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Message-ID: <31527asstr$995713801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Bill Morgan" <morg1058@chartervt.net>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW from Morgan: Jean and Jim, part 2 of 9 M/F Rom
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 07:10:01 -0400
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*  *  *

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.


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