Message-ID: <5882eli$9711262116@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "ass.reposter" X-Good-Total-Length: yes Subject: RP: The Stepford Wifes (Best stories from my Archive) [1/2] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: gmezey@cms.khvm.hu Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <347A81B5.94B@hotmail.com> THE STEPFORD WIVES c. 1996 by Rhett Dreams Warning: This fictional story contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts and is intended for mature audiences. Any resemblance between characters in this work and real people is probably intentional, and occasionally a little mean-spirited. Authors Note: This is the second in a trilogy of stories and, like the first installment ("Southern Hospitality'), it pays to read the chapters in order. The full story is at www.cjnetworks.com/files/Authors/Jess/wwwa/rhett/rhett.html, along with prior works by the same author. Thanks: To the GrooveGirl, for her help in shaping this story, and for fixing some of my lousy grammar, spelling and twisted sentences. The Stepford Wives - Chapter One Wednesday, August 9 1:10 p.m. Jessica Graham supervised the three moving men as they unloaded the huge van and brought the household furnishings inside the stately colonial. The twenty-eight year old lawyer and homemaker was not at all happy. It was a hot and humid mid-day in Kansas, and she hadn't had anything to eat since downing a quick English muffin with her coffee at breakfast. That was a little after seven in the morning, what she hoped would be their final meal in that god-forsaken greasy spoon next to the hotel that had been their home for six days. The moving van was supposed to have arrived at eight, which is why she had rushed breakfast for her and her five year-old daughter, Katie. But they hadn't showed up until after ten, and she was forced to cool her heels for those two hours as well as keep little Katie occupied. To top it off, the Bekins people had promised her four men, instead of the three now at work. She very much wanted everything done well before Rhett, her husband, came home from his new job as General Manager of the nearby manufacturing plant. This job was a big promotion for Rhett, Jessica knew. An operations job was just the boost his career would need if he was to rise to the Senior vice-president level back at corporate headquarters. All the same, half of her greatly resented the move away from her friends in New England and the career she was building as an up-and-coming fourth-year associate at one of the most prestigious Boston law firms. She knew, however, that Rhett had made similar sacrifices putting her through law school at Harvard and staying at the corporate level long enough for her career to get on track. Too long. "It's my fucking turn to be noble," she thought to herself, feeling guilty that she harbored such resentment. But it was hot, the move wasn't going well, and she was hungry. So damned hungry. "Mommieeeee!" The eager voice of her daughter ended her musings and she turned to see her girl jogging along the manicured lawn that stretched between their house and the neighbors, hand-in-hand with a little red-headed girl of about the same age. Behind the two girls walked a woman who just had to be the little girl's mother. The thirty-ish woman also had red hair, maybe a little darker than the child's, but hers was elegantly coifed. It wasn't just the hair, Jessica noticed, that made this woman so striking. Although she wore a simple cotton or gingham dress, it was perfectly cut for her body and hung gracefully off of her shapely hips. Jessica self-consciously imagined how she must look in an old Harvard tee shirt, shorts and sneakers, dusty and tired, her brown hair probably a tangled mess. Dropping her eyes to the two rapidly approaching girls she managed an encouraging smile. "This is Sallie, Mommy, and she lives *right* next door. Her mom has fixed us lunch, PBJs for me and Sallie---" "Sallie and me," interrupted Jessica. Just as soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt foolish for correcting Katie's grammar when she was so excited about meeting a friend in this new place. "It's very good to meet you, Sallie," said Jessica, with what she hoped was a welcoming smile. Used to her daughter's indifferent manners, Jessica was caught short when the red-head dropped Katie's hand, curtsied, and replied, "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Graham, and to have the chance to welcome you and your daughter to Stepford." Sallie's mother joined them and Jessica now noticed that the elegant woman was carrying a tray containing a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of what looked to be iced tea. "I figured you could use a care package, Mrs. Graham," said the woman. "I'm Linda Waterson, by the way, and you've already met my daughter Sallie." "Please call me Jessica. You're a mind-reader as well as a life saver," she said, motioning toward the picnic table under a large elm. "I haven't had a minute free to make lunch, even if I had found the time to go grocery shopping." As the neighbor put the tray down on the table, Katie grabbed a diagonally sliced sandwich half and immediately stuffed most of it into her mouth. The Waterson girl, by contrast, placed four glasses on the table and began pouring iced tea. "I've got to work on Katie's manners," thought Jessica to herself as she watched the cute red-head fill each glass to exactly one-half inch from the top. In addition to the girl's table manners, Jessica noted that her play clothes, a green and white jumper, were spotless. Her own daughter seemed to have a knack for attracting dirt like a magnet, and her face and hair were already quite dirty. "I hope you like tuna salad," said Linda Waterson, setting four plates around the table. Jessica found herself staring at her beautifully manicured hands as she set the table, finishing with four neatly folded cloth napkins. Her fingers were long and slender, the perfect nails painted in a light pink that matched, Jessica now noticed, the color of her lipstick. The woman's motions were at the same time economical and quite graceful. Jessica sat down wearily and gratefully on the bench seat in front of one of the plates and couldn't help but notice how Linda Waterson made the awkward act of sitting at a picnic table bench seem like a ballet movement, balancing one of her perfect hands on the table while she raised one leg and tucked it over the bench, then the other. Before taking a seat, her hand smoothed the dress underneath her against her thighs. While they ate lunch, Jessica continued to marvel at the elegance of her new neighbor, wondering yet again how she must look in contrast. The woman's dress was bright and cheerful, totally without any sign of a wrinkle or stain, and it hugged her body perfectly. Her makeup was lightly and tastefully applied, and a pleasant, clean smelling perfume occasionally reached Jessica's nose. Pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace completed her outfit. She somehow managed to eat and drink without spilling a drop or a crumb, and in such a way that made the act of eating a tuna sandwich seem almost sensual. When Jessica felt a drop of perspiration crawl down her back, she wondered how this woman remained so cool and dry in the ninety degree heat. "I really do appreciate your kindness," she said. "But I hope I'm not keeping you from some appointment. You look terrific, by the way." "Thank you," she replied. "I finished all my housework early, actually, and all I have left before starting dinner is to run over to the V.A. home after lunch to do some volunteer work with those poor men. I'll have some time later in the afternoon to pitch in and give you a hand." Jessica kept her expression neutral but inside she was thinking, "She dresses like this to clean bedpans?" "Mommy, can I go play at Sallies?," her daughter cried breathlessly. "She's got an *awesome* swing set. Can I Mommy, can I?" Jessica noticed that Sallie had yet to finish her sandwich, and that the girl ate with the same elegant casualness of her mother. "Not just yet, honey. Wait until Sallie's done." "Awww, Mom---" protested the girl, bouncing from her seat at the table. "Actually, Mrs. Graham, I'm really quite finished," said the red-head, placing a half-eaten sandwich segment back on her plate. "I'd be happy to show Katie my swing set." With the girls gone to play, Linda Waterson began describing what she did for the veterans and, on Tuesdays each week, at the nursing home nearby. Jessica studied the woman while she talked, and found herself resenting her perfectly erect posture, the elegance of her dress and manner, even the politeness of the woman's child. "But can she fuck?" Jessica thought to herself and felt her lips curve into the first smile of the frustrating day. "Can Mrs. Perfect Waterfuckinson let her hair get mussed long enough to Do the Dirty? I'll bet she performs her wifely duties once a week with the lights off." Jessica had long ago learned a trick to help her whenever she felt the least bit intimidated by an opposing attorney, inevitably a man with considerably more experience than she. And they were always taller than she, sometimes a foot taller. She would picture him naked, always imagining blotchy pale skin, sagging flesh and a ridiculously small penis. And in her minds' eye she would picture herself dressed as a dominatrix, all in black leather with brass studs, in heels that brought her height up to a respectable 5' 7', lashing her opponent's fleshy ass with a riding crop. This five second ritual was usually all it took to feel comfortable and focus her considerable intellect on winning the case. With Linda Waterson it was different. The woman's body would be perfect, Jessica knew, shaped and toned by just the right amount of exercise. While the woman talked, Jessica imagined instead, her bent over a Harley Davidson, getting her perfect little cunt hammered from behind by a big greasy biker. Another biker in front---yeah, that's perfect---with a handful of her coifed hair in his gloved mitt, forcing her head up so his enormous unwashed cock could slide across those pink lips, into her mouth and throat. "I feel so much better," said Jessica with a small smile when Linda had finished. And she did, with her belly pleasantly full and her self-worth back to where it should be. - o - "The new folks are in the process of moving in, Doctor," announced the man