Message-ID: <31527asstr$995713801@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <morg1058@chartervt.net> X-Original-Message-ID: <000801c11092$3b1fe460$377cf2d0@wards> From: "Bill Morgan" <morg1058@chartervt.net> X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2462.0000 Subject: {ASSM} NEW from Morgan: Jean and Jim, part 2 of 9 M/F Rom Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 07:10:01 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/31527> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: t4425, dennyw * * * The following is a work of fiction regarding sexual relationships. If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise improper for you to read this, then DON'T READ IT. * * * The Callaways: Jean & Jim -- Part 2 of 9 Copyright 2001 By Morgan. All Rights Reserved Preface & Acknowledgments This book is the third in a series but it's the first one to be completed. With the exception of Jim Dawson, all of the major characters will have appeared in either or both of the two preceding works. It is being posted at the insistence of two of my fans, Heiner and Jeff, both of whom have read it. Unlike prior books, [www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Morgan/www] this one is not divided into chapters. Rather it's divided by triple asterisks, but it's an ongoing chronicle. The divisions are in the interest of ease of posting and have nothing to do with the story's structure. Finally, I most particularly thank Adrienne for her invaluable assistance in critiquing this work. (Another reason it's being posted now is that if I didn't, her comments would exceed the length of the book itself.) All I can say about Adrienne is that she has a background in intelligence and used it to good -- if for me, painful -- effect throughout. I mean... is it really fair? I mean just because a woman's body can't work that way is no reason to change is it? (Don't you just hate it when the woman is _always_ right? She is and I do.) Any errors remaining -- and I'm certain there are more than a few -- are strictly my own responsibility. If you enjoy the story -- or if you don't -- please let me hear from you at <morg105829@aol.com> * * * I was awakened later by Susan's screaming. "I can't whip you anymore, Sandy! You're bleeding!" Startled, I lifted myself up off the bed. Jean was beside me and Susie was beside her. Taking the little girl in her arms, Jean whispered, "Rest easy, little one. It's all over. Now take Mommy's nipple in your mouth..." I could see Jean pulling Sue's head down to her breast. "That's it," she whispered. "Now suckle at Mommy's tit. Drink my luscious milk you like so much. But you have to bite." A pause. "Bite harder!" Jean's back stiffened, but her voice didn't change. "That's the girl! Now drink Mommy's milk fresh from her tit." I could see the little girl sucking on Jean's nipple as I fell back to sleep. * * * "Jim, could you give me a hand?" These words roused me from sleep again. Looking up I saw Jean out of bed and kneeling on the floor by my side. "What's up?" I managed to mumble. "I thought I could do it myself, but I can't," she whispered. "Would you...? Could you...? See if you could sew my nipple back on?" That statement was more than enough to shake the cobwebs out of my brain. I eased out of bed -- Susan was still asleep beside me -- and followed Jean into the bathroom. There she closed the door and turned on all the lights. I swallowed hard as I realized she was holding her left nipple in position with her left hand while holding a threaded sewing needle in her right. "It really shouldn't be very hard," she whispered. "My nipple is pretty small, so it shouldn't take many stitches to put it back on. Are you game?" "I'll give it a shot," I replied, "But..." "There are no guarantees in life, Jim," she interrupted. "I know that. I also know you'll do your very best and that's all anyone can do. Okay?" With that she sat up on the sink counter and handed me the needle and thread. It was threaded with white thread, and she also had a pair of sewing scissors. Then she moved her left hand so that she was only holding her nipple on with one finger. At that point I could see that her nipple had been almost completely severed from her breast; it was only holding on by a very small flap of skin. I had no idea how to go about it, but I decided to take the first stitch opposite the remaining flap. I put the needle into her breast, brought it up through the nipple and tied it off. After cutting the thread, she took her fingertip off and I could see that the first stitch seemed to be in the right place. I took four more, and it seemed to be enough. Incredibly, Jean hadn't moved a muscle in spite of having a needle pushed into her breast and then having the thread dragged through it. Clearly, though, she wasn't impervious to pain; although she hadn't moved a muscle or made a sound, she was sweating profusely at the end. When I thought I had done enough, I asked her. Looking down, she raised her tit with her hand to get a better look at her nipple. When she did I got a better sense of her body. Her tits are so firm, she really had a problem even tipping the nipple up to look. "It's perfect," she pronounced. "Now will the doctor give his patient a kiss?" Again I took her in my arms. This kiss was again in a class by itself. There was no passion, just the purest love. But, I wondered, is this the way it always is when a guy kisses a girl? My initial doubts just increased; our kissing was definitely something out of the ordinary. After putting a Band-Aid over her left nipple, Jean turned out the bathroom lights and we returned to the bedroom. This time she got into the bed on the outside so her left side was on the bed. To my utter amazement, she whispered softly, "Lovely girl, now suck on Mommy's tit. You'll feel so much better." Gently taking Susan's head, she brought it to her right nipple. I could see the girl begin to suckle again as I fell asleep again. * * * _"What did you do?"_ Susan's scream awakened me from a deep sleep. "Nothing, sweetie," Jean replied softly. "What do you mean?" "I had a nightmare, didn't I?" "You were screaming, Susie. You were reliving the time you had to torture your sister before she lost her virginity." "And I remember, 'Suck Mommy's nipple. Drink Mommy's milk you love so much.' But it wasn't milk; it was your blood, wasn't it? I bit off your nipple, didn't I?" the girl screamed, then dissolved into tears. "My darling, I only wish I had breast milk to give you. It's what you really needed. Since all I could give you was my blood, that's what I did." "But why?" "Because I love you," was Jean's simple reply. Then she pulled the girl close and kissed her lovingly. What followed was unbelievable. Jean just held the slender girl in her arms, kissed her and stroked her body all over. I could almost literally see the torment the girl had been living with for so long leave her body and her brain. After minutes of this -- I have no idea how many minutes -- instead of kissing any part of the other's body one could reach, their lips merged. I knew that Jean was using her talented tongue to probe the girl's mouth. When the two tongues met, I could feel it. When they finally separated, Susan was breathless and Jean wasn't much better. Finally, the little girl gasped, "I'm calling you Mommy from now on!" "But darling, you can't!" "Yes, I can!" Susan insisted. "My last name may be Callaway, but... Mom's really neat. Don't get me wrong. But I guess there were too many of us too fast." The girl paused for a moment and then continued, "When we arrived, Stephanie was in bad shape and so was Sandy. Comparatively speaking, I was fine." She looked deeply into Jean's eyes and gently ran her fingers over her ears, nose and eyes. "Then you arrived. We -- all of us, but particularly Sandy and me -- recognized something in you that we know is in ourselves. But you and Mom sure have one thing in common: your goodness. "What you did for me last night is beyond belief. Only a mommy would sacrifice herself the way you did." Then tears came to her eyes and she asked, "Can anything be done? Are you disfigured for life?" Gently, Jean kissed the girl on the lips. "Thank you for caring so much, sweetie. But I think Jim... Daddy...?" The girl whooped and spun toward me. "Can I? Honest? Could I call you Daddy? It would be so utterly neat!" I was stunned. But I guess I've already said that being stunned was my normal condition in those days. "Darling, if you would like to, nothing would make me prouder. Just think! The most beautiful eight-year-old in the whole world wants to call me Daddy." At that the girl threw her arms around me and melted her lips to mine. There followed a flood of the purest, sweetest love I've ever felt. While I probed her mouth with my tongue as I had seen Jean do, I caressed her naked body all over. Our tongues met and the electricity flowed. By this time my hands had gone down to her buns and I squeezed them hard. "Argh!" she gasped. I was about to release her when she screamed, "No! Please don't stop! It feels so incredibly wonderful." Then she leaned back and asked, "Does that mean I have a squeezable ass already?" I looked over at Jean. A big help she was! She was doubled up trying to keep from laughing out loud. Finally she regained enough control to be able to shake her head and shrug. Then she mouthed, "She's your problem!" "Well..." I finally replied, "I don't know if it's squeezable, but it's certainly spankable. Which reminds me: If today is the day you start calling me Daddy, it must mean that it's your birthday as far as your mother and I are concerned. And you do know what happens on a birthday, don't you?" Susan's eyes were wide as she slowly shook her head. "You get one spank from each of us for each year you've lived, plus one more to grow on." "Are you teasing me?" she asked with one eyebrow arched in the cutest look I've ever seen. "Honey, was I teasing her?" "No, darling, you certainly were not," Jean replied. (Those were the first terms of endearment we ever exchanged. I don't know how she felt, but it made me feel just great!) To Susan she said, "Your dad was absolutely correct. One for each year plus one to grow on." Then with loving smile she added, "Now who would you like to spank you first?" "That's nine spanks?" the girl confirmed looking at me with her eyes wide. I nodded. "From each of you?" I nodded again. "Well, since I'm over here anyway, I guess you might as well start, Daddy." With that she took my right hand and held it in both of hers. She turned it over and looked at my palm, then wriggled so she could put it on her left asscheek. "Oh, dear!" she whispered. "I think this is going to hurt." She looked up at me with tears at the corners of her eyes and said, "I'm ready for my birthday spanking, Daddy." Then she lifted my hand to her mouth and kissed my palm all over. As I said earlier, I do have large hands. I could just about spank both of her buns at the same time. But looking at her at that moment I doubted if I was capable of spanking her at all. She was just so damned beautiful! Susan positioned herself across my right leg with her ass in the air. Then to my utter amazement, I saw her buns relax as she said, "I'm trying to make my buns as soft as I can for you, Daddy, so you don't hurt your hand." Instead of spanking her, though, I began to caress her beautiful bottom as gently as I could. And Susie has an utterly gorgeous bottom: deeply tanned with skin as smooth as satin. But then intermittently I gave her a sharp spank. "Please, Daddy, no!" the little girl screamed. "If you're going to spank me, just do it. But this isn't fair! I can't get ready... And your caresses feel so wonderful..." _Crack!