch," Emily Braithwaite intoned. "And you must be Emily," Peter replied. "Oooh, a feisty one." Emily began to slowly pace around him. "I hope you're not expecting everyone else here to drop to their knees and polish your little dinky with our lips. We're not that kind of business." "I know that," Peter answered, keeping his cool. Emily stopped in front of him, fixing his eyes with a hard stare, speaking with a sense of self-important confidence. "Actually, it tends to be the other way around. You get to be at our feet in this city. All of you disgusting little men. Heard about what happened to that sports bar a few weeks ago?" Peter shrugged. "Everyone knows what happened to the Bottom of the 9th. Are you suggesting that someone here had something to do with it?" Emily's bitchy face was now inches from Peter. "That's none of your business," she hissed. "You must think I look silly, don't you? You're probably thinking to yourself, 'what a funny-looking freak, with those big lips'. Don't you fucking lie. It's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Peter shook his head, speaking from the heart. "I don't judge people by their appearances. You could have a third arm, and I wouldn't poke fun at you." At first, Emily seemed sold on this admission. Her face softened, and she flashed a sweet smile. "Awwww," She cutely responded, but then in the next moment, her face twisted back into her more contemptuous mask. "You're so full of shit!" she growled. "And what's this I hear about you working with cops?" "I'm a civilian worker," Peter explained. "I don't have a badge. I can't enforce the law. I'm just a paperwork guy." "Pffft. You still have to swear an oath, bitch," Emily shot back. "Turn around." "Why?" Peter warily asked. "Because I'm good at making up stories that would fuck your life over," Emily responded. "They'd buy it, too. You're new meat here, pig. I could put the word out that you smacked my ass as I passed you by, and the next thing you know, your fat ass would be dragged someplace where you'd be processed for a well-earned lobotomy." Wanting to steer the conversation in the direction of some kind of levity, Peter frowned in mock confusion. "I don't have a fat ass. What are you talking about?" Emily once again brought her face close to his. "No...but if you step out of line, you'll have the biggest ass of all the bitches in Bullchester. Now. Turn. Around." With a loud sigh, Peter complied, wanting to get whatever business this was over with so he could get back to work. He was already wasting time he could have spent organizing more of the piles of stacked folders that were waiting for a new home in the new file cabinet. "What are you gonna do, frisk me? I went through this with Jake Simonson out front." Peter received no reply, but he felt Emily's hands rub and rummage at his body from the shoulders down. When her hands were at his chest, he felt a painful pinch at both of his nipples which made him wince. Her hands...each finger tipped with long and French-cut fingernails...then rubbed along his back, slipping beneath his shirt. Her squeezes were firm and a touch painful, as if she were deliberately trying to make him feel uncomfortable. "We can do whatever we want with you bastards," she angrily reminded as she continued to 'frisk' the Police Administrative Aide. "Even your fellow pigs. The ones who really do have badges. Oh, if you knew what kinds of things they have in store for them..." Her hands then went down to his butt, where one hand began groping at it. He could not see Emily's other hand reach into the cleavage area of her dress, where she extracted a plastic object. "...gee. That's funny. You say you don't have a fat ass?" He felt the one hand pull down the top edge of his pants until he could feel cool air against a bare portion of his butt. "From where I'm looking, it's worth a pinch anyway." And that's when she subtly stabbed at an exposed butt cheek with the Tear Duct she had brought down with her. This formula, designed by Leanne Walsh, was not as radical as the other types of Tear Ducts. It would only create a feminine modification in one area of the recipient's body. In this case, it would be both cheeks of Peter's posterior. Peter, of course, figured that Emily had just given him a harsh finger pinch at his butt cheek. He just sighed out once again. He was mildly annoyed, but he did not want to exacerbate things. Emily slipped the spent and empty Tear Duct between her breasts once again. She then grabbed a shoulder and turned him to face her. "Now get back to work, bitch. Remember what I said about making up stories." Before Peter could give any kind of a response, Emily turned away from him and went right back up the stairs, closing the door behind her. Still feeling a coolness at his exposed posterior, he pulled his pants back up. Shaking his head, he resumed his organizational work. He was able to gather up all of the 'A' files and place them in the topmost file drawer. After closing the drawer, he turned to see yet another young woman...this one with large breasts, and a big posterior...standing in front of him. In one hand was a bottle of booze, while her other hand had an empty glass. "Hey, baby," the scantily clad dancer began, flashing a smile. "Did you want something to drink?" Peter scanned every