as he closed the door to the inner office of the Director of the V.A. hospital. "Splendid," said the fifty-ish doctor, rising from behind his desk to greet the visitor. Wearing the white robe of the trade, the tall physician joined his visitor at the table in the corner of the spacious office. "Please, Mr. O'Brien, sit," he said, graciously, his voice showing no accent, just the flat intonation common to born mid-westerners. Nobody would have guessed that the distinguished doctor was not an American by birth or that his early years were spent in the mountains of Argentina, learning, by his father's side, German, Spanish and American English. The doctor was born Joseph Mengele, Jr., in March, 1944, two months before his infamous father staged his own death and left the Dachau death camp to make his escape from the oncoming Russians and American troops. The boy had never met his mother, and was told by his father only that she was of excellent stock. He shared his father's uncommonly bright blue eyes and prematurely gray/white hair, and his brilliant mind. But he was a tall and relatively slender man, his body well built but nothing like the powerful, bull-like body of his father, the "Angel of Death' to the Dachau inmates. The elder Dr. Mengele had died in the early sixties, but not before securing for his son an American identity, a good sized fortune and a place as a freshman at Stanford University. The young man had used the name Richard Poulsen ever since. He had excelled at Stanford, first as an undergraduate and later at the medical school. Following a year of post doctorate study in genetics and serumoligy, the young Doctor had been recruited by the CIA to head a secret lab that researched chemical and biochemical warfare. His spook masters were impressed by the doctor's diligent work habits, how he would often be at the lab six or seven days a week, eighteen hours per day. What they didn't know and would never find out was the direction of the brilliant doctor's work. Despite a childhood during which he had to listen repeatedly to his father's endless diatribes about Aryan purity and the like, Dr. Poulsen had developed a different life view. It might have been in part because he long suspected that his biological mother must have been part Jewish or Gypsy to have been forced to suffer the attentions of his father in the death camps. His mother, he knew, was nothing more than a vessel for his father's seed. A whore. At their core, he firmly believed, all woman were whores. Women had an important position in the correct social order, he would readily acknowledge. Keeping house. Bearing and raising the children. Entertaining. Spreading their whore legs when their man told them to. This was their noble role in life. And he took it as his life's work to make it possible for woman, and the men who kept them, to realize this natural order of things. "Here's what we know," said O'Brien, sitting across from the doctor. "He's taking over as plant manager, and should be in Stepford for two, maybe three years. The wife's been a practicing attorney up in Boston. She should be quite a test. Honors graduate of Smith with a double major in History and English, third in her class at Harvard Law. The P.I. I hired up there tells me she had a well-earned reputation for kickin' butt in the courtroom. Cool and unruffled, brilliant... tenacious as hell." "Hmmf," muttered the doctor, waving his hand for his aide to continue. "We don't know yet if she has any plans to take the bar exam and hang up a shingle here, but we'll know sooner rather than later. The family phones are tapped, and I'll personally listen to all of the day's conversations each evening. As you know, this is all precaution. She should be experiencing the change within thirty days, forty-five at the outside." "A woman attorney," said the doctor, shaking his head, remembering the insufferable Stanford coeds he had to put up with for so many years. Before arriving in Palo Alto with his new identity, he had been used to just taking what he wanted from the half-breed servant girls on his father's plantation. At first they would fight him, holding desperately to their virginity for those last few minutes, but succumbing in the end to his strength and the power of his lust. His father knew about this and tacitly approved the rapes by paying off the girl's families. At Stanford, the coeds were attracted to his remarkable looks and razor-sharp mind, but he couldn't stomach the games they played, and did little to hide his disgust for their un-natural ambitions. The doctor slammed his fist against the table, but as quickly as his anger had appeared, it was gone. He held his hand up and ticked off each finger as he spoke. "One, I want to know if she's using bottled water. Remember the Asian woman last year, Patricia Chan, how it took months because we hadn't anticipated that." "Two, I want you to start working on the husband. Get his current secretary out of there and put Lisa Quinn in her place. This guy's probably no fool, so she needs to be subtle." "Three, get her neighbor---ah, Linda Waterson---in here for a chat. I want her to befriend this whore and do what it takes to keep the dose of RCA as high as possible." Mike O'Brien didn't disclose to his boss that Waterson was expected any moment now at the hospital. He waited a few moments to be sure that no more instructions were forthcoming, then said, "It will be done, Doctor." Back in his own office, O'Brien called his contact at the plant and passed along Poulsen's instructions about Lisa Quinn. Putting the phone down, he smiled at the thought of that incredibly sexy girl going after R. Rhett Graham. With her centerfold body, thick, pouty lips and big, innocent looking hazel eyes, she'd give a corpse a raging hard-on. It was the innocence she exuded that made every man she met want to fuck that look off of her face, to see those xpressive eyes filled with passion of their creation. Glancing at his watch he noted that he had about five or ten minutes before Linda Waterson would stop by after her rounds with the patients, where she helped the old men write letters that O'Brien suspected no one ever read. It didn't matter to the men, though, who looked forward with relish any visit by the attractive red-head. O'Brien knew he was not in the same class as Dr. Poulsen, and that he had only a limited idea how the RCA added to the county reservoir worked on the female population of Stepford. RCA... he always got a chuckle from the acronym and Poulsen's name for the drug, Righteous Change Agent. He didn't really care how it worked, especially after uncovering a side effect to the drug, one that he naively believed the doctor unaware. As the drug worked to replace the subject's deeply ingrained sense of self-purpose with the pattern that Poulsen had somehow engineered into memory molecules, it also left the women very susceptible to hypnosis. Hypnosis was one of the few things that Mike O'Brien did reasonably well. He had managed to stay away from the frequent parties at the State University just often enough to get his masters in psychology, and the clinical use of hypnosis was the subject of his thesis. He had ended up at the V.A. Hospital more out of laziness than anything else. Building a private practice and dealing with clients was too much trouble. He stayed in this relatively low paying job because, well, one of the reasons was about to walk into his office. He also enjoyed the fact that he was the only member of Poulsen's management team who was genuinely liked by everyone at the hospital, patients and staff alike. Poulsen was much too formal and standoffish, and the rest of the physicians, psychologists and senior nursing staff were, by and large, unhappy to be here, and it showed. If they were any good at their jobs, all would have been at a modern hospital, caring for patients who had a real chance of getting better, instead of here at the V.A.. Mike, on the other hand, loved it here. The knock on O'Brien's door was followed my the entrance of Linda Waterson. "Hello, Mr. O'Brien," she said, closing the door behind her. With a voice that was friendly but reserved, just as one might converse with a merchant of some acquaintance, she said, "I just finished my rounds and wanted to stop by and say hi." O'Brien suppressed a smile at her ignorance of his hypnotically-planted instructions and said, "Zip it, bitch" Linda's green eyes instantly clouded over and her head dropped forward several inches to rest on her chest. Mike congratulated himself on his choice of a trigger phrase for the red-head; it was so much easier for him to remember than something like "Quasimodo'. He got up from behind his desk and walked past the unconscious woman to lock his outer door. Then he approached her and spoke softly into her ear. "When I count to three I want you awake. You will see only your husband in the room, and will be anxious to please him in any way he asks. You'll feel especially horny this afternoon, Linda. One... Two....' "Ohhhhh, God! Yesssss' cried the red-head as Mike O'Brien pounded his cock into her churning pussy. Supporting himself on two stiff arms while his hips rocked back and forth, driving his cock deep into the wet, churning sex of Mrs. Linda Waterson, he had all he could do to hold himself in place as the shapely housewife bucked and writhed under him. The transformation never ceased to amaze him, these Stepford wives, all grace and elegance in their public lives but totally uninhibited sluts with their clothes off. Despite the force of his thrusts, her hips kept bouncing off the carpeted floor of his examination room, slamming up to meet him, rotating sensually to maximize the contact of cock and cunt. This was not his doing, he realized. The goal of the hypnosis was simply to get the housewife to believe in her mind that he was her husband. The rest was accomplished by Doctor Poulsen's drug. Once RCA had taken ahold it was central to each woman's self-esteem to excel at pleasuring their husbands. Any beliefs they may have had before, about what was lady-like or proper in the bedroom, were gradually supplanted by this primal need to satisfy their man. "Take it, you fuckin' slut!' he growled before lowering his head and forcing his lips over hers, driving his tongue deep into her mouth. "Oh yes!' she cried when he broke the kiss and grabbed one of her stiff nipples between his teeth. "I'm your slut, Harry... Oh, God!... Fuck your