_ At that -- I guess it was number five -- her pelvis shuddered in orgasm. Her head came up and she looked at me with her eyes wide. "Daddy, you made me cum! At least I think that's whathappened." Twisting her torso she looked over at Jean and asked, "Was that an orgasm, Mommy? And does this mean I'm... I'm... amasochist?" "Yes, sweetie, that was an orgasm. Did you like the feeling?" "Utterly incredible!" the girl replied. "But... masochist...?" "Don't worry about it, my darling," Jean replied softly. "I'm afraid it just runs in the family. When you see Dad spank me -- as I'm sure you will sometime -- based on what happened last night, I won't just cum, I'll ejaculate. I'll shoot my cunt syrup all over the place. Maybe we're both masochists, sweetie, but I can live with it and I'm sure you can, too." After the fifth spank, Susan got off my leg and hobbled around to the other side to better expose her other bun. I really think the hobbling was for effect; I really don't think I was spanking her very hard. Before lying over my leg, though, she looked at my cock and her eyes widened. "Did I do that to you, Daddy? Did spanking me give you that luscious erection?" Turning toward Jean she asked, "Does this mean that I'll have to have a spanking before you two make love? Just so Daddy is really, really big and hard for you?" "Well..." Jean began thoughtfully, "it's probably not necessary. You're also very good with your mouth." Then her eyes became piercing and she demanded, "Did you take your father's cock all the way in?" "Was that wrong? Didn't I do it right?" "No, it wasn't wrong, although I'm not sure the child welfare people would agree. But how could you? You're so small and he's so big!" "It was really neat!" Susie responded with a bright grin. "And he's so huge, I'll bet that if he fucked me in the ass he would open a hole from my mouth to my asshole." With that she climbed over my leg and again softened her buns. This time she came with every spank. When it was over, I lifted her up and she sat across my lap. Turning her head, I kissed her gently, but that wasn't what she had in mind. This time it was my little girl's tongue that probed my mouth. ("My little girl"! And you know what? That's what she was... and still is.) Our mutual love just flowed back and forth for minutes. What an utter delight! "I love you so much, Daddy!" she exclaimed as she eased off my lap and went to her mother. Jean then did exactly the same thing to Susan that I had been doing. The only difference was that Susie had an orgasm with every one of Jean's nine spanks. When it was over, the two just kissed and cuddled. The two naked girls together were a sight to see. Two deeply tanned blondes, both with identically brilliant blue eyes, just caressing and cuddling. As far as Susan was concerned, I don't think I've ever seen a happier, more contented child. "Is it my turn now?" I spun around and found Sandy sitting on a boudoir chair, just watching. "Hi, Sis!" Susan exclaimed. "Guess what? It's not Aunt Jean and Uncle Jim any more. They're Mom and Dad now! Isn't thatsuper?" * * * If Susan was a gorgeous child, Sandy was an incredibly beautiful young lady on the cusp of womanhood at age 13. Already her breasts were forming, and it was easy to see that she would be Jean's twin. Her mother's twin. As I reflected on it, it was utterly astonishing. First, in appearance the three women would be identical. Sandy was already five feet six on her way to her mother's five feet nine. Like Jean, she had golden blonde hair that was even longer than Jean's. Later I learned that the girls had the same ability with hair that Jean had: Regardless of the styling, if it became mussed, it was restored to perfection by a hard shake of the head. It turned out that this was an ability that the slave girls -- Sheila, Stephanie, Sandra and Susan -- all had. Somehow they had managed to convey the ability to Jean. The relationship, though, was truly uncanny. There was no blood relationship between the girls on the one hand and Jean and me on the other, and yet... What Jean did for Susan only a mother would do. When Susan kissed me, there was love and joy, but so much more. I really felt that this gorgeous girl was my flesh and blood. But how could that be? And yet the feeling was so strong and it wouldn't go away... * * * "Does that mean I'm in this, too?" Sandy asked hesitantly. "Would you like to be, Sandy?" Jean replied softly, although the girl's question had been addressed to her sister. "Would you like to be a slut's daughter?" _"No!"_ Sandy nearly screamed. "You are not a slut! You're the most beautiful, the kindest, most loving..." Just then the girl noticed the Band-Aid over Jean's left nipple. "What's that for?" she asked. It was obvious she wasn't at all sure she wanted to hear the answer. "That's where I bit Mom's nipple off last night," Susan croaked. "Can you imagine? I was having a nightmare so Mom put her nipple in my mouth and told me to bite hard. I did. Then she told me to drink her milk, warm from her tit." Now the little girl was bawling, but she managed to continue, "But it wasn't milk, it was her blood. Can you imagine the agony she went through for me? Having me bite off her nipple so I could drink her blood from her tit? But that's what she did!" With that the girl turned toward Jean who held her tightly and whispered endearments in her ear while she gently stroked the lovely naked body in her arms. "Susie didn't bite it off," I told Sandy. "She almost did, but not quite. I sewed it back on later and now we just have to keep our fingers crossed. "You never had a chance to answer, Sandy. Would you like to call Jean, Mom?" I asked. "Will you be my dad, too?" the girl responded without answering my question. "Would you like me to be?" "Oh, Daddy! _Yes!"_ she screamed. Then she sat across my lap and proceeded to melt her lips to mine. It was an utterly lovely kiss. It was similar to the kisses I exchanged with Jean, but different. Then I realized what it was. First, it had the same love as Jean's but without her maturity. Beyond that, though, it didn't have the passion that I always sensed when I kissed Jean. But our kiss was simply marvelous! Following this, Sandy received fourteen spanks from me and the same number from Jean. Like her sister, after the first few, she came on every one. With tears flowing freely from her eyes, she came back to my arms to cuddle. Sandy was utterly beautiful and was sitting across my lap hugging me and kissing. And as I've already said, her kisses were something else! Just then Jean hit me on the arm with her fist and demanded, "Well?" "Well, what?" I responded, bewildered as usual. At that Sandy giggled and whispered, "Dad, Mom wants her 'good morning, lovely Jean' lovemaking." Sandy's giggle was the happiest, most musical sound I've ever heard. Moreover, I realized it was the very first sound approaching laughter I had ever heard from the girl. Later I learned it was the first such sound she had made subsequent to her release from her slavery. "Huh?" I responded with my customary quick wit. "She wants to be fucked!" At that Jean rapidly nodded her head up and down. "Neato!" Susie exclaimed. "Can I warm you up first, Mom?" "Thank you for the thought, sweetie, but I'm about to float away as it is," Jean replied. Taking the hint, I was about to move between Jean's wide-spread thighs when I felt the most wonderful sensation in my cock. There was Sandy with my cock in her mouth to the hilt. I could feel her tongue moving up and down my hardening shaft and even flicking out to lick my balls. "What _are_ you doing with my lover?" Jean demanded. All Sandy could do was to shake her head slightly which is what she did. For my part, she was quickly bringing me to a boil. My cock got bigger and harder, then I exploded in her mouth. Just as I exploded, the girl let out almost my entire length leaving just the head in her mouth. She was swallowing as fast as she could, but a little seeped out anyway. Did that end it? Oh, no! I had barely finished cuming when she took my cock from her mouth and admired it while licking what had escaped from her cheek. Then she popped it back in and repeated the process. How I got so hard again so fast, I didn't know, nor do I know now. But I did. At that point, she pulled me by my cock between Jean's legs. When she did, Jean raised her hips and the girl eased the head of my cock into her waiting vagina. Remembering the night before, I knew that Jean was going to be tight and she was. While I took short strokes going deeper into her gripping passage, she was wriggling to recreate the screwing motion that had worked before. At that point I leaned over and Jean raised her head from the pillow to meet me in a kiss. This time it was almost pure passion and it left me light-headed for a moment. Sandy had moved up on the bed and was lying beside Jean on her left side while her sister was on the right. The three snuggled while I stroked in and out, now reaching her full depth. Jean even had raised her legs and rested them on my shoulders so I could obtain the deepest possible penetration. "How's it feel, Mommy?" Sandy asked. "By the way, the reason I had Dad cum in my mouth was so he wouldn't get off too fast when he's in you." Then the girl grinned and added, "Golly, his spend is yummy! I just love it! Have you had him in your mouth yet?" "No, sweetie, I haven't," Jean replied. "I would far rather... have... it... in... _my cunt!"_ Her last words came in a scream as she reached her first orgasm. Now I was taking very long full strokes and could feel Jean rising quickly to another peak. "Now you see what it is that women have to put up with," she said with another scream as again an orgasm overtook her. "We're just depositories... for a man's... _fluids!"