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From: "Bill Morgan" <morg1058@chartervt.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW from Morgan: Jean and Jim, Part 7 of 9 M/F Rom
Date: Mon, 23 Jul 2001 15:10:09 -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 7 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 [See <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 would 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.)

A note: Throughout this story you'll see underscores before and after words
and phrases (see the lines above).  There is a convention used by MS Word in
its Auto Format mode that italicizes such content.  That's my intent.  For
those of you using other word processors, you'll at least know why those
strange marks appear.

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>

* * *

It was mid-April of the following year when I got a call from Jean late one
Monday morning.  She called to tell me we were having company for dinner and
could I come home a little early?  I told her I would try to be home by
4:00.  I called Jack to tell him he might be short an executive vice
president for a few hours.

"Oh, checking on that super software designer you have under long-term
contract?" he teased.

"Now look!  That's exactly what our board chairman says, too.  And you know
damned well that every time Kate mentions it, Jean corrects her: It's a
lifetime contract, she insists."

Then I called Merrilee to tell her she would be holding the fort that
afternoon for an hour or so.

"Thanks a hell of a lot, boss," she said.  "Brian Malone is fucking Kelly's
ass off -- or trying to, anyway -- and now you've got to go and molest my
top interface designer.  You've got some nerve."

She paused and then continued, "For that matter, your wife is selfish as
hell, and I don't mind if you tell her I said so.  All I did was ask her to
share you a couple of lousy hours a _year,_ for God's sake," she grumped.
"And I have it all worked out, too.  I have my hours scheduled right before
two weeks of my vacation.  I'm almost sure to be out of the hospital in time
to be back at work."

"But, ML," I protested, "we've been all over that before.  It's not Jean,
it's our insurer.  They really put their corporate foot down.  If I fuck
you, they raise our rates.  That's all there is to it."

ML giggled.  "Do me a favor?"

"Sure.  What?"

"Would you please give those gorgeous daughters of yours a big kiss for me?"

"And just where would you like me to kiss them?" I asked blandly.

ML just howled with laughter and hung up.

Shortly before 4:00 I drove into our garage.  Kate had pointed out, with her
nose in the air, that it wasn't nearly as big as theirs.  "Why," she said,
"you'd be hard pressed to fit even 14 cars down here.  Ours can hold 20!"
Then she stuck out the tip of her tongue.

Actually, the two were essentially identical in design -- a single floor
with a full basement (mostly the garage) -- and very similar in size.  About
the only significant difference is that ours didn't have the full apartment
inside that Jean and I had used at the Callaway's and which was now occupied
by Kelly Maguire and Brian Malone.  But there were a whole bunch of bedroom
suites, each with a sitting room and bath.  I say "a whole bunch" because at
the time -- and even today -- I've never bothered to count them.  The girls
each have one for whatever good they might be.  I guess they use the
closets -- sort of; most of their stuff is in ours -- and their computers,
but that's about all.  Most of their time -- and all their nights -- are
spent with us.

Coming up the back stairs from the garage, I entered our kitchen.  There was
Jean sitting in a chair with something at her bare breast.  All she was
wearing were the ratty Levi's short shorts.  When I saw her, I relaxed.  She
looked so incredibly beautiful -- the way she always looked.

"Hi, sweetie!" she whispered.  "I have a gift for you.  Want to see?"

I covered the few feet separating us and almost died.  There with its mouth
fastened to Jean's left nipple was an infant.

"My darling," she whispered, "this is my gift to you.  His name is James
Russell Dawson, Jr.  We're going to call him Jamey."  She smiled the warmest
smile as she added, "I would give him to you to hold, but he's got his mouth
attached to my nipple and isn't about to let go."

Dropping to my knees, I gently pulled back the top of the receiving blanket
to reveal the most gorgeous little infant I had ever seen.  Newborns are
often very red and somewhat misshapen due to a rough trip down the birth
canal.  Jamey was utterly unblemished, and he had a full head of golden
hair.

"His eyes are blue, too... I think," Jean said.  "They're not open very much
for me to see yet."

"But how...? When...?" I stammered.  I had fucked Jean's ass off just that
morning.

"Oh... about 10 this morning," she replied nonchalantly.  "Kate and I cut
the cards to see who would deliver first.  I won, so Jamey's senior to
Johnny..."

"Johnny?" I asked incredulously.

"John Winston Callaway, Jr., to you," she said with her eyes dancing.

I pulled up a chair beside her and melted my lips to hers.  That had to be
the greatest kiss we ever exchanged in our lives.  When we slowly parted I
looked at her carefully and realized that she was more beautiful than I had
ever seen her.

Noticing my look, Jean said softly, "Why do you think so many Renaissance
painters did madonnas with child?  A woman is most beautiful of all when
she's delivered a child and it's nursing at her breast.  My darling, I can't
tell you how wonderful the feeling is or how great it makes me feel.  I've
delivered your child, our son, my darling.  He's living proof of my love for
you.  I hope you like him?"

"I love him and I adore you, my wife!"

Jean just raised an eyebrow and glared.

"Mistress, you have pleased your master.  As a sign of my pleasure, I will
even allow you to keep your child."

"Oh, thank you, loving master!"

Then I learned that she and Kate had taken turns delivering each other's
baby on our kitchen floor.  Marion Reynolds came by later to circumcise both
infants -- the mothers both loved the feel of circumcised cocks reaming
their cunts -- and to handle the paperwork.  Marion insisted that, since
paperwork had become about 90% of the cost of practicing medicine, the two
women should pay 90% of the cost of normal prenatal care.  (Laughing, both
women wrote out checks which Marion then endorsed back to the infant boys as
their birth gifts from her.)

With her eyes dancing, Jean continued, "Our daughter, Sandy, continuing in
the spirit of self-sacrifice for which she has long been noted, has
volunteered her body for your use to satisfy your carnal lust before
dinner."  Her eyes were rolling as she said it.  "Now don't you think that's
an incredible sacrifice she's making?"

Then Jean added with a grin, "Of course she's been masturbating for the last
two hours, in hopes..."  Then she snapped her fingers and continued, "She's
very sweet this afternoon, by the way.   She's been checking constantly."

"Mother!" Sandy protested glaring at Jean.  She had stretched it out into
almost two words.  She was sitting bare-assed on the counter opposite Jean
with her thighs spread and her finger moving slowly in her slit.  She
appeared to be wearing the ratty top that matched Jean's bottoms.

"Gee!  What's wrong with you, sweetie?  When...?"

"Right this instant, if you really want to, my darling," Jean replied.  "But
if you look, you'll see that my abdomen is pretty concave right now and my
vagina is still pretty stretched.  Beyond that, I guess I learned a little
more about our... peculiarities.  It seems like we must secrete a natural
anaesthesia or something.  All I know is that delivering Jamey was totally
painless as far as I was concerned.  On the other hand, it's as if I've had
a shot of novocaine or something down there.  I really don't feel a thing."

Then with a lovely smile, she added, "I've been checking my clit..."  Her
face fell as she continued, "Nothing!  I don't think it would be much fun
for you at all.  Sandy, on the other hand..."

At that point Susie appeared.  She gave me a loving kiss -- even my
welcome-home kisses from my daughters were anything but perfunctory -- and
proceeded to undress me.  While she was doing that, I was teasing Sandy who
was licking her lips in anticipation.  When I was stripped bare, I went to
my older daughter and moved between her widespread thighs.

Taking her into my arms while she was still sitting on the counter, I melted
my lips to hers.  It was utterly marvelous!  When I moved to nibble on an
earlobe, she whispered with a loving grin, "Daddy, this is just an
appetizer, not the main course.  Couldn't you just ram that luscious cock
into my dripping cunt?  Later," she said licking her lips lasciviously, "you
can have the whole darned dinner."

I eased my cock into her dripping cunt.  It was beautiful.  As soon as I
entered her, she wrapped her muscular legs around my hips and just pulled me
all the way in.

Leaning forward, again I kissed her and murmured, "My darling, you're
luscious!  And so nice and tight, too."

"Now what's wrong with this picture?" I heard Jean say from behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I could see her holding our infant to her right
nipple now.  Her eyes were dancing and she was vainly trying to control a
grin.  "Here's the poor mother, not even recovered from the torture of her
childbirth, nursing their infant while her husband rapes their poor
adolescent daughter."

"Speaking of rape," Sandy croaked, "couldn't you fuck me harder?  I mean...
Really!  If you're raping me, shouldn't it be a bit more... violent?"

I rammed my cock into that luscious cunt to the root evoking a strangled,
"Yes!" from Sandy.

I continued until she was in continuous orgasm, then released.  That took
her to the point where her nervous system overloaded and collapsed.  My cock
was still buried to the root, but I was able to pull her upper body close to
mine -- God, was that girl supple -- and mash her still-immature tits
against my chest.  I just hugged her tightly and stroked her body all over,
moving her shirt out of the way as I did.