slut... Fuck meeeeeee...' As he felt her cunt spasm around his shunting cock, announcing her second orgasm of this lusty ten-minutes bout, he felt the tingling in his balls that told him he would soon follow. "Fuckin' bitch,' he chanted, over and over as his pounding cock erupted in the housewife's cunt, filling her sex with his copious discharge. Twenty minutes later, the red-head was looking as fresh and elegant as ever when she strolled through the V.A. parking lot to her car. She would remember from her visit only the gratitude of the old veterans for her presence and aide. No memory remained of her afternoon fuck with her husband, Harry. She would also feel a stronger desire to befriend Jessica Graham, and not know the reason why she'd inevitably offer her neighbor beverages made from tap water... ice tea, juice from concentrate and the like. The Stepford Wives - Chapter Two Friday, August 11 8:25 p.m. Jessica Graham was feeling for the first time in weeks that she had things under control. There was more unpacking to do, but it was mostly winter clothes and her office stuff and it could wait. After two-and-a-half days, the house was really quite livable, and she found herself appreciating the extra space of this house after their three years in a cozy back-bay condo in Boston. Washing up the last of the dinner dishes, she was looking forward to an evening with Rhett. Ten minutes ago, after reading a book to Katie, he had gathered the tired girl in his arms and brought her upstairs for bed. Jessica had noticed that certain amorous look in his eyes when he had said that he'd be right down, and she was hoping they'd make love. "Hi there, Ms. Jessa,' she heard from just behind her and simultaneously felt Rhett's body press against her back, pinning her against the sink. As his hands massaged her neck and shoulders, she could feel the bulge of his sex pressing against her back. "Hmmmm,' she purred as his fingers worked their magic, releasing the tension in her neck and shoulder muscles. Pressing herself back against his bulge, she asked, "What's gotten into you?' "I'm a victim of circumstance,' he said, kissing the top of her head, his fingers digging deep into her shoulders. "The HR guy at the plant assigned me a new secretary today.' "Oh?' she said. "Pretty?' "Jessa baby, this girl would make you want to give up men.' "That's no big challenge,' she replied and was rewarded with a playful slap on the ass. "I'm going to take a shower,' he said, chuckling as he walked away, "and try to keep my mind off that luscious piece o' ass down at the plant.' "You can keep your mind on her, "said Jessica to his retreating form. "I like you this way. Just keep your hands off her, and keep your dick in your pants.' "Spoil sport.' "Remember that time in the Bahamas,' Rhett said, his naked body spooned behind that of his wife on their king-sized bed, "with Todd and Lois?' Jessa smiled to herself and nodded, now completely relaxed after a delightful fuck that had ended just before her second orgasm. Far from being disappointed, she knew Rhett's moods and desires, and was counting on a second bout. And she knew that the second time would last much longer. "First it's some hussy secretary that gets you all hot and bothered and now, with your practically perfect wife naked before you, all you can think of is that blond slut Lois Weston?' She felt rather than heard his silent laugh, his body shaking perceptibly against her. She could also feel his cock recovering, pressing gently against her ass as it hardened. She would never forget that trip three years ago to the Bahamas, and not just because it was the first time they'd been without Katie since her birth. Rhett's parents had taken the toddler for a week, an incredible week in the middle of February; escaping the cold and snow of Boston for perfectly warm weather in the islands. The third night of their stay, they had met Lois and Todd Weston and had really hit it off. It was strange how easy it was for her to like both of the Westons, despite her natural inclinations to dislike people of their type. That wasn't fair, she knew---to distrust Lois because she possessed The Body. Fashion Model Perfect... slender, almost to the point where you'd call her skinny. Tall, at least in comparison to Jessica, maybe 5'9' and 110 pounds dripping wet. Blond of course. But she was an attorney, like Jessica, and she knew they were kindred spirits when the woman had expressed her absolute disgust for the morals and legal mind of Clarence Thomas ("The only problem with Justice Thomas, I'm forced to conclude, is that his brain is trapped in the head of his penis, you see. Every time he speaks or thinks or writes an opinion, it's just like a man with his tubes clipped ejaculating. It's white, very white, but of no good to anybody'). To top it off, while they were in the lady's room freshening up, she had quoted from an opinion of the "right-honorable' Justice Scalia, cleverly using the horrid man's own words to impale him on the sharp skewer of her insight and wit. Jessica just loved Lois Weston. Based on outward appearances, Todd Weston represented another physical/personality type she normally abhorred. He was, to put it simply, drop-dead gorgeous. The type of hunk Jessica had never been able to attract and, in self defense of her ego, had decided years ago was not worthy of her interest. A taller Mel Gibson except with hazel eyes and a born salesman's confidence. She might have been quick to write him off except that he'd married and was obviously devoted to, an intelligent woman of with her own unique and interesting personality. And, shit, he was a hunk. She couldn't remember exactly how it happened, that night after a fine meal with the Westons, dancing at the disco, mostly with Todd. He didn't just dance with her, not as she was used to anyway. He took possession of her, turning her, spinning her, always under complete control, bringing her body to his, pressing her against him with such confidence, such élan, that she didn't mind the feeling of his semi-erect cock against her belly, his hands on her ass. Jessica had decide long ago that she possessed this funny on-off-neutral switch when it came to men. The "on' switch was reserved for Rhett, and she let herself relax completely in his presence, even to the point of doing things, allowing things, that would shock her feminist Smith College classmates. Neutral was the setting in most situations; she was neither strident nor a timid marshmallow. The "Off' switch she reserved for dealing with opposing counsel. In that mode she could, metaphorically speaking, rip their cocks off with her teeth and spit the useless organ into their faces. Todd's looks and attention to her had the mental switch firmly in the on position. They'd all had too much to drink, certainly, but she was surprised how easy it was to accept his hand when the four of them returned to the Weston's suite. Sitting with Todd on one sofa, her eyes met those of her husband from across the room. Seeing him sitting there, on a matching sofa, with the head of Lois resting in his lap, his fingers playing idly with her blond hair... A question was in his eyes as they stared across the dim room at each other. Her mind cleared as she connected with him and, as Todd's hand came upon her knee, gently but firmly parting her legs as it slid up her thighs, she smiled at her husband and nodded her head. As she felt her husband's cock stiffen against her ass in the here-and-now, she remembered that incredible evening with the Westons. I wasn't just the sex with Todd, who was at least as skillful in bed as he had been on the dance floor. It was looking across the room to see Lois swallowing her husband's cock... seeing him later fuck the blond from the rear, she bent lewdly over the end of the sofa. And knowing that he was watching her, watching as she came time and time again as Todd's mouth and hands and cock took possession of her body. Her recollections were interrupted briefly as Rhett rolled her gently onto her stomach, where she settled, pulling her knees up so her hips cocked upwards to allow him to enter her again. As she felt his body close upon hers, and his thick cock work it's way inside her sex, she purred. "My sweet little Jessa,' he said into her ear, his cock sliding slowly in and out. "Straight, mother-of-the-year Jessa... fucking and sucking a man she just met, then letting the man's wife suck her husband's sticky cum out of your well-fucked pussy.' She was still quite surprised and a little shocked that she had done that, having never touched a woman before or since. She had awaken that night eighteen months ago, on the floor of the Weston's suite, to find herself being kissed by both men; her lips and breasts, her nipples, then her sex. It was such a heavenly feeling that she didn't realize until she was far beyond caring, that Lois Weston was the one feasting on her pussy while the men kissed and suckled her tender nipples. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced, that tongue at her sex, flickering like a butterfly's wings over her clit. Stopping whenever she got close to cumming, pausing then to suck the copious juices from her sex. Then it would begin again. The finger invading her virgin ass, adding a new sensation to the myriad ones she was feeling. Fucking her, that finger in her ass, driving back and forth while three mouths feasted on her breasts and sex. "My sweet nasty Jessa,' she heard in her ear and came, hard, as Rhett's cock drove into her cunt while the erotic and taboo images played in her mind. "Oh, Jesus!' she chanted as her orgasm racked her body. Rhett allowed her a minute's rest before resuming his thrusts into her sex, harder now, more insistent. "You loved havin' Lois eat your pussy,' he said, his hips slapping into her ass with every stroke, "didn't you, Jess.' "Yes,' she cried. "And eating her pussy... did you enjoy sucking my cum outta that blond slut?' "Oh... yes,' Jessa sobbed as she remembered the blond woman squatting over her, lowering her shaved cunt onto her face, the juices dripping onto Jessa's chin, then in her mouth as she parted her lips and accepted the maw of Lois's cunt against her mouth. Her mouth filled with juices, wonderful juices, Rhett's cum mixed with the woman's... swallowing, swallowing as her tongue probed into the strange cavity, searching for and finding the erect nub. Lashing out against it while her hands found the woman's small, firm breasts and squeezed, wanting, in her sex-drugged mind, to hurt the woman who had just made love to her husband---wanting to make the bitch cum as hard as she had. "Oh, Rhett.... cum with me,' cried Jessa as the relentless hammering of his cock brought her again to the edge. "Oh, baby Jessa,' he cried, "Oh, baby.... here it comes... oh, baby... oh baby...' Jessa felt his cock erupt inside her and felt her own orgasm crash over, waves of pleasure rocked her body as the cock jerked and pulsed deep inside her, filling her with it's seed. - o - The Graham's weekend was spent bringing the garden back to life, setting up her office, enjoying a backyard barbecue next door with the Waterson's and seeing a matinee with Katie when it rained for a couple of hours Sunday afternoon. Jessa used to hate Sundays. Hate em' because they were too damn short, the weekend almost over, and she'd have to go back to work the next day. She enjoyed her job, loved the law, but resented the persona she had to adopt to succeed in that world. This was different. She wouldn't even have to take the Kansas Bar Exam until next month, and would have all the time in the world to enjoy Katie. Even though Rhett would be working long hours, she'd see much more of him than when they were in Boston, where both of them routinely brought work home nights and weekends. She'd have the evenings with Rhett, and she smiled to herself at the next thought that appeared in her mind: I'll just have to fuck him senseless each and every night to keep him from dickin' that secretary of his. This was a game they played, encouraging each other to notice attractive members of the opposite (or the same) sex, and sharing the attraction with one another. With the exception of that one time in the Bahamas she knew with certainty that Rhett had remained true to her. "Well,' she thought, "if you don't count what goes on in his imagination.' "What'd you think of "Matilda', daddy?' Katie asked as they drove home from the movie theater Sunday afternoon, the girl strapped into the car seat in the back. "Oh, it was way cool, honey,' said Rhett, then adding under his breath so that his five year-old in the back couldn't hear, "but I think we would have enjoyed "Bordello of Blood' better.' "What, daddy?' asked Katie from the back seat. "Never mind, dear,' said Jessica, giving her husband a withering glance before reaching to insert one of her daughter's cassettes into the tape player and adjusting the sound so it played in the back speakers of the Saab. "Didn't you find it a little bit strange,' she began, talking so her voice wouldn't reach the back seat. "Yesterday, I mean, the way Linda Waterson dressed for a back-yard barbecue. Hell, I didn't dress that nice for court appearances!' She glanced at her husband in time to see him grin before he responded, "Yeah, but you gotta admit that's one fine lookin' body under those fancy duds.' "You're incorrigible, Robert Rhett Graham!' "And the husband,' he continued, "not a bad lookin' guy himself.' Looking over at his wife, his eyes widening in mock seriousness, "You aren't thinking... Linda and me... you and Harry... the Bahamas all over again. Jesus Christ, Jessa!' Jessica Graham's response, filled with expletives, wasn't as carefully modulated as she might have intended. "That's a naughty word, Mommy,' announced their daughter from the back seat, sounding pleased-as-punch to have caught her mother. This caused Rhett to break out in laughter and he was joined reluctantly by his wife moments later. - o - It was the following weekend, on Saturday night, that Jessica Graham's vague uneasiness with her new community finally took shape. Or, more accurately, demanded more of her attention. She and Rhett were to host a dinner party for his direct reports at the plant, their wives, and one important local supplier. The company had an entertainment budget for this kind of thing, so Jessica hired a caterer to make and serve the meal, and to clean up afterward. She had busied herself with the menu choices, getting the house ready and with memorizing the names and job titles of the people who would be coming. She had always been great at names and her trick was to invent in her mind a dramatic play with all the people in whatever case she was working on having parts. The characters evolved as she learned more about them and on more than one occasion she was able to spot a deception simply because the person didn't act or sound right compared to their counterpart in her imagination. Although she usually enjoyed social gatherings, and believed herself a competent hostess, she was nervous about both the size of this one and the fact that she'd know nobody there. With her friends in New England, she always knew what to serve for dinner, what wines and spirits to have ready, and what music to play. Searching through her CD collection, she laughed in frustration as she tried to figure what to play: The Beetles or Toad the Wet Sprocket; Janis Joplin or Tracy Ulman; Tom Jones or Todd Rundgren? "What do mid-westerners, average age 35-45, listen to?' she asked herself and then decided to quiz Linda. The girls, Katie and Sallie, were upstairs playing. After a quick check on them, she left to walk over to the Waterson house. Taking the shorter route toward the rear her neighbor's house, she stepped onto their deck and approached the sliding glass doors of the breakfast nook, just off the kitchen. Nine times out of ten, it seemed to Jessica, this was where she'd find Linda preparing a family meal or baking for any number of charity functions. Looking through the glass doors, she saw only a spotless breakfast table, an equally spotless kitchen and, beyond the open French doors, a dining room table that gleamed in the afternoon light. Knowing that Linda and Harry were home, somewhere, she started to circle the sprawling ranch house to get to the front door so that she could discretely ring the door bell. On the north side of the house, her eye caught a movement through one of the windows and she stopped and turned, finding herself looking into the Waterson's family room. Her jaw dropped open at the sight she saw, and she found herself stepping to the side, an action of reflex rather than stealth, to avoid detection. Slowly she moved back, her eyes expecting to prove herself wrong---it can't be! But it was. As her line of sight cleared the window and she was once again able to see into the family room, she saw again the scene that muddled her preconceptions of the Waterson couple. Harry Waterson was sitting on the sofa that faced the TV, his half-closed eyes focused on a baseball game on the tube. Linda, his wife, was kneeling on the floor between his legs, dressed as usual in a simple but well cut summer dress, but her head was bobbing up and down on her husband's cock. Jessica pulled herself back from this unexpected tableau, her breath caught short, feeling a combination of guilt for having witnessed this and voyeuristic excitement for having discovered that the pristine Linda Waterson sucked cock with an enthusiasm that was impossible to fake. "Oh, fuck it, Jessa,' she said to herself and edged back until she once again had a view of the couple. This time she noticed that Harry's hand had moved to the back of his wife's head and was pushing her head into his lap, forcing the red-head to take all of his cock into her mouth and, Jessa presumed, her throat. She expected her up-tight neighbor to pull off and object, but was surprised to see the opposite effect. Linda's ass seemed to sway in assenting circles as her mouth was forced onto her husband's cock. Again and again the red-head's face was skewered onto the cock while it's owner, the Harry Waterson that always seemed so polite and gentlemanly to Jessa, calmly watching his baseball game. Jessa was filled with conflicting feelings, not the least of which was the knowledge that she had hopelessly misread Linda Waterson. At the same time, she resented Harry's treatment of his wife, knowing full well that she allowed---no, encouraged---her own husband to occasionally treat her like a common whore. Once a month, sometimes more, Rhett would do something like he did their last weekend in Boston, force her face-down over the kitchen table, reach under her dress to rip off her panties, and mount her. It was always a quickie, her husband looking for nothing more than his own release, but she always came just the same. She always came hard. Glancing back at the Waterson's, she saw Harry's eyes roll back and watched his lips twist into a satisfied grimace. What happened next caught the young housewife by surprise: Harry's left hand, which had been guiding his wife's efforts, grabbed hold of her perfectly coifed hair and pulled her mouth off his cock. His right hand took hold of his thick, glistening rod and pumped it furiously. Jessica watched open mouthed as Harry came, sending rope after rope of cum into the face and hair of his wife. And the look... the look on Linda Waterson's cum-splattered face was one of exultation. Turning away, Jessica walked quickly back to her own house, her mind completely confused by what she had seen, her own libido well in gear. "Show tunes,' she mumbled to herself as she closed her door behind her. "That's what these strange people need, fuckin' show tunes!' The Stepford Wives - Chapter Three Saturday, August 19 Evening The Graham's dinner party was scheduled to start at 7:30 with cocktails and Hors D'ourves, with dinner served an hour later. Jessica's first surprise was that everyone came on-time. The bell rang at 7:30 and she and Rhett greeted three couples standing outside. By 7:35 all of the sixteen invited guests were sitting or standing about her living room, drinks in hand, chatting away. This was unheard of in her experience, but she explained it away as likely a mid-western trait. For the next twenty or thirty minutes, Jessica moved from group to group, chatting comfortably with all of the guests. In the background, her mind developed characters for each person and pieced together a dramatic play. And that was the problem. She was quite able to place the men into varied and appropriate roles. Some were outgoing and flirty, some were reserved and studious looking; some tall, some short; a few were overweight... But the women, the wives of all the men associated with Rhett's plant, were all the same. It was astonishing. Oh, they different in height, and in eye and hair color. But the eight women