inch of this young entertainer's body, noting her somewhat timid expression. "Well...I, uh...I don't drink. Can I get soda instead?" "Oh, sure! I'm sorry. We, um...we didn't know." The young woman could not help but notice Peter's transfixed stare, and she had to blush. "Hee hee...you like what you see?" "Uhh...yeah. You, uh..." Peter looked very flustered as he spoke. "...you look very nice." "Oh, stop! Hee hee!" It was easy for this dancer to feign a bashful nature, seeing as how she was genuinely flustered around brown-skinned guys like the club's resident bouncer. "I'm Coco, by the way. You must be...ummmm...Peter?" The office worker nodded. "That's me." Coco...who was once a young Behemongers player named Tobias Betancourt...giggled over the nice young student's response. "Better be careful, Peter," She flirtatiously remarked. "There's a lot of wolves in the den tonight. We have been talking about you. Especially Zelene." Still flashing a flirtatious grin, she turned away from Peter and swayed back over to the stairs. "I'll get you your 'Coco-Cola', sweetie. Be riiiight back." Peter turned his attention to the 'B' files now, getting as many as he could in alphabetical order as he could in his final two hours before it was time for him to leave for the night. As he worked, however, he could feel a warmth at his posterior, and a slight throbbing where he had been pinched. This did nothing to deter his concentration, however, and he kept working on the files. High heels clacked down the basement stairs once again, and Peter stopped and turned around. Only it wasn't Coco returning with a large plastic bottle of soda and a drinking glass. It was Zelene. "Buenas noches, baby," Zelene flirtatiously began. "Coco got called to do a lapdance in de private room upstairs, so she ask me to come down an' give you this. How you doin'? I heard you gonna be doin' part time stuff for us." Peter nodded, once again staring upon this much more beautiful visage that Lupita Aquino had become. The dark makeup had made her look all the more alluring. Just the way she appeared when Peter first saw her dancing in the club. Zelene hissed open the soda bottle and poured a glass for the office worker. She then held it up in front of him, grinning enticingly. "Cum an' get it, mi novia," Zelene purred as Peter took the bubbly dark beverage and poured it down his throat. The exotic latino dancer just stared at him thoughtfully as he drank. "Penny for your thoughts?" Peter asked. "That woman I saw you with. Venetia Foerst," Zelene responded. "She tell you about me?" Peter was able to recollect this memory easily as he nodded. "She told me you used to be a guy." Zelene looked away thoughtfully, nodding in confirmation. "Lupillo Cesar Aquino. Dat's who I use to be. I ran with Lobos Terribles. Meanest, most violent gang in downtown Barford. Back in de good ol' days. Before everything went so fucking girly." The office worker found this intriguing. "So...were you, like, an underling? Or were you a big shot with them?" An unsettling grin was now on the exotic dancer's face. "I was the biggest shot in de whole fucking gang. Under me, we pay off cops to look de other way when we couldn't scare 'em into submission. No one, nobody fuck with a Lobo." She pulled out of the stretchy, one piece dress she was wearing and then pulled it down so she could step out of it. She now stood, completely naked, in front of the PAA, who stared at the mass of colored ink that was all over her bare body. Turning around so he could see the ink designs on her back, practically photogenic representations of what looked to be very tough gang members standing in a line in front of a blazing inferno full of burning suburban houses were prominent along her back, with a single six-sided die and a chrome-plated automatic pistol flanking the head of a very mean-looking wolf. In stylized letters above the elaborate tattoo was the Spanish word desgarrarlos. "What does this word mean?" Peter asked. Zelene turned back around and stepped up very close to Peter. "'Rip them apart'. Is one of our mottos as a gang. We were gonna have a big ol' war. Three gangs in the area wanted to mix things up with us. We had to show we were the toughest. That we were willing to burn it all down if we had to to win." "So these other guys on your tattoo..." He gestured to her back. "...those are other gang members?" Zelene nodded. "Those were my boys." "What happened to them, if you don't mind my asking?" The exotic dancer smirked. "Crackdown. Estha De'Begrande started acting like she was hot shit. Rest of us got fucked when she disappear. Dunno what happen to her, but...party was over from there. Big shootout with those pigs. They win, I get thrown in a cage." She then shrugged. "All I remember." Peter nodded. He was a little afraid to ask his next question. "Did your gang, uh, kill anyone?" Zelene's eyes narrowed to slits. "Four men, six women." She then sat right on his lap, straddling her tattooed legs to both sides of his waist as she wrapped her arms around him and stared right into his eyes with an evil stare. "I was a really, really bad boy." Peter swallowed hard, now a little more afraid of this alluring former criminal. Zelene had to giggle infectiously. "Don' be afraid, mi novia. I got no guns now. I use to shoot