Slowly Sandy regained consciousness.  Recognizing what I was doing, she
quickly untied her shirttails, shed the rag, and sinuously moved her
now-naked body against mine.  "So good..." she murmured softly.

"That's all very well and good," Jean said unsympathetically, "but I have an
infant here who needs to be changed, so..."

With that, Sandy offered me her lips in another loving kiss, murmured,
"Thank you, Daddy," and clambered off the counter top.  Still naked and with
my cum starting to leak from her luscious cunt, she took the tiny infant
from her mother and disappeared.

"Thank you, my darling," Jean whispered.  "That was simply lovely.  And I
can't tell you how happy your daughter is right now."  Then with a warm grin
she added, "We really are having company for dinner tonight, though: Amy
Grant and Becky Richmond.  You _might_ like to shower and dress."

Over the intervening months, Jean had invited all of my conquests to dinner,
beginning with Merrilee.  Amy and Becky were the last two to dinner and the
last two I had fucked; they were also the smallest and the last to return
home from the hospital.  Amy was the girl in the wheelchair at our wedding
who had still been plugged into various IV cocktails.  The arrangements had
been the same with each group of two: Jean was always perfectly dressed and
always outdid herself with the dinner she served.

She joined me in the shower and for the first time I realized that her
abdomen truly was concave indicating the space our infant had occupied until
just a few hours earlier.  But that was the only change.  She was warm,
loving and vibrant as usual.  After showering, she kicked me out of our
bathroom.  Clearly, this was going to be an all-out occasion with her
actually using makeup.  Not that I could ever see anything, only the results
that were inevitably magnificent.

I put on a dark suit with a tie and had just finished when Jean appeared.
She was wearing a full-length white cocktail gown with a skirt that was slit
up both sides to the hip.  Because of the slit, I knew that she was wearing
nothing at all underneath.  It had a halter top that was secured with a very
thin cord around her neck that tied in the back.  Jean stood before me and
just looked at me.  Her mouth was tremulous; some things never changed.  As
incredibly beautiful as she was -- and knew she was (I hoped) -- she still
wanted reassurance.

"My mistress is the world's outstanding beauty!" I declared.  I paused at
that point and mused out loud, "But there's something missing..."  At that
point I went to a drawer in my chest and took out a jewelry case that I had
for just this occasion.  "Why don't you try this?" I asked, giving her the
box.

She opened it and her eyes widened.  "My darling master, it's gorgeous!" she
exclaimed.

The box contained a diamond choker.  It was quite simple being brilliant-cut
diamonds set in a simple white-gold choker.  The diamonds covered the full
length of the choker and were perfectly matched at two carats each.  She put
it on, then put on her diamond ear studs.  Utterly gorgeous, and I said so.
"My lovely mistress has pleased her master.  As a mark of my affection and
generosity, I've decided that you may even keep the baby," I repeated.

"Oh, master!" she exclaimed with her eyes dancing in merriment.  "You spoil
your slave so.  Is there no limit to your generosity?"

"Probably there is," I replied pontifically.  "But we haven't reached it
yet."

At that comment, Jean was unable to control a giggle.  That earned her a
swat on her bun which instantly produced a sexy ass-wiggle and a murmur of
appreciation.

On the way out the door, she suddenly stopped and turned.  "Oops!  I forgot
something," she said.  "It's good news and bad news.  Which do you want
first?"

Her eyes were dancing as she said the words, so I wasn't very concerned.
"How about the good news?" I replied.

"It's good news for me," she said.  "I found that unlike normal women,
alcohol and such doesn't get into my milk or into the placenta, for that
matter.  So I'll be drinking tonight."

"And the bad news?"

With her eyes wide she replied, "I can't serve you a brandy Alexander warm
from my tit.  It just doesn't work."

"Oh, dear!  Now how can I possibly live without a brandy Alexander from my
mistress's tit?"  Then I brightened and added, "How about milking your tit
and serving it in a glass?"

Jean claimed that that would be impossible, but that's exactly what she did
the following night.  And it was luscious, too.

At that point I took her into my arms and pulled her close.  Instantly she
just molded her body to mine and raised her lips for a kiss.  Before doing
that, though, I whispered, "My darling, from the very first day we met,
you've been making me the happiest man on earth.  Well, today you outdid
yourself.  Jamey is utterly gorgeous and has the finest mother alive in the
whole damned world!"  With that I kissed her and tasted her sweetness.

When we finally eased apart, she breathed, "My darling, I love you more than
life itself.  Thank you for giving me a tiny living piece of you to raise as
our son."

With that we went out to greet our arriving guests.

* * *

I opened the door when the bell rang.  Jean and the girls were standing in a
row behind me.  The girls were both wearing gowns similar to their mother's
but without the cleavage; Jean's neckline was cut down almost to her waist
with the two pieces relying on her perfect tits to keep the two sides
together.  The girls' cleavage stopped at a point midway down their boobs,
or in Susan's case, where they would be when she developed a pair.  For my
part, I was so used to feeling proud of my family, their overwhelming
combined beauty that evening didn't even register.

But it did with Amy and Becky.  I greeted them at the door and stepped back
to introduce them to the women.  Although they had met in the receiving line
at the wedding, I didn't think that really counted.  Both had still been
hospitalized at the time and both had attended in wheelchairs.  Moreover,
events at a wedding are usually such that the overall impression is
kaleidoscopic in nature; seldom can one really focus on an individual.

That certainly proved to be true in this instance.  I took the girls' coats
and they moved toward the women and suddenly stopped dead in their tracks.

"My Lord!" Amy breathed.  "You are utterly breathtaking!  All three of you!"
She began to laugh with the laughter rising nearly to the level of hysteria.
I began to be concerned.  But she regained control while slowly shaking her
head from side to side.  "What utter insanity..." she finally muttered.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Jim, I've heard about these dinners from the other girls.  As you may know,
we've all become very good friends.  It's sort of a sorority.  We seven are
the only girls -- other than your wife -- who have ever had you share their
beds.

"But anyway," she continued, "they've all raved about the beauty of Jean and
the girls.  It registered in my brain, I guess, but not in my heart.  It
remained an intellectual curiosity until this minute.  I remember how
gorgeous Jean looked in her bridal gown, but somehow that was different."

At that she moved again toward Jean, but this time with her hand
outstretched.  "What is so funny is the thought of trying to take Jim away
from you.  Aside from the fact that you would have him back over our dead
bodies in less than 24 hours, while I like to think of myself as attractive,
comparing me to you is comparing a kindergartner's finger painting to
Botticelli's Birth of Venus!  Except you are so much more beautiful than
Botticelli's model ever hoped to be."

The women exchanged kisses -- which left Amy and Becky light-headed -- and
we went into the living room.  Since it was a cold day in April, there was
even a very cheery fire in the fireplace.  After taking seats side by side
on the sofa, they looked around and admired the room.  Jean and I were
sitting on side chairs at opposite ends of the coffee table in front of the
sofa.

"This is absolutely perfect!" Becky declared.  "It is the loveliest -- and
warmest -- living room I've ever been in."

"If you're too warm..." Jean began.

"Oh, no!" Becky protested.  "I wasn't speaking of the heat at all.  In fact
the temperature is perfect."  Then she sniffed the air and looked puzzled.
"Even the air smells clean..."  Then she shook her head and added, "That has
to be an oxymoron.  Clean air wouldn't smell at all.  But, damn it, this air
smells clean."

Jean grinned and giggled girlishly.  "Becky, you're right.  It does smell
clean."  She then explained the home's high-powered air purification system
with its charcoal beds, oxygen enhancer and the latest in our house, an
ionizer at the end that actually did have the effect of adding a clean
smell.

The girls took drink orders; we all elected Cardhu on the rocks.  Sandy
brought in the  the drinks and Susan followed with the first platter of hors
d'oeuvres.

After she served the drinks, Jean whispered to Sandy, "It's that time
again."

The girl just nodded once and disappeared.

"You have the most beautiful family I've ever seen or heard of," Becky said.
Then she snapped her fingers and her eyes widened.  "Of course!  You three
are in the Tiffany ads, aren't you?  It's you!  And those ads are so neat!
Such restrained elegance..."  She thought for a moment and then nodded
sharply.  "That really says it all about you, doesn't it?  Restrained
elegance and grace.  You three are unreal!"

Jean just smiled warmly and said, "Thank you."

At that point Sandy returned carrying her infant brother.  Jean just looked
at her and Sandy nodded.  Handing the bundle to her mother, she carefully
untied the cord behind Jean's neck that held her dress up.  Folding it down,
she bared Jean's magnificent tits.