at the party all looked and acted exactly like each other. Slender, attractive, dressed perfectly if a little conservatively, light makeup expertly applied, ready smile, and all of them seemed to be at their husbands' side. Jessica thought to herself that she didn't know a single woman like this---she had no character for them to play in her mind's game, much less eight such identical parts. She corrected herself---she knew one such woman---her neighbor, Linda Waterson. As soon as she voiced this thought she remembered the blow job she had witnessed through their window and concluded, hopelessly, that she didn't know her neighbor. She didn't know a damn thing. Noticing that her wine glass was empty, she went to the makeshift bar in the family room to get a refill. After further thought she decided to switch to club soda. "I'd better keep my mind clear,' she thought, and gave her order to the bartender. Another thought hit her as she rejoined the throng in the living room. All seven of Rhett's direct reports were men. The eighth guy at the party ran a supplier company. In this day and age, she would have expected a woman or two at the senior level. Making her rounds again, she decided to test this. Without asking directly, she discovered that each of these managers had only men on his staff, not counting secretaries. The last one she reached was the head of Human Resources at the plant. Geoff Reynolds was, in her mind's eye, perfect for the part of a warm-hearted and understanding uncle. A little under fifty, graying at the temples, he had an easy and warm smile, and laugh lines around his eyes. "Mr. Reynolds,' she said after some small talk. "This party seems to me to be a great idea for team-building outside of the office. Do you host events like this for the men and women who report to you?' The hand lightly touching her arm as he leaned slightly toward her to hear her question over the din in the room. The smile. The eye contact. She had him cast perfectly. He nodded. "I agree completely. Helen and I try to do something twice a year, a pool-side party in the summer... a party around the holidays. My staff, their wives, kids, all invited. It does wonders for morale.' Like the others, he had as much as said that all his staff were men. Feeling a little bolder now, she turned to his wife. "Helen,' she began, with just the right hint of humor about her mouth and eyes, "should I worry about what your husband's done? Assigning the prettiest girl in Stepford as Rhett's secretary.' The woman laughed and told her not to worry. As the woman spoke, Jessica watched Reynold's reaction from the corner of her eye. He stiffened perceptibly, his eyes looking off before coming back to her face. She glanced at him and noticed a bit less color in his face. But the smile returned, and he said, "We like to give employees as much exposure to the whole of the operation as possible. Lisa had worked for me ever since joining the company three years ago, right out of high school. A little young for that spot, maybe, but she's as organized and capable as any clerical person at the plant.' Mrs. Reynold's jumped in with, "See, I can tell you from personal experience, given that Lisa's worked for my husband for three years, you've got nothing to fear. She's an absolute doll.' Smiling back at Helen, then at her husband, Jessica excused herself, explaining that she had to see how dinner preparation was coming along. But before her eyes left Geoff Reynolds, she thought she detected a certain tightness to his usually relaxed and open features. The smile was there but it seemed a tad more artificial than before. It was her conclusion that this talk of Lisa Quinn made the man uncomfortable. He was, she was sure, normally a man who can put on a mask to hide whatever he's thinking. Always smooth and personable was Mr. Reynolds. But she'd seen the mask crack just a bit. Why? Had he been fucking this girl? Why'd he transfer her to Rhett? Why? The rest of the evening went very smoothly. The food and wine were excellent, Jessica thought, and all the guests seemed to have a good time. But all the time through dinner and after, until the last of the guests excused themselves to go home, Jessica was piling up observations about these Stepford couples, and became more and more anxious to discuss them with Rhett. All of the wives sat next to their husbands at dinner, sipping a single glass of wine through the meal. The husbands had, she guessed, two or three drinks before dinner and two glasses of wine during the meal. She was a big believer in the designated driver but here it was eight for eight: The women were staying sober while the men had a good time. When Rhett joined her at office parties at the law firm, she was always the one who limited herself to one or two drinks so she didn't say or do anything stupid. Similarly, at Rhett's office parties he was the DD. Each and every woman sat at the table with perfectly erect posture, eating with the same elegance and care she had first noticed with Linda Waterson. The women talked infrequently and seemed always ready to defer to their husbands. To second any opinions he offered. And the touching. Always touching their husbands, lightly on the arm or thigh as they turned to make a comment. The touching. After dinner, the guests milled about in three places: the large deck outside, the living room, and near the family room bar. Moving from room to room, Jessica had more freedom to study her guests unnoticed: through the window that looked over the deck, from the dining room into the living room and so on. Several times she saw the husbands patting their wives on the ass, the gesture not unusual except for the strong sense it left on Jessica. It said, "My wife.' "My ass.' "My property.' After the party she could tell immediately that Rhett was in one of those moods. He'd had a lot to drink, she knew, and was happy that the party had gone so well. And he was horny. "Yo, woman, where are you?' she heard him shout, back inside after walking the last couple to their car. "I want my woooooomaaaan,' he howled again. "My sexy-as-hell Jessa woman-child!' Katie was spending the night next door with the Waterson's, so Jessica wasn't concerned about that. But what she really wanted was to talk to Rhett, to discuss the eerie things she had learned or guessed. "In here, Rhett,' she shouted back. "The kitchen.' As Rhett came into the room, he was already shoeless and was unbuttoning his shirt with a relish that should have told her that a conversation would have to wait. Holding up her hand, she said, "Now wait Rhett... honey, can we---' Ignoring her protest, his shirt now ripped off and tossed aside, Rhett beat his fists against his hairy chest and howled. "Now hold on Tarzan.' But she was cut off my another howl. More chest beating. Half of her was annoyed that he wasn't picking up on her mood, the other half couldn't help but be amused at his ridicules antics. By now, however, she knew any serious conversation with Rhett would have to wait 'till morning. Taking advantage of his next howl, when his eyes were mostly closed, Jessica dashed past him and into the dinning room, flipping the light off as she went through the room. On her way up the stairs, she heard a bang followed by a curse from her amorous pursuer. She smiled gleefully to herself but hoped he wasn't really hurt. At the top of the stairs she turned toward the master bedroom then paused, quickly deciding to act on a sudden idea. Closing that door, she dashed down the hall to Katie's room, just managing to get inside before the sound of his pounding feet announced that he was coming quickly up the stairs. Her dress was new and she liked it, just as she knew it would not survive for even a minute if Rhett caught up with her. Quickly unbuttoning the bodice, she pulled it off her arms and let in fall into a heap at her feet. "Bitch woman!' she heard him growl from the hall outside, then heard him crash through the master bedroom door. Knowing the layout of their room, she knew she'd have about twenty seconds at the outside before he'd be able to check out the bath, the walk-in closets and under the bed. She undid her bra and held it in one hand while she opened Katie's door and crept outside into the hall. "You're just making it worse for yourself, bitch,' she heard from somewhere in the next room. Walking quickly but soundlessly in her stocking feet, Jessica started down the stairs, leaving her bra draped over the top stair, a grin on her face. At the bottom of the stairs she paused to holler back up, "Men are such stupid people. Fuckin' stupid!' Grinning at the angry howl in response to her tease, she backed herself into the mostly empty coat closet at the bottom of the stairs. Rhett's thundering footsteps came down the stairs and then she heard nothing. No... not nothing. She could hear his breathing through the door. Then the sound of a zipper being pulled.... clothes rustling. "He's taking his pants off,' she said to herself, feeling her juices start to flow at the prospect of him catching her. In the pitch black of the closet, she tried to recall what she had left on... those black silk panties, garter belt, stockings. If he didn't check the closet right away, and moved off to search through the other rooms instead, she'd have plenty of time to unsnap the garters and pull the panties off. She decided against that, not wanting to make it too easy for him. "I'm gonna find you, Jessa,' she heard from another part of the first floor, "and I'm gonna fuck you, bitch!' Opening the door just a crack, she stuck her head half-way out and said, in a voice that she knew would carry, "I'll bet Harry's smarter and that he could catch me... Hell, I know he's got a bigger cock than you.' Closing the door, her face split into a big grin as she heard Rhett curse and growl, running now, searching. She knew it was coming, but when the door was yanked open a few minutes later it scared her. She cried out involuntarily and again when he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. Growling again like some beast, Rhett ducked down and pulled her over his shoulder, holding the backs of her thighs in an iron grip. Jessa's body was bent in half, her torso pressing into his muscular back, her hands trying desperately to find something to hold on to. He was walking now, but in the darkness and in her disorienting upside-down position, Jessa couldn't tell exactly where. She felt his hand, though, when