Barford File 3 - The Sandbergs - Chapters IX And X - FINAL free porn video

IX: Happy Little Clouds The sounds of violence stirred Spencer Drucker out of his sleep. Gun violence, grenade explosions, screaming victims, hollered expletives...all of it a couple of doors down from where he shared his room with his wife, Patricia. Only this wasn't actual violence, but rather the mayhem within the pixellated atmosphere of a videogame released by an independent game studio called Arsenal Interactive. The game was called Concrete Jungle, and it was the most entertainingly violent videogame title in all of Bullchester. The megahit open-world game gave you the option to live one of two well-emulated lives: as a gang member amassing personal power, or as a police officer enforcing the laws of the city, which was loosely based on Bullchester itself. Rising to his feet, still in his underwear, he grabbed the half-full bottle of beer that was by his bed, drained the rest of it, pulled on a pair of pants, and hurried over to the source of the simulated violence. Sure enough, Oliver...the youngest of his two boys...had the door to his room open a crack. He had told him more than once to shut the door whenever he was playing 'that sick game'. Upon finding out what kind of a game it was, he wanted to force Oliver to remove it, but Patricia convinced Spencer that it was just a form of stress relief. Spencer, however, worried that Oliver...who regularly chose a rowdy gang member whenever he played...would begin to emulate the criminal activities of his onscreen surrogate in real life. Loudly bumping open the door to his room, Oliver instinctively hit the 'pause' button and looked up at his father. "What did I tell you about keeping this door closed whenever you're playing that garbage??" The Lieutenant scolded, his eyes flaring with rage. "Oh, shit." Oliver lazily admitted. "Sorry, Dad." He suddenly realized his error. "I-I mean...'Oh, shoot!'" Spencer shook his head disappointedly, and then stepped over to look upon the paused screen. The game had been frozen on an execution screen, which were moments in which the player's character finished off a foe in a grisly fashion. The victim of the gang member's wrath, who came from a rival gang, had a vivid grimace on his face as the gangster sliced a knife across his throat. Blood had begun pouring out of the rival's throat. "Which one is you?" Spencer asked. Oliver was already blushing. "Ummmm...I'm...the guy doing the knifing." He grinned meekly. As usual, Spencer took the extremist approach. "Is this the kind of life you want to lead, Oliver? Do you want to become a gang member? Do you know what kinds of lives these gangsters lead? It's not as glamorous as this. You know that, don't you?" Oliver sighed, having gone through this routine more than once with his prude of a father. "Yes, Dad, I know." "Why don't you try the cop character?" Spencer offered. "Try to be like your old man?" "Because running with gangs is better." Oliver answered. "I can do whatever the f...I can do whatever I want." First chance I get, Spencer contemplated to himself. I'm erasing this game off of his hard drive. This game has corrupted my boy enough. "You do your homework yet?" Spencer asked. "I always do my homework on Sunday night, Dad," Oliver replied. "You know that." "What about your chores?" His father asked next. "Did you pick up the trash from around the property?" Oliver went quiet on this. He just stared, flatly, at his father. "I'll take that as a no." He motioned for Oliver, who was fully clothed, to rise from his chair. "Get a bag and get busy. I'll be checking your work when you're done. Let's go." Spencer could hear Oliver's loud sigh of irritation as he got up and disgustedly stepped out of the room. It was clear that picking up small bits of trash was not his idea of a weekend well spent. Once Oliver was outside, Spencer went right to his son's computer and shut it off with the press of the computer tower's button. Pressing it again, he waited for the machine to reboot. He then did what he needed to do to delete the Concrete Jungle game off of his hard drive. It was a game that Oliver had paid 90 dollars to buy, DLC(Download Content) included. The game was on his hard drive for a single week. Feeling satisfied, he rose up and left the room, going downstairs to greet his wife, and if he was there, his other son, a bullying Straight- A Junior High School student named Brandon. His conservatively dressed wife was in the kitchen, her long, dark brown hair tied into a ponytail which ran down behind her back, and a row of straight bangs just above her eyebrows. Upon noticing her husband, she turned to face him with an accusing stare. Spencer stepped forward towards Patricia, smiling. "Good morning, sweetheart..." But the frumpy Patricia's hand went up, preventing him from doing their customary morning kiss. She then pulled out her smartphone and gave the screen a few taps as Spencer stood there, looking confused. When Patricia showed him the image...one of many...that had made her so angry, Spencer's blood ran cold. She was showing him images of the vividly kinky moments he had spent with Stephanie Walker in the bar's bathroom! "Who is this woman?" Patricia angrily asked. "And why are you wearing female underwear, for cryin' out loud??" Spencer frowned. "Who...who sent you these?" He desperately tried to think of a justification. "How do you know that...that these aren't faked? You know...with photo manipulation software?" His wife gave him a look that would melt ice. She was clearly not buying it. "And why do you stink of beer all of a sudden? I could smell it from here, and I'm seeing a six-pack in the fridge? You realize how much space that's taking up?? What the fuck is wrong with you??" Spencer raised his hands in restraint, keeping his voice calm. "Honey...watch your language. We're raising kids in this house." "After what I've just learned about you, I don't want you to raise anybody, much less my kids," Patricia firmly remarked. "I should also tell you that I'm no stranger to the way you've been raising the boys. Brandon's Principal has threatened him with expulsion over the way he's been hazing other students as of late, and Oliver's been scared that you're gonna start taking his videogames away from him." "Have you seen the games he's been playing?" Spencer protested. "He's been playing that...that 'Concrete Jungle' crap. As a gangster! What if he starts copying that kind of violence in real life? I don't want to read the news one day and find out he beat up a kid in an alleyway, or cut him up with a knife, or even shot a cop dead!" "Spencer...it's a videogame!" Patricia shot back. "I told you before! It's stress relief! As in it's not real! I know Oliver well enough to know he would never do that kind of thing in real life!" "That game is a bad influence no matter what you say," Spencer stubbornly responded. "I'm glad I deleted it. I don't want him playing that game any further." "Wh...you deleted it??" His wife looked horrified. "Is that why you sent him out to do his chores?? So you can go behind his back and wipe the game?? He paid for that game with his own money! Jesus Christ, Spencer! He'll be crushed that you did that!" Spencer just shrugged. "He'll get over it. I'm tired of waking up to the sound of all that violence in that stupid game." "And I'm tired of living with you any further than I already have." Patricia sounded gravely resolute as she dropped the bombshell. "I want a divorce. No bullshit. We're DONE." At first, Spencer's eyes were as wide as saucers over the announcement. But his shocked expression dissolved into a grin, and a nervous chuckle. "No. You...you can't divorce me. Those kids aren't yours, either. They're ours. I'm not letting you get away from me that easy." He then gestured to the kitchen. "Come on. Make us something to eat and let's talk this through." "Fuck you," Patricia countered. "Get that six-pack out of the fridge and take it outside with you. I want you out of this house right now, Spencer." Spencer began to take a step towards his wife, with an expression that made Patricia take a step back. "First off, watch your language. Second, I'm not gonna let you ruin our lives. I know what's best for this family. You go to church with me every Sunday, don't you? Then you know that God himself agrees with me. Father knows best." "If you don't get out of here right now, I'm calling the cops." Her right hand fished into a pocket on her apron, grabbing the object hidden inside as Spencer made his slow and threatening advance. Two more steps, and he'd have her against the stove behind her. "I AM a cop. And you're my wife, Pat." Spencer advanced forward another step, his calm voice sounding a little more menacing. "I'm not gonna let you change tha..." The yellow Cresswell formula Patricia sprayed right into Spencer's face effectively made his arms and legs completely numb, forcing him to collapse to the ground. It also made a mess of his brain's thought patterns, causing him to quietly mutter incoherently. I can't believe he made me use this. Patricia thought to herself as she placed the small glass aerosol container back into her pocket and pulled out her smartphone so she could call the Police. Barbara Walsh was right all along about this bastard. I need to take control of my life right now and get rid of this monster before he makes things worse for me and the kids! * * * "Mom..." Brooke stepped into the Living Room where Louise seemed to be studying a floor plan that was laid out on a table in front of her. "...can I talk to you for a bit?" Curious, her mom nodded. "Sure, sweetie." She gestured to the kitchen. "You want some Iced Tea? I made a fresh batch." Brooke smirked. "You know I don't drink that kind of stuff." Louise had to giggle in her amusement. "It's not Long Island Iced Tea, honey. This is just the plain jane stuff." "No thank you, I'm good," Brooke answered as they settled into a nearby couch. "Now...I get that you have this big, grand plan and stuff to change our lives, and it's great that someone is settling the bill for this art gallery thing you told me about, but...do you really want to move out of here? I've...grown pretty attached to this house. I had thought you wanted to stay put as well." Louise nodded in confirmation. "I know what I said, Brooke. I took all that into account before I made my decisions." "I remember you saying that this was the perfect house for bohemians like us," Brooke continued. "Filled with sentimental value, even if it did look...antiquated, I think was the word you used. What changed your mind all of a sudden? Does this have anything to do with...what happened to Dad?" Her Mom took a moment to think on her answer before replying. "Your father leaving us...did have something to do with it, yeah. After what happened, I just don't want to be reminded of him, and every time I go into our bedroom, I think of the day I read that fucking note he left. I can't keep revisiting those reminders, honey. I honestly need a change of scenery, and you need to live in a place that reflects your priceless beauty." "Did you talk about this with Ramona?" Brooke wondered aloud. "Actually, she kindaaaa...helped me make the decision," Louise revealed. "Did you hear? A big corporation in the city wants to hire her as a Junior Executive." "A Junior Exec...??" Brooke sounded alarmed. "She hasn't even finished High School!" "Well, I figure they'll start her out as an Intern, but...they're confident she'll earn her full stripes as a Junior." Louise reasoned. "I'd really like us to step up our visual image, sweetheart." Brooke, however, had the text messaging session she shared with David on her mind, and she looked a bit more wary now. "Mom...did anyone come by the house during the day recently? Like, while I was at school?" Damn it. Louise argued with herself. I wish I could tell her about Shelley! Louise hesitantly shook her head. "This is...an independent decision." Unfortunately for Louise, she was a terrible liar. Brooke's expression darkened. "Mom...I think we should stay here. Seriously. I don't think there's any need for us to move out." "Well, that's too bad, little miss perfect." Ramona's voice was unmistakable. She turned her head towards her spiteful sister, who had a wicked smile on her face as she leaned against the wall, looking right at her. Ramona's hair was styled in an executive updo and she was wearing a business outfit. "If we took a vote right now, you'd be in the minority. It'd be two against one. Sucks to be you, Brookie." "One thing that really needs to change is the way you treat each other." Louise solidly interjected. "I've had to put up with your little rivalry for too long. I really need the both of you to make peace with each other. Isn't there some kind of common ground you can both build on?" Ramona amusedly shrugged. "Moving to the Coin Quarter would be a start." "We can't afford to move out to an area like that!" Brooke argued. "We don't make the kind of money those people do! We're...we're starving artists!" She gestured to Louise. "You said it yourself, Mom!" "Uh-huh...and our ship has just come in," Ramona reminded. "See...part of the Art Gallery arrangement was that we occupy a spacious new home directly above the gallery itself. If the showcase makes money, we can option to keep it." "IF the showcase makes money," Brooke stressed. "How can you be so sure it actually will?" "That's the risk I'm willing to take if it means making...necessary changes in our lives." Louise turned to Brooke, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "I really wish you'd back me up on this." Brooke had to step away, backtracking towards the front door of the house. "Mom...I'm sorry. I know you might not want to hear this, but...I'm beginning to think that you're being led around on a leash. I can't be a part of that!" Louise looked astonished. "What on earth are you talking about?" "Just like I told you, ma," Ramona calmly remarked, her tone ice cold. "She's being a chicken shit about this. A wimp. She's got no sense of ambition. At all." Furious, Brooke laid a vicious, open-handed slap to her sister's cheek. Brooke then fired out an index finger towards her sister. "Fuck your ambition and fuck you!!" She immediately turned to the front door of the house, practically ripping it open and racing out of the house before her mother could say another word. Ramona still had a hand to her reddened cheek. It was a solid hit, and one she wasn't prepared for. The one thing she never expected from her sister was a physical strike, and the impact area still stung. Her head turned to her mother, still frowning. "Shall I leave you to your Long Island Iced Tea? Or maybe something a little stronger?" This statement clearly stung her mother, who looked back at her daughter with clear contempt. "Why must you always exacerbate things between you and your sister?" "Blame yourself, dear mother," Ramona shot back. "I'm not the one you treat like such an immaculate conception. JUST WHY THE FUCK DO YOU DOTE ON BROOKE SO MUCH??" Louise hung her head down, sighing loudly. "It's...complicated." "I'm your daughter, Mom." Ramona stepped up close to Louise. "UN- complicate it." "NO," her mother shot back. "You wouldn't understand." "Cat's out of the bag, Mom," Ramona challenged. "You might as well 'fess up about your little...shrine." Louise's eyes widened in her shock. "Yeah! I know all about it!" The future Junior Executive revealed. "In fact, I've known about it for a while. Certainly explains that big-ass scar on your arm. You've made me feel so fucking unimportant in this family. Only Dad showed me any real love when I was growing up. You really think Brooke is some hot-shit 'gift from the Gods'?? What does that make me?? A SIDE EFFECT??" A look of utter disgust was now on Louise's face as she stared at Ramona. "I love the both of you equally, Ramona. How dare you assume that I prefer one to the other! This isn't a goddamn temple, little lady. It's our HOME!" "Not for long, it isn't!" Ramona reminded. "After all...you need to have Brooke live in a place that reflects her priceless beauty! Whose words were those, hmm?" Louise's eyes narrowed angrily. "Get out of my sight," she growled. Getting the sense that she had significantly wounded her mother, Ramona began to back away, although she held her contemptuous expression. "I'll leave you to your booze, then." All Louise could do was visibly fume over Ramona's words. Practically seething, she went into the studio and pulled out her diary. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she began to write on a blank page. * * * Almighty Sappho - I don't know who I should strangle to death right now. My daughter Ramona, or myself. I just feel like destroying something right now. Something. ANYTHING. How DARE my own daughter talk to me like that! Fucking SACRILEGE!! My life's a wreck. I wish I were dead right now. I need a goddamn drink. ~ FIN * * * The loud clanging of a hard, black nightstick against a bar of David's cell roused him from his sleep. Turning towards the thick steel barrier, he saw a policewoman glaring at him. "Get up," the cop tersely commanded. "Someone paid your bail." She then unlocked the secure gate and opened it wide. As David walked out, the nightstick she had in her hand was suddenly pressed against his chest. "Don't make us lock you up again," the cop menacingly intoned, "or we'll permanently fuck your life over real good. Got it?" "Yeah," David replied, a little intimidated by the ominous nature of the threat. The cop lowered the nightstick and allowed David to enter the foyer area of the precinct. Walking by the 124 Room, he saw his brother, who was currently busy filling out a complaint for a troubled civilian visitor. He was facing away from his brother, so they couldn't see one another. He had thought to remain near the 124 Room until he was done so he could find out what the situation was with his mother, but a familiar and very beautiful face stepped through the front doors of the precinct to look for her boyfriend. David rushed over to a very relieved-looking Brooke and the two squeezed each other in a tight, loving embrace. Their lips connected deeply in the next moment. Brooke pulled him outside the precinct once they broke the kiss. "Come on. Let's get out of here." As they walked, hand in hand, along the sidewalks of the city, and past the Mistresses club, Brooke turned to David. "So did I hear you right? Were you kicked out of your house?" David sighed irritably. "She told me not to see you anymore. It wasn't the first time she threatened that kind of thing, but...well, this is the first time she actually did it. She left me with two pieces of luggage. I think I left them outside of your house when the cops arrested me. Do you...?" "I took them into the backyard," Brooke assured. "They should still be there." "Good, because I could really use a change of clothes right now." David remarked. "I...don't suppose I could stay with you for the time being?" "I don't want to be anywhere near my mother right now. Or my sister." Brooke answered, taking a moment to think. "How much money do you have?" David looked crestfallen as he hung his head. "Just $20." "Damn." Brooke sighed fretfully. "Hardly enough for a single night's motel stay." The High School Senior frowned in confusion. He had to bring up the subject again. "Brooke...what's going on? Can I ask now about why we couldn't go out last night?" By now, they were outside of Bullchester Park. She remained quiet as she pulled him into one of the park's many paths. Upon finding a bench, Brooke settled into it. David lowered himself onto the space next to her. After a long moment of silence, Brooke finally spilled the beans. "My Dad, he...he left us, David. I never found out why. Mom wouldn't say, but...she's kinda freaking me out lately. The whole fucking CITY is freaking me out, to be honest. I don't wanna stay. I don't wanna go home." She was on the verge of tears now. "I-I just..." David sympathetically wrapped his arms around Brooke as she lapsed into a sobbing fit. "Shhh..." He rubbed gently at the back of her head. "...calm down. Let's see about thinking this through." She pulled away to wipe at the tears streaming down her face. Sniffling, her moist, bloodshot eyes met David's. "I don't wanna think. I just wanna get out of this city." She glanced around the general area to see if there was anyone else around before returning her eyes to her concerned boyfriend. Brooke then spoke in a more hushed tone. "You know why I told you that I didn't want to talk about that 'tainted beer' thing?" David surmised the possible answer, but he never got any confirmation. He also spoke quietly. "Was it because you knew someone who was affected by it? Someone who was there that night?" Brooke nodded. "My Dad. He...didn't want to see any of us after he went to the Doctor. He told me not to tell anyone. Made me promise." "I won't tell a soul," the High School Senior assured. "Your secret's safe with me." "It doesn't matter, David. He's gone anyway," Brooke responded. "My Mom's weirding me out, my sister hates me...I just feel like buying us a room somewhere. Hotel, motel, I don't care. Anywhere other than home." "I don't think my Mom wants me back home either," David lamented. Then a thought occurred to him. A question as yet unanswered. "Brooke...do you know who it was that bailed me out?" "I don't know..." Brooke replied. "...but I think my Mom had something to do with it. I heard her talking to some woman named Rita about you after they took you away." David looked away thoughtfully. "Rita..." He obviously knew the name. This was the very same woman who had crossdressed him in gothic wear...practically on a whim...for the sake of a photo shoot. This was also someone who was essentially capable of blackmailing him if he ever crossed her. She had to have been the one who paid the bail money. David turned back to his beautiful girlfriend. "What do you wanna do?" Brooke sighed after a long moment of silence. "Let's just...sit here awhile. I'd rather just be here with you right now." As the skies gradually began to darken, they remained in each other's arms, keeping each other warm as the sounds of crickets began to fill the air around them. Neither of them were aware, however, that they were being watched by a vengeful young man with a large bandage covering a