Opening the receiving blanket, Jean cooed for a moment, then placed our
infant's mouth over her left nipple.  That's all it took.  Even sitting
across from her I could see the baby's mouth moving and see the swallowing
as he dined on his mother's milk.

"Amy and Becky," I said softly to avoid disturbing the infant, "may I
present our youngest.  He's James Russell Dawson, Jr., age, less than 12
hours."

What is it about women (of all ages) and babies?  They're apparently
genetically compelled to look and coo.  Which is exactly what Amy and Becky
did.  Jumping to their feet, they went to Jean and knelt beside her chair to
get a closer look.  To give them a better look, Jean carefully folded back
the receiving blanket so they could see most of his upper body.  For his
part, Jamey couldn't have cared less.  He was absorbed with his dinner,
fresh from his mother's breast.

"He's so incredibly beautiful!" Amy breathed.  Then she thought about the
timing and said aghast, "You had to be expecting him when Jim was fucking
me!  How could you?  How could he?"

"Because he didn't know because I didn't tell him," Jean whispered.  "I
guess I wasn't thinking too clearly.  I had intended just to go away -- to
disappear -- before Jim knew I was pregnant.  And I almost did it, too."

"What changed your mind?" the girl asked.

"Jim beat the shit out of me, is what changed my mind," Jean replied with a
warm smile.  "I couldn't sit comfortably for weeks afterward, and --
honestly -- I still feel it today.  His hard hand diligently applied to my
ass persuaded me that he and the girls loved me and wanted me to stay.  So I
did."

"Could... Could I taste?" Becky asked timidly.

Jean smiled warmly and replied, "I've got two nipples, and Jamey can't use
more than one at a time.  Help yourself."

"But... the milk...?" she stammered.

"There's more than enough, Becky," Jean replied in a whisper.  "I guess I'm
a bit strange.  First of all, regardless of what I drink, Jamey gets pure
milk -- nothing else.  But beyond that, there's always enough -- more than
enough -- regardless of how much or how little he wants."

Then Jean frowned and added, "I had hopes of finally getting a pair of
boobs.  To me, boobs don't even begin until a girl's a D-cup, anyway.  But
no such luck.  All I have is a pair of tits the same size they've always
been."

"I would give my right arm for a pair like yours," Amy said softly.  "They
are simply perfect."  With that she reached out and very gently touched
Jean's right tit.

"I'm not at all breakable, Amy," Jean said with a warm smile.  "Go ahead.
Squeeze it."

The girl did and her eyes widened.  "My Lord!  You're so incredibly firm!
Do you ever wear a bra?"

"Uh...  No," Jean replied.  "Two reasons.  First, I don't like them, and
second, I'm not the right size.  I'm sort of a B+ cup, but they don't make
them.  A B is too small and a C is too large."

"And you don't need one, anyway," Amy concluded.  "My God!  If I had tits
like yours I would never ever wear a bra.  You're so perfectly shaped, and
your nipples are so damned cute!"  She paused for a moment and then
stammered, "Could I...?"

"Help yourself," Jean repeated with a warm smile.

Amy did.  She moved closer to Jean's chair and very gently took her right
nipple into her mouth.  I guess she must have lightly nibbled on it because
I could see Jean's pelvis lightly convulse from an instant -- but very
small -- orgasm.  Then Amy sucked and I could see her eyes light up.  I
guess she tasted Jean's milk.  Slowly she eased away and then moved back to
give Becky an opportunity.

"It's so incredibly sweet and rich!" Amy quietly exclaimed.  "You're going
to have the best-fed baby in the world."  Then she frowned and added,
"There's just one thing..."

"And what might that be?" Jean asked with an eyebrow raised, expecting Amy
to be jerking her chain.

"I mean...  Well...  At school.  Aren't you going to feel a little strange
bringing Jamey his lunch when he's in the first or second grade?"  Amy
couldn't control her giggle.

"Not a problem," Jean replied blandly.  "I'm home-schooling Susan, and
expect to do the same with Jamey.  So no, it won't feel strange at all."

Amy was funny.  She literally dove across the carpet to get as far away from
the baby as she could before she broke out in gales of laughter.

Becky repeated the process.  By the time she had finished nursing, Jamey
had, too.  Jean handed the infant back to Sandy who carried him off to
change him again and put him back in his bassinet.  Jean brought her dress
back up into position and retied the cord.  In moments it was as if nothing
had happened.

"I have a question," Amy said.  "How did you know Jamey was awake, let alone
hungry?  I have sharp ears but I didn't hear a sound."

"We call it the 'mommy filter'," Jean replied.  "I'm sort of hard-wired to
Jamey... and to the girls, for that matter.  If anything goes wrong, I know
it instantly.  For example, I heard him stirring awhile ago; that's when I
sent Sandy to get him."

"Your daughter is utterly incredible!" Amy interjected.

"I am blessed with two of the very best young women in the world," Jean said
fervently.  "They just could not be better.  Would you believe, Sandy -- and
Susan -- have been reading everything there is to read on baby and child
care?  I really think they're better mothers than I am.  And they certainly
love their baby brother at least as much as I do."

She paused and then continued, "You saw it for yourself.  I just whispered a
word to Sandy and she was off like a shot.  She changed him, cleaned him
off, powdered him and put him in a new receiving blanket.  What did I do?  I
bared a tit -- and she did that for me, too.  Then she burps him, changes
him again and puts him back in his bassinet.  What do I do?  I offer a
nipple."  Jean smiled warmly and concluded, "And as you've just seen, Sandy
does far more than I do.  I never even had to get out of my chair, for
heaven's sake!"

When the girls raved about the hors d'oeuvres, Jean assured them that they
were the girls' doing, too.  The two just shook their heads.  At that point,
Jean went out to the kitchen to take care of the finishing touches.  The
girls were there already so I was left alone with Amy and Becky.

"This family of yours is utterly unreal!" Amy commented.  "Before I forget,
thank you so much for arranging a limousine to bring us over tonight.  But
why did you do it?  It was absolutely lovely, but why?"

"For liability reasons," I replied.  "We're serving a couple of wines
tonight and Jean and I didn't want you to face the choice of drinking or
driving.  This way you can do what you wish without worrying about wrapping
your car around a tree on the way home."

Becky had apparently been reflecting on what she had seen.  She giggled
softly and slowly shook her head.  "What utter idiots we've been," she said.
"We thought we could... I'm not sure what we thought, as a matter of fact.
I certainly didn't know there was a Jean in the picture at all."  She shook
her head again and added, "But God, were we ever overmatched.  That woman is
simply unbelievable!"

"By the way, how are you girls feeling now?"

Amy replied with a wince but a warm smile.  "First of all, Jim, I wouldn't
trade the experience you created for me for anything in the world.  You may
have heard, in fact, that I was all set to pull all the plugs and come after
you again, using my blood to lubricate your entry.  The doctor said it would
be lethal, but I didn't give a damn... and still don't!  Am I making myself
clear?" she demanded.

"That you have some sort of death wish, yes," I replied, "but you didn't
answer my question."

"I'm back in mostly one piece," she replied softly, "although missing a few
pieces, like a spleen, for example.  But..."

"But what?" I persisted.

"I'm dead from the waist down," Amy said softly.  "So's Becky."

"Is it permanent?" I asked.

"The doctors can't be certain, but they think so."

Becky joined in.  "All I can say, Jim, is that I underscore everything Amy
just said.  There's nothing -- absolutely _nothing!_ -- I would do to
exchange the experience I had with you.  If I can't ever have sex again, for
the rest of my life I'll remember the glorious sensations you created in my
body.  You, James Dawson, are the greatest lover alive in the world today!"

I was spared the need to reply by a call to dinner.

I seated Amy and was very pleased to see Sandy holding Becky's chair.  When
we were all seated the girls looked at the plates before them and I managed
to stifle a grin.  It was obvious that they didn't know what to make of the
dish before them.

"May I pour the wine, Dad?" Sandy asked while the girls were still looking.

"Please do, honey," I replied.  "And you and Susan may both have some, too."

"I may have gone a bit overboard," Jean said softly from the other end of
the table.  "This is glaceed breast of pheasant with foie gras and truffles.
I hope you like it."

The girls' eyes widened.  I'm almost certain that neither had ever had
pheasant before in any form, although with Becky I wasn't so sure.  She grew
up in Mississippi and her father was an avid hunter.

The dinner progressed.  The pheasant was followed by one of Susan's salads
and in turn by filet of beef Wellington served with some of her marvelous
vegetables.  Again both the salad dressing and the vegetables drew raves and
then looks of utter consternation when they learned that Susan had prepared
them herself to her own recipes.

"Is there nothing this girl can't do?" Amy asked in an awe-filled voice.
"She is unreal!  I couldn't prepare anything this good if my very life
depended on it!"