_ Her final scream was triggered by her third orgasm. Looking up, I saw that the two girls were just grinning. Clearly, neither thought her mother was in great need of sympathy. Sandy had done her work well. She had certainly taken the edge off my need to cum, so I was able to continue to fuck Jean, bringing her to orgasm faster and faster until it was essentially continuous. She had been screaming, "Fuck me!" but then the words became unintelligible. Now she was making inchoate noises and gasping for breath. At that I eased up to allow her to breathe again, then brought her back to her orgasmic heaven. I don't know how many cycles I took her through or how long she was in orgasm, but finally I couldn't hold out any longer. Driving my cock into her to the deepest extent possible, I really unloaded. My pulsating cock was all that was needed to bring Jean to her ultimate orgasm: she passed out. Nevertheless, her cunt muscles continued to milk my cock for the last drops of semen. Finally, I collapsed on top of her, trying as I did to stay away from her damaged left tit. "That was so neat, Daddy!" Susan exclaimed. "And boy, did you ever make Mommy happy! She was in heaven without having to die to get there." Then with the cutest look on her face she added, "At least I don't think you killed her..." Finally Jean recovered consciousness. "How was it?" I asked. "For your second time, it was pretty good," she managed to gasp out with a little grin. "In fact, darling, it was utterly great!" Then she stretched looking like a tigress as she did. "But now it's time to get rolling." With that she bounded from the bed and headed for the bath. The girls left in the direction of their own rooms and I followed Jean. After brushing my teeth, I was about to shower when Jean told me that that came later. She led the way out of the suite and down to the exercise room. Like our bedroom, it opened out on the pool deck. To say the room was fully equipped would be an understatement. I had thought that the equipment at the office was overdoing it bigtime, but I realized that the Callaways had every piece of equipment at home that we had at the office. The only difference was they didn't have multiple pieces of the same unit while there were several sets of multiples at the office for the most popular ones. Without another word Jean went to what was the first unit in her series, checked the weight settings and proceeded with her program. As she moved the unit I received confirmation of what I had already suspected: She was in incredibly good shape and very strong. I was astonished at the size of her muscles that became prominent as she worked. Then I had the bright idea of checking her weight settings... and almost died. I had guessed her weight at about 125 against my 210 or so, but she was moving more than twice the weight I used and I thought I was in good shape. Resolving to do something about that, I increased the weight I normally used and started my own routine. As I got started, the two girls came in and they, too, began to work out. It was funny, I guess. There we were, four of us, exercising strenuously, switching machines, all without saying a single word. Oh, well. Finally I finished and was thinking about breakfast. Oh, no. Jean just led the way out to the pool and dove in. Then she began what I came to think of as her "swimming to Michigan" routine. (Later I found that this was a term that Samantha first applied to Kate Callaway, but that was subsequently picked up and applied to all the women.) Jean just flowed smoothly through the water going back and forth in the 50-meter pool. I took another lane and started swimming, then heard two more splashes as the girls joined. Awhile later there were more. Samantha, Stephanie, and Mike were all now moving up and down, but there was still one lane open. Remarkable! * * * The next weeks were among the most contented of my life. The Chicago area was in the grip of a record-setting heat wave but for me it was an utter delight. First of all, it seemed we spent most of the daylight hours by the pool. I found I just loved to watch Jean no matter what she might be doing. Everything she did she did with an unconscious grace. Her body, I found, was indeed female perfection. She has long, utterly gorgeous slender legs, a very trim bottom, and luscious tits with their nipples always erect and tilted upward. Thankfully, my needle-and-thread work on her nipple got the job done. After a week, she had come to me with a pair of needle-nosed sewing scissors and told me it was time to remove the stitches. Swallowing hard, I had cut each one and then pulled out the thread. Once again, she didn't make a sound although it had to hurt like hell. When it was over, she again had trouble lifting her very firm tit up enough to get a good look at her nipple. Finally, she solved it by going into the bathroom and examining herself in the wall mirror and then using a magnifying makeup mirror. "It's perfect, Jim!" she screamed as she ran out from the house. "And just look!" I looked, but didn't see anything. "Look at what?" "My nipples, turkey! Don't you see? They're both fully erect, and they match." Then she called Susie over to show her. The little girl started crying with relief and Jean just hugged her tightly. I learned something else: Susie had not been lying when she said that her superb meal was only a weak imitation of what Jean could do. That woman's cooking was utterly fantastic. The very heavy exercising was one way of keeping the weight off. For that matter I had been steadily increasing my weight loadings and after a few weeks got to double Jean's. It must have been effective because one day she dropped to her knees beside the mat I was lying on and gently ran her fingers over my shoulders and upper arms. Now, for the first time in my life I had prominent muscles. "Yum!" she murmured. "What's that mean?" I asked. (I've been trying to tell you that I'm very slow about some things.) "Just 'yum'," was her only reply. Then there were the games. Aside from the computer flight games at which Jean killed me with monotonous regularity, we played with the two girls. It was hilariously funny teaching Susan and Sandra to play Bridge. It proved to be a very rapid learning experience for both of them... at a quarter a point. (No, not a quarter of a cent, a quarter.) A rubber score of 2,000 points is not uncommon, and that cost each of them $500. They learned incredibly fast. We also played board games, with Monopoly being a favorite. One day the four of us were playing and Susie landed on the Luxury Tax square. At the time she was the runaway leader with houses and hotels all over the board. She announced that her tax was $370. "Susan?" Jean asked instantly with an eyebrow raised. "Oh, darn! Mom, you're too good." Then with a disgusted grimace she admitted, "$375." As fast as Susie is in mental arithmetic, it was clear that Jean was at least as fast. * * * Then there were Sundays. Jean insisted that the four of us go to church every Sunday. The usual sequence in the pew was Susan, Jean, me and Sandy. While three of us participated, Sandy spent the entire time on the kneeler with an utterly anguished expression on her face. It wasn't uncommon to see tears flowing down her lovely cheeks. Clearly, Jean had been aware of what had been going on, so one Sunday, rather than returning home, she suggested seeing the priest about confession. The four of us went around to the rectory and were ushered in to the office where the priest who had just finished the Mass was waiting. "Father," Jean began, "this girl would like you to hear her confession. But before you hear hers, please hear mine. And I would like these people to hear it, too." While public confession is rare in the United States, it's fairly common in Europe and therefore is an accepted Church practice. The priest reluctantly agreed. Jean dropped to her knees in front of him and proceeded to unload. She literally took us back to when she was only 15 and brought us forward, blow by blow, to the very recent past. The girl spared herself nothing. If anything, she seemed to be going out of her way to paint her actions in the blackest possible manner. Furthermore, as she continued the narrative, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Since she was kneeling on a bare wood floor, her knees had to be killing her because it went on for about an hour and a half. Notwithstanding, she continued with her back up straight, her head up, and the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks to the floor. While this was going on, the girls had moved closer to me and I ended with my arms around them both. Tears were streaming from their cheeks, too, but these were tears of sorrow for what their beloved mother was doing to herself. Finally it came to an end. Only then did I see that the priest's eyes weren't dry. I had to blink a few times to see it, because mine weren't very dry, either. I was surprised by what came next. Instead of completing Jean's confession, the priest asked, "Isn't the purpose of this to hear this girl's confession?" "Yes, Father," Jean murmured. "Then I'll hear her now," he said. I helped Jean to her feet and then to a chair -- the only time that's ever happened -- because after an hour and a half, her muscles refused to work. She sat down gracefully and gratefully, giving me a loving thank-you. Sandy dropped to her knees occupying the place where Jean had been for so long. After her introduction, she told how she had branded herself, begged to be whipped, and pleaded to be raped. As we listened to the girl, I could no longer control myself. I was weeping and Jean came into my arms, weeping too. After blinking a couple of times to try to clear my eyes, I looked at the priest and could see that tears were rolling down his cheeks in twin streams as he listened to this beautiful girl abase herself. Finally it concluded as Sandy croaked, "For these and all the sins of my past life I am very sorry." Tears were pouring unchecked down her cheeks as she looked up at the priest. He helped Sandy to her feet and back to a chair. Again I was surprised when he turned to Susan and asked, "How about you, young lady? Would you like me to hear your confession, too?" "Oh yes, Father!" the girl exclaimed. "Will you please?" With that she took Sandy's place and began. She told how she had mutilated herself by branding, how she had taken many men in her mouth and eaten more cunts than she could count, all in hopes of trying to spare her sister some torture. Finally, she, too, finished and looked up at the priest with tears flowing down her cheeks but with hope in her eyes. It was this hope that had been totally missing from Sandy's. It took awhile for the priest to be able to speak. While he was regaining control, he had helped Susan back to a chair and then again took his seat behind a large desk. Finally to the two girls he said, "You would like absolution for your sins, wouldn't you?" "Oh yes, Father," the two responded in unison. However, Susie's was both a more certain response and a more hopeful oe. "I would like to give it, but I can't," the priest said softly. The girls -- particularly Susie -- looked crestfallen and Susie looked genuinely shocked. "But... But..." she cried, "I thought that God would forgive a sinner if she was truly sorry for her sins..." "That's true," the priest replied, "but neither of you have committed any. Your souls are pure. "What did I hear? I heard a girl describe how she tortured herself, pleaded with others to torture her still more, abased herself to an incredible degree, but for what? To try to spare her young sister from a rape that was inevitable. Then there's the sister who permanently disfigures herself to try to save her older sister. "Girls, there _was no sin_ in what you did." Gently he continued, "I am not a priest here in the parish. I only come to say Mass on Sundays. I am a professor of moral theology at the diocesan seminary here in Chicago. I have my doctorate in the subject. What I heard were not sins. They were both incredible examples of personal sacrifice to help someone else. This was sacrifice of a type and at a level that is almost beyond belief, but I'm certain you could both show me the brands on your flanks to prove it. "All I can say, Sandra and Susan, is that you are both blessed in the sight of Almighty God. _There is no sin!"