broken nose. * * * Jake Simonson, dressed in his snappy tuxedo, nodded to Peter as he stepped towards the entrance to Mistresses. "Good evening, Mr. Sandberg." He cordially intoned as he opened the door. The office worker could practically feel Jake's eyes fixing curiously on his larger posterior as he passed the ex-Marine. Peter obviously had the privilege of being able to enter the club an hour before it opened to the public. The neon lights were off and the bright houselights were on. He was told that the basement door would be open, but upon heading past a couple of casually chattering dancers, a couple of which were topless, he found that the door was locked shut. Heading back upstairs to the main level, Alexis spotted him and swayed over, grinning. "Hi, Peter. Madame Olivia wanted me to tell you that she was gonna be about 30 minutes late. Wanted you to hang out by the stairs until you arrived." The part-timer nodded, heading over to the couch that was the closest to the staircase and settling into it, letting out a relaxed sigh. He was certain that Alexis also spotted Peter's larger caboose, but he was prepared to answer any inquiries about it with two simple words: 'Don't ask.' As he patiently waited, two more women stepped through the entrance to the club. The unmistakably large lips on the first was a dead giveaway, and he was tempted to grill her on how big his ass had gotten in the wake of her pinching him. The second, however, was covered from head to toe in a glossy pink latex outfit. She had an impressively large set of mammaries jiggling in front of her, and an equally big posterior of her own. The latex even covered her head save for the eyeholes and the mouth which betrayed the presence of an actual human. A hole in the top of the mask allowed for a bit of platinum blond hair, which was held straight up by a thick series of bands. She also seemed to be walking around on ballet heels as well, angling her feet straight down in front of stiletto-style heels. She didn't seem to have much of a problem walking around like this. She looked around curiously as the other dancers stepped into the dressing room, leaving her and Peter alone within the club's main area. Spotting him, the pink-clad woman clacked over to him. "Are you that part-timer Madame Olivia told me about?" she asked. He nodded. "Yeah. I'm Peter. And, you are...?" "Well, depending on who you ask around here, they just call me 'Cow'." She carefully settled in next to him on the couch. "Long story there. My real name is Tamara, though." She held out a latex-covered hand. "Tamara Portnoy. It's nice to meet you, Peter." Peter accepted the hand, finding this woman strangely alluring. He was already curious as to what she looked like without the mask. "You, uh...look...interesting." Tamara giggled. "Madame Olivia's idea of a uniform. She has me coming down here every Saturday night just to pleasure her. She apparently likes to sit on my face while I tease her clit. She drinks from me every so often, too." "Drinks?" Peter looked puzzled. "How do you mean?" Tamara indicated her breasts. "Well...I'm a bit milk-heavy up here. Long story there, too, but...well, everyone seems to like it." Peter raised an eyebrow. "Ssssoooo...you're saying that people here...drink...right from your breasts??" Tamara nodded. "They're feeling a bit gorged right now, actually. I may need your help in getting some relief, assuming you're not lactose intolerant." "No, I...I'll help you," Peter assured. "If they'll let me." "COW!" Emily's voice barked over, attracting Tamara's attention. The bitchy, thick-lipped young woman then tossed a jingling keyring over to her, which she was able to grab. Emily then pointed to Peter as she addressed Tamara. "Go downstairs and let him in. Madame Olivia's here." She then hurried back outside. "Yes, Miss Braithwaite." Rising to her feet, Tamara turned to Peter, giving his shoulder a cordial squeeze once he had gotten up. "Let's go." Unlocking the thick steel door, she pulled it open so Peter could step in. He thankfully found that everything was the same as he had left it the previous night. None of the files had been moved, and all of the unsorted stacks were intact. "So this is what she has you doing, eh?" Tamara observed. "Filing job?" Peter nodded in confirmation. It was then that Tamara's eyes went low, seeing the office worker's unusually big posterior. "I see someone's already taken an interest in you," Tamara remarked. "I mean...beyond just filing away stuff. Do you have a day job?" Another nod. "I'm a Police Administrative Aide assigned to the 19th Precinct. I'm not a cop, though. Just..." "Clerical. I know," Tamara interjected, raising a hand. "So they're finally turning their attention to police precincts? Guess it was only a matter of time. They probably want you to be their inside man." Peter predictably frowned. "'They'?" "The Sisterhood," Tamara answered. "They're the architects of all the unusual things that have been happening in this city since before even Julia Stroud became its Mayoress. How long have you lived here?" The PAA shrugged. "All my life. My mother, my brother...we all live in the Barford suburbs." Tamara nodded. "Well...I'm not afraid to let you in on a few things, but you've got to promise me to keep it to yourself. Deal?" Peter nodded. "Sure." "The long and the short of it is that there are two big power players on the city's Sisterhood undercurrent," Tamara explained. "On one side is a radical extremist faction pushing a bogus religion. The main player there is bad news, and you'll want to avoid her at all costs because she hates men, and she's determined to eradicate any and all masculinity in the world. Her name's Agatha. If you see her around, try to avoid any skin-to-skin contact." "Why?" "Well...she has this, uh, effect on any man that she touches." Tamara replied. "She can twist your mind around. Condition you. It's pretty scary stuff, and it's a very, very real danger." Peter nodded slowly, already feeling a bit intimidated over this 'Agatha'. "What about the other faction?" "Well...it's the closest thing to being on the right side in this city. Morally, anyway," Tamara answered. "Her name's Grace Lees. Blond debutante. She's the reason I'm still, well, me, rather than what elements of Agatha's faction wants me to be. Look at it this way. Agatha wants all men to be nothing more than feminized sissies completely compliant to the whims of women. Even ones who aren't deserving of such a fate. They don't concern themselves with collateral damage, so to speak. Grace, on the other hand, would only wish that kind of fate upon those who are deserving of it. Misogynists who treat females like objects. Abuse them, or worse. We don't want to see any kind of collateral damage." "So you're on...Grace's side?" Peter guessed. Tamara nodded. "As is Madame Olivia...and, thankfully, Mayoress Stroud. There are others, too. Not many, but there are." "How do you know all this?" Peter wondered aloud. "Perks of my own day job," Tamara replied. "I'm the Secretary of Mayoress Stroud herself. I also know people who have been a tremendous help in my, uh, reawakening. They've been keeping me strong ever since...well, what happened to me." "Can I ask..." "What happened to me?" Tamara correctly guessed. "On one condition. You have to drink from me for a little bit." She indicated her breasts. "Oh...uh, sure." Peter had to blush at the suggestion. "I'll see if I can get it all in one or two breaths." Tamara took a deep breath, and then began speaking. "I moved to the city from Woodhaven, New York with my Mom to put the memories of my dead asshole of a father behind us, only someone from the Sisterhood named Rita Noble wanted revenge on my Dad for raping her at a summer camp. Since she couldn't get Brock, she went after me." She indicated her hyper-feminine figure after taking another breath. "What you see is the result of her vengeance, and I know for a fact that she won't stop coming after me until I'm her property. Just a collared, sex-starved she-male slut bound to whatever she wants me to do for her." "So...she messed with your body..." Peter worked it out as he spoke. "...and...now she wants your mind." "Pretty much, yeah." Reaching behind to pull down the zipper at the neckline, she pulled it down deep enough to be able to expose her huge mammaries. "And now, I need you to help me take my mind off of those torrid memories." 'Torrid memories'? The sinful side of Tamara's id taunted. Don't lie. You loved every little second of what Madame Noble was doing to you, slut. You still do. But before her id could torment her any further, the feel of Peter's lips drinking from her right nipple sent her into a pleasantly docile state that sank her shoulders and eased the tension from her pale- skinned body. Within moments, the quiet, bovine-like provocations emitted from her mouth as she breathed steadily. "Mmmmmmh....oooooooohhhh....." Tamara gently stroked at Peter's hair as he continued to drink. Peter found that the milk that was now flowing into his mouth was quite delicious, and he wanted to swallow down more of it. He was only interrupted when the plus-sized woman pulled the PAA away, and then had him attach his lips to the other breast, where he was able to get more of that lovely milk resident in Tamara's breasts. "....mmmmmmh....oo- oooooooohhhh....." A sharp tug at the back of his hair alerted him to a presence behind him. He could smell Olivia Tench's perfume as he was pulled away from Tamara's dribbling teat. Turning around to confirm that it was indeed her, she stared back at him with a sly smile as she stepped behind the woman covered in pink latex. "Thank you for seeing to my cow's comfort, Petra," Olivia cooed as she sharply pulled the zipper behind Tamara back up. "I'll take her from here. Wasn't her milk delicious?" Peter wiped excess milk from his lips. "Y-yes, Madame Olivia." Olivia then stepped up very close to the office worker, a hand rubbing at his augmented posterior. "So now you know more than the average resident. You'd better use that information wisely, dear Petra." "What are you gonna do with the Captain?" Peter asked, risking a rebuke for being too nosy. It took a moment for Olivia to answer, but she finally shared it with him as she gently ran fingers through his head of short hair. "I'm afraid his fate is already sealed, dear. He'll be okay for a while, but he has to be given a dose. I find it disturbing for a married man to go to places like this on his own initiative without his wife's knowledge. Wouldn't you feel betrayed if it were you?" Peter lowered his head. She's right. He admitted to himself. I'm so sorry, Captain, but...Madame Olivia does have a point. The shapely Madame planted a tender kiss on the PAA's forehead. "He'll be fine, sweetheart. Don't worry. You'll both be okay. I promise." Giving him a sultry wink, Olivia then led a very lazy-looking Tamara back up the stairs, leaving Peter alone in the basement. He needed a moment to process everything he had been told about the Sisterhood and the feuding between their factions. About Agatha, Grace, and the city's Mayoress. As Peter resumed his sorting work, he also had to wonder what kind of fate was in store for him. * * * Almighty Sappho - I just had the most amazing dream. It was...beautiful. If this was your gift, I am eternally grateful. I agree. David does look quite handsome. So slim, but so well-toned. I had been thinking of him for some time after seeing him in tights when he performed Shakespeare with my daughter. He was soooo wonderful in bed. In my dream, that is. He knew just where to touch me, where to caress me, where to kiss me. It was as if he were submissively feeding me cherries as I lounged across a divan. If only he were female... Oh Goddess, I can't believe I actually typed that. Please, don't ruin my daughter's happiness by doing that. It was just an observation. Don't take me seriously. Still...I wonder how easily he would pass if he were wearing a dress? ~ FIN * * * After a few minutes of shaking, Judith Newlington was finally able to stir David Sandberg out of the deep sleep he had lapsed into. His eyes wearily opened to focus upon the rejuvenated debutante sweetly smiling down upon him. "Wakey, wakey, dear," Judith began. "We can't have you out here all night. People would think you're homeless!" David's first instinct was to look for Brooke, who he remembered was sleeping right beside him. But she was gone. Looking to Judith, he saw her holding a hand out to him. She snapped her fingers twice. "Come, come. Your Mom's waiting for you." David finally got to his feet, his eyes still weary. "I can't. Mom kicked me out of the house." "I know, sweetie." Judith patted his back consolingly as she ushered him to her car. "But Auntie Judith had a little talk with her, and she told me to come get you. I thought I'd have to look for you all night, but...lucky me! There you were, all alone, on that park bench." "Brooke?" he had to ask as he got into the passenger seat of Judith's vehicle. "Where is she?" Judith shrugged as she walked over to the driver side. Once she was inside and in front of the steering wheel, she buckled herself in. "You were all alone when I found you. I didn't see any girl. Buckle up, dear. Is she your sweetheart?" Although he looked worried, he belted himself to the seat as instructed. "Yeah. I hope she's okay." "You could always call her when you get back home." Judith then gunned the engine and rolled her vehicle out onto the street, coasting it over to the Sandberg residence within 15 minutes. Mildred was outside waiting. Once she saw David, she looked a little more relieved. Her attention then turned to the perky debutante. "Thanks, Judy. I really appreciate it." "I found him in the park. Alone," Judith reported as David unbuckled himself and emerged from the car, still looking gloomy. "We'll talk more later, Millie. Toodles for now!" Mildred waved, smiling, as the car pulled back out and roared away. She then turned her attention to her son, who had a very unpleasant expression on his face. Her expression turned serious. "Okay...if you REALLY like this girl, I won't mind if you keep seeing her, but I do NOT want you bringing her into our house ever again. Understand? If she wants to see you, she can text you or call you. I don't want her coming to this..." He didn't let her finish. He was too angry to listen to anything more. David began walking away from the house. "...HEY! DAVID! GET OVER HERE!" He completely ignored her angry commands. "GET! OVER! HERE! DON'T MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN!!" He just kept going. He didn't want to hear anything more. Mildred had to run to keep within earshot. They kept moving for about five blocks. "David, stop! STOP!!" she commanded. "Do you know how YOUNG she is?? David, you're a Senior, and she's a FRESHMAN! She's TOO YOUNG for you!" He spun around, furiously, screaming at the top of his lungs with unrestrained fury. "I DON'T FUCKING CARE!!" Mildred stopped in her tracks, keeping a distance from her infuriated, wild-eyed son. She was clearly shocked at the sudden outburst of rage. Rage turned to grief as tears came down from David's eyes. "I..." He tried to keep from sobbing openly. "...I gotta find her. You can't keep me away from her. I LOVE HER, MOM. I LOVE HER!!" Undaunted, Mildred lifted a finger to make a radical ultimatum to her son. "David Martin Sandberg...if you don't come home right now, you can just forget about ever coming back! I will disown you!" Mildred hoped such a scare would bring her son to his senses. She was prepared to stand where she was all night if she needed to. She was prepared to apologize and make amends however she could. All he needed to do was to forget about a girl that she felt was far too young for him. To her, true happiness between couples came if the age difference were at least a year or two. She never liked the idea of older men dating younger girls, or even vice versa. She found it abhorrent, and she was never going to make any kind of an exception. Not even with her son. It took less than a minute for David to make his decision. "Goodbye, Mom." Time seemed to stop for Mildred Sandberg as she watched her son turn and disappear into the distance. At no point did he stop and reconsider. He was entirely resolute in his choice. She remained in that spot for over ten minutes, staring in disbelief. She couldn't move a single inch. Standing by a house within the Barford suburbs, the occupant of that house...who had been awakened by the shouting...finally stepped out, and slowly began to approach the seemingly catatonic woman. A silken robe covered her lacy lingerie. "Miss?" The stylishly short-haired woman waved her hand in front of the woman's face. "Helloooo? Anyone there?" "Son..." Mildred soundlessly whispered as the woman gazed upon her. Tears began to well up in her eyes. "...my son...my s-son...my hus- husband..." "Hey! Miss!" The woman tried raising her voice. She then snapped her fingers in front of her face. "You wanna come inside and talk about it? I'm Hayley." "...mysonmysonmySONMYSONMY SOOOOOOONN!!" Mildred suddenly hollered, screaming at the top of her lungs. She kept repeating the same two words, roaring as tears continued to stream from her eyes. "Hey, hey, HEY!! CALM DOWN!!" Hayley grabbed the woman's arms and tried to shake her to her senses, but she just kept hollering and screaming, becoming incoherent as she did, but occasionally repeating two words: 'son' and 'husband'. "BRYAN, GET OUT HERE!!" Hayley hollered, trying to hold Mildred in place. Within minutes, a man in a bathrobe hurried out and grabbed her as she continued screaming. "What the fuck is wrong with her??" Bryan asked as he struggled to keep her from shaking loose. "Damned if I know! She's bats!" Hayley responded, seeing people in the other houses looking out their windows, turning on lights, and stepping out their front doors to see what was going on. "Let's get her inside! Come on!" She thankfully lapsed into a lingering sobbing by the time they got her halfway to the front door of their house. "David..." Mildred muttered through her wracking sobs. "...m-my David..." Once Hayley and Bryan McKinley had Mildred inside her house, the muttering, concerned neighbors stepped back into their homes and turned off their lights, letting the sounds of crickets fill the air once more. Among the scattershot thoughts in Mildred's mind... I won't let that little bitch take my David away from me. I'll KILL her if I have to! * * * David Sandberg just kept walking after abandoning his mother. He aimlessly kept moving forward until he went as far as the last few homes before entering the city area, which was heavily illuminated with many bright lights. It was here that he decided to stop, and rest for a moment. The gravity of what he had done now seemed to settle upon him. He had abandoned his mother and his brother, and he never wanted to look back up until that moment. Am I really doing this?? He asked himself as he stood there, wiping away tears. My God, Brooke...where are you?? Why did you leave me?? There was only one place he could think of to check, but it seemed unlikely given Brooke's unwillingness to go back home. She seemed entirely resolute on her own want to stay away from her mother and her sister. Still...there was a rationale to going back to the Vandervelde residence. They had his two pieces of luggage, and perhaps the shopping bags from the m... His eyes widened in horror. They'll know what I bought. SHIT! He griped to himself as his steps hurried to the point where he was running along a path to where the Vandervelde house was located. He practically exhausted himself in his mad dash to the old house. By the time he got there, he was panting heavily, and his legs were throbbing terribly as he advanced towards the aging house's veranda. He reminisced on the night in which he climbed up to the second-floor window of Brooke's bedroom as he got closer to the paint-flaked suburban residence. As it was nighttime, he expected that there would be no lights on within the house, and there weren't. He thought about trying to climb up so he could surprise Brooke, but under the mercurial circumstances, he ultimately decided against it. Instead, he snuck around the house to look for the pieces of luggage he had left with them... ...and found nothing at all. Nothing remotely resembling his wheeled baggage. Lingering in the backyard, he took a few moments to set down on the ground and relax, despite the chilly climate. He figured he'd stay put until his legs felt a bit less stressed. About an hour or so later, he decided to head back out front, and drift away from the Vandervelde house. I'll just tell them I bought them for my mother. David reasoned to himself. Mother's Day gift, or something. I'll come back in the morning and explain everything. From then on, all he did was wander aimlessly through the Barford suburbs. It seemed like coldly poetic justice...literally...after what he went through with that homeless old derelict he had struck down. Now, he was just as homeless as she was. * * * As he didn't have to work on Sundays at the precinct, Madame Olivia gave her newest part-timer the option of working as late as he wanted on Saturday nights. As a result, he was able to cover letters B through F at the file cabinet before he decided to take a break. The caveat, however, was that he was bound to the basement, save for making drink requests. One of the well-dressed security guards was conveniently placed near the basement door for this very purpose. Bea, as she was called, was a nice combination of buff physique and pleasant personality, but she could also be VERY intimidating when crossed. Her guns were the largest sets of tattooed biceps Peter had ever seen on a woman. Fortunately, Bea thought Peter was among the 'good ones', as she called them. As Peter lingered below the club, going through a social media site on his smartphone in his idle time, he heard the door to the basement open up once again, and a pair of high heeled shoes clack down the stairs. Glancing toward the stairs, the shape of the woman's body and the long black hair spilling down from a band at the top of her head made it possible to identify this as Olivia Tench herself. Her movements, however, were a bit awkward and shaky as she descended. In one of her hands was an open bottle of what looked