he reached behind his head and swatted her ass. "Fucking whore,' he said as he slapped her again and again. It was not really that hard, but it stung a little, and it kept her disoriented. It also made her pussy juice itself, and her nipples stiffened until they were rock hard, pressing into Rhett's back. The spanking stopped and she realized he was no longer moving. A drawer was opened, then slammed shut. "The kitchen!' she said to herself, recognizing even in the dark the U-shaped section of base cabinets. Then he was moving again, taking her into the dinning room that they'd just used to entertain his colleagues from the plant. With dexterity that was amazing given the alcohol he'd consumed, he flipped her off his back, catching her as her feet hit the floor, and turned her roughly around. Within seconds she found herself face down on the dinning room table, pushed and shoved until her entire body was spread onto the gleaming hardwood surface. Soon Rhett was on top of her, straddling her back. He worked silently now, at what she couldn't quite tell. She heard a knife cutting through something and a light pressure on her neck. More cutting and a second... something fell against her shoulder. "Clothesline,' she realized, seeing it out of the corner of her eye. "He's going to tie me up,' she thought next, with a combination of concern and excitement. They'd never done this before, not really, and she found herself wondering if she'd gone too far with her teasing. Her wrists were seized and wrapped tightly together with the clothesline. She felt his body rise off her, then a sharp slap on her panty-covered ass. "Don't even think of moving, cunt!' She felt her arms being pulled forward until they were pressed against the side of her head as Rhett pulled the free end of line and tied it to something under the table. Slapping her ass again, he chuckled cruelly as he began working on an ankle, looping it with clothesline, then tying the other end to something, a table leg perhaps. When he was finished, her legs were pulled wide apart, the ankles secured, and she felt as vulnerable as she had ever been. "You're in for a long night, bitch!' She felt a blade slide under the bottom edge of her panties and then a ripping sound as his knife cut through them. Then she felt him climb back on the table... his hand, grabbing her ass possessively, rudely, then his fingers slid down and found her sex. Found it dripping wet. "This is just for starters,' she heard him say, his mouth very close to her ear, his cock probing for her sex, popping inside. "Hmmf,' she cried as his body suddenly came forward and down, on top of her, his cock driving at once to the hilt. She had a hard time breathing as the blows came hard and fast, his hips slapping into her ass, his pistoning cock punishing the walls of her slick cunt. He was not making love to her, but ramming his cock in and out, digging for his orgasm from the beginning. She soon realized the force of his thrusts was causing her to slide forward, the hard wood of the table uncomfortable against her breasts and knees. As best she could she held her bound hands against the table but soon her ankles started to hurt as the clothesline was pulled taught. Then, at last, she felt his cock being to spurt inside her, and his hot breath on her neck. "Fuckin' bitch... fuckin' whore,' he muttered over and over as he emptied his balls into his bound wife. Jessica Graham was tired, a little scared, and, above all, wondering what had become of her husband. She was where he had left her five minutes ago, lying face down on the hard dining room table, her wrists and ankles bound tightly in place, her body in the shape of an upside down Y. Five minutes, maybe longer, she thought, since he had finished his brutal taking of her; pulling his spent cock from her abused sex, pausing only long enough to slap her ass before leaving. Over the years they'd experimented a little with sex games, but never anything like this. She'd tied Rhett to the headboard, and vice versa, but with the silk scarves they used it would be child's play to escape. A little spanking. But this was different. The clothesline binding her wrists and ankles was tied so tight it hurt a little. She could feel his cum leaking from her, pooling on the table, and felt completely embarrassed. And vulnerable. A loud, unexpected sound startled Jessica, her head trying to turn to find it's source, but in vain. It was behind her, at the other end of the table, and she couldn't get her head to turn that way. "Miss me, cunt? I've brought a few supplies.' "Rhett, goddammitt... enough's enough---' This earned her a quick five wacks on her ass from something that she couldn't see, but whatever is was, it smarted. "That's a yard stick, if you're wondering,' he said, his voice not unpleasant. "Every time you give me sass, whore, you'll get another five.' "Rheeeeeeet...' she wailed, earning another five quick swats. "Stay quiet, bitch,' he said, his tone happy. "Now, you know I wouldn't hurt a good little slut like you... well, probably I won't... but I am gonna have a little fun tonight.' Jessica suppressed a retort, then settled down. This'll be okay, she told herself... you trust Rhett more than anyone else on the planet. Just relax. She heard a bottle being uncorked and poured. A few minutes later, a satisfied smack of the lips. "You should see yourself from down here, Jessa dear... legs spread, cum drippin' out of your slut pussy... it's quite a sight. Maybe I should call Harry over from next door. I'm quite sure he's never seen *his* wife look quite this slutty.' "Say... you mentioned him earlier, didn't you... what was that you said? Ah, something about him being smart enough to catch you. Wait, there was something else... hmmm, let me see... ah, now I got it. You said he has a bigger cock than me. How might you know that, Jessa? You've been whorin' again?' Thinking he was being rhetorical (in addition to intentionally crude), Jessica didn't respond. Then she felt the yard stick on her ass, turning sideways, the edge sliding down her crack until it stopped just over her anus. "I asked you a question, bitch,' he said, pressing the stick forward against her anus. "You been whorin'?' "No, Rhett.... I just saw him." "Saw him? His cock?" "Yeah, um, this afternoon, before the party, ah...' she stopped, not knowing quite how to say it. The pressure of the stick increased. "Okay, okay... I was looking for Linda, and, um, I happened to see the two of them, in their family room." "This *is* interesting!' said Rhett. "They were fucking?" "No, she... she was giving him a blow job." "No!" he said, then laughed. "Linda Waterson giving head! I can't believe it." Jessica found herself relaxing a bit, Rhett's disbelief reminding her just how shocked and excited she had been to watch the display. "Not just a blow job, Rhett,' she said. "He was sittin' on the couch, watchin' a damn baseball game. Fully clothed except that his pants were pulled down. And she was too, fully clothed I mean, looking like she always does, kneeling between his legs sucking him something crazy.' "Deep?' "All the way deep!' she said. "His hand was on her head, forcing her at first, but she was into it... I mean *into* it!' "Shee-it,' Rhett said. "Where were you?' "Outside. Tried the kitchen, then I was making my way around to the front door when I saw them.' "How long did you watch? You turning into a voyeur?' She giggled. "Five minutes maybe.' "Hmmm.' Remembering the conclusion of the blow job, she said, "If you'll untie me I'll tell you something else, something amazing. C'mon, Rhett, please.' She felt the stick tapping up and down on her ass, then heard Rhett scoot his chair back and rise. Shortly, she felt his hand on her ass, caressing her gently. Then something cold, directly on her anus, his finger, she was sure, coated with something, pushing inside her ass. "Rhett!' she complained. "Tell me.' The finger pushed inside, continuing until the last knuckle. Jessica liked having her ass played with, but didn't like the idea or practice of anal sex. They'd done it twice, the last time a year ago, and she had not really enjoyed it. Both times, mercifully, Rhett had cum very quickly. She was worried now, bound and defenseless as she was, that he'd take this time to try it again. "Rhett---' He was apparently ready for this, and brought the stick down hard on her ass, once, twice... five times. It stung, but she bit her lips and refused to cry out. The finger fuck of her ass continued for several minutes and began feeling very nice to her. When he finally did pull it out she actually felt disappointed. But a few seconds later, something larger was pressing into her. "Ohhhhh,' she moaned as the object was forced slowly into her ass. "Just a small carrot, Jessa, baby,' he said. "There, it's all the way in.' She felt an incredibly full sensation, like she had to take a shit. The carrot, she could tell, was slowly starting to be expelled. "Tell me.' "Untie me,' was her stubborn retort. "I promise you, It'll be worth it.' He laughed. "Sweet Jessa, for me it'll be even more "worth it', to use your words, if you don't tell me.' Feeling completely embarrassed that she was shitting the carrot right in front of Rhett, she groaned. The flash, coming with no advanced notice, surprised her, then shocked her as she realized that Rhett had just taken a Polaroid of her, in the most slutty position she could imagine. Her protest earned her another five swats, then five more, until she could tell that her ass was hot and pink. The light went on a minute later and after the darkness of the past half-hour, the brightness hurt her eyes. "Hmmmm,' he said, "it's a pity you're not recognizable in this... well, unless somebody knows you *real* well. Here, take a look.' He propped the print up against a salt shaker, a foot away from her face. She moaned to herself as she stared at the picture. It showed a woman's legs stretched wide, panties ripped apart, a carrot sticky lewdly out of her ass, cunt stretched wide, a pool of juices on the table top and coating her garters. She could hardly believe it was her. As she stared at the slutty picture a strange thing popped into her head, and she broke out in laughter. And then she couldn't stop. It hurt to laugh, tied as she was, but every time she thought she had herself under control that thought re-entered her head and she lost it again. Rhett moved to take a seat near her head, a grin on