Susie just grinned and replied, "It's a good thing Mommy didn't prepare a
salad or veggies.  Mine wouldn't survive the comparison."

For dessert Sandy flamed cherries jubilee.  This was followed by coffee,
cognac, cigars and cheese.

Finally we moved back from the table and everyone stretched.  "These dinners
have been the talk among our sorority sisters," Amy said, "but it's a case
where mere words are inadequate.  This was absolutely the finest meal I've
ever had in my life!"

Jean led the way back to the living room and then announced, "I think it's
time for show and tell."  Looking up at me she said, "Darling, one thing we
learned has been that none of your girls ever got a really good look at
you."  She grinned and continued, "There seems to have been an element of
passion or something that proved to be distracting to them."

"Grr!" I replied in my most intelligent fashion.

Instantly Susan was at my side undressing me.  When I was down to my
jockey's she was on her knees and carefully lowered them over my now
semi-erect cock.  Then she moved aside so as not to obstruct the girls'
view.

"My God!" Amy gasped.  "He's a golden god!"

I guess I did look pretty good.  My weight loadings had been creeping upward
and I guess I did feel pretty good about myself.  At least I had noticed
more than a few times when Jean just lightly ran her fingers over my upper
body and made purring noises as she did so.  Furthermore, on more than one
occasion she had stretched out on top of me with my cock nested in her lusci
ous cunt and had fallen asleep that way.

After one such event she awakened still in that position and proceeded to
bring me to a full erection and then to a mutual orgasm by just manipulating
her internal muscles.  It was unreal.

"May I better prepare my master?" Jean asked wide-eyed looking up at me from
her chair.

"Is my slave mistress appropriately dressed for the task?"

"No, master," she replied quietly.  Jean untied the cord around her neck and
rose gracefully from her seat letting the dress drop to the floor at her
feet.  She was naked now except for her white pumps.  As she dropped to her
knees before me, Sandy left the room.  Jean positioned herself a bit to the
side so when I turned to face her the girls were seeing us both from the
side, although I was facing more toward them.

She moved close on her knees and sat back on her heels with her back
straight.  Jean looked utterly magnificent.  Then she put her hands behind
her head in a perfect submissive posture with her thighs spread wide.
Knowing what she was planning to do, I walked around Jean, stopping directly
behind her. Placing her hands on the floor behind her feet, she leaned back
and bent her head even further backward.  She smiled at me, then kissed my
drooping cock.  Using only her mouth, lips and tongue she began to work on
my cock in an utterly incredible fashion.  She relaxed her throat and slowly
swallowed my cock until her nose was nestled against my balls.  Never had
she done what she did that night.  Jean was truly worshiping my cock.  Then
she moved her head and let it slide all the way down her throat.  Somehow
she used her mouth and throat to rhythmically squeeze it.

"Good grief!" Amy whispered to Becky.  "Am I really seeing what I think I'm
seeing?  There's just no way a woman could take that monster in her mouth!

"But she sure is!" Becky responded.  "My God!  Now she's actually licking
his balls with that monster inside her... _How?"_

When she finished, she leaned back and slowly disgorged my cock, now fully
engorged and throbbing.  Then with her hands still behind her she turned to
face me, moved her head and allowed her lovely hair to dry it off.  Then she
said softly, "Will the master honor his slave with some of his essence?"

One of the things that had happened over the months was that I had developed
significant control over my cuming.  I could actually start -- but
particularly stop -- at will.

"You have pleased your master," I replied rising to my feet again while
trying to control a grin.  "Present your mouth, slave."

Jean opened wide with her mouth about six inches away from the tip of my
cock.  She had already prepared me fully, so I shot a string of cum into her
mouth.  Without saying a word she rose to her feet and with her hands still
behind her head, she merged her mouth with mine.  She probed with her tongue
and gave me back some of my own cum; then we both swallowed.

"You are delicious tonight, my master," she said lovingly.  "Your cum is
simply perfect -- not too salty.  Perhaps you might offer some to our
guests."

By this time Sandy had returned with a cooler and a bottle of Dom Perignon
which she very smoothly opened.  Still without saying a word, she poured
flutes for Jean and me.

Raising her glass to me she said, "To my loving master who has fathered the
most perfect little boy in the world!"

"To my gorgeous wife who has given him birth and now is nursing him at her
perfect tit!" I replied.

We both sipped and then moved together over to where the girls were sitting
open-mouthed.

"The love you two share is simply beautiful to see," Amy said softly.  "But
may I have some of your cum, too, my loving master?"

"You must be properly dressed for that," Susie whispered.

"You mean...?"

"Dressed like my mother," the girl replied.

"Will you please prepare your father's newest slave?" Amy asked.

Susie began to undress the woman.  Seeing what her friend was doing, Becky
swallowed hard and asked Sandy to prepare her, too.  In moments both women
were bare with their clothing neatly stacked on chairs across the room,
while they knelt on the carpet side by side, just waiting.

When I got a good look at them, I swallowed hard.  Both had recent surgical
scars on their bodies.  I knew that Amy's spleen had been removed.  I didn't
know the particulars involving Becky, but it was obvious that both women had
had major work done on their internal plumbing.  Aside from that, though,
the girls were lovely.  Both had perfectly formed tits that were larger than
Jean's -- C-cups, I would guess.  Both had lovely legs and trim bottoms
although not as trim as Jean's.  And because of their hospitalization and
the fact that we had just come through the winter, both bodies were pale.  I
noticed as both pairs of nipples drew taut with their sexual excitement.
Maybe there was hope after all.

I stood in front of Amy as she imitated Jean perfectly.  Her knees were
spread wide opening her labia.  Her back was straight with her weight back
on her heels; like Jean, her hands were clasped behind her head.

"Will my new master give his humble slave a small taste of his cum?" she
asked softly with her eyes down.  "It will make my slavery so much more
bearable."

I was looking into her eyes for some sign of humor.  To my utter amazement,
there was none.  Rather, the look in her eyes -- as much as I could see --
was truly worshipful.  I moved closer to her and she leaned forward to kiss
the tip of my cock.  Leaning forward, she took my cockhead into her mouth
and savored it, then ran her small tongue around it.  Then she eased
backward back onto her heels.  As she did, I could see she was trembling,
but it wasn't from fright.

"Permission to look at my master?" she asked softly.

"Of course!"

She leaned forward again to bring her mouth within about six inches of my
tip.  Then she looked up into my eyes and my earlier perception was
confirmed: her look was truly worshipful and her trembling, stronger now,
was from anticipation.  It was only then that I realized neither she nor
Becky had ever tasted my cum.  I had feasted on their cunts, but they had
never gone down on me.  None of the seven had.

My cock was again throbbing and I released a string of cum right into her
mouth.  Her mouth closed and when she tasted it I saw her pelvis convulse.
My God, I thought, she's had an orgasm.

Amy's eyes had closed as she savored my cuming.  Her eyes opened and were
gleaming with happiness.  "Thank you, kind master," she whispered.  "It's
now easy to see why so many women wish to serve you as your slaves.  For a
very occasional taste of your luscious cum, I would do anything for you and
allow anything to be done to me."  Her eyes were bright as she repeated,
_"Anything!"_

The episode with Becky was essentially an instant replay.  But seeing what
certainly appeared to be orgasms I asked Susan and Sandy to work on their
cunts.  The first thing the girls did was to drop their own gowns in the
same way Jean had done: they untied the neck cord and just let them fall to
the floor.  It was remarkable how little there was to the them; they each
made just a small splash of white on the carpet.

Now that they too were naked, Amy was able to see the brand on Sandy's flank
when she turned.  By now the brands had lost their earlier redness; in fact
to our surprise they tanned, too.  But they were deep: perhaps a quarter of
an inch below the surrounding surface.

"My God!" she gasped.  "What happened?"

"I branded myself," Sandy replied casually.  "It's on both sides."  She
turned to show the mate.

"I'm only branded once," Susan said displaying hers to the two young women.

They were in a state of shock.  Jean quietly explained the background and
what had happened to the girls before they were freed.  She concluded by
saying, "They're both very good cunt-eaters.  They had to be to survive.  I
think you two will enjoy the experience."

While she was telling the tale, the girls had been pouring two flutes of
champagne.  Handing the glass to Amy, Susan said, "We've found that cum
washes down perfectly with champagne.  Dom Perignon is the best, we think."

The girls went at their task with skill and enthusiasm.  First, though, they
just kissed the young women and gently fondled their lovely tits.  Clearly,
this was astonishing to the two girls.  I'm virtually certain that neither
had ever had a lesbian experience before.  Beyond that, though, the kisses
they were receiving from Sandy and Susan were anything but girlish.  I
certainly knew from first-hand experience just how talented their mouths and
tongues were.  And they certainly used them to great effect that night.