like white wine. Uh oh... Peter thought to himself. ...she's drunk. I'd better be careful. Once she was off the stairs, she turned her head to the office worker and grinned as she staggered towards him. "Oh...hi, Petrer." The PAA swallowed hard. "Good evening, Madame Olivia." He thought she'd grab him, but she walked right past the nervous young man. "Figured I'd check your work..." she slurred. "...make sure you're not bein' a bad girl." Stumbling onto the metal file cabinet, she turned her head to Peter and made a dismissive gesture, soundlessly mouthing the words 'I'm fine' before pulling open a drawer. The drawer she opened, however, was empty because he had started filing at the top drawer. Olivia's head turned to Peter, glaring... ...but the office worker hurried over and slid open the top drawer, revealing the sorted files. "I started from the top, Madame Olivia." Peter reported. It took a moment, but through the haze of the Madame's eyes, she was able to figure it out. "Ohhhhh. Okay." She then giggled as her head turned to the PAA. "Wrong drawer. Oops...y-you'll get there, though, right?" Peter nodded, smiling. "Yes, Madame Olivia. I figure by next week, I should be able to get all of these piles of papers in here." Olivia pointed to the unsorted piles. "All them?" Peter nodded. Olivia then pointed to the file cabinet. "In here?" Another nod from the lucid office worker. "Woooooow. You're good." Smiling, she stepped up to Peter once again, wrapping her arms around him. The smell of wine was thick on her breath as she spoke, staring right into his eyes. "I'm gon' make you such a fuckin' hottie, Petrer. You already got a nice ass." Olivia then put the mouth of the bottle to her lips and lifted it up, filling her mouth with more of the white wine. She kept it in her mouth as her other hand firmly grabbed the back of Peter's hair and she connected her lips to his, transferring the wine from her mouth to his as she moaned. Peter's eyes widened with the presence of the wine in his mouth. It was the first time tasting such an alcoholic beverage. As he didn't mind the taste of green grapes, he was able to swallow it all as he blushed. Olivia laughed out loud as she observed Peter's reaction. "Not bad, right? Y'know..." She maneuvered him to a nearby wall and pressed him up against it, crushing her large breasts against his own chest as she spoke. "...I used to not-drink, jus' like you. I was such a stuck-up bitch in those days. I really hhhhaaaaated men. I remmmemmm'br bein' out holdin' up signs...Petrer, I was such a goddamn prude back then! It was embarrassing! B'now...." She pressed her forehead to his. "...now I'm rrrrrred hot. So're th' girls." She gestured to the stairs. After a long moment in which she just stared at Peter, her forehead still pressed against his, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Do I scare you, lil' boy?" Peter just shook his head, despite his clearly nervous expression. She finally pulled her head back, keeping her eyes on the office worker. She then shook her head emphatically. "I don't usually drink this much, but..." Her hands went to both sides of Peter's head. "...ev'ry time I look in a mirror, I think, why couldn't I have been th' way I am now when I was growin' up?" Peter shrugged, smiling meekly as Olivia filled her mouth with some more wine. "Late bloomer?" And once again, the inebriated Madame grabbed the back of Peter's head and filled his mouth with the wine that had puffed out her own cheeks. He felt a little dizzy after swallowing down this excessive amount of liquor. She was able to push him down to his knees as he shook his head, trying to recover. With a devious smile, Olivia slid her feet out of the high- heeled shoes she was wearing. The scent of her feet was mild, but evident. Olivia then pointed down to her bare feet. "Kiss 'em." Hesitantly, Peter lowered his head down until he was able to touch his lips to the upper half of the smiling Madame's right foot. Olivia then slapped her left upper thigh, lifting her left foot up. "Now the oth'r one. Like you men deserve t' do, you fffffilthy little man." Peter complied, pressing his lips upon the upper portion of the left foot. The shapely Madame looked around and noticed the stool. She walked towards it while gesturing for her part-timer to follow. "Stay on y' hands n' knees," Olivia commanded. "Crawl. Like a fuckin' dog." Blushing deeply, Peter complied as Olivia settled her large posterior upon the stool's cushioned surface. She then raised a foot up in front of Peter, angling its five digits towards him. "Ssssssuck my big toe, bitch." Peter could hear the clacking of another pair of shoes coming down the stairs as his lips began rubbing around Olivia's big toe, taking it into his mouth in compliance as the new visitor stepped over to them. Emily's spiteful voice was unmistakable. "Want me to go up and get a dog collar for his neck, Madame Olivia?" "Noooo, no, no," Olivia answered as Peter continued to kiss and lick around the other toes, figuring that was what she wanted him to do next. "I like him. He's gooooood. Grade-A boot licker." She giggled loudly at this slurred observation. Emily shook her head, still glaring down at the office worker. "I don't see what's so special about him. Just another wimpy guy. We could find better." "Pffft. You don't like anybody, Emm." Olivia looked down at Peter as she pointed at the big-lipped young woman. "She is such a Grade-A BITCH, this one." Her eyes returned to Emily. "An' what would you do t' him if he were yours?" "I'd turn his nose up and stuff him with enough food to fatten him up," Emily wickedly responded. "Make him look like the pig he really is, seeing as how he works with cops." "Those cops be workin' for us soon," Olivia reminded as she switched feet so Peter could begin working on the Madame's other foot. "We jus' waitin' for th' Cmmish t' retire. Then? We gon' clean house on all th' bad cops. Ev'ry single fuckin' precinct. Gon' be glorious." Her eyes switched to Peter as he sucked upon one of the toes. "Good ones gon' be juuuuust like you, my lil' hottie." Peter had to stop and ask. "What about the bad ones?" "Hookers." Emily folded her arms in front of her as she menacingly grinned. "Really nasty, skanky ones, too. Wish I could see the looks on their faces when they realize how different they look." Olivia reached over and began rubbing her hand gently at the top of Peter's head, as if he really were a dog. "Goooood boy. Niiiiice doggie." She giggled amusedly. She then looked to Emily and patted at her lap with one hand, while pointing at Peter with the other. Grinning, the large-lipped young woman grabbed Peter and had him rest his chest against Olivia's lap. She then grabbed his wrists and held them together. Peter made no audible rebuke. No protests. He knew that would make things worse for him. Besides, he had to admit that he was feeling a bit of excitement, if not fascination, for what was going on. When Emily released his wrists, Olivia took over, holding them together as she grinned with expectation. Emily's hands then went to Peter's pants, loosening them so she could pull down enough of it to be able to expose the PAA's large posterior. Both Olivia and Emily spotted the clearly female pink panties he was wearing underneath. Emily grinned in her wicked amusement. "Why am I not fucking surprised." "They look good on you, baby," Olivia assured Peter. "Uhhh...can I ask w-what you're doing?" Peter asked. "No," Emily replied, rearing back a hand. "You can't." *WHACK!* A sharp, bare-handed slap impacted Peter's left buttcheek. The office worker let out a moan, feeling the sting of the strike. Still grinning with satisfaction, Emily reared her hand back again, staring at Peter's other buttcheek. *WHACK!* Peter groaned once again, and began panting heavily as Olivia held him fast. "Come on, piggy." *WHACK!* "I wanna hear you SQUEAL!!" Emily yelled. *WHACK!* *WHACK!* *WHACK!* By now, Peter had stopped moaning and groaning. Now, he was panting heavily as the strikes continued, his mouth wide open. A trail of drool stretched towards the ground from his open mouth. "Oooooh." Olivia turned her head to Emily, smiling deviously. "I think he likes it." To ease the sting, Olivia rubbed at his reddened cheeks with a single hand. She then pulled her hands away so Emily could strike him again. Twice. Three times. Five. Seven. Now Peter was, quite surprisingly, moaning like a whore by the third strike. Emily raised her hand once again... ...but Olivia raised her own, indicating that the spanking was over. "I think you've gotten enough frustration outta your system, dear. Go on back upstairs." The thick-lipped woman nodded, rubbing at her sore hand as she clacked towards the stairs. "It's closing time anyway." Sure enough, the pounding music beat above them had stopped. Once Emily had disappeared behind the door, Olivia lifted Peter up and maneuvered him until he was sitting on her lap. Peter looked confused. "What was that all about?" Olivia giggled as she rubbed a hand against Peter's cheek. "Think of it as...initiation." She gave his cheek a congratulatory, good-natured slap. "You handled it like a pro. Shoulda heard yourself. You sounded like you were enjoyin' it. Should sssspank you more oft'n." She then pointed to the file cabinet. "Goooood work there. Y' did a grrrreat job." Peter exhaled a deep, relaxing breath. "Thank you, Madame Olivia." A sharp knock on the door above. Bea's voice followed. "Your car is ready." They both rose to their feet, and Olivia slipped back into her high heels. She then gestured for Peter to follow her. "Come. Lemme drive y' home." The office worker kept her steady as she ascended the stairs. They managed to make it to the top where Bea was waiting for them. She was able to acquire the white wine bottle from Olivia's hand before they went outside the front doors of the club. When they stepped into the waiting limousine, they saw a familiar woman in a suit of glossy pink latex waiting for them. "Isn't this nice?" Olivia chimed as she settled into a seat next to Tamara. "I got my new office boy, and my cow sharin' my ride." Tamara gave the PAA a pleasant nod as he settled into a seat across from them. "Good to see you again, Peter." Peter smiled. He liked Tamara. He was happy that she was able to give him so much inside information without needing any kind of compensation. The stinging at his posterior had become a comforting warmth as he shifted in his seat a bit. "Thh-think I'll take a lil' n-nnnap..." Sliding her body to the side, Olivia passed out the moment she was in a sleeping position along the limo seats. Tamara just looked down at her, shaking her head, and then rose up, carefully stepping over to sit next to Peter. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Uhhh, good, good," the office worker replied. Her lips then spoke silently next to Peter's ear, "What happened to your butt was Olivia's idea, in case you're wondering. She sent Emily down to see you last night. Did you feel anyone pinch you?" Peter nodded. She placed an arm around the now worried PAA. "I wish I could tell you what happens from here, but I honestly don't know. They're always very, very sneaky." "What should I do?" Peter asked. "Just...go with the flow," Tamara replied. "Remember...believe it or not, you're with the right people here. Don't forget that. If you somehow get handed off to one of Agatha's people though, or even Agatha herself, watch your back." "I meant to ask you..." Peter kept his tone quiet. "...that woman you mentioned. The one who...you know, changed you..." "Rita?" Peter nodded. "Is she...with Agatha? Or...?" "Back then, she was," Tamara answered. "Lately, though? I'm not sure." They both chose, from then on, to keep quiet as they watched Olivia sleeping in front of them. Peter leaned into Tamara, resting his head on her chest, feeling the softness of one of her large, milk-heavy mammaries. The plus-sized secretary to the Mayoress of Bullchester gently caressed his hair as they idled against each other. "I really liked your milk, by the way," Peter noted. Tamara smiled. "Thanks. I try." Eventually, they saw that the limousine was about ten blocks or so away from where Peter lived, and yet he still wanted to snuggle up close to his new friend. "What does it feel like to have someone drink from your breasts, Tamara?" Peter felt compelled to ask. An amused smile was on Tamara's face now, thinking of what was in store for this office worker. "I'm sure you'll find out how it feels for yourself someday, Peter," Tamara gently answered as the car pulled into the curb in front of the PAA's house. They turned to face each other. "But if what you did for me earlier today was any indication, you made me feel wonderful, Peter. Thank you." Peter smiled back. "You're very welcome." Although the blond driver opened the passenger door to the limo, Tamara raised a hand in restraint. "He'll be out in a second, Denise. Just give us a minute." The pink latex-clad woman then reached over to where she had her bag and sifted through its contents until she found a thin metal container. Opening it up, she extracted a very nice-looking business card. She also pulled a pen and began writing something on the back. She then handed the card to Peter. "Let me know where and when you take your lunch break," Tamara instructed. "I'll come by, and we can talk a little more." Peter nodded, accepting the card. "I'll do that." She then planted a kiss on his forehead. "Have a wonderful night, sweetheart. Drink plenty of milk." She gave him an amused wink upon saying this, coupled with a knowing grin. Chuckling, Peter stepped out of the car, giving his new friend one last wave before the vehicle sped out of the curbside spot and rolled off to its next destination. Looking at the business card, he remembered that she had written something on the other side, so he turned the card around, and saw a single statement. Ask me about Claudius. Peter looked a bit puzzled by this. Claudius? He thought to himself. Who's that? "Bro...?" The voice sounded VERY familiar, and he immediately turned to look upon the source. It was indeed Peter's brother, David...but he looked cold, and very tired. "Dave??" Peter hurried over to him. "Jesus. You look like shit! Where were you?" "I...had a fight with Mom." David's voice was very weak. "I saw you out front here, and...well, I wanted to stop by and...say goodbye." "Really? In THIS weather?" Peter shook his head. "I'm not gonna let you stay out here. This is your home, and you need to..." "She doesn't want me to see my girlfriend, Pete," David interjected. "I can't do that. I...I love her too much. I don't care if she's a Freshman. I just...I wanna be with her." Peter nodded in understanding. He remembered how Mildred flew into a rage a couple of years ago over his want to go out with a girl four years older than him. It was someone he had met during his clerical training. He was at least happy to maintain their friendship by way of online chat sessions from time to time, but he could hardly believe how wildly stubborn his mother was on the issue. "Bro, what you need right now is a warm bed," Peter asserted. "Do me a favor. Stay out here for a couple of minutes. Don't go anywhere." Fishing for the house keys, he unlocked the front door and slipped inside. Heading up the stairs in the foyer to where the Sandberg residence was in the three-family apartment, he scanned around the darkened interiors, and found that his mother was nowhere to be found. There was no note left, either. Peter looked concerned, wondering where his mother was... ...but at the same time, it was a fortuitous thing. The only way his idea would be sabotaged is if Mildred came home in the middle of the night, and even then, he'd be willing to fight for his brother. The very notion of his mother actually kicking out a member of the family was the epitome of extreme. She had to be confronted about it. For now, however, his brother needed sleep. Heading back outside, Peter was relieved to see that David was still waiting there. He motioned for Dave to follow him inside. "Mom's not home," Peter whispered as they ascended the stairs. "You're staying here tonight. If Mom comes back, I'll talk with her. Don't worry." David was initially hesitant, but he was able to work out a rationale. I'll sleep here tonight, and then I'll go back to Brooke's house in the morning. "Hey..." He stepped towards his brother, opening his arms so they could embrace each other. "...thanks, bro. I really appreciate this..." He pulled away, still looking at Peter. "...but listen. I really can't stay here anymore. Tomorrow, I'm gonna swing by Brooke's place and see if we can't come up with some ideas on how we can get by." Peter looked skeptical. "But I want to..." "Dude, you're doing enough by letting me stay here tonight." David placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I don't want you getting in any more trouble on my account. I've really gotta go. My time in this crummy ol' place is done, and I just don't wanna look back." Peter nodded in hesitant acknowledgement. "Do you...have any funds? Like, a nest egg?" David lowered his head. "Well...not really. Just, like, twenty dollars." Peter pulled out his wallet and drew five $20 bills. He then handed them to his brother, who was immediately hesitant. "Whoa, whoa...you don't have to do that, man." David raised his hands in restraint. "Seriously." Peter, however, looked resolute. "Bullshit. You're my brother. I'm...kind of on the fence with what you want to do, but you've got to let me do what I can to finance it." David nodded, looking down at the money, still very hesitant. "You sure, bro?" "Positive," Peter replied. "Please take it. Just...don't spend it all too quickly. Play it smart." He then smiled. "I get paid next week anyway." David smiled back. "And you always bring in the big bills these days, my man." He finally took the cash and hugged his brother once again. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Really." They stayed that way for a long moment, tears of happiness rolling down David's face, before they separated and began walking towards their respective rooms. It was then that David noticed what was visibly different about his brother. "Uh, Pete?" he began. "How come your ass looks so huge all of a sudden?" He heard his fat-bottomed brother chuckle amusedly as he opened the door to his feminine-scented bedroom. "Don't ask." * * * - Hayl2McKinley '< : She's a total wreck, Rita. Keeps going on and on about her son, and her husband. Bryan had to give her a sedative. - LovlyRita '< : Hmm. The Sandbergs. I wonder which son she's referring to? She has two. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Bryan just told me that he heard her whisper the name 'David'. - LovlyRita '< : Romeo, eh? Must have something to do with the Vanderveldes. I'll have to get in touch with Louise. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Is this Mildred one of our debutantes? - LovlyRita '< : At the moment, no, but Judith Newlington earned her trust. I sent her an invite to this conference. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Shouldn't we bring Agatha into this discussion? - LovlyRita '< : Bad idea. Things like this are a minor matter. Besides...I think we can handle this without her involvement. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Okay, so...what do we do? - LovlyRita '< : Keep Mildred with you until I send a messenger down with a package. - TheDivineMissN '< : Sorry I'm late...I was just catching up on the texts. - TheDivineMissN '< : So first, Millie loses her husband, as we all know, and now David left her? What about her other son? - LovlyRita '< : Civilian with the Bullchester PD. 19th Precinct. Olivia wants him as an inside man, so...he's an Olivia thing. Let's keep our focus on Mildred. What can you tell us about her, Judy? - TheDivineMissN '< : She's told me, more than once, that she wishes she could live her life all over again. 