_ he repeated emphatically. "But I pleaded with people to rape me, to whip me..." Sandy insisted. "Why?" the priest asked quietly. "To... To... To try to keep their attention away from Susie," the girl stammered. "I rest my case," the priest concluded. Then to Jean he said, "There's something here I just don't understand. Both of these girls are your image; in just a few years they'll both be your twins... or triplets... or whatever. Why did you do what you just did?" Then he stunned us all. "This isn't the first time you've confessed those sins, is it?" Jean just gasped and turned gray under her deep tan. "I thought not," the priest continued. "I didn't think there could possibly be two utterly beautiful blue-eyed blondes in the Chicago area who had done all the things you did." Then with a warm smile he continued, "Jean, your first confession has become famous in the diocese, and its fame is spreading. Your confession is held up as the model of true contrition and sorrow for one's sins. But why did you go through it all again? I really can't give you absolution, because those sins have already been absolved. "I must say, though, that when I first heard the story, I was quite skeptical. I was convinced that the priest who heard it from you was... embellishing, shall we say? But now I know first-hand that, if anything, he downplayed the reality. "Now tell me. Why did you do it?" "So these girls could learn what a horrible person the woman they insist on calling 'Mommy' really is! I'm an utter disgrace to the human race!" Jean screamed and then collapsed in a paroxysm of tears. In spite of her struggles, I managed to take her into my arms and hold her tightly while she cried her eyes out. Susie then told how Jean had insisted that she bite off her nipple so she could drink her blood instead of the mother's milk she didn't have to give. Sandy told how, with the exception of being branded, Jean had experienced every single thing that had happened to her, and more than once as he had just heard. "She's my mommy and I adore her," Sandy wailed. Susan repeated the same thing. "Jean," the priest said, "I think Sandra has said it all. You have personally experienced everything that's ever happened to her, except for the branding. And unlike many, you are neither appalled nor repelled. You truly know what it's like. Beyond that, though, it's clear that both of these girls are extremely bright as are you. As I said before, physically they're both going to be your duplicates. "But beyond that, Jean, there is your incredible love. You truly love these girls _as a mother loves her daughters._ Truly, you are their mother. And I think it's just great." Finally, with a very warm smile he asked, "Now is there anything else I can do for you? Because if not, it's long past my time to eat, and I'm hungry." "We haven't eaten, either, Father," Jean replied, "and I'm sure to get a very well-deserved spanking for starving my family, too." The priest looked at me with his eyebrow raised in a question. I quickly nodded in the affirmative. "Well... James, I could not imagine a more shapely bottom for you to be spanking." "You sure got that one right, Father!" I replied with a grin. * * * The next episode involved Mike Mitchell and Stephanie Callaway. It turned out that for most of the prior year, Stephanie had devoted herself to fixing Mike up for dates with the very best girls in the school and anywhere else she could find them. Mike went along with it with all the enthusiasm one might have for having impacted wisdom teeth removed. Finally, though, he had had enough. There was a big 4th of July party set for another student's home that also had a swimming pool. It was a semi-cooperative affair with the kids who wanted to attend putting up $20 per person for a band that had been hired, for food, and so forth. Mike had paid the money and told Steph that he was going to go with her. He said it with such emphasis, there really wasn't any room for argument, but Stephanie tried anyway. To every objection she raised, he had an answer. The result was that they were going to go to the party, even though Stephanie was in tears when the argument ended. I was lying on a mat by the pool late one morning with Sandy beside me on one side and Susie on the other. About 25 yards away, Jean was talking to Stephanie. Both were on their backs on mats, but now they were propped up on their elbows. It was obvious to me from the tears I could see glistening on Steph's cheeks that Jean was reading her the riot act about something. "Damn!" I muttered. "I wish I could hear what Jean is saying." "It's funny as hell," Sandy responded. "She's telling her that she has absolutely everything a guy could possibly want in a girl. 'You're beautiful, Steph. The most gorgeous girl in the school.' "How can you know that?" I asked in amazement. "Because I'm listening to them is how," Sandy replied reasonably. "Oh, dear!" "What was that about?" "Steph just said that I'm more beautiful than she is and experienced besides. I would give Mike the fucking of his life." Then in spite of the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks at the words, she brightened and continued, "But Mommy said, 'She is like hell prettier than you are. Sandy will be one of the world's outstanding beauties, Steph, but she's only 13. She's just started to take on a woman's form...' "Dad, is there any hope for me?" Sandy asked, turning toward me while cupping her forming tits. She pulled on her nipples making her already-erect pink nubbins still longer. She still had a ways to go, but she would eventually be as perfect as Jean. (The significance of those words didn't register in my brain at the time.) "You're going to be perfect, Sandy. But Steph is ahead of you. I guess she's about 75 percent of the way there; you're maybe one-third. How's that?" "Better than nothing, I guess... Uh, oh!" "What was that about?" "Mom's beaten her into submission about going to the pool party, and now the subject has turned to bathing suits." Sandy giggled -- an utterly beautiful and happy sound -- and continued, "If Steph had her way, she'd wear one of those bathing costumes from the 1890's, but Mom is insisting on a bikini. 'But they'll see my brands!' Steph protested. 'That's too damned bad. They're there and they're real. Stephanie Callaway, you have an utterly perfect figure, perfect skin and a glorious tan. You're going to flaunt it. And that's final!' "Boy, I guess Mom really told her!" "How do you know all this?" I asked. I had heard about Sheila's acute hearing, but everyone put it down to her period of blindness. "I'm listening to them is how," Sandy replied. "But how?" She turned toward me and said, "Because we're not really human, I guess." At that she got off her mat and lay down on top of me. "Do you mind, Dad?" "Are you kidding?" I replied squeezing her buns and provoking a marvelous contented sound. "We -- Sheila, Steph, Susie and me -- have talked about it. There are just too many holes. We've come to the conclusion we're from someplace else. "First, there's the fact that none of us -- not even Sheila -- have any memory of what came before our slavery. For Sheila that lasted for a couple of years, yet that only takes her back to age 13 or so. What happened before that? She doesn't know and none of the rest of us know, either. "Then there are some of our peculiar abilities. It's funny really. It's as if I have an automatic tape recorder running in my head. When I hear a conversation or something, it's automatically recorded. And I mean it's automatic. I never even think about it. Not only is it recorded, it's indexed in some way. I can go back to any event and play it back verbatim." Then she looked at me and added, "But again, there's nothing from before our slavery. "Actually, that recording ability was really handy for Sheila. When she started singing, it never occurred to anyone to wonder how she knew all the songs. It was pretty simple. While Sam was at cheerleading practice, Sheila would go to the library to study. There they have a whole bunch of folk music recordings. Sheila would do her studying while she wore earphones listening to the folk songs. It seems as if the recording function bypasses the brain somehow; most of the time she had no memory of ever hearing _of_ the song, let alone hearing it, least of all knowing it, but if it was one she had recorded, it came up instantly when someone mentioned the name. "Our hearing facility is different, though. That's a conscious function." "How far can you hear?" I asked. "I don't really know, Dad. It's greater than 100 yards, though. It seems that if I can see it, I can hear it." Sandy grinned and continued, "It's really sort of neat. I'll look at someone speaking and the antenna or whatever locks on. I can turn around, the person can move almost anywhere, but I'm still hearing what's being said." This was an incredible conversation. "Why do you think you're from someplace else, though?" "The abilities we have, coupled with another thing: Sheila's experience." "What about Sheila's experience?" "She's not too sure, either, but she was enslaved for almost two years and almost starved to death, too. The rest of us were only in captivity for a few months, and that didn't start until Kate Callaway freed Sheila. That seems to have been the trigger for the rest of us to follow along." Utterly weird, I thought, yet it all seemed to fit together. "What the heck," Sandy continued, "we may not be human but we're close enough for all practical purposes. We can breed with humans, for example." "How do you know that?" "Because Sheila's about to give birth to Jim's child is how I know." _"What?"_ I exclaimed. "I never heard a word about her being pregnant." "And you still haven't. Okay, Dad? The only ones who know are my sisters and me. Please don't tell anyone else," she pleaded. "But if she's about to give birth, Jim must know," I insisted. "Why must he know?" I made a motion on my abdomen indicating a swelling belly. All that did was to provoke another lovely giggle from Sandy and from Susie, too, this time. Clearly, she had been listening to our conversation. "That's another reason we don't think we're human," Sandy continued. "Humans swell and gain weight. We don't swell and don't gain weight. In fact, if the infant weighs nine pounds, we'll have lost about 11 pounds after delivering the baby along with the packing material and stuff." Then she pouted and added, "But we can't even look forward to having big boobs, either. Our nipples get a little fuller is all, and the baby has all the milk it can drink." "How do you know this?" I insisted. "After all, Sheila hasn't delivered yet." "That's true, but we just know. I do know that when Dad fucked her brains out last Christmas, she was already in her second month. That's why she was so happy. Birth control is fine, but it's a long way from perfect. This way she's certain that her baby is Jim's, not Jack's. And she still hasn't gained an ounce." "But why hasn't she told Jim? He's going to be the father, after all." "Two reasons: First, he might stop spanking her. I guess we're all a little masochistic or something. Anyway, Sheila often will do something that provokes a spanking. Jim will really wale her bottom, then she'll insist that he fuck her in the ass. She says that the combination of his cock stretching her ass and his body slamming into her tortured buns really sets her off like a rocket! She says that she's usually out like a light at least until the next morning. "Second, what she really wants to do is to give birth by herself and then greet Jim that evening cooking in the kitchen with the infant nursing at her breast. He'll utterly freak! It will be just so great!" _"By herself?"