Slowly they worked their way down the girls' bodies feasting on their
breasts and nipples while caressing any body surface within reach.  Both Amy
and Becky were writhing on their chairs by then.  While the initial idea
might have been odd, it was clear that they were both now well into it.

Now our two girls were on their knees between wide-spread thighs.  Amy and
Becky had slid forward on their chairs without any instruction to keep their
cunts within easy reach.  With the first stroke of their tongues up the
length of the girls' slits, they both came.  Wonderful! I thought.  It looks
like it's working.

At that point I turned my attention to my lovely wife who was again kneeling
before me in her best submissive posture.  "I would like to sample my
slave's cunt.  Position yourself."

"But, master!" Jean protested.  "Surely you can't be serious.  Sandra would
be much sweeter tonight..."

"Position yourself!" I repeated in a command voice.

Jean surprised me.  She just went over on her back slowly with her knees
still bent and her feet still under her lovely ass.  Her thighs were still
spread wide exposing her lovely vulva.  Clearly, the anaesthetic had worn
off; her labia were engorged and her luscious clit was already extended
above her nether lips and throbbing with excitement.

I knelt between her thighs and dropped my head to her luscious cunt.

After only a few strokes of my tongue she had her first orgasm.
"Wonderful!" she murmured.  "Oh, God, master, this feels so good!"

I brought her to several more but kept them at a low level.  Her pelvis
spasmed, but it was nothing like the more typical events.  Finally I said,
"Position yourself to receive your master's cock."

"But...  Are you sure?"

I just glared at her.

She unfolded her legs from beneath her and put them up on my shoulders.
Gently I eased my cock into her flooded channel.  It was utterly marvelous.
I entered her more easily than I had in the past -- I didn't have to work
nearly as hard to gain full penetration -- but her cunt was still very
tight.

"This is a reward for my beauteous wife and slave for presenting me with a
son and heir."

"My darling, you haven't seen Jamey in all his naked glory.  Marion Reynolds
says that he's utterly perfect.  Never has she seen a more perfect or
healthier baby.  I'm so happy!"  She paused and then added, "Many
prostitutes can never become pregnant.  I understand that the most common
cause is a gonorrheal infection of the fallopian tubes.  I never contracted
an STD... nor did any of the girls, for that matter."  She looked at me
thoughtfully and added, "I wonder if that might be another of our strange
powers?  Heaven knows many of the men we took weren't very clean.

"But then you caught me on one of our very first nights together..."

"What happened to your birth-control pills?" I asked.

"They went into the trash that very first night," she replied.  "My darling,
I loved you from the very first instant I saw you.  And when we first
kissed, I knew you were the only man I could ever love."

"Then why...?"

"Because of my having been a prostitute.  I was just planning on going away.
There must have been at least half a dozen times when I vowed that it would
be that day, but I could never bring myself to do it.  I felt I had to have
just one more fucking.  After all, it would have to last for the rest of my
life.  There could not -- and cannot -- ever be another man in my life."

"My beloved wife!" I whispered.

Then I buried my cock to the root in Jean's cunt and whispered, "Now let's
see if your internal muscles still work."

They certainly did.  Just using her internal muscles, Jean worked and
brought us to mutual orgasms.  I really flooded her cunt with my cuming.

When she came down from her high, she was still conscious.  It had gone
exactly as I had hoped: it was smooth and loving.  "That was utterly
perfect, my darling master," she said.  "It just could not have been
better."

Then she smiled warmly and added, "And you did it again, master.  That was
the perfect lovemaking for the way I feel.  I thought I wanted you to rape
me, but what you did was so much better.  Thank you."

With my cock still embedded in her cunt, I put my arms under hers and lifted
her up from the carpet.  Now I was in a crouch and she was straddling my
thighs.  Pulling her close, I crushed her tits against my chest provoking a
long sigh.  Then she gently moved her nipples against the hair on my chest
as she raised her head for a kiss.

Mating my lips to hers, it was the finest kiss we had ever shared.

"Thank you, my master," she whispered when she had regained her breath.
"Now I truly have it all!  I have a loving master, two daughters who would
give pride to anyone, and an infant son.  What more can there be?"

"More children, if you want them," I replied.

"As many and as fast as you can give them to me," she replied.  "I intend to
be a baby factory."

By this time the girls had brought the two young women to repeating orgasms.
At the same instant they lightly bit the girls' clits triggering massive
orgasms that put them out.

"Sandy, get champagne flutes for yourself and Susan.  You certainly deserve
some!" Jean instructed.

While she was out of the room, Susan had pulled the two girls back in their
seats and carefully rested their heads on the seatbacks.  Then she pulled a
chair close and held Amy tightly while lightly kissing her face and lips.

Amy was the first to recover.  Realizing what Sue was doing, she brought her
lips to hers and melted them together in a lovely kiss.  This time it was
Amy who was aggressive, probing deep into Susie's mouth.  I was utterly
delighted to see Amy's loins shudder in a small orgasm as she did.

Finally she eased away.  "Are you a slave, too?" she asked.  "Will we be
sharing the slave quarters here?"

"Of course I am," Susie replied.  "But you must know that our master is far
more diabolical than any I've heard of.  He and his senior slave keep us
imprisoned, not with chains, but with the power of their love.  We're forced
to imprison ourselves.  But why did you ask?"

"Because, my darling slave Susan, "I can't wait for you to be a bit older so
I can do at least a little bit as much as you have just done for me."  Amy
leaned back and closed her eyes.  "I was certain I was dead from the waist
down; the doctors were about 99% certain I was, too.  But a taste of our
master's cum seemed to change all that.  And then what you did with your
mouth and hands was not to be believed!"

"Did you enjoy it?" Susie asked with her eyes wide.

"I sure did!" Amy replied.  "But why did you ask?"

"Because I'll only get a very light whipping when you leave," Susie replied.
"It would have been very bad if you hadn't been satisfied."

"A light whipping...?"

"That's just for the maintenance of good order and discipline," Susie said
blithely, "and to remind us of our station in life."

Sandy had by then returned with flutes for herself and Susie.  She refilled
all of the glasses and we just sat there bare-assed and sipped.

Finally Becky said, "This night was utterly unbelievable.  Master, it will
rank right below the night you honored my body with your cock."  Slowly she
shook her head and continued, "Amy and I were fully prepared to go through
life with only the memory of your cock, beloved master.  But now..."

"Now you can look forward to marriage and a normal sex life," I concluded.
"And it couldn't happen to two nicer girls."

To Sandy Becky said, "That was utterly marvelous, darling.  Is there
anything I can do for you?  Anything at all?"

I responded before Sandy could.  "As a matter of fact, Becky Richmond, I
think there is.  Sandy, you may not know this but Becky was a championship
gymnast and now coaches cheerleading.  Becky, we just learned that Sandy has
been elected to the cheerleading squad for next year.  Would you be willing
to give her some pointers?"

Becky just clapped her hands in glee.  "Would I?" she exclaimed.  "Nothing
would thrill me more.  Sandy, would you come closer, please?  Before you had
me a bit... distracted."

Sandy again knelt between Becky's thighs.  This time Becky took Sandy in her
arms and unloaded as powerful a kiss as she was capable of; Sandy
reciprocated.  Both girls were breathless when they eased apart.

Then Becky ran her fingers lightly over Sandy's body.  As she did, I could
see her eyes widen.  "You work out regularly, don't you?  How often?"

"Every day," Sandy replied looking puzzled.

"For how long?"

"For about 30 minutes or so on the machines and then another 30 minutes or
more in the pool," Sandy responded.

"What weights do you use?"  Sandy told her and Becky whistled softly.  As a
matter of fact, it was news to me, too.  They were about 50% above what I
remembered them as being.

"Do you understand the game of football?" Becky asked.

This time Jean replied.  "I don't think Sandy has missed a Bear's game in a
year.  The short answer is yes.  In fact, she understands it so well, I
think she could be a pretty good coach.  And she's a great pass-catching
receiver, by the way.  Her sister Stephanie's boyfriend is the quarterback;
often she and Sandy will be his receivers.  They're both sure-handed and
very fast."

Becky giggled.  "This is going to the neatest assignment ever!  First of
all, Sandy, you have it all to begin with.  You really need no coaching.
What I can do, though, is work with your squad to develop some more cheers
and some things for you girls to do together.  Most high-school cheering is
plain vanilla -- at best!"  Then she grinned and added, "Of course there's a
charge for my services, you realize..."

"That's not a problem," Sandy quickly replied.  Clearly she was very excited
at the prospect.  "How much do you charge?"

"Well... after the coaching sessions, I'll sort of expect to spend the night
with you.  After all, young lady, you've been able to feast on my
near-virginal cunt tonight while I've only been able to look at yours.  And
then your... assaults... on my tits...  I have to get even for that, too."