'I need a do- over'. Her exact words. - LovlyRita '< : And I think we can help her with that. - LovlyRita '< : Keep Millie sedated, Hayley. I'll have Destiny Pendleton deliver the Tear Duct to you and supervise if you need it. - TheDivineMissN '< : Rita...what are you gonna do with Millie? - LovlyRita '< : I'm adding another young lady to our first batch of students attending John the Baptist School for the Sacred Feminine. After all, we need model students to prove that the school is viable, yes? - TheDivineMissN '< : A teacher's pet, eh? Sounds fair to me. - Hayl2McKinley '< : What about David? - Hayl2McKinley '< : Rita? Are you there? - LovlyRita '< : Leave Romeo and Juliet to me. - TheDivineMissN '< : Better work fast, before they commit suicide. - LovlyRita '< : Oh, you are one funny little bitch, Judy. * * * As David now had money, he was able to get a bus to the stop that was in close vicinity to the Vandervelde house, and he hurried over to the aging residence once he stepped off. He had slept well into the afternoon, and in no way was he disturbed. He expected to be forcibly roused from his sleep and shoved back outside once again, but no such thing actually happened. As his brother had gotten home late, he was still asleep when he got up. I could talk with Louise. He reasoned to himself. Maybe convince her to let me live with them. I know she likes me. When the house was finally within sight, he saw a couple of labor workers impaling a sign into the lawn in front of the veranda. He kept a distance, waiting until they stepped away so he could see this sign. He went pale when he was finally able to read it. HOUSE FOR SALE Contact E. Waldenfeld David stood in front of the empty house, in complete silence and disbelief, for about five full minutes. He then pulled out his smartphone in his desire to send a text to Brooke... ...and found that she had sent him a text message already. The message had been sent around 9:43 a.m., while David was still fast asleep. Settling himself on the bottom step of the veranda, he began reading the long text. Hi, David. I wanted to apologize to you for leaving while we were sitting together in the park, and while you were asleep. I know I told you my Mom was weirding me out, but...I thought about it, and weird or not, she's still my mother, and she needs my support now, more than ever. I thought you'd hate me for what I did, but Mom insisted I text you. We moved out of that old house and we're in the process of loading into our new place. It's in the Coin Quarter. The idea is for us to live above the space my Mom is using for the Art Gallery she's going to be opening up in a week or so. We'd really like for you to come down and see the new place. We could also use a hand in moving stuff, since you're such a He-Man. ;) I hope you can work things out with your mother. If you can't, then I want you to know that you'll always be welcome in our new home, if you can forgive me. Please come by soon, David. Ease my worries. I miss you so much. Her next lines of text were the exact address of their new locale, which was definitely reachable by bus...or more accurately, two buses. One bus out of Barford, and the other through the city and into the Coin Quarter. The text he sent back summed up his response as he dashed away from the abandoned house. I'm on my way. Unbeknownst to David, a beat-up gray Sedan that was parked about a block away pulled out of its parking spot and began to shadow the High School Senior, who had more of a spring in his step as he ran. * * * Peter Sandberg figured he'd wait one more day before filing a Missing Persons report. Mildred had not returned home, and the PAA was starting to get worried. He had to wonder if his brother being kicked out of the house had anything to do with it, but he remembered Mildred giving him an assurance that David's exile would be a temporary one. He figured he'd indulge in a late afternoon lunch someplace in the city, and the new place he had heard about...a unique restaurant called Totally Maid! Stepping off a bus, which conveniently dropped him off in front of the establishment, he found that the place was very busy. He saw young ladies in full maid outfits tending to the patrons within. On the large TV screens behind and above the bar was a lively animated Japanese comedy which had been cheesily dubbed into english. Upon stepping through the door, which had been modeled as the door to a typical suburban residence rather than a storefront, he was confronted by a perky young woman with a head of bright blue hair wrapped into a pair of pigtails. She flashed a full smile as she curtseyed to him. "Welcome home, Master!" the girl began. "My name is Joanne. Would you like anything to drink once I bring you to your table?" "Uhh...just a soda, thanks," Peter replied as the sweet-voiced maid in the black and white uniform led the office worker to an empty table. A second maid ran a damp cloth over the table, and then the wooden seat, before Peter settled in. This second maid...whose nametag identified her as Riley...flashed a smile, and performed a curtsey, before stepping away. Joanne returned two minutes later with a full glass of soda on a tray she held aloft, and placed it in front of him. "What would you like me to cook for you today, Master?" Joanne then asked, her voice still perky in its tone, as she handed a plastic- laminated menu to the PAA. After looking over his choices, he settled on a plain, Medium Rare Hamburger, with a side order of waffle fries. After she gave him a curtsey, Joanne took the menu and hurried away. As she did, a radically shapely platinum blonde with a retro hairstyle and a more casual, loose-fitting outfit was en route to her own table when she caught sight of the young man she had shared a limousine with the previous night. Diverting her progress, she stepped over to within earshot of the idle office worker with the augmented posterior. "Peter?" She began. "Would you like some milk with your meal?" Tamara Portnoy's voice immediately made Peter turn around and flash a smile in response to Tamara's wink. "Hey! Fancy seeing you here!" The shapely blonde smiled back. "Are you with anyone, or...?" "No no." He gestured to the empty seat on the opposite side of his position. "Please." "Heh...not that simple," Tamara replied. "I have to let my maid know that I'm switching positions. I'll join you in a couple of minutes." Peter nodded in acknowledgement. Five minutes later, Tamara was back, and settling her own huge posterior into the polished wooden seat. "My maid told me she'd actually make my meal," Peter mused. "Sounds a bit farfetched, doesn't it?" "Not here, it doesn't." Tamara answered, surprising Peter. "They really do prepare your meals here. It's a pretty unique operation." "Well...I'll say this for it." Peter gazed around the pristine, spotless establishment. "It certainly is immaculate." At that moment, the sound of a glass shattering on the tiled ground had eyes redirecting to the source. Apparently, a patron had dropped his drink. Within seconds, a maid dashed over and began cleaning the floor of broken glass. She then assured the embarrassed patron that she would bring him a replacement drink. Tamara and Peter turned their heads back to each other, smiling amusedly. "Arguably, to a fault," Tamara mused. "So, Tamara..." Peter remarked as Joanne reappeared to place a plate with his fresh hamburger and the side order of French fries in front of him. "...who is this 'Claudius' person you mentioned on that card?" As Tamara spoke, Peter took a bite out of the burger and deemed it perfect. The meat was cooked properly, and the bun was nicely toasted. Arguably one of the best burgers he had ever eaten. Tara, Tamara's maid, placed a bowl of salad in front of her. "Did you ever learn about the Roman Emperors in your Social Studies classes at school?" Tamara asked. "Julius Caesar, Gaius Caligula, Septimius Severus...those guys?" Peter nodded as he swallowed his first mouthful of food. "We didn't go into any great detail, but yeah." "Well...I remember seeing a british TV miniseries about one of those Emperors when I was younger," Tamara explained. "His name was Claudius. He succeeded Emperor Caligula when his own Praetorian Guardsmen murdered him. If that miniseries is to be believed, he played up all of his imperfections and his handicaps as a survival tactic at the advice of others." Peter frowned, looking confused. "Survival tactic?" "The time in which Claudius lived was a very dangerous one." Tamara continued. "You never knew who would be assassinated next, or poisoned. All in the name of personal power and ambition. No one ever believed Claudius to be any kind of a threat. Why?" Peter was beginning to understand. "Because...he played the fool." "Bingo." Tamara smiled as she placed a forkful of her dressed salad in her mouth. "But...what does this have to do with anything?" Peter wondered aloud. Tamara needed a moment to swallow her food before answering. "When you're in the kind of position Claudius was in, which was to be dismissed as a worthless half-wit by most Romans of power and influence, it gave Claudius a very important advantage. He was able to keep his eyes and ears open. Even as he was stuttering and limping and making an ass of himself, he was listening. Processing information. Some would say, in fact, that the most cunning people out there are the quiet ones. The ones who don't say anything, because they're too busy listening. Saving their knowledge for times in which they could use it." "So...that's why you know so much about this...Sisterhood?" Peter surmised. "Because you were pretending to be a fool?" Tamara giggled. "Not so much a fool. More like...a submissive. Beneath the veil that is this relatively crime-free city is a bit of a BDSM undercurrent. Masters, mistresses, slaves, and so forth. Only here, the masks are mostly feminine ones. Debutantes, Madames, and a handful of advantageous men who, in my opinion, are living on borrowed time in their born gender. The fact is, though, a rising percentage of the females in this entire city were once men, and as you know, I'm one of them. But I have to play it smart and put up with a lot of humiliations from dominant ladies like Rita and even Olivia. The worst thing you could possibly do as a guy in Bullchester is to be rebellious, because then they'll think that you're part of the problem that the Sisterhood is determined to eradicate." "So...you're telling me that to survive in the city, I need to be a doormat?" Tamara shrugged, smiling. "More or less. Just don't let on that you'll become a serious problem, and for Goddess's sake, keep your ears open. Judging by the look on your face right now, I can tell that you're not too thrilled with this suggestion but seeing as how you now have a keester that's as big as mine, you may not have any choice in the matter. If you go against the current in any way, they may go so far as to turn you into a nasty looking hooker, or even a horribly wrinkled old woman. Believe me, Peter. The Sisterhood is not a faction you want to cross for any trivial reason." Peter was close to finishing his meal at this point. "Do they have anything to do with all those, uh...missing people I hear people talk about every now and then?" Tamara nodded. "Don't make too big of a stink about that though." "Why?" Peter frowned in confusion. "I would think that if it really was a problem, federal agents should get involved." Tamara tried to come up with the most careful response as she spoke it. "Peter...you remember what I said about the factions? Like, Agatha bad, Grace good?" Peter nodded, placing the rest of his burger into his mouth. "If you make a really big stink by bringing in the Feds, that might very well be the same as what they call 'scorched earth'," Tamara explained. "If it goes down like that, no one wins. You might as well drop a nuke on the Loris International building. That tends to be the way in which narrow-minded politicians solve their problems, and that's always going to be a shockingly bad idea." "Well...how would you deal with the problem?" Peter asked. Tamara took a moment to think before answering. "Not to sound like a hypocrite, but I will absolutely admit that there are things the Sisterhood are doing that are, well, good. Their primary targets are misogynists. Men who treat women badly or marginalize them. Whenever the Sisterhood dispenses that kind of justice, I'm part of the cheering section, although I'd personally have to be sure that the men they're going after are truly bad, and not just misunderstood." "Or they're people like you." "Exactly, and that's why we have this quiet little feud." Tamara remarked. "Agatha has a kind of 'take no prisoners' approach to the situation. If you're a man, you need to be dosed, feminized, and humiliated. Young or old. That's her version of eradicating the problem. Her version of 'scorched earth'." Peter nodded. "And Grace is the opposite?" "As far as I know," Tamara responded, reflecting her uncertainty towards her own blond savior. "So far, she has been helpful. Perhaps even sympathetic, but she's developed a bit of a mean streak herself, so if you ever do meet her, remember what I said about being careful." Tamara's attention turned to her left as another woman approached the table, this one with a head of shoulder-length black hair. She wore a fashionable coat over a tight, one-piece black and white-striped dress. The plus-sized woman immediately rose to her feet as her face lit up. "Miss Zambrano!" The two women came together in a tight embrace, lingering together for a long moment before pressing their lips together passionately. The dark-haired woman flashed a wide grin. "Hey there, cow girl." Tamara smiled back. "As always, you look great." They kissed each other once again before the Zambrano woman turned her head to Peter. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt a strategy session?" The blond secretary giggled. "Peter Sandberg, this is Elizabeth Zambrano. She's a...teacher of debutantes." Liz extended a hand, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Peter." Smiling, Peter shook the beautiful woman's hand. "Likewise." Liz tilted her head inquisitively over the handshake gesture. "You know...proper etiquette would be that you should kiss the back of my hand, gently holding the tips of my fingers." "Huh? Oh, uh...okay. I'm sorry." Blushing deeply, Peter lightly grasped the fingers of the hand and craned his head forward to peck her hand as instructed. Elizabeth patted Peter's right cheek, smiling. "Good, very good." Tamara smirked. "Obviously, Miss Zambrano is becoming a little too good as an instructor." Liz just shrugged, grinning. "It's a habit." Instinctively, Peter was compelled to make an unexpected request, as per his own conditioning. "Can I get you something to drink, Miss Zambrano?" Tamara looked a little surprised at such a request, but Liz was already in the midst of making a decision. "I think...I'm in the mood for a nice cup of tea." Peter nodded and rose to his feet. "Yes, Miss Zambrano." He then wandered over to one of the passing maids. After making an inquiry, the maid pointed to the door leading to what Tamara could only guess was the kitchen area. Peter started moving towards it. The plus-sized blonde turned her head to Liz, still mystified. "Isn't that, like, a Staff Only area?" Liz giggled. "Another unique little perk of this place. If anyone feels compelled to serve, or help in serving, the back area is totally open for patrons who want to create their own food or prepare their own drinks. That's a rarity, though. Nine times out of ten, the maids on staff do all the work." Tamara nodded in understanding. Obviously a convenient place to train a maid-to-be. She thought to herself. A few minutes later, Peter came back, carefully holding a saucer, upon which a fresh cup of tea had been placed. He then carefully set it down in front of Liz. "Ahh. Thank you, Peter. I am very impressed," Elizabeth complimented, putting a meek smile on the young man's face as the debutante trainer gave the steaming hot tea a sip. "Mmm! You brewed this well!" Seeing the pleased expression on the PAA's face made Tamara wonder if he was already undergoing some kind of conditioning, but she chose not to make inquiries about it. Liz glanced to her plus-sized friend. "If this were coffee, I would have wanted to add some cream to it," Liz noted, winking knowingly. Tamara giggled a bit as Liz drank down a little more of her tea. "I figured you would." "Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Zambrano?" Peter asked. Liz glanced curiously to Tamara, who shook her head. The plus-sized blonde's expression looked a bit more serious. The dark-haired woman then turned her eyes back to Peter. "No, thank you, dear." The office worker nodded, drinking more of his soda as Tamara whispered into Elizabeth's ear. Liz nodded in understanding. As they sat together, Tamara shared what she knew about Peter with Liz, among other idle chatter and small talk. The ambience was perpetually pleasant between the three of them in the time they spent. Once Liz was finished with her tea, both ladies rose to their feet. "It was nice meeting you, Peter." Liz chimed. "Try to think on what I told you about Emperor Claudius, Peter," Tamara reminded. She then stepped over and kissed his forehead. "See you soon, sweetie. You're welcome to the rest of my salad if you want it." Once Peter was out of earshot, Liz looked puzzled. "Do you think he'll understand? I mean, after you told him about Claudius?" Maids at the door bowed and curtseyed as the two ladies approached the entrance door. Tara was there to hold the door for them as they stepped outside. "I hope so," Tamara replied. "For his sake." * * * "Are you aware of what our son is inserting into his...?" Eunice Lawrence gestured to her posterior, looking very troubled as she and her husband Randall sat at the Dining Room table of their very upscale, solar-powered home in the Coin Quarter eating their lunch. "It's a phase, dear," Randall dismissively replied, spreading brie on an unsalted cracker. "He'll grow out of it." "But...Tyler looks so different now!" Eunice countered. "He's teasing his hair out, he's leaving the first two or three buttons of his shirt undone, he's wearing fluffy pink slippers...why don't you get your old football and toss it around with him? Or take him with you to the gym? Put some muscles on that slim frame of his? Talk about...you know...'guy' things?" The portly real estate executive looked to his wife incredulously. "That football isn't something that's thrown around casually, dear. I don't want to smudge the signatures on there. It's my alma mater, and it's behind glass anyway. I want to keep it pristine." "Well...do something that guys do!" Eunice protested. "I don't think this is any kind of a phase! Something is wrong with our son! We should have him mow the lawn! Start doing chores!" "Eunice...we have a contract with Evangeline Pierson's private maid business that handles those things," Randall reasoned. "On the terms of that contract, we incur a penalty if anyone in the house other than the domestic servants do any work that we are paying the maids to do for us, and that includes tending to the lawn." As if on cue, the roar of a lawnmower coming to life was heard. "Do you want to go outside and tell Beatrice that her services are no longer required? That young woman has a family to think about!" Eunice knew this was a lie. Beatrice Upton...formerly Bobby Upton, one of the victims of the tainted beer incident...was now a very attractive young maid, and she had gotten very flirtatious with her husband as of late. "Could you at least TALK with him??" Eunice asserted. "Find out why he's into this...phase?? Did you ever ASK him about it??" Randall grumbled over this request, but in the back of his mind, he did want to ask him about this sudden change in habits. Finishing his brie- covered cracker, he hefted himself out of the chair and headed for the Living Room, where the staircase to the second level was located. As he slowly trudged up the steps, he could hear panting from behind a closed door. A trio of knocks announced his presence at the door to Tyler's bedroom... ...after which the panting stopped, and the soft thumping of feet within the room approached the door from the opposite side. The door then opened. As did Randall's jaw upon seeing his grinning son. Tyler Lawrence was shirtless as his slimmer body frame stood there with a thicker, teased version of his side-parted banana blond hair. He stood in the doorway with one knee casually bent, making his posture look effeminate. His legs were covered with a bright pink pair of sweatpants, with the stylized word "PINK" in large letters on one of the legs. Randall's son, the Valedictorian of Kemp High School, was also wearing thickly-applied makeup on his face that gave him the appearance of a brainless bimbo. If the makeup weren't enough to give Randall the impression that something was clearly amiss with his only son, his chest had split into two soft mounds that were the approximate dimension of a C-Cup. He also inhaled a tangy perfume scent as well. Randall's eyes were wide with shock. "T-Tyler?" "Ugh, PLEEEEASE," the Valedictorian irritably responded. "Tyler was SOOO five minutes ago, Daddy. I wanna be called 'Taylor' instead. It just sounds so 'me', y'know?" Randall remained aghast. "Tyler, what are you..." He gestured to his son's face. "...and why do you..." He gestured to his son's chest. "...and...why do you smell s-so...?" Tyler just giggled cutely. "Don't I smell nice? I can get more of it at this new place that just opened up at the Mall. 