_ I asked incredulously. "Sure," Sandy replied insouciantly. "Why wouldn't she?" Then she grinned and explained, "I guess we've sort of streamlined the birth process. First of all, it's less painful -- and less time consuming -- than a normal bowel movement. I've already told you about the weight gain -- or lack of one. Anyway, the delivery works the same way." Then she paused and looked a bit puzzled but continued, "It's funny. These are just things we know. I don't know how we know, but we just do." Smiling happily now she continued, "The neat thing about that one is that it's one of our transferrable skills or abilities or whatever." "What's that mean?" "It means that Sheila has given that ability to Mom and Samantha. They'll be pregnant and deliver the same way we do. And we've given it to... someone else." "Who?" I asked. "Dad, ours is a very strange relationship. You see, I'm telling you things you've never heard before because you asked. I must tell you anything you want to know. I can't lie and I can't hold back." "But you just did. Hold back, I mean. You just said 'someone else' without a name." "Dad, that's the only exception." Then she looked at me strangely and added, "You know, grownups are awfully dumb sometimes." That comment provoked a derisive laugh from Susie who added, "They sure are, aren't they?" The little girl appeared to be sleeping on her back with her head resting on the mat and her arms outstretched. Her legs were spread wide apart; she was almost doing a full split while lying on the mat. "Why are your legs like that, Susie?" I asked. "So my inner thighs and pussy will tan, too," she replied with her eyes still closed. "But why?" "So I'll be as pretty as it's possible for me to be for you and Mom," she replied softly. "I know my body isn't very much so I try to make myself as pretty as I can." She lifted her head up to look at me and added, "Is that wrong, Daddy?" "Sweetie, you're utterly gorgeous. But beyond that you're the most loving and lovable girl your mother and I could even imagine." "Uh, oh! Now she's done it!" Sandy interrupted. Although she had been focusing on Susie and me, apparently her hearing was still tuned to Jean and Stephanie. "What's going on?" I asked. "Steph just announced that she's not wearing a bikini and that's final." The girl grimaced and said, "She's going to have a very tender ass in a minute or two!" Then she shrugged and added, "I guess it's a good thing that bruises clear up on our bodies quickly. Otherwise she would be showing the livid marks on her ass from Mom's beating at the party." _"Beating?"_ I exclaimed. "What beating?" "Oh, Dad...!" Sandy replied in an exasperated tone as if she were addressing a thick-headed four-year-old. "Just watch." So I did. Jean had lifted Stephanie off her mat, put her over her legs and was waling the tar out of her. Even at our distance, though, I could see that Steph was trying to soften her buns as much as she could. "'What are you wearing to the party?' Mom is demanding," Sandy reported. "'Not a bikini!' Steph is screaming. 'You're going to wear what I say, do what I say, and there will be no argument, young lady! Do you understand?' Oh, dear! Dad, she's really mad now. And she's beating the shit out of poor Stephanie. Dear sister won't be able to sit comfortably for a week! "Oh, dear! Now Mom's spun Steph around on her lap so she can beat on her other bun just as hard. Steph is really screaming now! I'll bet you can hear her from here, can't you?" In fact I could. "That's about it," Sandy reported. "I guess Mom... persuaded her... that resistance on this one is futile... and very painful. 'I give up!' Steph just screamed. Mom's still beating her but asked, 'What's that mean?'" Sandy gave me a quick grin and said, "Dad, do me a favor?" "What's that, honey?" "When Mom gets that determined look in her eye, would you please kick me in the ass or something and tell me to shut up! It's going to be her way, anyway, but I'll avoid being beaten bloody in the meantime." I grinned at her, winked and nodded my head. "'I'll do whatever you want, whenever you want, with no if's and's or but's,' Steph screamed. 'Are you sure?' Mom demanded. 'I swear it! Only please stop! I can't take it any more!' That poor kid is really hurting badly now. Mom has really been slamming her and _she's strong!"_ "'Oh my God! What have I done to you?' Mom just screamed. I guess she finally realized that she's really been hitting her hard." Then Sandy grinned and said, "But I think Steph will feel better soon... Or at least be feeling something else to take her mind off her pain." Jean was kneeling on the mat between Stephanie's legs and had raised her legs over her shoulders bringing her pussy within easy reach of her mouth. "'Stephanie Callaway, you're a masochist too!' Mom whispered. 'Your cunt is sopping!'" I watched as Jean really worked on the girl's cunt. Soon it wasn't necessary to have Sandy's blow-by-blow; we could all hear Steph's screams of ecstasy as Jean brought her to orgasm after orgasm. Then I think she bit down hard on Steph's clit and I _know_ she spanked a bruised bun hard at the same instant. Steph went off like a rocket! The poor girl looked like she was coming apart as it appeared that every muscle in her body was in spasm. Then the girl just went limp. Jean continued kneeling there for a few more moments, then picked the unconscious girl up in her arms as if she were weightless and carried her over toward us. "Come on, girls. I need some help with your sister." With Sandy and Susie trailing behind and me following, we trooped into the house to the bathroom. There Jean lowered the girl into our baby swimming pool referred to by some as our bathtub. Jean sat on an inside ledge with Steph's head on her shoulder. While the girls used musk oil to massage the girl's body, Jean just kissed and fondled her all over. Slowly, Steph regained consciousness and began returning Jean's kisses with her own. Then she pulled away slightly just enough to bring Jean's eyes into focus and asked, "Aunt Jean, do I really have to wear a bikini?" Jean just raised an eyebrow and looked meaningfully at the palm of her hand. That was a revelation, too; her palm was scarlet. She must have really bruised it. It had to be hurting like hell, too, but Jean had never let on. Steph saw it and her eyes widened. "Oh, God! Did I do that to you with my hard ass? Aunt Jean, I'm so sorry!" With that the girl took Jean's hand in hers, brought it to her mouth and proceeded to kiss and lick it. "I really tried to keep my buns soft for you," the girl insisted. "Honest I did." "I know you did, sweetie. And I'm so sorry for hurting you so!" Then both started to weep while kissing each other everywhere. I'll never understand women! Here one is crying because she spanked the other so hard, while Steph is crying because Jean hurt her hand doing it. Following that episode, Jean took Stephanie, put her on the massage table and proceeded very tenderly to put pain-reducing ointment over her now-scarlet buns, then put her to bed. The girl fell asleep instantly. * * * Over the next few days, things really moved fast. First, Jean hauled Stephanie off to shop for a dress and a bathing suit. The dress didn't concern me, but I was involved with the bathing suit. They came back with two. Or really, one and a half. The one was a luscious white bikini. The "half" was a monokini that was really a fabric-covered U-shaped spring. A wider part covered her slit -- mostly -- while the thinner end followed the crack of her ass. That one didn't last very long. When she put on the bikini and came into the living room to show it to us, she was tugging on the loin piece to get it higher. "What are you doing?" Jean asked. "Trying to get it up, Aunt Jean," the girl replied. "I don't really want to have to trim my pubic hair any more than it is and it keeps spilling over the top!" Jean went over to where she was standing, moved the tiny thing down and then carefully flicked some of Steph's cunt hair so it flowed over the top. "It's perfect, sweetie!" she exclaimed. "How many of your friends have sun-streaked pubic hair? It's perfect!" "But..." the girl sputtered. "Look at it this way: You're wearing far more than you usually do when you're swimming, right?" "Yes, but..." "So what's the problem?" "Then there's my dress..." "What about your dress?" "We didn't buy a bra, and I've been looking at it... I can't figure out what possible sort of bra I could wear." "That's simple enough," Jean replied blithely. "You just don't wear one." "But my nipples will show!" the girl wailed. "I guess they will, won't they?" Jean conceded. "It is sort of thin on top." Then with a lovely warm smile she added, "Just don't forget to keep them nice and taut. It'll drive the guys wild!" And that ended that. The next thrilling episode in this saga took place at Andy Shepherd's. (That's Andre's to everyone else in Chicagoland, the most elite beauty salon in the area.) Although normally Andy -- Andre being his professional name -- only supervised his staff of highly skilled stylists, the Callaway women were his personal clients. I guess it must have been funny as hell. Jean took all the girls over that time: Samantha, Stephanie, Sandy, and Susan. She explained to Andy about the very peculiar facility the girls had with their hair, a facility they had transferred to both Sam and herself. However, I learned later from Susie that when Jean had mentioned herself, she had looked a bit odd, although Susie couldn't quite figure out why. This seemed to solve a great problem for Andy, though. All the women, from Kate down, had utterly gorgeous hair. But they also had a solid requirement that no hairdo could require any nighttime maintenance; if it didn't hold together in bed, it was worthless. Learning that regardless of the hairdo, a quick shake would restore it made Andy wild with excitement at the prospect. He used poor Stephanie as his test vehicle, creating ever more elaborate hairdos, then scrambling them with his hands, only to have Steph restore them to perfection with a single shake of her head. To Andy it was the most fantastic thing he had ever seen. Moreover, the hairdo held in place without spray, setting gel or anything else he previously might have used to essentially glue hairs in place. Anyway, by the end of the afternoon, all of the women's hair had been restyled. When I first set eyes on Jean, she was looking at me with her eyes wide and tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. "My God! Honey, what have you done?" With that her tears really started to flow, but stopped suddenly when I continued, "You're magnificent! My God, your hair is utterly gorgeous." A beaming smile replaced her fear in an instant. All of the women were utterly gorgeous. This brings me to the big evening, or more accurately, big afternoon. Because the party was a pool party, barbecue and dance, it was scheduled to begin at 3:00 in the afternoon. Starting right after lunch, Jean and the girls had taken their sister off. There was a bath, a musk-oil massage and I don't know what all. All I do know is that Mike Mitchell was due to pick her up at 2:30; his mother desperately wanted to see Steph before they went to the party. Anyway, a little after two o'clock, Stephanie appeared by herself. "How