"Oh dear!"  Turning toward Jean with her eyes wide Sandy said, "Mommy!  I
think Miss Richmond is planning to... to... sexually assault me!  What
should I do?  What should I say?"

Barely able to control her giggling, Jean replied, "Well, you could say what
you really want to say: 'How yummy!'"

"Naah," Sandy replied.  Then spinning around to Becky she exclaimed,
"Neato!"  Then she dropped to her knees and unloaded another very passionate
kiss.  "I can hardly wait!"

Becky grinned, giggled and pinched one of Sandy's buns.  The girl just
wriggled and grinned.

After finishing their champagne, Sandy and Susan dressed the girls and then
slipped on their own gowns, as did Jean.  The three girls saw our guests out
to the waiting limo, while I checked the mail I had seen lying unopened on
the desk.  I guess there had been a few distractions that day so Jean hadn't
gotten around to it.

There was a very large envelope there from Tiffany & Company's Jack
Thompson.  The surprising thing about it was that it was addressed to me
rather than to Jean.  The previous September, following up on our dinner,
Jack arranged for a photo shoot for the girls.  It had worked out perfectly.
The girls were needed for five days, and I had one of those European
5-cities-in-5-days trips.  You know the one?  "If it's Tuesday, this must be
Brussels."

Well anyway, I flew with the girls to New York and connected there for
London.  When we got back together, all the girls said was that they had fun
but had never elaborated.  And, I guess, with so much else going on I had
never pursued the subject.

At any rate, by this time I was sitting in my lounge chair in the library
when the women rejoined me.

It was really quite a package, including envelopes for the three girls that
obviously contained checks.  I gave them each their check while I read.  I
had barely started when Jean yelped, "What _is_ this?"

"What's what?" I asked.  (Notice the improvement?  I didn't say "Huh?")

"This check is for... fifty _thousand_ dollars!" she breathed.  "What's
going on?"

By this time the girls had opened theirs and found checks for $25,000.  They
were so happy and excited, they were bubbling.

But Jean quickly ended that.  "Enjoy looking at them, kids," she said, "but
they have to go back.  We agreed to do the shoot for $5,000."  Looking at
them both she asked, "Don't you think that's more than adequate, too?  After
all, we had an all-expenses-paid super-deluxe trip to New York City, as well
as all the fun.  Don't you really think that's enough?"

Although their faces fell, the girls freely conceded that all expenses plus
$1,250 for each of them was more than enough.

I went back to reading the letter.  Thompson reported that the advertising
incorporating the girls began running in November the previous year, in time
for the Christmas season.  The result was the most spectacular level of
sales in the company's very long history, fully 70% over the previous
record.  Moreover, the ad series had won every award there was to be won.
But, he assured me, he had next to no interest in advertising awards --
typically they were awards by ad men to ad men, mostly for being
"different."  (It didn't matter if the client didn't sell a thing; being
different was good enough.)  However, in this case there were dozens of
proven sales directly attributable to the ads.  By that he meant that people
would come in off the street with ad in hand asking for the featured item.

Towards the bottom of the first page he wrote, "However, Jim, the reason
this letter is being sent to you and not to Jean is because there's
something you deserve to know.  Believe me when I tell you how painful this
is for me to do, but the fact is that the Dawson women spent an entire day
peddling..."

That was where the first page ended.  I had been reading aloud and the girls
just gasped.  I went to the next page and after a pregnant pause continued,
"... jewelry and giftware from Tiffany & Company at our main store on 5th
Avenue.  It was the biggest day in the store's history.  Somehow, word
spread that there were the most beautiful women in the world in the store.
(Keep in mind, the advertising had not yet run; it was only September.)  At
the end of the day, it took us 90 minutes after closing to empty the store!
And heaven only knows how many shoppers were shut out when we locked the
doors for new customers at our normal closing time.

"This brings me to the checks enclosed.  The fact is, we're being very cheap
indeed.  At our normal sales commission rates, all three would be far
higher.  The reality is that even those checks should be doubled, with the
additional payment being for the most effective demonstration of
salesmanship my staff has ever seen.  They started off in awe of their
beauty and ended up awestruck by their ability.  Unbelievable!

"At any rate, that day was so spectacularly successful, as was the
advertising campaign, we would like to engage your women -- and you, of
course, if you can get away -- for a 6-city, 15-day tour of our principal
stores.  There will be a reception for our best customers in each city and
one day spent in the local store.  Beyond that, there will be sightseeing
and anything else the women might care to do.  To avoid hassles, travel will
be by executive jet.  Please let me know as soon as possible if the girls
will consent to do this.  Oh!  I nearly forgot.  We propose a fee for this
service to us of $100,000.  I hope this is satisfactory.

"Knowing Jean, her first words were that the checks would have to go back."

I looked at Jean and grinned.  She was pouting.

Continuing with the letter, I read, "I have learned that you have a very
effective means of persuading Jean to do what's good for her.  Although I
would truly hate to think of that beautiful woman with a badly-bruised
bottom again, I'm sure you'll agree it's for her own good.

"Finally, enclosed is an ad layout.  Our people absolutely love it, but for
reasons you'll instantly understand, we will not run it without express
permission from the women.  Its title is Bare Essentials.

"Then also enclosed is a sealed package from our photographer who did the
shoot last September.  He was so overwhelmed he has offered to do all the
Dawson pictures for only 25% of his normal fee.  He adores working with the
girls and claims they are the finest models he's ever had the pleasure to
work with.  Believe me when I say he's used to working with the very best,
too.  (I'm talking about the $1,000-an-_hour_ set!)  His assessment?  Your
women are so much better than any of the others, he couldn't even guess who
would be in second place.  The fact is that he has all the Tiffany ads
enlarged to very large poster size hanging in the lobby of his studio.  To
say he's proud of his work understates the reality by orders of magnitude."

He closed out the letter by asking for a call regarding the city visits.

Turning to Jean I said, "You heard the man, slave.  Will you need to be
persuaded to accept the store's money?"

"I guess you'll have to keep it, girls," she said glumly.  "I'm really not
up for another beating.  I don't think I got rid of all my pre-wedding
bruises until about a month ago."

Then she brightened and said, "Girls, this is the first money either of you
have ever earned, isn't it?"  Both girls eagerly nodded.  They looked so
damned cute.  "Into your bank accounts, okay?  And don't you dare be in a
big rush to give it all away, either.  Understand?  Besides, there will be
taxes due on it, too; both income and self-employment taxes."

She gave me a cute grin and added, "That was one nice thing about being a
prostitute.  It's an all-cash business and I never bothered to pay any
taxes."

Ah, yes!  The charity gene.  They would have quickly given it all away and
still owed the taxes anyway.

Then I looked at the layout he had sent.  It was an incredible photo showing
the three girls sitting on the end of a rough wooden pier with their backs
to the camera.  They were holding fishing rods and their hair was back in
ponytails.  Each was wearing her gold choker and nothing else (although I'm
pretty sure I could see Sandy's gold bracelet on her wrist).  Their revealed
beauty was simply devastating.  I had never thought of a back as being
beautiful, but theirs certainly were -- and are.  At the bottom of the
layout there were three gold chokers similar to what the girls were wearing
but different.  (Later I learned that their three models had been taken out
of production because they were the girls' own.)

Then there was a thick packet also addressed to Mr. James Dawson and marked
"Only to be opened by Mr. Dawson personally."  Whoever sent it was taking no
chances.  It was sealed all around with sealing wax and with tiny threads
embedded that would break at the slightest handling.  Carefully I opened it
and found a letter and a stack of photos.

The letter was from Paul Sanderson who introduced himself as the
photographer on the Tiffany assignment.  He wrote:

Dear Mr. Dawson:

First, sir, let me congratulate you for heading what is probably the finest
family on the face of this earth.  Your wife, Jean, is the most beautiful
woman alive, but, sir, some of her beauty is your direct responsibility.
One reason for her beauty is that she is very well loved.  But there's more.
Except for her perfect figure -- and I can assure you I recognize all the
signs -- I would say she's pregnant and knows it.  Now she's complete as a
woman -- and looks it.

Then there are your two girls.  Your wife explained what happened to them,
and my whole crew and I were in tears.  Such incredible courage and
self-sacrifice!  You, sir, are greatly to be envied.

But there's so much more.  I began my professional photographic career in
the United Kingdom and was quite successful there.  Indeed, I have served as
the personal photographer to almost all of the still-sitting crowned heads
of Europe.  In this connection, I recently received a very warm personal
note from the Queen of...  (I'd really rather not say.).  She has a very
handsome 11-year-old son and was wondering if there might be any chance that
Susan could ever be interested in him.