'Wubble Bubble'. Ohh, Daddy...it's just so PERFECT for someone like me! I was just wondering what I should wear when I go down there today..." "Y-you're gonna...go down to a GIRL store??" Randall exclaimed in disbelief. His eyes once again locked on the two soft mammaries on his son's chest. "How...how did you..." The effeminate Valedictorian giggled and snorted in complete amusement. "Oh, if you could see your face now! Heeheehahahah! Like you've never seen a girl before!" He placed a pair of slim hands...the fingertips of which now had pink-painted, French-cut fingernails...on his father's shoulders. He then spoke in a surprisingly seductive manner. "Don't be such a fuddy-duddy, Daddy. Bea told me how much you dote on her. Mmm- mmm. I could tell Mom such stooooriiiiies..." Randall's face went pale as Tyler whispered confessions of liaisons that Beatrice had shared with his son about the portly man's more intimate and private liaisons. "No...n-no, don't...don't...tell your mother. Y- you...you'd ruin me! I..." Another giggle from the feminized Valedictorian, this one a little more wicked. "Want me to play dumb about it? Maybe you cooooould..." Tyler feigned a moment of thinking. "...maybe you could buy me a full-body plus-plus job from the Butterfly Salon at the Mall? You'd have to make the check out to Doctor Parker Drake in the amount of..." Tyler's red- painted lips whispered the exorbitant amount into Randall's ear. When Randall pulled away, he looked even more mystified. "Y....you're crazy! Why would I have that done to my only sss...?" "Awwww..." Tyler pouted as she put an index finger to her lips. "...I guess I should go down and tell Mom about your widdle hanky-panky with your Bea-dy-boo, then." Tyler then stepped past Randall and headed for the staircase... ...but Randall quickly grabbed him by both of his now skinny arms and held him fast. Still wild-eyed as his effeminate son stared deviously back at him, he eventually nodded in his humiliating defeat. "I-I'll pay it," he miserably confirmed, lowering his head. "I'll make out your check." Grinning victoriously, Tyler planted a big kiss on his father's right cheek, leaving a visible mark there. "Now you can be my sugar daddy again, Daddy dear." Tyler then giggled cutely in his elation. "How do you expect me to explain all this to your mother??" Randall managed to protest, his eyes flaring angrily. "Oh, don't worry. Mama's gonna give me a lift to the Mall in a few minutes," Tyler cooed, clasping on a tight and racy-looking pink bra. "When she gets here, she's gonna fix everything. Now why don't you go to your checkbook and write me up some sugar, Daddy?" After a moment's hesitation that made Tyler raise a thinly-groomed eyebrow, Randall stepped away from his son's room and went into the bedroom he and his wife shared to get his checkbook so he could write up what his son had requested. As he did, a grinning Tyler stood behind him to briskly rub at his father's shoulders, no doubt in appreciation for what the Senior classman had so craftily convinced his father to do. "You should get a pair of your own on your chest, Daddy," Tyler purred. "They feel so gooooood...so soooooooft...and when you rub those widdle nubbies on top, mmmmmmmh...." His red-painted lips once again whispered into his father's ear. "...I'll tell Mama how badly you want yours." By now, the check was ready, but he angrily turned his head towards Tyler to issue his sudden rebuke. "Your mother would NOT want me to be anything other than who I am, young man!" Another infectious giggle from Tyler was the initial response as she slipped on a tight one-piece lycra blouse that was white with a pattern of red polka-dots. "I wasn't talking about Mom, Daddy," she chimed. "I was talking about Mama." Randall frowned in confusion. "Mama...?" A cube of soft pink bubble gum then went into Tyler's mouth, which he immediately began chewing on. "Mmm-hmm!" As if on cue, the sound of briefly screeching tires right outside of the house, followed by an active car engine suddenly going quiet, heralded the potential for a fresh new visitor to appear at the front door of the upscale Lawrence household. Sure enough, the front doorbell chimed, and Eunice was the first to pull open the door, frowning in curiosity. Her eyes fell upon a brown-skinned woman with braided hair and a tight, glossy gold dress which definitely gave her the appearance of a streetwalker. Around her neck were thin loops of pure gold. Eunice's intuition immediately put her on the offensive. "If you're looking for Tyler, he's not..." The upscale housewife's mistake, however, was to open the door wide, and not have a screen door...or some other obstacle...to protect her from the visitor's open hand, which immediately came into contact with Eunice's left cheek as she deviously smiled, knowing the mind- neutralizing effect her touch would have on her. "Yes he is, and as far as you're concerned, I'm one of your very best friends, Granny. Always willing to let me in no matter what my reasons are. You'll also tell me where Tyler is before I even ask you." "U-uhh..." Eunice's mind was, of course, an unsettled, jumbled mess as the brown-skinned woman spoke, making her much more susceptible to suggestions. "...he...h-heee's upstairs...Tyler upstairs. G-good t...sssee you againnnn..." The sultry visitor planted a deep kiss on the older woman's lips, causing her eyes to boggle in her shock. She remained motionless as 'Mama' stepped away to head for the stairs. "Love you too, Granny," she mused as she ascended. Randall was conveniently outside of his son's room with a bewildered expression on his face as the brown-skinned visitor closed in on him, grinning. "Tyler in there?" she asked, her hands pressing against both of Randall's cheeks, immediately neutralizing his thoughts. "U-uhhhh...." was all that came out of his mouth. "Damn! What's your problem, Gran'pa?" the visitor amusedly remarked. "You sound like you wanna get on your hands an' knees every time you see a woman! Why don't you do just that for the rest of the day, hmm? Be a good boy." And down he went, just as the woman instructed him to, the moment her hands came away from Randall's face. A look of complete confusion remained on his face as 'Mama' collected her bimbo-in-training. "Did you get the check, like I asked you to?" the brown-skinned woman asked as they made their way downstairs. "Yes, Mama," Tyler replied, flashing a perky grin as she waved the check in front of her as they descended. "Good girl." The woman led her blond-haired subject right out the front door, leading the former Valedictorian like a pet towards her sports car, where the engine came to life once again after they secured themselves in the front seats. "Who's my best, my most airheaded bimbo babe?" Taylor Lawrence's fists pumped in her elation as she squeaked her reply. "MEEEEEE!!" "You damn right." 'Mama' confirmed as the sports car roared out of the curbside parking space and rolled onto the suburban road. "And when I'm done with you, you gonna be the bounciest. Big titties, big ass, the works." Taylor once again squealed with glee in the passenger seat. "I can't WAAAAIIIIIT!!" * * * Louise Vandervelde smiled happily as she stood a couple of feet away from where David and her daughter were locked in their tight embrace outside of the art gallery building. When they pulled away from each other, Louise stepped in closer to the lovebirds. "Did you want to come in and have a look at the space? Maybe you could give us some ideas on how my art could be arranged." "I'd be happy to, Miss Vandervelde," David replied. After unlocking the glass door, Louise held it open so David and Brooke could step in. "Is this gonna be a single-level gallery, or...?" the High School Senior asked, his arm still around Brooke's shoulders as they slowly paced around the empty interiors of the first level. Louise giggled. "Ohh, I don't have enough pieces for two levels, but my sponsors are encouraging me to create new material to add to the initial batch. Maybe next year, I can expand it." "I've been thinking of trying my hand at art too. Y'know...make it a mother-daughter thing," Brooke suggested. "What do you think, David?" "What kind of art?" David asked. "Painting? Sculpting? Photography?" Brooke shrugged. "Maybe I'll try a little of each and see which one I'm better at." Louise grinned. "You should try your hand at Photography first." She then flirtatiously stepped around David, tracing a finger along his body frame. "Get this big kid out of his clothes and snap a few spicy shots of this one's rrrred hot bod." Both David and Brooke laughed over the idea. "If I had a good enough camera, I would," Brooke replied. Louise shrugged. "I could always confer with my sponsors. Maybe even rent out the best DSLR camera on the market today so you could practice." "Paintbrushes would be cheaper," David countered. "What about the paint itself?" Louise shot back. "I should know. I'm a painter, babe. Happy little clouds are my specialty, but the cost of all those paint cans can mount up." "Wonder how much more expensive clay would be," Brooke mused. "For the amount of clay you'd need?" David remarked. "A lot, I'd think." "What about something more...unusual?" Brooke offered. "Haven't people made art out of..." "Don't go there," Louise quickly interjected, raising her hands. "I'd rather you stick to more popular forms of artistic expression." David, however, had an urge to get impish on the suggestion. "Oh, come on, Miss Vandervelde. I've heard that some really great works of art were made with piles of excrem..." "ENOUGH!" Louise yelled, emphatically ending the discussion as David and Brooke giggled. Louise just shook her head, smiling... ...but then, a thought occurred to her as she turned her attention to her daughter. "I need to borrow David for a moment. Have him help me bring down those heavier boxes. Could you watch the space for a few?" Brooke nodded. "Sure, Mom." Louise led David to a door, which concealed a staircase leading up within a narrow hallway. They went up two flights before reaching a landing where a pair of closed, brown-painted doors idled. Louise jingled a ring of keys and opened the right door, allowing David to step into an apartment space. The walls looked like they were freshly painted as the Senior student looked around. Beyond the hallway door was a kitchen space to his left, and a small living room to his right. Some of the decorative things that he remembered seeing at the old house were here, including the large wicker seat from the old house's larger living room. Louise gestured for her guest to follow, and she stopped in front of a closet, which she also needed to unlock before opening. Peering inside, David saw the wheeled luggage pieces he had left behind when he was arrested. He also saw the bags from the shopping he had done at Rubie's Mall, which made his blood run cold when his eyes settled upon it. The older woman stepped behind him. "Brooke doesn't know about the shopping bags, but...I'm sure you'll understand when I tell you that I was curious enough to look. Your mother wouldn't happen to have a flair for gothic fashions, would she?" David was struck speechless. He could not find the right words as he continued to stare down at the idle shopping bags. Louise spoke right into his ear. "You shouldn't feel ashamed, David." He felt her hands settle upon his shoulders as she continued to speak. "Crossdressing is an art unto itself, and one that I can completely appreciate, believe it or not." "I-I'm...not..." David had to hesitate. She's not gonna buy this. David argued to himself. "...not...crossdresser. No." "So your Mom wears the same size clothes as you do?" Louise asked. "That's a rarity." Shit. David could feel his face go warm. She's got you. Louise placed a finger to one side of David's chin, and turned his head so she could stare into his eyes. "I never told you that I'm very fond of crossdressers. Public, or private. If you want me to keep this side of you a secret, then I assure you that it couldn't be in safer hands." "Miss Vandervelde...honestly, I am not..." "STOP." Louise placed a finger over David's lips, her eyes flaring wide as she silenced him. "Haven't you ever heard of the old adage 'are you man enough to be a woman'?" David just stared back, quietly, at Louise. David did find Brooke's mother visually attractive. Even without makeup. The flair for art added to how alluring she looked. There was, however, the obvious barrier that would keep their association a pleasantly platonic one. But the way she was speaking at the moment, she seemed to imply that their association could potentially go deeper. "Maybe, whenever Brooke isn't around, you could...indulge my curiosities a little," Louise offered. "Try on a few things. Might even inspire a new piece or two. You'd really be helping me, dear." "Well, I..." David seemed entirely hesitant, but he had to defuse the moment in some way. "...I'll think about it." After a long and tense moment, Louise nodded. "Fair enough." She stepped away. "We should...get back downstairs." "Didn't you want me to carry anything down for you?" David offered. "Huh? Oh, yes. The boxes." She gestured to an area in the living room which had a large brown cardboard box idling next to a very comfy- looking sofa. "I only need one brought down, thanks." The box was fairly heavy, and he had to be careful as he came down the steps. Louise reminded him that its contents were fragile, which didn't make the stress any better for him. Fortunately, he was able to get it into the open space where a smiling Brooke waited for them both. Upon delivering the box, he heard and felt the tone of a new text message on his smartphone. Pulling it out, he gave the message a look. It was from his brother. Dave - Mom hasn't come back home yet. I'm getting a little worried. I haven't a clue as to where she is. Could you come back home? At least until we find out where she is, and if she's okay? After what had happened between him and his mother, he was noticeably hesitant. David had made it clear that he wasn't going to be returning home for any reason. She was vehemently against his relationship with a girl he did not want to stop seeing. His mother obviously didn't care how much her son loved Brooke Vandervelde. The age difference was apparently a barrier she did not want his son to cross, and for that transgression, he wanted his mother to suffer. But no matter how bad the circumstances were, Mildred Sandberg was still his mother, and he knew that if she had come to any harm, it would become a burden on David's conscience. He was, after all, the reason for her vivid meltdown. Years ago, she had lost her husband...his father...to unforeseen circumstances that were, quite frankly, incredible. Although his deep feelings for Brooke Vandervelde remained unaltered by this situation, he figured that perhaps if the family came together out of concern for Mildred, it would be the first step in the healing process. "Miss Vandervelde..." David stepped over to her. "...I have to go back home. It's...it's an emergency. Family thing." Louise nodded in her understanding. "Okay, sweetheart...you should go upst..." But he was already out the door, distancing himself with hurried steps. Louise immediately turned to her daughter. "Brooke...get him back in here." She gestured to the glass door. "He forgot the bags he left with us!" Realizing his error, Brooke hurried out the door as well. She tried calling out his name, but a passing car had its windows open and loud music was playing, drowning out her efforts to get his attention as he headed for a crossroads section of the street. As David began to cross through this four-way street, the occupant of a gray sedan, parked on a side road, spotted him, and roared out of the parking space, slamming on the ignition pedal once the driver was on the road. At his speed, the occupant was definitely...and deliberately...going to hit the young student. Brooke's peripheral vision caught sight of the speeding vehicle, which had already barrelled through a red light. Her eyes widened in shock upon spotting it. "DAAAAVIIIIIIID!!" she screamed, rushing towards her doomed boyfriend. She managed to shove him out of the speeding car's path, sending David stumbling to the edge of the sidewalk. Behind him, he heard an ugly thud, and the loud screeching of tires. He also heard another loud crash which brought the screeching sound to an end. The harsh, sustained droning of a loud car horn followed as screams from nearby pedestrians filled the air. After about a minute, the long beep stopped, and David began to rise to his feet. The sound of the thud was already filling him with dread as he turned around... ...and saw Brooke Vandervelde lying motionless upon the crossroads. Blood was pooling beneath her. Although she was lying face down, her limbs looked mangled. Utterly horrified, David Sandberg staggered towards the most beautiful young woman he had ever met in his life. Once he had reached her, he dropped to his knees and let out a loud howl of unrequited grief as his wide eyes lingered on the broken and lifeless body of his girlfriend. His upper body dropped down on her as he began to blubber and wail. "Nooo...please...please, Brooke...please don't leave me...oh my God...don't LEEEAVE MEEEE!!" The sounds of police sirens drew near, but David didn't care. He just remained where he was, mourning tearfully over the cruel demise of the love of his life. Another woman's screaming could be heard as heeled shoes ran towards them. Louise Vandervelde's voice was unmistakable. "Oh Goddess...Oh...my...GODDEEEEESSSS!!" She dropped to her knees, gazing down through watering eyes in particular disbelief. Her prized creation was gone. Not a single limb on her body was moving. At first, she thought they had both been struck, but David's head lifted up as he continued to weep openly. "She...she pushed me...o-out of the..." That was all he could say before he continued sobbing uncontrollably. But whereas David was completely lost in his grief, Louise's shock gave way to rage upon seeing the black tire marks along the road, and upon Brooke's bloodied clothes. She looked around, seeing the horrified pedestrians surrounding the three of them as police officers approached them, and he saw that the tire tracks on the street continued north. Louise rose to her feet, still quaking with rage, and began to approach where the tracks ended. Police were already there, and the driver door to the gray sedan was wide open. The driver turned out to be a young Caucasian man with a large bandage wrapped upon what looked like a broken nose. They already had his arms behind him and were fastening a pair of handcuffs to his wrists. This was clearly the murderer. She hastened her approach with an expression that would have melted ice. The young man was struggling against his bonds, growling for the officers to release him. "Who the fuck are you??" She hissed. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU KILL MY DAUGHTER, YOU SON OF A BITCH??" she the roared. "I didn't WANT to kill your daughter!" the young man protested as he writhed against arms and hands holding him fast. "I WANTED TO HIT DAVID!! HE BROKE MY FUCKIN' NOSE!! That goddamn bitch got in the way!!" Louise's furious response...a vengeful, open-hand strike...was enough to draw a bit of blood. Officers behind her were now grabbing her and holding her back as the uniformed cops restraining Edmund began dragging him to a squad car. "YOUR LIFE IS FUCKED, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!! I KNOW PEOPLE!!" Louise hollered, thinking of Rita Noble and the 'Sisterhood' she had mentioned in past casual conversations. "YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD!!" Another flashing vehicle had appeared, and was idling near where Brooke was laying. Paramedics had already placed her body on a stretcher, and they were loading her in. David and Louise joined them in the back of the vehicle. Cops closed the doors as other officers were taking witness accounts from any pedestrians who had seen what had happened. The howl of the ambulance's siren filled the air as the vehicle hurried through the Bullchester streets to the nearest hospital. En route to its destination, the paramedics inside made attempts to restore life signs, but she was too far gone. Brooke Vandervelde was pronounced Dead On Arrival at 6:53 p.m. X: Pardon'd and Punished BREAKING NEWS Bullchester Teen Killed In Attempted Hit And Run "We have a breaking story at a crossroads between Verona Avenue and Montague Street, sometime around 6:00 pm, a gray sedan pulled out of a parking spot a block away from this intersection and picked up speed, with the intent to hit one David Sandberg, a Senior class student from Lloyd Kemp High School. His girlfriend...Brooke Vandervelde, a Freshman student from the same school, saw the car speeding towards him and shoved him out of the way. She was violently struck by the vehicle, apparently rolling beneath it as it was trying to stop. The car veered to the left and struck a parked vehicle on the side of the road. Brooke was taken to Bullchester Hospital where she was pronounced Dead On Arrival. Police were able to apprehend the dazed perpetrator, identified as Edmund Ritter, another Senior from the Kemp School." B.P.O. SALLY HUNSAKER Patrolwoman "He openly admitted that his intent was to hit the boy when the girl's mother confronted him. Might have had something to do with a prior incident at that school." "It had been announced earlier in the week, in a move that has been endorsed by Mayoress Julia Stroud, that the school is to be renovated and repurposed in preparation for the next semester once the current one ends, this in response to acts of hazing inflicted on Freshman students during an annual, unsanctioned student activity dubbed 'Freshman Day'. It is not known as of yet if the school's impending change from a High School to a Parochial School had anything to do with the incident, and a full investigation is impending. For Bullchester Network News, I'm Ashley Dobson, back to the studio." * * * Peter Sandberg stared at the TV in disbelief as the news was reported. He had wondered why David had not responded to his text message. He now knew why. Mom's disappeared, Dave's girlfriend gets killed... Peter dropped onto the couch behind him as he took it all in. ...what could possibly happen next?? His smartphone began ringing as commercials played on the flatscreen TV. He quickly pulled it out, wondering if it was his mother. It was Venetia Foerst. "I just saw the news," Venetia began when Peter opened the connection. "I feel really bad for your brother, Petra. Is he there?" "No," Peter replied. "There's no one here. Just...just me." "What about your Mom?" the therapist then asked. Peter shook his head. "It's just me. Mom is...Mom's gone. I...don't know where she is. She never texted me, no voice messages, nothing." After a long moment of silence, Venetia's voice intoned an offer. "Did you want to talk about it?" Peter shrugged. "I've got nothing better to do. Let's talk." "No, Petra. I mean here. At my office." Venetia clarified. "It could use a cleaning anyway. All these coffee mug stains on my desk are making the surface look ugly. I need your expertise, dear." Upon hearing the request, Peter's reply was instinctive, and reflected Venetia's conditioning. "Yes, Miss Foerst." He closed the connection and prepared to leave, making sure he had his feminine panties on. Walking out beneath a night sky, he hurried over to a bus that was slowing to a stop. It would be the last time Peter Sandberg would leave his home. He never returned. * * * Tamara Portnoy picked up on the Sandberg family name when it was mentioned during the newscast as she consumed the dinner she had made for herself. For a moment, she thought that David Sandberg was the one she met below Mistresses, but she then remembered his mention of having a brother. Peter was the one she had associated with. She contemplated contacting him, but the chime of a new text message intervened on this initiative. Pulling out her smartphone, she saw that it was the Mayoress contacting her. Tamara, when you come in tomorrow morning, I need all the data we have on the Sandbergs and the Vanderveldes. Find what you can, and send it to me as attachments in an e-mail. I want hard copies as well. Tamara texted back in the affirmative. Looking back at the flatscreen TV in her home, she saw a follow-up report. Kemp students were being interviewed over the incident, and many of them were in tears. The plus-sized secretary's smartphone chimed twice. She had to wonder if this was Peter wanting to talk... ...but the identity of whomever was texting her was not known. The words, however, made her eyes widen, and her blood run cold. Mommy's back in the Big Bull, maid. I'll see you soon. * * * Annie Merrywether stood near her latest client...a recently rejuvenated woman named Ethel Collins...as the breaking news of the crossroads tragedy played on Ethel's TV. Annie...formerly Stanley Merrywether...was in the buff as per her client's request. Ethel had first requested that Annie conduct her tasks in nothing more than a bra and panties. For the past couple of days, however, she had Annie take those garments off as well so she could marvel over the bareness of the former boy's curves, which developed through applications of the Heifer serum provided by Barbara Walsh, a Sisterhood advocate that Annie considered to be the closest thing to a second mother. "So