do I look, Uncle Jim?" she asked tremulously. I had been watching a golf match (I think) and was looking in the opposite direction. Responding to her question, I turned around and then did a double-take. Rising as if in a daze -- which is an accurate description of my condition -- I moved toward her, then just stopped and looked. "Stephanie Callaway, it's absolutely impossible for a woman to look any better than you do right now! Impossible!" Then I moved closer and studied her face. Her emerald-green eyes were bright, but they seemed to be set off somehow. I have very sharp eyes, but even after moving very close there was no sign of any makeup, yet I had never seen the girl look so good. "What have you done, Steph?" I asked, utterly bewildered. "You have to be made up, but there's no trace of anything. Sweetie, you're stunning!" "It's Aunt Jean," Steph replied with a lovely and loving grin. "Andy Shepherd says she's the finest makeup artist alive. And it's all waterproof, too. He says he's never seen anyone in her class where it comes to highlighting features without leaving a trace of having done anything at all. But do you really like it?" Instead of answering, I took the girl in my arms. When I did, she raised her head and melted her lips to mine in one of the most loving kisses I've ever had. Then I reached down and pinched her lovely bottom. "Ouch!" she squealed. Then she grinned and added, "The bruises don't show anymore but I'm still pretty tender down there." Another grin and she added, "Good grief, Aunt Jean really hits hard. She may be even stronger than Mommy, and she was really mad. I couldn't sit comfortably for a week, and I still feel it when I sit down." When we parted, I saw Jean and the girls standing in the doorway, watching. Jean was so happy she just might have floated away. When the kids left she told me, "Jim, that was the nicest thing you could have done for that girl. She was so worried, but you said all the right things." Then she gave me a kiss that melted me to the floor, along with the promise of much better things to come later. When Mike arrived he looked at Steph and was dumbstruck. Finally he was able to say, "Steph, I knew you were beautiful, but my God! I'm escorting the most beautiful girl in the world!" "Oh, Mike!" she exclaimed. "I'm so happy you like the way I look." Then she melted her lips to his. This time we could all hear the bells ringing and feel the electricity between them. The flow of pure passion was palpable... and lovely. Then Mike pinched her bun, but instead of squealing like she had with me, she just crushed her body closer to his and moved sinuously against him. Later, when I asked Jean about the difference in reaction to the pinches, all I got was a disgusted look and an even more disgusted, "Men!" I didn't find her response very informative. Mike had only obtained his driver's license a short time before, but for the occasion the Mitchell's had allowed him to use their Mercedes convertible. It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud as Mike treated Stephanie like the finest china, holding the door, helping her in... It was wonderful. * * * What follows was gleaned from Mike, Stephanie and others after the event. But for ease of narration, rather than have strings of quotes within quotes, I'm going to take the role of narrator for a while. Just so you know what's going on... * * * As he had promised, Mike first drove back to his house so his mother could see Stephanie. When they entered the house, Karen Mitchell, Mike's mother, screamed, "I don't believe it! No woman can possibly be as beautiful as you are today, Stephanie Callaway! You are utterly gorgeous." She took the girl in her arms and melted her lips to hers. Again there was an exchange of the purest love that left Karen weak-kneed. When they finally separated, Karen screamed for her husband, Doug. When he came into the room, his reaction was the same as mine. Then Karen said, "Effective immediately, Stephanie Callaway, I _am not_ 'Mrs. Mitchell'! Clear? You can call me Karen, Doug's hot cunt... I don't care, _but not,_ 'Mrs. Mitchell'!" "Could I call you Mother?" Stephanie asked softly. "Oh my God!" Karen screamed. _"Can you?_ Young lady, I would be the proudest woman on the planet if you called me Mother. I can't believe I could possibly be so lucky!" With that she took Steph by the hand, sat in a wing chair and sat Stephanie on her lap. What followed must have been funny. There's Karen crying her eyes out because she's so happy, trying to hug Stephanie as tightly as she could, but at the same time desperately trying to keep her tears from falling on Steph's dress. "My darling daughter!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, dear God, for giving me this angel as my daughter. What have I done to achieve this incredible fortune?" "You really like the way I look, Mother?" Steph asked softly. "Like? _Like?"_ Karen almost screamed. "Stephanie Callaway Mitchell, to say you look beautiful is like saying the Mona Lisa is a picture. Both statements are true, but so understated as to be lies. Young lady, it's impossible for a woman to look more beautiful than you look right now. Understand?" Remarkably, it actually seemed to be penetrating to Steph that she really was beautiful. It was repeated with Doug Mitchell who was left reeling by the power of Stephanie's kiss. As they prepared to leave, Karen announced that she was going to talk to Kate Callaway as soon as she returned about adopting Stephanie as her own daughter. "That's in case my son is so damned dumb he manages to lose you. He might, but I certainly won't." Then her parting comment, "Have a wonderful time, kids. And Stephanie... Knock 'em dead!" * * * Mike was standing by the swimming pool with his friend, Sean Farrell. Sean was not only Mike's friend, he was his football-field protector. As a right-handed quarterback, Mike was potentially vulnerable to being blind-sided from the left. Sean, the left tackle, was charged with his protection. And, like Mike, only 16, Sean was already six feet four, 235 pounds and still growing. It's fair to say Sean was well suited to his mission. The pair were eyeing Diane Collins and Candy Price. The party was at the Collins's and it was Diane's pool. However, in size it was less than a quarter of the Callaway's, being 25 yards by five lanes compared to the Callaway's 50 meters by 8 full-width lanes. In appearance the two girls were quite similar. Diane was five feet five with brown hair and brown eyes; Candy was about an inch shorter but with the same coloration. Both girls were wearing Speedo one-piece racing suits, and from the pale skin that showed whenever a strap shifted, it was apparent that the suits were the girls' normal swimming attire. Then Stephanie appeared in her white bikini. "My Lord, she's gorgeous!" Sean whispered reverently. There was one oddity in the relationship between Mike and Sean. For several months, Sean had been coming up to Mike and Stephanie and asking, "Is he treating you right?" When she smiled and assured him that Mike was, he wandered off again. But he kept asking the question for no good reason that Mike could figure. Then Mike heard Sean say with his voice cracking, "What a terrible thing to do to such a perfect girl!" Looking up, Mike was amazed to see tears flowing down the young giant's cheeks. It was obvious he was referring to the still-livid SLUT branded on Stephanie's flank. Looking up, he saw Diane and Candy looking at Steph with jealousy that was palpable even from the distance. Clearly, they hated Steph's guts, Diane most of all. Mike knew why, of course, and could scarcely keep from laughing. Diane was one of the very long string of girls -- essentially every female with two legs in the school and adjacent territories -- with whom Steph had fixed him up. Moreover, he knew that Diane had a mad crush on him. But for his part, even putting Steph out of the picture which was an impossible thing to do, he really couldn't stand the girl. In Mike's opinion, Diane Collins was the classic rich bitch. She was a snob. She lorded it over everyone, and particularly looked down on the "little people." What Mike found so funny was that Stephanie's family wealth was greater than the Collins' by at least two orders of magnitude, but beyond that -- although Mike didn't know for sure -- he was almost certain that Stephanie's personal wealth exceeded that of the Collins's. Steph ignored the looks of jealousy -- and, Mike thought, possibly hatred on Diane's part -- and dove into the pool. Easily, she stroked up and then back. He noticed that Diane was watching her closely. When Steph finished her lap, she was standing in the shallow water and checked to ensure that her bra was still in place. Diane came over and said, "How about a race?" Seeing the look in Diane's eyes, Steph replied, "Sure. But it looks like you want to make a bet. Do you?" "I sure do!" the girl responded, scarcely able to control her glee. "If I win, I get to go out with Mike for the next 30 days and you don't get to see him at all. How's that?" "What distance?" Steph asked without responding to the wager. "A hundred yards," Diane quickly replied. "That's four lengths of the pool." "But what do I get if I win?" Stephanie asked. Clearly, even the possibility of losing had never crossed Diane's mind so the question took her aback. After thinking for a few moments she said, "I'll be your personal slave for 30 days. How's that?" After looking thoughtful for a few moments -- which Mike knew was as phony as a three-dollar bill -- she said, "Okay. It's abet." By this time many of the other partygoers had changed and were out on the pool deck. The word of the bet spread like wildfire. One boy said loudly enough for many to hear, "What's Stephanie thinking about? Diane will kill her!" "Jason," Mike said to the boy, "you're the inveterate gambler at school, I hear. Want to make a bet on Diane? If the odds are right, I'll take it." "Ten to one?" Jason asked. He was prepared to go much higher, but as far as he was concerned offering only 10-1 made it a true sucker bet, a license for him to print money. "Okay," Mike said, "for $10." The two boys shook on it. Moments later, Mike had made nine other similar bets with others. "What in hell _are_ you doing?" Sean asked him in shock. "You don't have that kind of money to lose, Mike. You've bet $100!" "But they're going to lose $1,000," Mike replied with a grin. "How can they?" Sean asked. "Diane's ranked in the top 10 among juniors in the state and she's captain of the swim team!" He paused and added, "And she has her own pool to practice in,too." "Just watch," Mike replied without further comment. Because Mike was the object of the wager, Diane asked him to call the start. Diane was in lane 2 with Stephanie in lane 4. As the starter, Mike was standing between them. Because Diane was a competitive swimmer, the pool was equipped with regulation-size starting boxes that the girls were using. "Take your marks! "Get set... "Go!" Mike yelled. Diane was off like a shot while Stephanie just stood there watching her go. "Stephanie Callaway, you're a witch!" he whispered. Steph turned, winked and then went off the box like a shot. Her dive seemed to carry her nearly half way down the pool. At the first turn, Diane was more than a body length ahead, but Stephanie made a perfect racing turn and got a