his face, his eyes crinkled with amusement. "What?' he said, repeating it several times before she was able to take a breath and calm down. "I was just wondering---' which was as far as she got before breaking out into giggles. "... wondering what these Stepford wives---' "... do to remove cum stains---' "... off their dinning room tables.' Rhett laughed along with her. When they wound down, his face took on a serious expression and he said, "I'll bet that happens *all* the time.' She smiled at him and then said, "That's the funny part... maybe... well, okay, I'll tell you.' She picked up where she left off, describing how Linda Waterson was deep throating her husband. She could tell from Rhett's expression that he was hooked, and his eyes went wide when she described in great detail how he pulled her off of his cock and jacked off into her face. "Harry Waterson gave Linda... a facial?' "Cum was everywhere,' she said. "All over her face, dripping off her chin, in her hair... she was a mess. But I caught a glimpse of her face and it was like... like a devout Catholic who just got communion from His Holiness the Pope.' "Jesus...' "Rapture, Rhett... that's what her face was like.' Rhett was quiet for a moment, then looked back at his wife, a resigned smile on his face. "Well, I guess this means I'll have to let you up.' "I really would appreciate it, babe.' After an exaggerated sigh, he moved to the head of the table and released the line that secured her wrists. To her surprise, though, he returned to his seat near her head without having released her ankles. Although her wrists were still bound, she was glad for the freedom of movement and that her body was no longer stretched so tightly. "I'll release you in two or three minutes, babe. Between now and then I want to say something. No interruptions please.' She started to speak but decided just to nod her head. To make herself more comfortable, she rose until she was resting on her elbows and forearms, and looked at Rhett. "You probably know how much I adore you,' he said, reaching to gently caress the breasts that were no longer crushed against the table. Her nipples stiffened under his caress. "How much I love you,' he continued. His right hand slid over her thighs and between her legs. She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers enter her sex. Another digit, his thumb she assumed, made small circles over her rosette before pressing inside. After the rough, physical way he'd taken her earlier, slamming his cock into her, spanking her with his hands and that yardstick, it was heavenly to feel his hands caressing her breasts and the gentle probing of his fingers and thumb inside her. And the sound of his voice, soft and caressing in it's tone, saying those things from his heart that she knew were there but was thrilled to hear him say. As he talked his hand, down below, moved back and forth, in and out, four fingers pushing into her cunt, stretching her, while his thumb drove effortlessly into her ass. Her eyes closed so she could lose herself in the experience, she felt her senses overwhelmed by all the stimuli: the loving voice, the nipples pulled taut the released, the tingling pleasure coming from her sex, the incredible feeling of fullness as her ass and cunt were filled with Rhett. Stuffed with him. She held back as long as she could, wanting the incredible sensations to continue, but it was impossible. When she came it was as hard as she ever had, her body and mind filled with explosive waves of pleasure, again and again until she collapsed onto the table, barely conscious. When she opened her eyes she saw Rhett rolling up the clothesline and noticed that her wrists were free. Her ankles had also been freed, she discovered quickly. After climbing off the table and stretching her sore limbs, she turned to Rhett. "What were you going to do to me? If I didn't tell, that is.' "Oh, I don't know,' he lied. "Yes you do,' she said, chuckling to herself and approaching him. "You were gonna fuck my ass, Rhett Graham.' He took her into his arms and kissed her. "Your wife, the mother of your child,' she said, pausing to kiss him again, "and you were gonna butt-fuck me while I was tied up and utterly defenseless.' Kissing him again, she could feel his cock pressed tightly between them, feel it jerk against her belly. He wanted her. She knew just what he wanted of her. But, she was a lawyer. "Honey, I'll be waiting upstairs you. I'd really love it if you fucked me tonight, my ass I mean.' Rhett looked down into her hazel eyes and said, "You mean it? Really?' "Two conditions,' she said. "One, you clean up this mess while I shower. Two, I get two hours of your undivided attention tomorrow, just to talk.' "Fuck yes! It's a deal.' The Stepford Wives - Chapter Four Sunday, August 20 10:00 a.m. While the Graham's were sitting drinking coffee, she talking about her observations of the wives from the previous night, he listening, another conversation was going on that would have greatly disturbed Stepford's newest residents. At the eighth hole of the Stepford Hills Country Club, Dr. Richard Poulsen and Geoff Reynolds sat in their golf cart and waited for the foursome ahead of them to finish putting out on the green. Across the fairway waited the other half of their foursome, County Sheriff Ernie Grant and Dr. Walt Abbott, the director of the town's small but modern hospital. "I don't think it's anything to panic over,' said Reynolds. "She was in all likelihood just making conversation.' Poulsen pursed his lips. "Maybe, maybe not. She has by all accounts an extremely intelligent and curious mind. It worries me, Geoff, that she's asking about women at the plant. And her barb about Lisa Quinn, well, that worries me even more.' "Should we pull Lisa out?' The doctor hesitated. "No, I think that would raise even more questions in her mind, and his.' The foursome left the green and the men got out to finish the hole. At the next opportunity, Poulsen continued. "We have the same two problems we always have. First, to keep her, or any new woman, from asking too many questions while RCA corrects her personality and outlook. With this woman we have to be careful. It would be surprising, actually, if the Graham whore could relate to women who have found their true calling. The bitch is probably a feminist. Rest assured that we are monitoring her closely.' "The second problem is the husband. He may very well be misguided like a lot of men. We should assume so, given the woman he chose to marry. He is likely to notice the changes in his wife three or four weeks hence. While all men come to appreciate the change, we don't want him asking a lot of questions, maybe taking her someplace for tests.' "So we stick with Lisa Quinn,' concluded Reynolds. "So she can seduce him and demonstrate, first hand, what sex is like with a Stepford woman.' The doctor nodded but in his mind he was correcting Reynolds. "Not a "Stepford woman', he thought to himself, "A Righteous Woman.' He had named his compound Righteous Change Agent, RCA for short, for just that reason. And he had planned from the beginning to use Stepford as the testing ground before sharing the good fortune with the rest of the Americas, then worldwide. The doctor's longer term problem was the logistics to support nationwide expansion. He didn't have the equipment to manufacture the agent in the volume necessary for the many hundreds of reservoirs across the country. It would also mean people, lots of confidants, and he had understood this from the beginning. To expand the operation would take men who would understand his vision and take calculated risks for the cause. For mankind. It was almost time to bring these men into the operation. Poulsen took a great deal of care recruiting people. In this small town he had six people on his team. Sheriff Ernie Grant had been the first and one of the easiest. Poulsen had learned from the gossip mongers---the barber, the waitress at the coffee shop, the bartender at Joe's Place---that the Sheriff had a problem with his wife. She had unexpectedly inherited a good sized sum from her grandfather two years earlier, the interest from which she spent entirely on herself. Originally quite an attractive girl, Mrs. Grant had begun to drink and eat too much. Poulsen began by dropping by Joe's place when the Sheriff was there, buying him an occasional drink, learning from him first hand how his wife had become an embarrassment to him. After several weeks, Poulsen took the man to a back booth in the bar and made his pitch. "What would it mean to you to have your bride back? What I mean is this: A healthy, vibrant woman, one who eats and drinks in moderation and exercises an hour-a-day to keep her body fit; is attentive to her appearance, always looking and acting like a woman that you'd be proud to have on your arm. Would it please you to have your wife---this woman I've just described---to value her service to you, her husband, above all things?' Sheriff Grant broke out in laughter but slowly came down as he noticed the serious expression on the doctor's face. "You shitin' me, doc? If you've got a pill for that, I wanna buy the franchising rights... heh, heh... there ain't a man on this planet who wouldn't line up to buy it.' "I have a pill for that,' Poulsen said, his voice serious. "But, please understand that it's not my aim to reap commercial rewards. Quite the opposite, Sheriff. I've spent twenty years developing this additive as a service to mankind. To help women realize their true purpose in life. But my mission would be crippled... destroyed, if the public knew about the existence of this drug.' As their conversation continued, the skeptical doubt never left the man's eyes but Poulsen could see the flickering beginnings of hope. Preying on that, he convinced the Sheriff to allow him to demonstrate with his wayward wife. Each morning, Grant added a small capsule of diluted RCA to the water used to make the morning coffee. Three weeks later Sheila Grant stopped drinking. A month after that she had lost twenty-five pounds from a diet and a rigorous, self-imposed exercise program. Even more dramatic, to her husband, was the compete change in her attitude toward him. She was deferential, affectionate and caring, and incredibly enthusiastic in bed. Doctor Poulsen had his first confidant. He used similar techniques to get Geoff Reynolds at the Manufacturing Plant, Dr. Abbott at the hospital, and Conners at the water