sad," Annie observed as Ashley Dobson did her on-the-spot report near the crime scene. "Seems like a page right out of Romeo & Juliet, don't you think?" Ethel added as she relaxed in her couch, having just come back from a Gym visit. "Star-crossed lovers, indeed." She then looked up to her nude carer curiously. "Have you ever been in love before, Annie?" Her head slowly turned to her rejuvenated client, who was once a frail old woman before Cresswell serums began restoring her youth, as she thought on her answer. "Uummm...n-not really, Ethel. Why?" Ethel rose to her feet, standing right in front of Annie. The rejuvenation process had restored some of her height, which now made her taller than her nervous-looking carer. "I can't imagine how you could ever have a hard time earning someone's attention, dear." "But...I'm a carer. Well...now I am." Annie's fingers fiddled with locks of her own hair as she bashfully looked up to Ethel. "I really wanna be a midwife, though. Miss Walsh thinks I have what it takes to be a really good midwife." Ethel placed her hands on Annie's bare shoulders, grasping them appreciatively. "You're really taking pride in your femininity, aren't you? You have such wonderful curves, sweetheart. What I said about you was right. You can't hide this perfect body of yours behind any clothes. Doesn't it feel so liberating to walk around without anything on?" An index finger went to Annie's mouth as she thought on this sentiment. "I-I guess, yeah..." Ethel stepped closer to the former boy. The tone of her voice became a little more intimate. "Doesn't it...excite you to be this close to another woman?" Annie swallowed hard, now staring up at her client. "Y-yeah, um...kinda..." Ethel could feel her carer trembling now, but Annie made no attempt, subtle or otherwise, to step away. She continued to stand there. By now, the rejuvenation process had cleansed Ethel of any trace of the wrinkles and the liver spots she had developed as she got older. In another week, she would look no different than an attractive woman of the age that Agatha...the true architect of her rejuvenation...had wanted her to be. Ethel's lips came very close to Annie's. "Doesn't...the idea of kissing another woman make you curious, Annie?" Annie's lips trembled as Ethel pressed her own lips to them. Her arms wrapped around the bare body of the carer as she lingered the kiss upon the former boy's lips. Annie just stood there, feeling a strange rush of energy running through her as Ethel continued to kiss the young woman. Annie's lips didn't move. They never puckered up. She just stood there and drank in all the stimulating sensations that came with Ethel's unannounced indulgence. Her touch was gentle. Nothing felt uncomfortably forced. The whole moment was so wildly pleasing, Annie couldn't figure out how to visibly react in that moment. Ethel pulled her lips away a bit, but kept her face close to Annie's. "How did that make you feel, sweetheart?" "It was..." Annie could hardly put words to it in that moment. Her thoughts were too scattershot. "...I-I...wow..." The woman stroked fingers gently over her nude carer's cheek. "If you ever feel like you want to kiss me like that, I won't mind at all, Annie." Annie slowly nodded. "U-umm...OK," she quietly responded, still staring up at Ethel. Ethel kept Annie close to her. "Do you like being naked?" Annie nodded. "Yes." "And you don't mind being naked around me?" Annie slowly shook her head. Smiling, Ethel gave her carer a kiss on her forehead and then settled back in her couch. "Go make me some tea, Annie." "Yes, Ma'am." Annie stepped away hurriedly, her bare feet slapping against the tiled floor of the residence, and went into the kitchen to begin preparing a fresh pot of tea. As she worked, Annie reflected on how she had felt, with Ethel kissing her, and being close to her. She reflected on her gentle touch, and the softness of her voice. By the time the tea was ready to pour into a cup, it became clear to the carer that she wanted more of it, but she didn't want to demand it. She wanted to earn it. If not from Ethel, than from someone else just as nice. * * * Coco and Alexis had alerted Olivia Tench to the news story that the three of them were now watching in Olivia's office. The two exotic dancers were once again covered in gold paint as they watched, which was a popular and frequent request from their clientele. "Ohh, Goddess," Coco lamented. "Peter must feel devastated!" Alexis turned her head to Olivia. "Don't you think we should call him? See if he's okay?" "I think he needs to be alone right now, dear," Olivia responded. "I'm sure he will open up when he feels the need to." Coco looked crestfallen. "Not even a text? Just to let him know we're thinking about him?" A slight smile was now on Olivia's face, partially because she was delighting in how deliciously timid the former Tobias Betancourt had become. "I could send him a text, sure. That sounds fair." Coco nodded. "Let him know we all hope he'll be okay!" "I will." Olivia assured as she nodded. She then gestured to the office door. "Okay...get back out there, both of you." Once they were gone, she pulled out her smartphone and looked up Peter Sandberg's number. She then began typing out a couple of text messages. If you ever need to talk to anyone, let us know, dear. Please accept our deepest and most sincere condolences over your brother's loss, otherwise. * * * *** 017 PCT PHONE TRANSCRIPT - Conversation between suspect E. RITTER and R. VANDERVELDE *** E. R.: Hello? Ramona?? R. V.: I'm here, Ed. E. R.: I did it, Mone. I did what you suggested. R. V.: Did it make you feel any better? E. R.: I hit the wrong person. How do you think I feel? R. V.: You should have been more cautious, but...well, I have to appreciate your little...mistake. I never liked her anyway. E. R.: I-I never wanted to kill anyone, Mone. R. V.: You were going to do it once before, don't you remember? You nearly strangled that elementary school kid to death all those years ago. You confided that story with me when we started dating. You proved to me that you could be convinced to kill someone. E. R.: I never wanted to kill him, Mone! I just wanted to, like, cripple him, you know? Let him know what it feels like to have to wear a bandage. Have him limp around for awhile. I would have been cool with that. R. V.: I know, dear, but it seems fate has different plans for you, and there's nothing I can do about it. E. R.: I don't WANT to go to jail, Mone! R. V.: Awww, cry me a river, darling. Besides...you should know that the populations of Bullchester Penitentiaries are mostly bare for a reason. They have more creative ways of rehabilitating criminals like you. E. R.: Creative...ways? What the fuck are you talking about? R. V.: That's for me to know and for you to find out...and boy, are you gonna find out. E. R.: I should never have listened to you, you...you BITCH! R. V.: Awww, does that mean no more date nights? Forgive me if I don't shed any tears. You probably would have been a lousy lay anyway. I wish I could talk longer, but I know you have a time limit on that 'one phone call', so I'll just leave you with an old adage. Are you listening? E. R.: I should never have listened to you! R. V.: Anticipation of death is worse than death itself. E. R.: Wha...are you saying they're gonna put me in the fucking CHAIR?? R. V.: Oh no, baby. They're gonna do far worse with you. You might even enjoy it. If you like it rough, that is...or maybe you'll wind up a breeder? Who knows? E. R.: What do you mean?? What are they gonna do to me, Mone?? R. V.: Enjoy the ride, babe. I've got a lucrative future as a Junior Executive with Loris International to pay more attention to now that you'll have vanished. Thanks for murdering my sister, you bottom-feeding bitch. Buh-BYE! E. R.: WAIT!! WAIT!! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?? WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO TO ME?? RAMONAAAA!! *** END TRANSCRIPT *** * * * Hayley and Bryan McKinley soaked in the Breaking News story once Ashley Dobson shared the details in her live report. When the commercials started playing, she took a moment to assess things. Bryan looked a little more worried. "Should we say anything to...?" "NO," Hayley asserted. "Keep quiet about this. I know she's this David guy's Mom, but she's already broken. This may make it worse. Besides, the die's already been cast. The Parochial School needs a dedicated student to help sell it next semester, and they want Mildred to be the 'it' girl." A hard knocking was then heard at the front door of their house. When Hayley pulled the door wide open, her guess as to who it was proved to be spot on as Destiny Pendleton handed a package off to the short-haired Sisterhood advocate. Hayley frowned in her curiosity as she opened up the metallic container, which resembled the kind of lidded container cough drops used to be found in. "There's more than one Tear Duct in here?" Hayley wondered aloud. Destiny shrugged, smiling. "Rita obviously wants her to get a double dose." * * * As she kept up the walking pace on an exercise machine at an upscale Gym, a leotard-clad Pam Merrywether grabbed her smartphone and rang for her publicist, Shelly Piper, as she watched the news report on the incident. "You seeing this, Shel?" She began once the TV show hostess's hyperactive agent picked up. "Let Wendy know I'm dumping the original plan for tomorrow in favor of a Q&A show with the live audience. Get me a local expert on relationships. I really want to milk what happened tonight for all the tragic drama we can get out of it. See if you can get a class from Kemp to be a part of the studio audience too. We'll give 'em...coupons for Butterfly Salon visits, or something. You figure out the compensation. Hey...don't fight me on this, Piper. You know this is a ratings slam-dunk. Now get busy while I make a few more calls. Thanks, babe." The determined Morning Show host then rang up another number, placing the smartphone back against her ear. "Sergeant Prince? Pam Merryweather. Is there any way I can speak to Police Officer Sally Hunsaker? Too soon, eh? Well, ya can't blame me for trying. So when can I grill Hunsaker for more info? Well, y' see, Sergeant, I'm on a tight deadline, and I need to get a little more dirt on what happened in preparation for a very special show tomorrow morning, so could we, uh, expedite things? Maybe? What if I promised you double the grease? GREAT. See? I knew we could come to an understanding. Don't worry...we will totally keep a lid on it. If anyone knows how to play fair, it's your Friendly Neighborhood Pam Merryweather. Huh? Oh...well, uh, if...she wants an autograph, she can come down to the studio and wait on line, just like everyone else..." The plastic smile Pam had on then dissolved into a more irritated one as she heard the Police Sergeant play a bargaining chip of his own. "...okay, okay. I didn't realize your daughter has been waiting three whole months to get an autograph." She stopped a moment to roll her eyes before the plastic smile returned. "I'll make sure she's first on line when it's time for me to sign all my usual shit. Fair enough? Suuu- perrrrr! You're a PEACH, Sergeant! Yes, I'll wait!" Pam huffed a loud sigh as she waited to be transferred to Sally Hunsaker. She hoped having to kowtow to a crafty Sergeant's demand for an exclusive autograph for her bratty little rugrat would be worth the potentially profitable information Hunsaker might offer up. * * * As David Sandberg lazily watched the Q&A show on the flatscreen TV, sitting in the couch his mother used to occupy, the strains of the song he and Brooke had danced to when they first met at the Mall's nightclub... "Heaven" by Bryan Adams...perpetually haunted his mind as Pam Merryweather hurried around the studio audience with a wireless microphone to get the questions they wanted to ask the cold-faced onstage relationship expert. He had gone back home following their time at the hospital. He had promised Louise that he would stop by in the afternoon. He was also the only person that he had told in regards to his intentions to stay home, and not go to school the following morning. There was no way he could go back. Not after everything that had happened. Not after finding out that one of his own Senior class 'buddies' was the one who killed the girl of his dreams. The house was naturally empty. No Mildred, and no Peter, either. His nine hours of sleep went uninterrupted despite mild but evident concerns that his mother would suddenly reappear without warning. He wasn't even worried over Peter being absent. He felt like an empty shell. Brooke's death had effectively drained him of any and all reasons for living. He wanted it all to be nothing more than a nightmare, but it was reality at its most cruel. He wanted to be able to experience a vivid dream of the happy marriage he had daydreamed, with everyone happy and contented...Brooke, Louise, his father, their father, his mother, his brother...all of them enjoying slices of the wedding cake while he drove Brooke away for a wonderful, sunny honeymoon trip, driving a sports car on a narrow road with ocean currents sifting around on their flanks. All he got, however, was a dreamless night's sleep. All he wanted to do was to sit in the couch. Perhaps even linger there, indefinitely and catatonically, until real estate people came to evict him for not keeping up on the house payments. Or until his mother came home. Or until his brother came home. Or until he was able to summon up the nerve to do something dramatic that would effectively help him join Brooke in the afterlife.\ A chime suddenly sounded on his smartphone. His initial instinct was to ignore it, but he pulled it out of his pocket so he could read the text... ...which was from Louise. I am NOT sitting around my house all alone. Come on over. I'll teach you how to get properly drunk. His initial response was a slight smile, which was the best he could manage for someone who had pretty much become an empty shell. He considered ignoring the text request, and just stay at a home he was supposed to have been evicted from for the rest of the day, but if his mother did come home, he was certain to hear her gloat over 'how right she was', which would have felt like her twisting the knife that was already very deeply embedded within him. He texted back his answer. On my way. * * * When Peter Sandberg woke up, he was still in the black and white maid uniform Venetia had given him during his cleaning work of the previous evening. She had also conditioned his mind to accept the residence two floors above the therapy office as his new home. Knowing the circumstances of what was happening with the Sandbergs through her contacts, Venetia figured it would be best to claim her prize in advance of the schedule she had previously set. Yet, she still held off on applying the Tear Duct Agatha had given her. She did, however, notice how much bigger Peter's posterior had become since she had last seen him. After hearing his explanations, the crafty therapist had come to the obvious conclusion that there were crafty women at Mistresses who were chomping at the bit to change their new 'office boy' to fit the effeminate motif of the business. The larger caboose certainly made Peter's figure look more interesting as he cleaned things in not only the office, but within Venetia's home as well. Although she kept him in feminine undergarments, Venetia naturally had him maintain his male appearance when it was time for him to go back to work on this Monday morning. The spare bedroom Venetia gave her new companion was quaint, and the bed was comfy enough for him to get a good night's sleep in. As Venetia had tasked him with cleaning his own clothes the previous night, he slipped those clothes back on. The therapist grabbed him and planted a deep kiss upon his lips before he left, which only served to reinforce the mental bond she was establishing every time they shared saliva. It was difficult now for Peter to think of anyone other than Venetia as he began the lengthy journey to the bus that would take him to another bus that he needed to transfer to in order to get to work. Such was a minor disadvantage in the inevitable surrender to the whims of his therapist. As he got closer to the 19th Precinct, however, his fixation on Venetia lessened. Such was another nuance of her conditioning: once Peter was at work, that was what he needed to focus on, above all else. As Peter signed in for the day, the Desk Sergeant...a man with prominent biceps named Ray Kuntz...gestured for Peter to step over to him. He then began speaking in a more silent voice. "Word is, we're not gonna be seein' much of Drucker around here anymore," the Sergeant, whose short black hair was slicked back, making him look like a mafioso, discreetly explained. "His records are under review after he advanced on his wife in a threatening manner. It doesn't look good for him." The wave of relief Peter felt upon hearing this news was palpable. Kuntz knew how much the PAA hated Drucker, and the feeling was mutual among most of the other cops in the command. "Good fucking riddance," Peter bluntly responded. "There's one other thing, and it's about you, Pete," Kuntz added, his expression a little more serious. "The XO needs to see you. Wants to ask you a few questions." "About...?" Kuntz shrugged. "No idea. He's in his office right now." Peter slowly nodded as he stepped away from the front desk. "Okay, thanks." He decided to head right for the XO's office rather than settle into the 124 Room. Whatever this was about, he wanted to get it over with. Fortunately, the well-dressed Vince Osterman was a good man who didn't like Spencer very much, either. Vince gestured to an empty seat after motioning for Peter to come in. He held a phone receiver to his ear. "Yeah, I know. I know, Bill, but just because your first marriage to Louise didn't work out doesn't mean you're hopeless. Just get out there and...well, see if you can find someone who likes model-building as much as you do. Listen, I gotta go. We'll talk later, okay? Stay confident, bro. Bye." After hanging up the receiver, he looked to Peter and smiled. "My brother. Things didn't work out between him and Louise. Long story there, obviously. So Pete, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Lieutenant Drucker's records are under review, as you may have heard, and I need to make inquiries with anyone who has ever dealt with him. Be as frank as you want in your answers. Don't hold back." Peter nodded. Vince placed his hands on the nearby computer keyboard as he read from a yellow page upon which he wrote his questions. "How would you define Spencer Drucker's supervisory capabilities?" The PAA took a moment to find the right words. "Problematic, unnecessarily extreme, and self-serving." Vince typed out the answers as Peter gave them. He then proceeded to the next question. "Did Spencer Drucker make any unwanted physical contact with you?" Peter could hardly remember any time in which he was touched by the ICO in a negative manner, much as he wished he could have answered otherwise. "No." Vince typed it in and continued with the next question. "Has Spencer Drucker raised his voice to you in an unnecessary manner?" "YES," Peter emphatically confirmed. "Several times." Vince nodded, adding the response to the onscreen file. "Do you feel that any of the tasks Spencer gave you were a form of retaliation, or punishment?" Peter nodded. "Yes." More tapping of fingers on a keyboard. "Can you give an example of a task he had given you that you perceived to be a form of retaliation, or punishment?" "He had me on telephone switchboard duty," Peter answered. "He knew I didn't like that job. He had several police officers make prank calls on me while I was doing it. He later said it was a 'test' when I complained about it. He had me up there for four weeks before Officer Sutcliffe relieved me." Vince nodded as he typed in the answer he was given. "Okay, Peter...I have one more question, and this is related to an investigation that just opened up. Have you ever had any dealings or relations with anyone in Spencer Drucker's family? His wife, or his two sons?" Peter shook his head. "Not at all." After typing in this last answer, Vince turned his head to Peter and rose to his feet, smiling. "OK! That's all I need." He held out his hand as Peter rose up, accepting the handshake. "You can head back to the 124 Room now. Thanks for your cooperation," the XO cordially added. With a quiet nod of acknowledgement, Peter stepped out of the XO's office and went into the Complaint Room to sign into the computer. He then grabbed the first written complaint report in the bin and started typing the details onto a data version of the police complaint form. An hour into his tour, two men walked into the command. At initial glance, they looked like Captain Cicero and Sergeant Stu Olivetti. But the both of them looked a little...different. The casual outfits they both wore looked a bit too loose to be considered masculine. Cicero's hair had also noticeably grown out, and was parted to one side. The brown-skinned Sergeant's hair also looked slightly effeminate, and he was a bit slimmer than he remembered Stu being. As Peter stared, both men noticed him, and they gave him a pleasant wave before going to their respective offices. Anita, a Hispanic Staff Analyst who worked in the precinct, stepped into the 124 Room with a mystified expression on her face as she moved towards Peter. "Does the Captain look a little...different...to you today?" Obviously bound to secrecy on the fate he knew was in store for him, but at the same time surprised that Stu Olivetti was undergoing a similar change, Peter just shrugged. "Guess he wants to try something new. Bullchester's first, uh, transgender Captain. Shouldn't get in the way of him doing his job, though. I'd keep it to yourself." Anita nodded. "Si, Si, you have a point." Her eyes then went to Peter's waist. "You also have a really big butt." Peter shrugged again, smiling meekly. "One too many powdered donuts?" From the expression on Anita's face, she wasn't buying that. "Madre de dios! How many did you eat? Two whole boxes??" The embarrassed PAA raised his hands in restraint. "It's a long story." "Okay, okay. No problem." Anita smiled. "You hear about Drucker? He gone loco!" "Yeah, I did," Peter confirmed. "I