You see, sir, they, too, recognize the same thing I did in those women:
truly they are to the manor born!  Every single move they make is done with
poise and grace.

But there's so much more.  Speaking of them simply as models -- which is
very hard for us to do, I should add -- they are the very best in the
business.  Moreover, they are tireless.  They take any direction instantly
and professionally... indeed, at a level of professionalism we have never
seen before and we work with the very best.  Jean, Sandra and Susan Dawson
are at the very pinnacle of the modeling profession.  Indeed, they are so
good, I couldn't tell you who's in second place.

And the way they interact with my crew!  To a man -- and woman -- they love
them.

There's one favor I must ask, though.  Would you please -- _please!_ -- keep
your wife's former prostitution a deep dark secret.  I ask this for two
reasons.  First, my assistant -- without whom I simply could not function --
is talking about writing to Jean to ask for some tips on getting started.
"Started as what?" I asked.  "As a prostitute, of course," she replied,
giving me a look as if to wonder what I use for brains.  "If it takes a
career as a prostitute to become like Jean Dawson, I've lost far too much
time already!"

But there's more.  If the word gets out, Jean's former colleagues would be
after her _en masse_ with blood in their eyes.  Why?  With every woman on
the globe peddling her ass, what would happen to the prices?  My God!  They
might be paying the johns to take them!

Jean just giggled at the thought and then said, "Darling, would you make me
pay you to take me?  Would you really?"

I cocked my head and tried to look thoughtful.  Then I ponderously replied,
"No, wife, I would not."  Then I grinned and added, "You can think of it as
another advantage of matrimony.  You don't even have to pay me for my...
services."

"Oh, my darling!" she said with the sarcasm dripping from her voice.
"You're so incredibly generous."

But back to the letter:

I learned from your wife that you drive a BMW M-5.  If you would like a
lifetime supply of new BMWs, just say the word.  I do all their photography,
too, and I can assure you that they would sign up the women in the blink of
an eye if I told them they would be willing.  I only mention this because I
firmly believe that there are two reasons they're appearing in the Tiffany
advertising.  First, they like Tiffany's jewelry.  And I know that the gold
collars the girls wear in Bare Essentials are their own.  (And the
inscriptions on them, and on Sandy's bracelet are utterly perfect!)  But
beyond that, they're doing it as a favor to a friend, Jack Thompson.  That's
really all there is to it.

Also, enclosed are photos no one else has ever seen.  These were taken
following the Bare Essentials picture.  The three dove off the end of the
pier and we thought they would just swim around in the lake.  Only then did
we appreciate the athleticism of those women.  They're all muscle!

But they swam back and started a water fight with Susan and Sandy against
Jean.  They were having so much fun that my crew thought it was the neatest
thing they had ever seen.  This was a sight they would have paid substantial
money to see.  But what were we seeing?  We were seeing a mother and her
daughters having great fun together.

Finally, I must admit to professional failure.  As good as the pictures are
(and they line the walls of my entry, as well as the walls of the laboratory
that finished them) we failed.  Why?  Because so much of the women's beauty
can't be captured by a lens.  It is exquisite beauty that's within
themselves.  We see it looking into their eyes.  All one can see is purity
and grace.  And I do mean Divine grace.

I repeat, sir, you share your bed with the most beautiful woman in the
world.  But beyond that, you share it with a woman who loves you to a depth
that surpasses understanding.  From everything we hear from your daughters,
you love your wife at least as much.  For that, sir, you are all blessed.

With great sincerity,

Paul Sanderson

"Wow!" I murmured.  Then I held out my arms and Jean launched herself
landing seated across my lap.  "I adore you, wife!" I whispered.

She just snuggled and murmured softly, "That's nice."  Then she looked up at
me, winked and just grinned.

Next we looked at the pictures and they were really great!  The girls had
had a water fight that ended with the girls jumping on Jean's head and
pushing it under water.  The last picture in the series was marvelous.  The
three were wading out of the lake and were in water that didn't reach up to
Jean's knees.  Water was dripping from their hair that was hanging straight
but they were utterly gorgeous.  Moreover they appeared to be giggling and
having a wonderful time.

"See!" she complained.  "It's easy to see who the aggressors were in that
conflict."

"Oh?" the two girls retorted.

"You practically drowned us both with that completely unprovoked first
attack!" Sandy exclaimed.

Jean appeared to think for a moment and then said, "Hmm...  I guess I did,
didn't I?"  Then she just giggled and the girls joined in.

God!  I love them so damned much.

* * *

In the event, we made the trip three weeks later.  Our first stop was San
Francisco.  Early that morning -- and I mean early -- we went out to a local
airport (avoiding O'Hare, thank God!) and found a Gulfstream G-5 sitting on
the ramp waiting for us.  Since the G-5 has a range of 6,500 nautical miles,
going to San Francisco wasn't even a walk in the park for the aircraft.  On
the other hand, to reach its full range required a flight crew of four
qualified pilots; it required more than 14 hours in the air, so two full
crews were required.

But not for us.  All our baggage was stowed and we boarded the aircraft.
The jet engine on the starboard side was turning over.  We were shown to our
seats... I guess.  The fact is that the bird, set up in max comfort
configuration, handled 15 people; our four and a fraction was nothing.  The
girls had been on a Boeing 747 to Maui, and a Boeing 757 when we flew to New
York, but this was something very different.  In the first place, although
nearly 100 feet long, it was tiny compared to the girls' previous planes.
But it more than made up for its size by being very nimble.  No sooner were
we strapped in -- Jean was holding Jamey in her arms -- than the port engine
lighted off and we began to taxi to the active (only) runway.

The brakes were set and then released.  The two Rolls-Royce engines screamed
as they put out more than 29,000 lbs. of thrust.  In moments the nose wheel
came off the runway and we began to climb.  It seemed like only seconds
later that we were nearing our cruising altitude of 41,000 feet, heading
west for San Francisco.

That's when the co-pilot, a lovely young woman, came back to greet us.  At
least that's what she had intended to do.  Instead, she looked at Jean and
her jaw dropped.  She just stood there with her mouth agape.

"Are you trying to tell me I should change my brand of deodorant?" Jean
asked softly with a very warm smile.

The woman just shook her head to clear it and then apologized, "I'm terribly
sorry!  We knew we were flying the Tiffany women around the country over the
next two weeks, and I've certainly seen all your ads...  But you are just
too much!  I can't believe a living human can possibly look as good as you
do."

Jean then introduced the girls and then folded back the receiving blanket to
reveal the sleeping face of our baby.  "This is James Russell Dawson, Jr.,
otherwise known as Jamey.  He's about three weeks old."

The girl dropped to her knees beside Jean's seat.  "He's so incredibly
beautiful," she breathed.  "What a perfect baby!"

"He's simply wonderful," Jean replied.  "As far as we know, he's only cried
once."

"Once?"

"When I really slammed his bottom when he was born," Jean explained.  "It's
to get his lungs working or something like that."

"But...  The doctor?  The hospital?" the girl stammered.

"This was a do-it-yourself birth," Jean said.  "The only thing the doctor
did was to circumcise him.  Next time, I'll do that myself and save the
money."

"How are you feeling?" the girl asked.  "I mean...  It's only been three
weeks."

"Sex?  Is that what you're asking?"

The copilot could only nod her head.

"I was numb at the time but didn't really know it.  But by that evening I
was fine."

Jean looked at me for confirmation.  "Less than 12 hours later, she was
fine.  In fact, she was marvelous!" I reported.

"You mean...  You two had... sex... less than 12 hours after delivering this
luscious baby?"

"Mmm..." Jean murmured.  "And Jim was utterly marvelous!"

Now the girl was blushing almost beet red.  "Have you ever...?  I mean...
Have you ever heard of the Mile-High Club?"

Jean and I both shook our heads.

Now the girl was blushing whatever color is beyond beet-red.  But she
continued, "It's making love at an altitude above one mile.  We'll be
cruising at nearly eight miles up...  And we're almost there now."  Then she
showed us how a sofa became a bed.

That's all it took.  Jean looked at the girl and asked, "Do you...?  I
mean...  Do we need a witness or two to qualify?"

"No, you don't," she replied.  But then she grinned and added, "But I may be
back anyway to get some pointers."

Jean was almost completely out of her clothes before the woman made it back
to the cockpit.  "You owe me," she whispered.  "We had to get up too damned
early this morning and I haven't had my 'Good morning, lovely Jeannie'
fucking yet."

Our lovemaking that morning was exquisite!  It was slow and easy -- like the
night she gave birth -- and filled with mutual love.  But sure enough, the
copilot came back while we were coupled.

"Want to see?" Jean asked with a lovely grin.  "And do you sign as a
witness... or something?"