powerful drive off the wall to take the lead. With a very powerful kick and a perfect stroke, she seemed to extend her lead on Collins with every stroke. As she drove for the finish she was ahead by almost the length of the pool. Reaching the wall, she was about to pull herself out when Mike motioned across his chest. Steph just winked and he pointed toward the wall where Steph's bikini top was floating close to the gutter. Stroking over, she picked it up and carefully fitted it to her beautiful breasts. She was pulling herself out of the pool when Diane finished. The girl had to rest on her arms at the wall before she could gather enough strength to get out. When she did, she just stood there as an expression of stunned amazement spreading over her face. It was only then that the significance of her loss sank in. She was Stephanie's slave for the next 30 days. Steph was just watching, scarcely able to control her own amusement. "You won," Diane said in a voice that cracked and was barely above a whisper. "Guess so," Steph agreed. "And I'm your slave for the next 30 days?" "That was the bet," Stephanie agreed. "How about a rematch?" Diane asked, hoping against hope to avoid slavery. "At what distance?" Steph replied in a flat tone of voice. "How about a distance race? How about 1,000 yards?" the girl replied. Although she was a sprinter and 100 yards was her best distance, Diane felt that she spent enough time in the pool that she could easily take this girl at a longer distance. "What's the bet?" Steph asked without acknowledging Diane's response. "Double or nothing," Diane instantly replied. "If you win, I'm your slave for 60 days. If I win, we're even." "Done!" Steph replied, extending her hand. Diane took it and the girls shook on the bet. Meanwhile, the others were in a state of utter shock. The captain of the swim team had not only lost, she had been slaughtered. While Diane was trying to cover her loss, so were the people -- including two girls, one of whom was Diane's best friend, Candy Price. When to a person, they, too, wanted to go double or nothing, Mike just shook his head and said, "First you have to pay off on the first round. Then I might -- or might not -- talk about another bet." The guys went back to the house and returned with the money they had lost. The two girls claimed not to have the money with them. Jason, the gambler, went 10 to 1 on $100 this time. The rest of the guys just wanted their hundred back, so they went 5 to 1 on another $100, just trying to get even. The other girl called it quits, but Candy joined Jason, going 10 to 1 on $100. Mike took all the bets with a grin. As the two girls moved toward the starting boxes, Mike followed while Sean Farrell came along behind. Sean was in an state of utter shock. First, although he had thought Stephanie was the most beautiful girl in the world, her incredible beauty that day had taken him aback. But then there was her decisive victory in the race. To the young man, it didn't compute. While Diane Collins was shorter, she was also quite chunky with well-developed shoulders and upper arms. Stephanie Callaway, on the other hand, showed no muscles at all, just utterly flawless skin except for those horrible brands on her flanks. Moreover, the boy thought, there's no way she can take Diane at a distance in her own pool. He had noted that Candy Price, Diane's best friend, put her money where her mouth was, and as a member of the swim team knew first-hand how good Diane really was. Again, Mike was the starter. With the girls on the starting boxes, Stephanie called out, "Does anyone have a stopwatch?" One of the boys had a stopwatch function of the waterproof watch he was wearing. To Diane, Stephanie asked, "What's your best time for 100yards?" "Fifty-three seconds," Diane replied. "Okay, then," Stephanie answered, "to show you what a sport I am, I'll make it easy for you. I'll give you a 53-second head start. Fair?" Diane was stunned. She was being offered what amounted to a 100-yard head start in a 1,000 yard race. "Hell, yes, it's fair. Done!" With that the girl thought she had it iced. _There's no way I can lose,_ she thought, _when Callaway is giving me that kind of edge._ The kids betting with Mike checked and he assured them that the bets were still on in spite of the change in the race. It was all he could do to keep from laughing as Steph sat on her box, reaching down to dangle her feet in the water while Diane took her mark. Again Mike ran through the starting sequence and on his word Diane was off the box like a shot. Stephanie appeared to be having fun just splashing water with her feet. After half a minute, she languidly rose to her feet, shook her arms which was her concession to warming up, and just stood there. Mike was watching the LCD numbers on the stopwatch, and when they showed 45 seconds, he said, "Take your mark." Stephanie moved to the front of her box and curled her toes over the edge. Then she turned and grinned at Mike. At 51 seconds Mike called out, "Get set... "Go!" he yelled as the display showed 53. This time, though, although she was off the box like a shot, Stephanie appeared to be languid as she stroked up the pool. It was to be a 40-length race. _"What is she doing?"_ Sean whispered anxiously in Mike's ear. Only then did Mike realize that Sean cared for Stephanie and cared for her deeply. "She's up against a girl who has her own pool, for God's sake!" "Relax, Sean," Mike whispered in reply. "The Farrell information network might have slipped on this one. So does Steph. Except hers is 50 meters, not 25 yards. Moreover, it's eight lanes, not five. In other words, friend, Stephanie works out every day in a real Olympic pool. Okay?" "But the difference in development!" Sean insisted. "Did you look at the muscles on Diane?" "Sean, old buddy, how much weight do you use when you work out?" When the giant replied, Mike continued, "Steph uses nearly 50 percent more weight than you do." "You're kidding!" the boy protested. Then he looked closely at Mike for the first time. "But wait a minute... You're really bulging with muscles, too. How come?" "For self-defense," Mike replied with a grin. "I guess I've sort of figured out that I can hold my own with Steph at about double her weight... and weight loadings about 50 percent above hers." "My God," Sean murmured, "I guess it's really true. But what you're saying is that it's Diane who's overmatched?" "You got it, old buddy," Mike replied with a grin. "And she's _way_ over her head." He thought for a moment and then added, "It's going to be interesting to have Diane as our slave for the next 60 days...." After another pause he continued, "But I'm sure Steph has some interesting things in mind." Meanwhile, the two girls were moving through the water and were a study in contrasts. Diane Collins was churning up the water, essentially in a sprint mode which it was unlikely she could maintain for 40 pool lengths. Stephanie, on the other hand, was moving smoothly and seemingly effortlessly through the water. Only the roiled water in her wake gave testimony to her power. And she seemed to gain at least half a body length with every stroke. Moreover, in spite of Diane being the sprinter and well-trained in racing turns, Stephanie appeared smoother and had a far stronger drive off the wall, gaining significantly on every turn. At 400 yards Stephanie passed Diane and just increased her lead. In fact it became apparent to everyone that Diane had set an early pace she was physically unable to maintain. Stephanie, on the other hand, looked like she could maintain her pace all day. Mike in fact, knew that she could, having seen her more than once in her "swimming to Michigan" mode. When Sean asked about it, Mike told him about her occasional marathons and the fact that, according to her, it gave her time to think. The two guys had been counting laps and when Steph touched the wall at the end of the 40th lap, he yelled at her that it was over. Then he handed her the bra from her bathing suit that he had retrieved earlier from the pool gutter. Instead of quickly putting it on, though, Stephanie just stood there at the end of the pool with her nipples as hard as pencil erasers and asked, "You like?" "Damned right I like!" Mike replied. "Now get dressed!" "You're no fun!" she retorted while putting on her bra. Mike reached down and pulled the girl from the pool and into his arms. Again, he felt that wonderful electricity when their lips merged. Meanwhile, Diane Collins had given up after swimming only 34 lengths. At the end, the exhausted girl was just wallowing in the pool, while Stephanie wasn't even out of breath. "How was it?" Mike asked. Sticking out her tongue, Steph replied, "Yucky! First of all, it seemed like I was pushing off a wall after only about three strokes in each direction. Second, I can't stand all the chlorine." Followed by Sean the young couple went over to a couple of pool chairs. As they passed a group of guys one called out, "Hey, slut!" That was all it took for Sean Farrell. Standing over the guy like an avenging angel -- Sean would have easily made two of the boy -- he thundered, "On your hands and knees, _worm!"_ With his teeth chattering in fear, the boy instantly did what Sean had ordered. "Now, if you want to live to see another sunrise, you're going to crawl on your hands and knees to where Stephanie is sitting. Then you're going to kiss her feet and beg -- _and I mean *beg*_ -- her forgiveness for that insult. Now move!" The boy did as he was told. Utter silence had descended around the pool as the guests watched him crawl to where Stephanie was sitting, kiss her feet and say in a quavering voice, "Miss Callaway, I'm terribly sorry! Please forgive me." He had decided -- correctly -- that referring to her as Stephanie would not have been a very smart move. "It's okay, Jack," Stephanie replied softly. "All you did was read what's branded permanently on my flank." It wasn't over, though. Standing there watching the whole affair was Sean Farrell. Slowly he began, "I'm going to tell you all a bit about Stephanie Callaway. But first I need to tell you something about my family, the Farrells. I guess we're all over this area -- the entire Chicago area -- like fleas on a dog." This comment would have triggered laughter, but Sean was still shaking with anger so good judgment prevailed. No one made a sound. "And like the fleas," the boy continued, "we're essentially invisible. We hold down all sorts of support jobs: x-ray technician, file clerk... those sorts of things. And we're very big on law enforcement at all levels. What does this have to do with anything, you wonder? "Well, I'll tell you what it means. It means that Farrells are in positions to find out almost anything about anyone. That's how I know about Stephanie Callaway." He paused and looked around at the group now gathered around him. Continuing, "First of all, you probably know that Steph is adopted. But before that, she was saved from a group of savages who were holding Stephanie and her sisters prisoner. They're the ones who branded her. I know this because an uncle of mine was in the squad of police officers who shot and killed those monsters. "What had they done? One thing they did was to plant a fiendish device in her vagina. It was a folding metal plate with about a dozen nails sticking out in all directions to hold it in position. More than once, her owner whipped her abdomen to drive the nails into her body. It must have been like being knifed from the inside. Why the device? Because Stephanie wasn't willing to sacrifice her virginity, so her owner announced that if he couldn't take it, no one would. A highly skilled surgeon removed it at the hospital without doing any internal damage... We all hope." Stephanie had begun to cry as Sean was telling his story so Mike lifted her from her chair and sat her across his lap. It must have been the right thing to do because she just cuddled close as he held her tightly in his arms. "They made her get 50 whip strokes every Saturday night in... in... in her private parts... in order to be able to go to school the following week. She was forced to do the most degrading things to get the number to 50. After that, she was just brutally beaten to the extent that she usually regained consciousness Sunday morning sprawled on the floor and covered with filth." Sean sadly shook his head and added, "She was forbidden to bathe or shower, either, so it just stayed there." Now his blue eyes were piercing as he continued, "Just think! This girl every week suffered the tortures of the damned. For what? _To go to school!