wonder how he screwed himself over?" A part of him also wondered if something had happened to his family. Peter thought about that last question Vince had asked him. * * * For the past six hours, Brandon Drucker sat in complete silence. He was in a seat at a kitchen table, his hands clasped together as he stared forward at nothing in particular. His mind had been a chaotic jumble the moment he felt someone's hand grasp at his wrist. His last moment of coherent thought was when he was attracted to the sultry appearance of a young woman in a red dress. The moment the smoky eyes that sat above her pouty red lips found Brandon's, he was immediately smitten. She had smiled, too, and she asked only if he could walk alongside her for awhile. She hated being alone. He loved the way this young woman rolled her 'r's whenever she spoke. He was looking forward to jumping her bones at the first opportunity. But then, someone had grabbed his wrist with a tight grip. From then on, his thoughts were a mess, losing all coherency, even as the sexy woman...who had introduced herself as Constance...stroked gently at his hair and purred sweet nothings into his ear. An emptiness still lingered in the radically conditioned mind of Brandon Drucker, who was wearing a sea green dress straight out of the 1950s. This was an emptiness that was a consequence of desperately, but fruitlessly trying to fight against a relentless sea of suggestions that had been implanted upon his young mind by a very powerful woman with unnatural abilities. His slightly longer hair was parted to one side, and the ends flared outward like wingtips, giving Brandon the appearance of the perfect stereotypical 1950s housewife. He even had pumps on his feet that were vintage in their nature. Makeup had been applied to his face while his mind remained jumbled and incoherent. The room he was in was also designed, from top to bottom, in a retro manner. The refrigerator was a white, old school Hotpoint-brand model. The square kitchen table had a glossy red surface, and the seats had glossy red cushions. An old school stove/oven combo was against the wall, and an array of cabinets flanked it. On the countertop was a chrome-plated bread basket, and on the other countertops were a coffee pot, a transistor radio, and a quaint toaster. Next to the toaster was a sink, and above where the refrigerator idled was a mural with the stylized words "Home Sweet Home". Brandon was the sole occupant in the room, and on the wall the conditioned young man was facing was a dark glass surface. On the other side of this tinted, one-way glass were the two ladies that were watching Brandon's predicament, both of whom were idling in a control center of some sort. One was an attractive, dangerous-looking woman with short black hair and a conservative purple dress, and the other was the very same sultry woman who had lured Brandon into this unexpected predicament in the first place. "So, Constance..." the black-haired woman mused, keeping her eyes on the dazed and catatonic young man. "...did he whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you were walking together in the park?" "All I got fr-r-rom him was sexual innuendo, Auntie Agatha," Constance replied, somewhat disgustedly. "Only he wanted to put his thingie in-MY- end-do." Agatha shook her head disgustedly. "Typical man. I knew if I left you two alone longer than I would have been comfortable with, he would have made a move on you. They always do." "Isn't his father-r-r-r a Police Lieutenant?" Constance wondered aloud. "Won't we get in some kind of tr-r-r-rouble with the city?" "My dear Constance..." Agatha turned her head to the smoky-eyed former boy in the tight red dress. "...we are the city." In front of Agatha was a microphone on a small stand, which had a cable running from the bottom of the device to a console to the far left of where the Sisterhood figurehead was sitting. She grabbed the stainless steel-plated mike and brought it close to her lips... ...but she briefly turned her head to Constance, a slight smile on her face. "Watch this, dear." Turning back to the microphone, the hand holding the mike pressed down on a switch which flared a small red light to indicate that it was now active. "Tell me what is on your mind, Brenda." Agatha remarked, keeping her eyes on Brandon. A moment of silence followed. Agatha waited as Constance observed the crossdressed young man curiously. "Go on, Brenda," Agatha prodded. "Don't be shy. Your husband will be home soon. Didn't you want to make him something delicious?" As per Agatha's conditioning, resistance eroded further whenever the Sisterhood mastermind uttered the trigger phrase husband. Brandon also felt compelled to get up and begin making a meal. He would need some time to prepare it so that it would be nice and fresh and hot by the time her husband got home from his busy day at the office. But he was still in conflict with the conditioning. His mind was putting up a fight that effectively kept him rooted where he was. He then uttered a single statement, in a voice that was slightly higher than his male tone. "I'll just die if I don't get this recipe." A full, wicked smile formed on Agatha's face. Upon hearing this phrase, she knew there was no way Brandon would be able to hold on to his masculinity. He was doomed to join the housewife program. He would become the hopelessly submissive and doting wife of a man once Brandon's slow transformation was complete. Now, it was a matter of getting the current Director of the CIA to begin saying the same phrase. * * * Although Phyllis Patterson had been told how lovely she would look with longer hair, her id seemed quite stubbornly settled on the current shape of her short hair, which was no different from the plain-looking, center-parted style that was a part of Philip Patterson's geeky appearance prior to his radical alterations. Not even Lois Fryer could change this. Phyllis had otherwise settled into who she now was quite comfortably, although she remained socially awkward. Her importance to the Sisterhood was, of course, her lingering knowledge of Computer Science, which she was to begin teaching at Feetham's this very morning. She chose a pink blouse, and a pair of loose-fitting lavender slacks, for her first day as a teacher at a new school. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her room, she just stared at the person she had become. Her breasts had grown to a D-cup, and her waist was thinner than she had remembered it being. The nerdy glasses she wore when she was Philip remained a necessity, and they sat upon her nose as she stared. Her chest felt itchy again. A hand went to her right breast to scratch it. The sensation was heavenly as she rubbed a long fingernail at the itchy area. She sucked in a sharp inward breath. Her mouth opened as she kept rubbing. The itch wasn't going away. She practically staggered forward as she kept scratching. Why isn't it going away?? She protested to herself as she began panting heavily. Her peripheral vision caught sight of the time. She needed to move. She couldn't be late for her first day. Although the itchy sensation lingered, she had to resist scratching it further as she stepped out of her room and went into the kitchen of her home. At least I'll be in solitude. Phyllis reasoned to herself. At least I still have my house. But when she walked into the kitchen, she saw a familiar-looking woman sitting at the table, drinking from a cup of coffee. Turning her head to the surprised educator, she smiled. "Hello, Phyllis," Hilary cooed. "How are you feeling today?" What is SHE doing here? Phyllis argued to herself. Another part of her id seemed to respond to this, however. Oh wait...she lives here with me. That's right. She...lives with me. Yes. I live with Hilary Van Owen. This is her house. She's so...helpful. I should help her...right back...always... "I...I'm OK." Phyllis responded, as the feel of a cat's fur rubbed against her leg. Looking down, she could hear Tesla purring. "She must prefer the company of women," Hilary mused as she looked down at the Persian cat. "She's got good taste." Well, this is working out better than I had hoped. Hilary thought to herself. I turn a hopeless geek into a woman with sensitive breasts, and I actually get the guy's house to live in. This Sisterhood rocks. Phil...Phyllis...is such a timid little pussycat, too. I wonder how good she is as a cook? I wonder how well she could clean the house? Hilary rose to her feet, feeling impish as she stepped over to Phyllis, who just stared up at her with a timid expression on her face. "You look a little...twitchy." "Well...umm..." She did notice that the corner of her right eye was quaking a little from her attempt to resist the urge to scratch the itch. "...I..." "Are you feeling okay?" She was right in front of him now, speaking softly. "First-day jitters, maybe?" "Well...um, kinda..." The itch was becoming torturous now. "You can't go to school this way." Hilary pulled up her blouse, and then slipped one cup of the white bra she was wearing away, making Phyllis gasp as the taller woman's lips closed in on an erect nipple. "You need to feel some relief." Once Hilary began sucking on the nipple, Phyllis shuddered as her eyelids lowered, and her mouth went slack. Heavy panting ensued as an intensely pleasurable sensation took hold of her. The educator's hand instinctively went to the back of Hilary's head, holding her against the breast as she continued panting. "Uhhhh...I-I'll be..." Phyllis managed to protest, in a quaking, breathy voice. "...late...sss-sschoooo....ooooohhhh...." Hilary stopped kissing at the educator's sensitive breast for a moment, and craned her head up to respond. "Your first class isn't for a couple of hours, dear. We have plenty of time." She then went right back to suckling on the sensitive breast, and with that assurance, Phyllis allowed herself to lose track of time while her housemate continued to make her feel incredibly blissed. Phyllis practically went cross-eyed as Hilary's lips lingered upon his fleshy breast nub. One of Hilary's hands reached up to rub at Phyllis's short hair, caressing it as if she were a pet. Ooooohhhhh, Goddess... The educator exulted to herself. This feels so wwwwonnnnnderffuuuulll...I love...lllooooove this...lllloooove being a woman...sooooo gooooood....ohhhhh, Hilaryyyyyy.... As she nursed at Phyllis's tender breasts, Hilary pondered the possibility of putting a nice-looking choker around the neck of the former male educator. It was the closest thing, after all, to a socially acceptable collar. * * * At the Butterfly Salon, a pair of female police officers had entered through a non-public entrance to deliver another "special" case to one of the dermis machines. Fifteen minutes after the officers were gone, Donna received an e-mail from the Sisterhood letting her know that a personality program had been remotely sent to the computer servers that supplied the machine with its mental reprogramming routines. The e-mail also reminded Donna to delete the program after its implementation. Her curiosity piqued, the Salon attendant knew just what to do in order to review the personality traits resident within a subliminal. As "special" cases were usually delivered in advance of the Mall opening for the day, she had plenty of time to review the data. What she saw widened her eyes. SUBJECT: Drucker, Spencer C. OLD OCCUPATION: Lieutenant, Bullchester Police Department NEW ID: Karen Winnow NEW DISPOSITION(S): False Prophet, Chronic Complainer, Alcoholic(Beer) Wow. Donna mused to herself. They REALLY wanna make this guy's new life a living hell! She then checked the dimensions on what was to be Karen Winnow's new body type, and she shook her head seeing how heavy set this subject was going to be. This Karen Winnow was going to be a walking, talking wreck of a she-male. She imagined that the public disturbances this Karen Winnow was going to cause would put her behind bars on more than one occasion. The setup reminded her of what had happened to Leslie Betancourt, who was now drifting all over Bullchester as a homeless derelict spouting conspiracies of her own. Suki drifted over behind Donna to check on the machine, and glance at the unconscious occupant inside. "You've gotta see how this one's gonna turn out," Donna mused. Suki glanced at the computer screen over Donna's shoulder, and giggled. "Suits him. I was told this guy's a real snake. God-squadder, back- stabber, wife-abuser, total fucking narcissist. Ought to be fun watching her complain about trivial shit, trying to make 'citizen arrests', creating problems where none exist...sounds like she's gonna be a real one-woman circus." Donna nodded. "And a potential jailbird." "Just the kind of social nuisance Leslie Betancourt would want to meet," Suki amusedly remarked. "I was thinking the same thing!" Both girls giggled over this observation as Donna engaged the program, having been alerted that Spencer was regaining consciousness. Fortunately, the subliminal rendered him sedate before he could scream a word of protest. Hours later, the routine came to an end, and Donna was considering calling for Mall security as she stepped over to the lid of the dermis machine. But when she opened the door, a rotund, floppy-chested, middle-aged woman with a head of long, flat brown hair, and wide green eyes was puffing in short, alarmed breaths as she stared up to the ceiling. "Karen?" Donna asked, remaining cordial, but also prepared to immediately call security. Even Suki, who was a short distance away, looked ready to deal with a potential meltdown. The former man's head turned to Donna, still looking a bit frightened. "This...this machine..." Karen began, speaking in an effeminately high pitch and pointing a chubby finger towards the curious attendant. "...puts calories in your body. Are you trying to poison people? This is a DERMIS Machine. You know what that means, don't you? DON'T YOU?? It means SKIN care. LOOK at me! How do you explain all this excess fat? I wanna speak to the manager. Oh, you are SO fired! Just you wait! You are in SOOO much trouble." Donna was already grinning as she helped the woman...who was now noticeably shorter than the well-toned, red-headed Police Lieutenant she used to be...out of the machine. "I'll give you a card with management's number before you leave. Let's get you dressed for now." "AAAAND...and you're putting us in these machines naked?? REALLY??" Karen protested as Suki shook her head in total amusement. Donna just rolled her eyes as she led the nattering subject. "I don't want people seeing me in the buff! See that little niche there as we go from the machine room to the dressing room? How do you know if someone won't go over there and take a peek as people pass? How do I know if some little kid didn't sneak into the dressing room? Do you keep the door between the lobby and the machine room secured? Where's your key? I wanna see PROOF! Oh, I am SO calling management. YOU...will be..." "So fired. I know," Donna interjected, gesturing to the stalls in a sarcastic manner. "Stall 18. Get dressed." "Stall 18?? Why couldn't it be 12? That's my lucky number!" Karen audibly complained. "AAAAND...why can't I choose my own stall? You people are so FASCIST! I want my own..." Donna just shut the thankfully soundproof door to the dressing stalls so Karen could have her privacy. With a fretful sigh, she then headed over to the business cards with the management numbers that would always connect her to answering machines with full voice mailboxes. She then contacted Mall security and had them wait until Karen came back out. * * * When David arrived at the gallery building, he saw that Louise Vandervelde was in the midst of installing each of her art pieces. Quickly going inside, he was able to provide assistance. The both of them consulted a series of rough sketches that had been drawn out to show where each of Louise's art pieces were supposed to go. They both worked quietly until Louise called for a lunch break at 12 noon. "I ordered pizzas." Louise informed. "Sound good?" David shrugged. "As long as they don't have pineapples." The bohemian woman giggled a bit. "Ech. No danger of that." She then surveyed the area, checking out the array of her own works. "Looks nice. They all seem to segue into one another." She turned her head to David amusedly. "Part of my master plan." David, however, showed no trace of amusement. He looked drained. Withdrawn. Like the spark of life had been sapped from him. His voice was a veritable monotone. Louise didn't make any worried inquiries. She knew why he was like this. Had it not been for the surprise morning visit from Rita Noble, and the subsequent conversation they had in the hours before David's arrival, she would probably feel just as gloomy. She instead gestured for David to follow her. "Come with me for a moment, dear. I want to show you a piece that made me think of you." Curious, the downtrodden Senior class student followed her. She stopped in front of a larger painting which was particularly well done. It was a very well-emulated sky full of stars, with a ground down below by a small cottage. Two figures...a male figure, and a female figure...were seated next to each other, gazing up at the celestial array. "I like this one," David quietly observed as he stared upon it. "Funny that you do," Louise responded. "I thought of you and Brooke when I painted it. It's a fairly recent piece." She gestured to the two lone stargazers down below, who had basic male and female shapes, and simple clothes. "See those two? That's you and Brooke, gazing up at the night sky. Not a single electric light for miles to obscure the view. I imagined that on your honeymoon, you'd choose a nice, out of the way place. There's a quaint place out in Nova Scotia. A house on Hemloe Island. You would have had to pump your own water, it's an old-fashioned place, but...there would have been plenty of solitude for the both of you." David slowly nodded, still staring at the picture. "Would have been nice." "I got inspired," Louise added, placing her hands in the pockets of her earth-toned, button-down sweater. "From the moment I saw the two of you in Brooke's room, I knew you would have been inseparable. I was the one who suggested that she come to you, too. Remember that night when she surprised you at your home?" Louise gave him a wink. "My idea." David nodded as his face began to twist into one of extreme sorrow. His lips trembled as his eyes watered up. "I-I remember," he responded as he began to sob. Louise immediately wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight in a sympathetic embrace. She had to hold back tears of her own as they embraced. "I'm sorry," David whined amid his bawling. "I'm so, so sorry!" As the embrace lingered, Louise carefully lifted the lower edge of the shirt David was wearing, exposing the skin of his back. She then positioned the two small, plastic injectors she had pulled out of the pockets of her sweater and stabbed him with them, pinching the serum containers tightly until their contents were within the crying student's bloodstream. Unfortunately, David felt the sharp pinches, and his eyes went wide. In the next moment, he pushed her away and staggered back. He then saw Louise drop the two spent injectors from her hands as she stared back at him. Shit. She griped to herself. Rita told me he wouldn't feel them! The bohemian raised her hands up. "Now calm down, David. You'll be fine. Just relax." But David was already hard-wired with shock. "What the..." His face was quaking with fear as his hands rubbed at the pinched areas at his back. Both areas still felt a bit sore. "...what did you put in me?? What the FUCK...??" "David, please try to see it from my perspective," Louise explained. "I just lost my most prized creation. A gift of pure beauty that could only come from almighty Sappho. I gave blood to conceive Brooke. My other daughter was...insane with jealousy. She thinks I didn't love her as much as I loved Brooke. She hasn't answered any of my calls. I have to assume I won't see her anymore." "What did you..." He backed up against a wall between two paintings. "...what the fuck did you...did you poison me?? Is that it?? I'm a man, so I have to DIE??" "NO! No, not at all, David." Louise stepped up close to the terrified Senior student, speaking softly. "I wouldn't do that to you. I'm an artist, not a monster. Bad men in this city don't die, sweetheart. They change. They change to suit the needs of the Sisterhood of the Divine Feminine, but...you're different. You're mine, and I'm going to make you just as beautiful a creation as Brooke was." David seemed to be fighting these words. They strangely sounded agreeable to him, but he shook his head vigorously as his face looked a bit more angry. "I'm...I'm going...b-back home...you're crazy! I...I..." Louise noticed, by the look in his eyes, that the serum's effects were manifesting. It was also clear that he was fighting it, but she knew the physical changes would happen over the next couple of days, and that the hand of fate that she had just imposed upon David Sandberg was irreversible. She was also told that his mind would adapt sooner than his body would. "Back home to what? An empty house?" Louise reasoned, tenderly stroking at David's hair. "Your mother is gone, your brother left, and from what I'm told, Mildred kicked you out of the house, didn't she? That's not love in my eyes, David. I can show you real love. Real caring. You'll be safe with me. I promise. You can live here with me from now on. Praise be to Sappho." "Sss-sappho??" David, still wild-eyed, recalled the name from one of his art classes. "She...she's a POET, not a Goddess!" This earned the rooted student an angry slap to his cheek as Louise's eyes flared. "I will NOT tolerate that kind of blasphemy, young lady!" "But I...I can't...I-I'm not..." His resolve to leave withered further. His body quaked, wanting to leave, but somehow not getting his body to respond to this urge. "...wanna...go home..." "I told you." Louise pressed the palms of her hands against David's tear-moistened cheeks. "You ARE home. Mommy will help you to adjust, just like she did with Ramona and Brooke. You'll be my lovely child of the night. I promise by almighty Sappho. I will make you just as beautiful a creature as Brooke was." She wrapped her arms around him in a tight and