"Woman, you are unreal!" the girl exclaimed.  "And he's huge!"

"Sure is, isn't he," Jean sighed.  "And I love him more than life itself."
Then she murmured, "Cum with me, my husband. _Cum with me!"_

Jean had already had a number of small orgasms, but the last was wonderful.
While I was filling her cunt with my seed, I reached for her and she just
lifted her torso off the bed to meet me.  We embraced and then kissed.  It
was a remarkably loving kiss with now-satiated passion.  I just held her
tightly and enjoyed the feeling of her cunt milking my cock to get the last
bit of cum.

"Wonderful!" she breathed.  "My husband is a masterful lover."

"He sure as hell is," the copilot agreed.  "My name is Janice Page, by the
way."  She grinned and added, "My husband, Bill, is the captain and I'm vice
president of everything else."

Ignoring her nudity -- or not conscious of it -- Jean swung her long legs
out from the bed, sat up and extended her hand.  Then she felt her hair,
frowned at me and said, "James Dawson, you've ruined my hairdo.  And you
know damned well what a pain in the tail it is to redo it, too."

"Uh, oh!" I commented.  "Here's where another woman learns to hate you."

But before I could even finish the sentence, Jean had given her head a hard
shake.  As usual, every hair was again perfectly in place.

Janice nodded once and then in a totally flat tone of voice said, "Your
husband's right.  I hate you."

Looking at me, Jean pretended to be bewildered.  "But why, Jim?  Why would
Janice hate me?"  Then over-acting like crazy, her eyes widened and she
motioned toward her hair.  "You mean?  This?"

I just nodded my head.

"But, Jim...  Do you mean?  There are women who can't do that?"

Again I nodded.

Turning toward the girl again she said, "Honest?  Would you really like to
be able to do that?"

Janice just glared at Jean.  "Grr!" was the only sound that came from her
mouth.

Jean pretended to be puzzled.  "She means 'yes'," I translated.

"Oh!  Then that's easy.  You've got it."

"Got what?"

"Now you can fix your hair the way I do.  Just try it.  Muss it up and then
just shake your head hard."

"If this doesn't work, Mrs. Dawson, you do know that I'll have to ask you to
leave the aircraft...  At once!"

"You mean...?"  Jean asked.  Then she walked two fingers in the air in the
direction of the door and then made a diving motion with her hands.

"I mean!" Janice confirmed.

"Well, it's a good thing it always works," Jean responded brightly.  Then
she frowned and added, "Eight miles is a long way down."  Then she added,
"You don't happen to have a long rope on board, do you?"

At that, Janice just cracked up.  "Mrs. Dawson, you are too damned much!"

"Since I'm bare-assed naked, Mrs. Page, would it be lowering the bar too
much if I asked you to please call me Jean?"

The girl giggled and repeated, "Jean Dawson, you are too damned much!"

"That's better.  Now try it."  With that she rose -- the headroom permitted
her to stand upright, although I could not -- reached out and scrambled
Janice's hair.  "Now just shake your head hard."

She did and then felt her head.  She appeared to be utterly stunned.  Then
she almost ran to the lavatory where she repeated it while looking at
herself in the mirror.  When she emerged she appeared to be in a state of
shock.  "How did you do that?" she asked softly.

"I really don't know how," Jean replied, "but it's an ability the girls and
I all have."  She grinned and continued, "Andy Shepherd just loves it.  It
solves a problem that's bothered him and most other top hair stylists for
years.  How many women go to bed at night with their hair up?"

Janice pointed to herself and said, "Me, for one.  And I hate it!  I really
want to look good for Bill in bed, but if I do I look like the wrath of God
in the morning."

"Now you don't have the problem," Jean commented.

"How long does it last?"

"Until you set your hair some other way.  It can last for weeks, anyway.  We
really have never tried to find a limit."

"Who's Andy Shepherd, by the way?" Janice asked.  "Bill and I are based in
Chicago, and when I'm really splurging I go to Andre's.  But who's Andy?"

"He's Andre," Jean replied with a grin.  "He does all of us."

_"Personally?"_ the girl exclaimed.  "I thought I had really made the big
time when he came into the booth and said a few words to my stylist."

"Personally," Jean confirmed.  "If you'd like him to do you, just ask to see
Andy -- not Andre -- and tell him you're a friend of mine.  When he learns
that you can restore your hair by shaking your head, he'll know you are."

"The power is pretty rare, isn't it?"

Jean just shrugged.

At that point the girl said, "I had better be heading back to the cockpit.
Bill might be wondering if I fell out or something."

Then she slowly shook her head and added, "Jean, this is the nicest thing
you could have done for me.  Now I'll be able to look the way I should in
bed without having to have at least two days off afterward so my hair is
half-way presentable."  With that she retreated toward the cockpit.

"That was a very nice thing you did, sweetie," I remarked.

"She's a lovely woman," Jean replied.  "I think her love life is going to
improve dramatically."

The next time we saw Janice, we were only about 30 minutes out of San
Francisco.  This time, Jean was bare to the waist nursing Jamey.  She just
dropped to her knees beside Jean and watched, utterly fascinated.

Jean just smiled warmly and pulled the receiving blanket away from our
infant's face so she could get a better look.

The woman just sighed deeply and said, "He's so beautiful!  He's perfect."
Then she paused and stammered, "How... How does it feel?"

"Simply marvelous!" Jean exclaimed softly.  Very gently she caressed her
infant's face as he fed on his mother's sweet milk.  Then she asked, "When
are you going to try it?"

"I... Bill would love for me to have a baby soon.  He wants children so
badly.  I do, too..." her voice fell and she looked unhappy.  "We make
awfully good money.  And we have such a great time, too.  We always fly as a
team which certainly makes it nice."

"And you really don't want to give it up, do you?" Jean asked.

Janice just shook her head.

"Is Bill as good a pilot as you are?"

"Are you kidding?" the girl replied.  "He's so much better, it's ridiculous.
He's truly a natural; I'm not."

"Why are you competing then?" Jean asked.  "Why don't you do something he
could never do: give birth to a child and nurse it at your breast.  It's a
feeling like no other.  Honest."

"But you're famous," the girl insisted.  "You and the girls are the most
famous models in the world!  Just look at you now.  On a six-city tour...
Fabulous!  And the opportunities you're looking at must be vast.  You three
could take your pick of any of the modeling jobs in the world!"

"That's a laugh and a half!" Jean giggled.  "Jim had to make one of those
dumb five-cities-in-five-days European swings, so it was an opportunity for
the three of us to kill some time.  That's absolutely all there was to it."

To that point Janice had been focusing on Jean -- with good reason, I might
add.  But then she turned to me and asked, "I know about your women, Mr.
Dawson, but what do you do?"

"I'm with Callaway Industries," I replied.

"He's executive vice president," Jean added, drawing a glare from me to
which she responded with a broad grin coupled with sticking out the tip of
her pink tongue.

Janice's eyes widened.  "My God!  You, too?  What a family!"  Then she said,
"You know, our company, Executive Aviation, specializes in trips such as you
just made.  This aircraft, for example, can easily reach any spot in Europe
from Chicago, nonstop.  That's why it's set up for a crew of four rather
than two.  On those long flights -- at our long-range cruising speed of mach
0.8, we're in the air for more than 14 hours.  And believe me, in 14 hours
this plane can cover a great deal of territory."

Then she rose to her feet and went forward again.  A few moments later she
returned with an information and sales package on Executive Aviation.  Good
for her.  The woman was really using her head.  Giving it to me she said,
"Those trips are a pain in the butt under the best of circumstances, but in
a craft like this it's as painless as it's possible to be.  And I just know
the company would adore having Callaway Industries as a client.  You folks
are just great!"

"Did you enclose your card, Mrs. Page?" I asked.

She blushed and quickly shook her head.

"Why don't you go get one?" I suggested.  "I have to believe that the very
least you would get would be some brownie points, but more likely a bonus.
Right?"

She scampered forward again and returned with business cards and a stapler.
Taking back the sales package, she carefully stapled her card in a
predesignated location.

Then she looked at the five of us and said softly, "This family is the
outstanding family in the United States.  Never have I encountered the level
of love and caring that you all display."  She paused and then continued,
"This is a very good job and it pays very well.  But I must admit that some
of our passengers are truly world-class SOBs!  They're arrogant bastards.
But you...!"

She slowly shook her head.  "I really believe that Jean was telling me about
motherhood because she thinks I would be happier taking care of a home and
children than spending my life in the cockpit of a jet.  And you know what?
I think she's right.  She only met me a couple of hours ago, but instantly
she seemed to know me better than I know myself."  Then she grinned and
concluded, "All I can say is that this trip is shaping up to be the very
best Bill and I have ever made.  And thank you all for making it so."

* * *

End Part 7 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.

* * *

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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