_ Can you believe it? Many of us -- Hell! Most of us! -- would do anything to stay home. But Stephanie and her sisters suffered to be able to go to school. "But that's just background. Why do I feel as strongly as I do? Because of what she did for the Farrell family." At that he turned to Stephanie, smiled warmly and said, "On behalf of all the Farrells, Stephanie, all I can say is thank you. I'll add one more thing: As far as the Farrells -- _all of the Farrells_ -- are concerned, you walk on water and don't get your feet wet. Am I making myself clear?" "Yes, you are," Stephanie softly replied, "but this is so unnecessary..." "It's necessary as hell!" Sean interrupted. Continuing his tale, Sean said, "But what did she do for the Farrells? My dad is a heavy-equipment operator and he's very good. He's so good, in fact, that at least once a year he'll get a special overseas assignment to move something or position something that no one else can do. I guess he's in the top 10 in the world at what he does. "Then Dad was very seriously injured in an automobile accident. Of course, the drunken jerk who hit him had no insurance. The union medical plan covered the medical bills, but except for unemployment there was really no money coming in. Before the accident I guess we were doing pretty well financially. Dad made excellent money and the money for those special assignments -- thousands of dollars at a shot -- went into my college fund. "My parents were -- and are -- determined that I'm going to be the first Farrell to go to college, so they were saving for the day. Then came the accident. "We have one of those deals linking the family savings account to the checking account. If checks come in that exhaust the checking account, money is automatically transferred from savings to cover. Well, my mom almost died when she looked at the first statement that came in while Dad was still in the hospital. The savings balance had dropped like a stone. "When the next statement came in, Mom didn't even open it. Instead, she was just sitting at the kitchen table staring at it when I got home from school. She told me she didn't have the guts to open it while she was alone. Then with me sitting next to her, she opened it and looked at the savings balance. It was the same as it had been the previous month with only the usual interest added. 'This can't be!' Mom exclaimed. 'We've been spending money like there's no tomorrow!' Together we looked at the statement in detail. "What we found was that beginning about a week into the new accounting period, the checking balance was down to zero. But as additional checks came in, there was money deposited to cover them. But from where? It sure wasn't from our savings. "This is where the extended Farrell family comes into the story. The first thing Mom did was to call our bank. They immediately reported that they had noticed what was happening, but they had received an order from the largest bank in Chicago to do what they had been doing: drafting on another account. However, the Chicago bank refused to provide any more information other than to say that the transfer order was to stay in placeindefinitely. "Here's where the back-office Farrells come in. When our bank drew a blank, Mom started calling family. A couple of days later, we had our answer: the money was coming from Stephanie Callaway's personal account." Sean paused and looked around, then continued, "This isn't Callaway family money, or Callaway Industries money..." Hearing the words, Callaway Industries, Diane Collins went white. For the first time she realized that Stephanie, a girl she had always looked down on, was far wealthier than her family. The realization was a major shock. Moreover, it finally sank in that she was now enslaved to Stephanie for the next 60 days and Steph had every reason in the world to hate her guts. Diane began shaking in fear. "... this is Stephanie's own money!" Sean continued. "But that isn't the end of the story. This continued for several months and was a godsend. It enabled Dad to take his time and fully recover from his injuries before he went back to work. Without it, knowing him, he would have struggled back to work while still in bad shape because above all he had to provide for his family. Well, Stephanie Callaway took care of that. "When he went back to work, his first order of business was to start repaying Stephanie the money she had loaned us. Or try to, anyway. The first effort was a transfer back to Stephanie's account of $1,000. Her bank wouldn't accept the transfer. Instead, a thousand dollars was deposited in our savings account. This repeated three more times. Dad finally gave up when the amount reached $5,000." Now Sean was much more relaxed. He grinned and interjected, "Know what? There's more money in our savings account now than there was at the time Dad was injured. And it's all Stephanie." Looking around at the now-enthralled group he added, "I hope you noticed Stephanie's behavior while I've been talking. You see, this is the first she knew that we knew where and from whom this money had been coming. And it's so typical of her, too. She wants no thanks and no credit for any of her acts of charity. "What do I mean by that? It's funny, really. I can be in the cafeteria line at school and if Steph's ahead of me, I can see it just by looking at the plates on the trays in front of me. What's that mean? You look down the line and you see food slopped on the plates and almost literally thrown at the kids. But if you see a tray with the food arranged as if they're going to take a publicity picture of it, that's Stephanie's." Hearing Sean's words, Steph muffled a giggle in Mike's broad chest. "Is there any more?" Sean asked rhetorically. "Hell yes, there's more. I'm sure you've seen the food service women glaring at us. Steph? 'Good morning, Miss Callaway!' along with a big smile. When was the last time you've ever heard one of them say Miss? If they say anything at all it's likely to be, 'Hey, kid, you're taking too much.' But why is that? "It's because if one of their children is sick, a toy will appear to cheer the child up. If there's a family problem of any nature, help arrives. Moreover, Steph knows them all. She'll say, 'Mrs. Johnson, how's Billy coming along?' "Know what? Many of those women are refugees from welfare and are single mothers; they've never been married. But regardless of their marital status, if they have a child, they're Mrs. The women know and know that Steph knows their true condition. But it sure makes them feel better about themselves. "The bottom line? Without a single exception, they love Stephanie Callaway! And she's following in the footsteps of her older sister, Sheila, who's now at Yale with her husband, Jim. The Callaway girls have been doing the same thing for years. "But is that all? Hell, no! For example, you all probably know Miss Rogers who works in the school office. She lives alone and had a house cat, Smokey, she just adored. Well, cats aren't the most long-lived creatures and Smokey died shortly before school ended in June. Miss Rogers was distraught. So what happened? The doorbell rang one Saturday morning. Miss Rogers opened the door to find an adorable gray kitten in a basket at the door. Around it's neck was a red ribbon with a note attached. It said, 'My name is Smokey II. I can't replace Smokey, but I hope you'll let me love you.' "She sat down, stroked the kitten and just cried and cried. I've heard that the kitten is utterly perfect. Nothing in her apartment has been scratched and there have been no accidents. As much as she loved Smokey, Smokey II is a far better-behaved cat than the first one was. And where did Smokey come from? I'll give you one guess. Why? Because Stephanie Callaway wanted to ease the heartbreak of a lonely woman is why. "Oh, yeah... How do I know all this? Because another Farrell works at the pet shop that scoured the whole metro area for the perfect gray kitten is how. And you know something else? For the price she paid to get the perfect kitten, she could have bought hundreds of them. But it was important to help a lonely woman with a lovely -- and loving -- kitten." Turning to Steph, still cuddled close to Mike, Sean lowered his voice and said, "Stephanie, we really love you." Then he grinned and added, "But what do you see in that lug, Mike Mitchell?" "He may be a lug, Sean," Steph replied with a loving grin, "but I'm stuck with him. It's just one of those things. But what about you?" "What about me?" the boy asked. "Have you ever had a date?" Her question took Sean full aback. "Huh? Uh... No... I guess I haven't," he finally stammered. As she went back to cuddling she murmured, "Hmm... Guess we'll have to fix that." * * * Stephanie went back into the house to shower and change while Mike and Sean collected their wagers. Everyone paid up except Candy Price. With tears in her eyes the girl admitted she didn't have anything close to the $1,000 she had lost. The result was that she agreed to work it off by being Mike's slave for the next 60 days. When they finally returned home, the couple were accompanied by Diane and Candy. Diane had made some excuse to her parents, and Candy told her parents she would be spending the rest of the summer with Diane. All this time, Jean had been pacing the floor like a nervous cat. When she heard the sound of the basement door opening, she almost jumped to the ceiling. But when the couple came into the family room, Jean relaxed with a wonderful sigh of relief. Stephanie looked as beautiful as she did when she left the house and far happier besides. Moreover, it was clear that her days of trying to fix up Mike Mitchell were over; she was Mike's girl for life. As for Diane and Candy's slavery, that's a story for another time. * * * End Part 2 of 9 To be continued -- * * * Comments and constructive criticism are sincerely welcome. Let me hear from you. morg105829@aol.com * * * _Jean & Jim_ Copyright 2001 by Morgan. <morg105829@aol.com> All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author. <1st attachment begin> <HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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