people, yea..." A hand then went down onto her bare crotch, which she invitingly rubbed. "...but now, people shoot me. Down there." Peter frowned. "They allow sexual intercourse in here? Isn't that...illegal?" Zelene amusedly shrugged. "I won't tell if you won't. Besides...don't you know? Some of our patrons are cops. Some from your precinct, baby." "Do you, uh...do you miss being a man?" Zelene shook her head. "My change was part of the rehab deal. I let 'em do what they want, so long as I get to keep my ink. Never thought they were gonna take away my dick an' give me ta-tas. Thought I was gonna go out of my mind, but..." "...but, then Venetia came along," Peter openly guessed. Zelene nodded. "Ju got it. Dunno where she come from, or why she do it. She just...did it." She pressed her forehead against Peter's. "I talk enough. What Venetia want with you, hmmm?" The office worker sighed. "I'm in therapy with her." Zelene frowned in confusion. "Nice boy like you? You don' need no therapy," Her lips then moved next to one of Peter's ears. "You need my ass twerking at your big fat dick." Rising from her seated position, she then turned around and began grinding her generous posterior against his groin, moving to the droning beat above them. Instinctively, Peter placed his wrists together behind the seat. It was a completely voluntary gesture meant to assure the dancer that he would not touch her as she performed her routine. The feel of her large ass wiggling upon his lap, and against the bulge between his legs, just made Peter's cock harder until the area was practically a tent. She then turned around and rubbed her bare body against him, holding on to his shoulders for leverage. Once again, her lips moved by one of his ears as she panted lustily. "You like girls like us, don't you?" Zelene enticingly intoned. "Strippers. Whores. Bitches. You into those, aren't you?" Peter had to shrug in response. "I...I guess." "Mmmmmh," she purred right into his ear. "You gonna loooooove being one of us," She then whispered. Peter laughed a bit nervously. "Yeah. One big happy family. Madame Olivia, all of her dancers, a big black bouncer, and a part time office clerk." "An' no one to bully you around," Zelene added, giving him a knowing, seductive-looking wink. "Oh, I dunno," Peter remarked warily. "I met Emily tonight. Yikes." Zelene giggled. "She's all bark an' no bite, baby. Don' worry 'bout her. Madame Olivia keep her on a tight leash. She give you no trouble. Jus' needs to get use to you is all." They both heard the basement door open at the top of the stairs. It was Emily's voice. "Zelene! Dancer line!" she tersely commanded. Zelene stood straight up, smiling down at the office worker. "Gotta go." Peter also got to his feet, checking the time on his smartphone. "Yeah, me too. End of shift. I'll be back next Monday, though." The alluring latino dancer slipped the skimpy dress on over the elaborate ink on her body. "Have a great weekend, mi novia." "Thanks! You too!" Peter called back as he began his ascent to the door. Opening it, he stepped back out into the neon-lit atmosphere of the club's main area. Many men were seated around, and many of them were smartly dressed. Glancing to the right, he had to do a doubletake, his eyes widening when he saw who was sitting with Coco at a booth. It was Captain Cicero! Not wanting to disturb him, he turned away...and nearly collided with yet another dancer, this one with large eyes, shoulder-length hair, and a very sexy-looking body. The girl, a former boy herself, grinned as Peter's eyes found hers. "Sorry, sweetie. We need to get to the stage. Table dance later?" "I'm actually on my way out," Peter replied. "Do you know where Madame Olivia is?" "Should be in her office." The dancer then rubbed a hand at his shoulder. "I'm Alexis, by the way. Are you the new guy? Part timer?" Peter nodded. "Oh! Well...I guess I'll be seeing you more often then, eh?" Giving him an infectious wink, Alexis walked past him and made her way to the stage. He noticed that Coco was doing the same thing as he walked over to Olivia Tench's office. Knocking on the door, he then walked in, smiling cordially. "All your 'A' files are stored away, Madame Olivia. I'm working on the 'B's now." Olivia had her eyes on the computer monitor. One hand was on the keyboard in front of her. After a long moment of silence, she finally gave him a calm reply. "Very good, Petra. Have a great weekend." He gave Olivia a nod of acknowledgement, smiling. He then turned to the door. A hand moved to its knob... "Emily give you any problems?" Olivia asked. "I was told she went downstairs earlier." Peter shook his head. "No, Madame Olivia." "Good, very good," Olivia replied. "I'll see you Monday then. Same time. Good night, Petra." Once Peter closed the door behind him, Olivia resumed looking at the file that the Sisterhood had sent her which educated the Madame on anything and everything one would want to know about Peter Sandberg. Based on what she was reading, she felt more confident about the innocent office worker becoming well-acclimated to the new life that was in store for him. * * * - Hi, David - I'm really sorry about this, but I need to cancel our date tonight. Something came up and, well, my mom really needs me right now. I'll make it up to you. I promise.