motherly hug. "You're home. You're home with Mommy. Praise be to Sappho." The tears that manifested in Louise's eyes were tears of joy as she, too, sobbed. "I love you so much, my dearest...Belladonna. Yes. That's your name. Belladonna. Praise be to Sappho for bringing you to me, my darkest child. My moonlight." "MMmmm..." The serum had a more solid hold now. All he could hear was Louise's words, and she seemed to be grafting them unto David's mind. "...mmm-mooonli...moonlight...?" Louise continued to rub at his head as she desperately whispered into his ear. "Yes. Yes! Say your name. What is your name? Tell me. Tell me now." This is insane. He frantically thought to himself. SHE is insane! My name is Belladonna! What? Wait...no! My name is...Devadonna! It's always been...Delladonna?? I'm my mother's child! My mother's moonlight...? NO! I am my mother's moonlight! I am Belladonna...Belladonna! Why am I...? His wild eyes stared upon Louise's. What...what's wrong with me, Mom?? I-I'm scared! "B-Belladonna..." David muttered. "...mm...mother's moonlight..." "YES!! Yes! Yesyesyes!" Louise squeezed him tighter in her embrace despite David's look of utter confusion, his eyes looking as if they were in a trance as the tension in his body weakened. "Praise be to Sappho! I'll keep you with me upstairs until you're ready to be reborn to the world. Blessed be the word of Sappho, and blessed be the Divine Feminine!" Aggression and resistance seemed to wither in David's mind as Louise slowly led him up the stairs to the residence the Sisterhood had given her that was conveniently above the gallery area. She continued to whisper assurances that he would be safe as they moved. Being as close as he was to Louise, and breathing in her scents, now seemed to register the irrefutable truth as to who Louise now was to him. Mother. Mom. Belladonna's thoughts diverted to the dresses he knew he had. He also seemed to recall a girl, but the identity was hazy. Was it...Abby? Abigail? Maybe this girl was him? What he was to become? Is this someone I know? Belladonna asked himself as he was laid upon the bed in the room Louise had given to Brooke. With a kiss to his addled forehead, she closed the door behind her as her new daughter-to-be lapsed into a quiet, catatonic state. Strategically-placed speakers within the room began to transmit pleasant female voices that would reinforce the mental reprogramming that would effectively erase any trace of David Sandberg from Belladonna Vandervelde's mind as he laid upon the bed. Louise then quietly stepped over to where she had kept a half-full bottle of white wine. After filling a small glass, she settled into a couch in the living room area and quietly drained it, exhaling a relaxing breath in the process. "Praise Sappho," she quietly affirmed, to no one in particular. * * * Two weeks later... Jerome Wells had a thick white bandage over his nose on his first day back to Lloyd Kemp High School. He had recovered, weeks before, from the vicious retaliation inflicted upon him by David Sandberg on Freshman Day, when Jerome and Edmund Ritter chose to haze his girlfriend. The bandage, however, had nothing to do with the damage David had physically done to his nose, but rather to allow the scars of a plastic surgery routine performed by Dr. Parker Drake to heal up. Such was the decision of Jerome's mother, Regina, who was a devotee of the Divine Feminine religion. Jerome's mind was a bit more buttery than it was prior to the surgery, and his body looked visibly slimmer than most of his friends remembered it being. Making his way down the busy hallways, he noticed that other young male students were subtly swaying their hips, and he could pick up on evidence of mascara and blush on their faces. Conversations were less aggressive, and more flirtatious. The few male students that Jerome passed every now and then...those who showed no evidence at all of being femininely influenced...looked perpetually nervous as they made their way to their next classes. As Jerome continued walking through the halls, the school's newly- ordained Dean, Gemma Schultz, gingerly advanced in the opposite direction, but stopped when she spotted Jerome. A sweet smile formed on her face as she examined the brown-skinned student's hair. "I see you took my advice." Gemma cooed. "The Diana Ross look does suit you, Jerica dear. I think you should maintain it so you continue to look...supreme." Gemma gave him a sly wink. Jerome giggled, lightly touching a hand at the coif he got for himself following his plastic surgery. "Thank you, Miss Schultz." Gemma lightly tapped one of the feminized student's blush-decorated cheeks. "Blessed be the Divine Feminine." She then continued past Jerome. Jerica. Jerome thought to himself as he gingerly stepped into his next classroom, just three minutes shy of the late bell. I like the sound of that name. * * * For the past week, Peter Sandberg looked nervous and withdrawn as he worked in the 124 Room at the 19th Precinct. He rarely talked to anyone, and if he did say anything at all, it was nothing more than small talk, greetings, or farewells. Captain Joe Cicero bravely came out following his inevitable transformation as Josephine Cicero, maintaining her rank and her status as the Commanding Officer of the 19th Precinct. She had established an amicable split from her wife, and had committed herself to become a full-time devotee of the Divine Feminine religion so she could cleanse herself of the adultery she had committed as a man while in wedlock. Sterling Sutcliffe...formerly Stuart Sutcliffe...had put her retirement papers in, asserting that she had her fill of enforcing the law. Taking the advice of Pernilla Delancey, the Bullchester PD's recently-appointed Social Worker, she moved out of state to start a new life for herself. The police precincts of the city were abuzz with another impending retirement: that of the current Police Commissioner, who just happened to be male. Peter already knew that a retirement party was scheduled to be held at Mistresses, making him wonder if he would wind up like the Captain by the time he walked out of the Commissioner's Office for the last time. So deep was he in thought that he glanced at the time, and saw that he was five minutes past his quitting time. Logging out of his computer, and then shutting it down, Peter rose out of his seat, bundled up in his coat, and made his way out of the precinct after signing out on the day's roll call sheet. Peter had finished filing the materials Madame Olivia had wanted him to store away, but the shapely figurehead of Mistresses insisted that he remain on staff as her "office boy". She even continued to pay him part- time wages, as she had been doing while he was busying himself below the main levels of the club. He was now called upon to type up any written documents one of the dancers had given him while he was in the club's basement office, which looked much nicer than it did when Olivia had first led him down there. Dancers frequently visited Peter. Particularly Zelene, who frequently flirted with him. A drunken Alexis even snuck downstairs to give the flustered 'office boy' an impromptu lapdance on an apparent whim. Emily caught Alexis in the act fifteen minutes into the very attractive dancer's gyrations and Peter worried that his days working there were numbered, but Madame Olivia smoothed things over after confirming that Alexis was indeed inebriated. The past couple of days were quiet, however, since his last therapy session with Venetia Foerst. Since that session, he had noticed a pair of distinct swellings upon his chest. They were too soft to be muscle tissue, and he had come to a fairly ominous conclusion as to what was now happening. Oft-spoken wild stories of men mysteriously becoming women now seemed all the more believable. He knew, however, that making a scene about it would be potentially disastrous. He remembered that much from the advice Tamara Portnoy had given him. As he stepped past Jake Simonson, who had Coco on his lap, dancers preparing for another wild night gave him flirtatious glances and winks. Alexis gave Peter's large butt a slap as he passed her, making him blush deeply. When he finally descended the stairs and opened the door to his 'office', the sour-faced Emily Braithwaite...her lips perpetually prominent...stared back at him as she fixed a hard gaze upon him. Her hands were on her hips as Peter closed the door behind him. Emily crooked a finger, and gestured for him to come closer. "Take your coat off," she menacingly intoned. Peter complied, letting it slip off his arms and onto the floor behind him. Once he was within range of Emily's reach, she grabbed the lower edge of his shirt and lifted it up until the bandage wrapped tightly around his chest was exposed. The PAA swallowed hard, and now looked quite nervous. Unfazed, Emily found the end that had been tucked into the top edge of the tight wrapping, and pulled it out, rolling off the material gradually. Once his chest was completely bare, Emily smirked, seeing that a pair of soft B-cups had grown there. The big-lipped young woman began rolling up the long bandage. "I'll let you have this back at the end of the night," Emily remarked. Her hands then went up to press against the fleshy growths. "I wonder how sensitive these are?" Peter's eyelids began fluttering, and he felt it prudent to stifle any moans he might have uttered upon feeling his nascent mammaries being rubbed and groped. He instead bit his lower lip, and squeezed his eyes shut. This expression became a wince when the fingers of her right hand gave the nipple of Peter's mammary a tight and painful pinch. Grabbing a handful of Peter's hair, she angrily pulled him in, bringing an ear to her lips. "Now you know how we feel when you men do shit like that to us," she growled. "Y-you're hurting me," Peter quietly protested. "I know, bitch," Emily shot back. "And you should know why." "Emily..." The woman's eyes flared. "EXCUSE me??" Peter blushed as he pulled his shirt back down. "Sorry...Miss Braithwaite...didn't Madame Olivia speak to you about that incident with Alexis?" Her arms now crossed in front of her. "She did." Emily then began to pace, slowly, around the PAA. "But I know it gets you all hot and bothered inside to have me get rough with you." She gave his augmented butt a sharp slap, and then, stopping behind him, spoke directly into an ear. "Don't lie. I know you want more of it from me, don't you, Petra?" Peter swallowed hard once again, unable to come out and admit it. "I- I..." Fortunately, the tense moment was broken by the sound of Zelene's voice. "Emily! Madame Olivia needs you upstairs." Emily huffed an irritated breath, and then pressed her hands on both sides of Peter's face. She then spoke right in his face. "You'll see me again..." The big- lipped young woman's tongue then flirtatiously touched the tip of his nose. "...whether you want to or not, my little pet." As Emily ascended, Zelene descended, flashing a grin when she spotted Peter. "Hola, baby." She was in a tight, leopard skin-patterned lycra gown as she swayed towards the office worker. "Como esta? Estas disfrutando de tu nuevo cofre?" Peter blushed, smiling. "Sorry...can you give that to me in english?" Zelene smirked. "I ask you how your new boobs feel." The PAA lowered his head, noticeably embarrassed. "I'm trying to forget I have them." "Awwww, don't feel so bad, mi novia." She wrapped her arms around him. "Give it a few weeks. You get use to them. I did." The dancer pressed her forehead against his, grinning deviously. "They may even get bigger." "I...thought I was supposed to be an office boy," Peter meekly reminded. "With a culo as big as this?" Zelene squeezed an augmented ass cheek. "Uh-uh, baby. You our bitch." She whispered, lustily, into his ear. "Don't you want to be as hot, and as ssssexy, as we are? Don't you wanna be one of the girls? Rub your big tits in their faces? Wiggle your huge cheeks over their laps? You could earn lots of money. More than you ever make with the cops. You help us out so much, novia. Now we wanna help you." Peter chuckled nervously. "Emily already wants me to be her 'pet'." Zelene giggled amusedly. "An' I want you to be my bitch! Come on, baby...biiiiig tits...biiiig ass...we know you want it. I know you want it." Her hands came up and began briskly rubbing at Peter's fleshy mounds. "I demand it, girl." She then pressed her lips against Peter's, kissing deeply as she kept rubbing at his B-cups. You must have done this for me, didn't you, Venetia? You must have dosed him. Zelene mused to herself as she stepped away from the club's now very flustered and frazzled office boy and ascended the steps to the main floor. Gracias. * * * Slim fingers with long, pink-painted fingernails held a framed picture of Tyler Lawrence. It was the last picture that had been taken alongside the school faculty member who had given him the news that he had been ordained the Senior Class Valedictorian. That he would receive a gold medal during the graduation ceremony. The fingers that held it up deliberately loosened their grip on the picture so that it could plummet down to the waiting garbage bin below. "Oops!" A high voice chirped. When it landed in the bin, the glass surface visibly cracked. The banana blond-haired young woman who had been holding it then turned to a mirror so she could get to work on her eyebrows, darkening them. Another layer of cherry red was applied to her already painted lips, and she used a sharpened black pencil to give her right cheek a beauty mark just under her left eye. Her moistened hair came down straight and was parted in the middle. The dress Taylor La Rue chose to wear was a shoulderless bright pink one-piece lycra dress with an inverted heart opening at the cleavage area so she could show off her generous E-cup mounds. Her waist narrowed a bit before swelling to the sides, showing off her wide hips. Misting herself generously with a strong- and sweet-smelling perfume that also gave her skin a sparkly appearance, She slipped her feet into a pair of stiletto heels and then emerged from the bedroom of Tyler Lawrence for the last time. The empty expressions on the faces of Eunice and Randall Lawrence as Taylor bounced past them were a by-product of the interference of 'Mama' upon the lives of this upscale family. Tyler's parents were behaving as if they were 30 years older, and mentally ready for a Nursing Home. Neither of them said a word of protest as their own former son was about to abandon them. Outside, Mama was waiting alongside two other slutty girls, all of whom waved and called out to the newest member of Mama's girls. Taylor waved back as the bimbo Tyler had become bounded into the waiting car space. She was quick to deeply French kiss one of the girls as their brown- skinned Madame brought the sports car to life and roared away from the Lawrence residence, wondering just how much money Taylor La Rue would be able to earn for her. * * * Donna cordially greeted the latest young visitor to the Butterfly Salon's plastic surgery appointment area. "How can I help you?" "I'd like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Parker Drake," the harsh- faced young woman began. "I need her to make me the most beautiful woman in all of Bullchester. I need to look like something only a Goddess could create." Donna raised an eyebrow. "I...don't suppose you could be a little more... specific? Breast augmentation? Tummy tuck? Curves?" The woman handed Donna a business card with writing on the back. "I was told this Salon could help me. Just give me what I want. Money is no object." The young attendant smirked as she looked over the card, recognizing the name on it, and realizing that this was, apparently, a legitimate Sisterhood arrangement. And that meant that money was more than just no object. It was a non- issue. "I...suppose you can go over the particulars with Dr. Drake herself, so I'll just make a note of that." She opened a fresh file and tapped out the job details in an open-text portion of the application. "Would it be possible to change someone's DNA pattern?" the woman then asked. "I want to shatter any ties that I have to my birth family." Donna's eyes widened as she typed. "Sounds...radical, but...I, uhhh... I...think that could be arranged, yeah." Donna then looked to the potential client once the extra details were on the form. "Current first and last name, please?" "Ramona," the vengeful young woman responded. "Ramona Vandervelde." * * * "Now I know it's going to be a little scary at first," Hayley reminded as she knelt before the eager-faced teenager in front of her. "but I can assure you that you'll be in a much more caring environment. In the time you have before the school semester starts, you'll be able to get acquainted with Pernilla. I think you'll like her very much." "Does she like girls?" the wide-eyed teen asked. "Oh yes, dear," Hayley answered. "In fact, she's a devotee of that totally cool religion I told you about!" "Blessed be the Divine Feminine!" the teenager chirped. Hayley giggled in her amusement. "Oh, and I should tell you that you should have a REALLY cool friend living right across the street from you! You'll like her a lot, dear. You'll have soooo much in common! She's devoted to the Divine Feminine as well! You could go to school together, in fact. Wouldn't that be AWESOME??" "That would be REALLY awesome!" the age-regressed young girl exclaimed. "I bet you can't wait to meet your new Mom, can you, Millie?" "Can we go right now?" the former Mildred Sandberg asked. Hayley held out her hand, smiling. "Let's go." The Sisterhood advocate led Millie, as she was now called, to her car. Driving her over to the home of Bullchester PD Social Worker Pernilla Delancey, who had expressed an interest in adopting a child, she had to wonder just what kind of impact Millie and her potential new best friend, LouAnne Drummond, would have on the new parochial school Kemp was doomed to become. * * * Leigh Krystal...the somewhat meek and willowy secretary of Loris International executive Shelley Portnoy...stepped into the packed gallery room showcasing the works of Louise Vandervelde, who had become the newest star in the annals of painted masterworks within the city of Bullchester. Art critics had gathered here from all over the world on a nightly basis to pay witness to, and analyze, these varied works that had apparently come from what reviewers had called "the newest modern mistress of expressionism". The arranged works seemed to trace the thought patterns of a single individual. According to interviews with Louise that Leigh had seen, she used her own thought patterns as the basis of her works. One particular painting, however, stood apart from the flow of the main exhibit, seeming to come at a point where the artist seemed to be at a crossroads in her life, following a dark tragedy which had apparently manifested in the departure of her husband. This particular painting was in a dark corner of the exhibit and was the only painting on this particular wall. A single lamp hovered over it, providing it with its sole illumination. Most of the reviewers agreed that this piece was a high point of the exhibit. Leigh slowly stepped towards it, enveloping herself in the darkness of the area as she approached. No one else was here. She examined the details. From the starry sky to the two dwarfed lovers lingering below, staring up at the celestial array from a tranquil field near a small house. The lovers themselves had minimal detail compared to the starry sky. Leigh stared at this picture for a long moment. The light illuminating it was the color of moonlight and was not so harsh as to drown out the detailing, but rather adding to it. A soft, high-pitched voice to the left of the jumpy secretary in the pale lavender dress interrupted the silence. "I like this one too." When Leigh turned her head to see who it was that was next to her, she saw a young woman with a head of straight, raven black hair running down her back, with bangs just above her eyes. Her face was heavily made over in a combination of heavy, Egyptian-aspected black eyeliner, jet black lipstick, and a drawn-in red drop on her cheek which perhaps signified a tear made of blood. All of this was featured against a pale white foundation that covered her face, making the gothic details stand out. Flowery black lace covered her arms and her shoulders, which were equally pale, and a black corset with purple highlights hugged her waist, tied at the back, and partially exposing the swells of a pair of soft, pale C-cup breasts. A long black skirt stylishly decorated with an array of red roses covered the lower half of her body. Her long fingernails were as black as her lipstick. A spicy perfume followed her wherever she went. Black platform boots were on her feet, adding height to her girlish frame. All in all, she was the perfect picture of a gothic princess, despite her somewhat tragic expression. "Did you want to meet my mom?" the lovely looking goth asked. "She usually comes down in the early afternoon during the week. All these paintings are hers. I think she's upstairs right now, typing a journal entry." "They're beautiful." Leigh replied, in her high, soft and girlish voice. "Especially this one." She gestured to the couple on the ground. "Do these represent anyone in particular?" The goth's eyes switched to the painting, and the very detail Leigh asked about. "Yes. My mom was inspired by two young lovers. School kids. They loved each other more than life itself. He was a silly, lovestruck boy, and she was the most beautiful girl in the world." The girl sounded thoughtful as she spoke of the couple, and this made the former CIA agent curious. "What happened to them?" Leigh asked. A long moment of silence followed as Belladonna Vandervelde, formerly David Sandberg, gazed thoughtfully upon the artistically emulated couple, hearing the strains of the Bryan Adams song "Heaven"...the song that played at the Mall nightclub where David and Brooke first met...reprising in her mind before she finally broke the silence. "They're gone." She quietly replied. "Both of them." * * * Almighty Sappho - A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished, For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. - Romeo and Juliet Act 5, Scene 3 ~ FIN * * * BARFORD FILE # 1502 Family Name: Sandberg --**CASE CLOSED**--