department. All of this was before the additive was introduced to the town reservoir. The penultimate member of his Stepford team was Lisa Quinn. The girl had been seventeen when Dr. Abbott had treated her for a broken arm along with suspicious cuts and bruises. A quick scan of her medical history uncovered other trips to the ER, clear cases of abuse. The doctor and Sheriff were able to have her removed from her home and kept in the hospital while they treated her injuries and gave her RCA. A series of hypnosis sessions followed until the beautiful girl was as devoted to their cause, and to them personally, as the other Stepford women were to their husbands. She was a weapon they had used on a number of occasions since. Mike O'Brien had been recruited a few months later. The lazy psychologist would have been surprised to learn that his lack of ambition was one of the things that helped Dr. Poulsen conclude that he would be a good assistant. The doctor was a shrewd judge of character and knew that he'd have O'Brien's complete loyalty in exchange for access to pliant, highly sexed women of his choosing. He knew of his aide's frequent use of hypnosis to sample the married women in the town for his own enjoyment. The doctor feigned ignorance but monitored his assistant's actions very closely. - o - "Okay, Jessa,' said Rhett after she had finished telling all of her observations of the wives from the previous night, their husbands, and Linda Waterson. She laid out the evidence like the attorney she was, effectively building a case that Something Was Wrong, but not even attempting to draw any more substantive conclusion. "I also noticed the lack of women in supervisory positions at the Plant, and intended to make it a discussion topic for next week's staff meeting.' "And...' he continued, then paused. "Y'know, I've noticed but haven't really thought about this until now... the curious behavior of all the women I've met at the Plant. They're so... helpful would have been the word I might have chosen, but that's not right...' "Solicitous?' offered Jessica. "Obedient?' "Yes, that's more the flavor,' he said. "Obedient, eager to please. Lisa Quinn, for example, I've got this feeling that if I asked her to clean off my desk using nothing but her tongue, shit, she'd do it.' Jessica looked at her husband, thoughtful. One of the things she loved about Rhett was his trust in her and his confidence in her intelligence... his willingness to listen to her describe a difficult case, and how his probing questions helped her find the answer she sought. He didn't try to become an armchair attorney, or to take over, and he wasn't threatened by her mind. He just asked the right questions. If this needed confirmation, which it didn't, she got it from many of the people in Boston who'd worked for Rhett. "He listens, asks the right questions, then he listens.' "Do you think...' she began and then started again. "Tell me honestly, Rhett, if you asked Lisa Quinn to pull up her skirt and lean over your desk, would she do it. Would she let you fuck her.' Rhett laughed and blushed just a bit. He didn't answer her right away, and she watched his face as he thought it over. "Yes,' he said at last. "I may be wrong... my ego may be acting up but I don't think so. Because I don't think it's me... I think she'd do just about anything for anyone she supported. Well, that's my guess.' Looking again at his wife, guessing where she was going, he said, "Linda Waterson?' "Uh huh,' she said. "That look on her face...' Rhett sat back and thought for a long time, with his eyes closed. "That's where we start,' he said, reaching for the portable phone. Jessica caught his eye after he punched in a number, her eyebrows raised in a question, but he merely smiled. "Hi, Linda, Rhett here.... yes, it went super, thanks for all your help. I'm calling to see if we can take the girls off your hands tonight, both of them. Give you and Harry a chance to enjoy an evening out, or a quiet evening at home... No, it would be our pleasure, really. We'll take em' out to a movie, and have em' in bed by nine.... that's great.' "What was that all about,' she asked when he rang off. "Remember last night,' he began, then stopped when he saw the color that suddenly rushed into his wife's face. It was obvious from her expression that she was recalling the fuck on the dining room table or, more likely he decided, what they did later. For the first time he had fucked Jessa in the ass, really fucked her. The two other times he had talked her into it had gone badly; he'd been so excited by the novelty of the act that he'd cum almost as soon as his cock was lodged in her vice-like ass. Last night was different. He took his time preparing her and then entering her, waiting until her narrow passage could accommodate his cock before moving in and out. Slowly, very slowly at first. What followed was an incredible ten or fifteen minutes of fucking that had her cuming numerous times before his control finally deserted him and his cock erupted time and time again. "No Jessa, not that,' he said, pushing the images aside, his voice a little shaky. "Remember when I teasingly called you a voyeur? Well, sweet girl, tonight we're gonna see what the Waterson's do with an evening alone in their empty house.' "What's that gonna tell us?' "I'm not sure,' he conceded. "But I for one need more data, and it's either spy on them or seduce Lisa Quinn. Now, I like to think of myself as a trooper, someone who will give his all for the cause, but...' "Okay, okay... we'll try the Watersons.' "First,' he said, earning himself a sharp kick. - o - The girls, Katie Graham and Sallie Waterson, had been in bed and asleep for over an hour when Rhett saw the neighbor's sedan pull into their driveway and then into the garage. "They back, from dinner?' asked Jessica. "Appears so,' he said, glancing at his watch. "I should give them a few minutes before heading over. I'll come back and get you if there's anything to see.' Rhett was dressed in a dark turtleneck and dark trousers. He carefully smeared over his face a medium blue goop they had made earlier from a piece of his daughter's sidewalk chalk along with some cold cream mixed in a food processor. "As a secret agent, Rhett,' his wife observed, trying not to smile, "well, hubby---keep your day job.' "Bitch,' he growled, but he'd seen his face in the mirror, and he was smiling too. He gave his wife a hug and slipped outside. By the time he had jogged across the lawn that separated their houses, his pulse was much higher than normal. It wasn't the short jog, and he couldn't decide what excited him more... the illegal trespass or the thought that he might luck out and see something like Jessa had seen the day before. Approaching the house from the back, he saw a light come on in the far left corner of the house. Creeping up to the kitchen window, he risked a peek inside just as the back-lit shape of Linda Waterson entered the room from the one in front of it. Ducking his head down just as the kitchen light was turned on, he sat and tried to remember the layout of the house. Rhett heard Linda's voice through the partially opened window, and it took him a few seconds to realize that she was on the phone conversing with Jessa. Checking on her daughter, he assumed. He also realized that he shouldn't be this close to the house, at least not yet. They may decide to come out to the deck. Even if they didn't he'd be impossible to see from a lighted room if he was three or four paces back. But before he could retreat he heard the voice of Harry Waterson. "That was quite a performance you put on for that waiter.' "Harry, dear, what do you mean?' "Don't give me that shit, woman. He was looking down your dress all evening, ogling your tits. You were letting him. Don't deny it or it will be worse on you. I noticed when you came back from the restroom with a extra button un-done.' "That was for you, honey. I know how you like---' "Not another word, bitch! If I want to see your tits, I'll bring you home and rip your fuckin' dress off. If I want to be seen in public with a slut I'll hire a fuckin' whore.' Rhett listened to this exchange with interest. The tone of the couple wasn't at all like the playful games that Jessa and he played. Harry was pissed. She on the defensive. There was a long pause before Harry spoke again. "The bedroom... you slut!' Rhett crept away from the window, toward the garage, and hopped over the railing of the deck, landing softly on his feet, his knees bent to help him land. Circling around the deck, twenty or so feet from the house, he could see very clearly into the well-lit kitchen. Harry was alone in the room, pouring himself a generous drink into a large snifter. Some sort of liqueur, Rhett realized, as his neighbor swirled it around in the glass before taking a sip. Continuing around to the right, past the corner of the house, Rhett edged his way past the family room windows, Jessa's surveillance post of the other day. He saw a light come on in a window farther down, in what he believed would be the master bed room. "I hope they don't pull the curtains,' he thought to himself as he made his way down. "This I've gotta see.' This side of the house, faced a thick copse of trees about thirty feet away. This was where Rhett decided to go. Looking back at the house, he could see two well-lit windows. The larger one was quite tall, almost floor-to-ceiling, and gave Rhett a perfect view of the left third of the master bedroom. It's vertical blinds were left open. Two hanging plants... a TV center beyond, then the door. He could see just the edge of their bed. The second window was higher up, directly over the bed, he guessed, but this one had curtains drawn. They material wasn't very substantial, however, and through it he could see the form of Linda Waterson. She was undressing, her back to him, and his pulse quickened as he watched through the not-quite-opaque curtain. The dress slid off her shoulders... she bent down, below his view... back up now, taking the dress with her as she moved off to the right, out of his view. "She's hanging the dress up in the closet,' he thought to himself. Another light came on, farther to his right. The opaque window told him it was their bathroom, and he decided that now was a good time to creep closer, to get a better idea of the room and possible viewing spots. As he edged up to the tall window he found he could see much of the room peering in from the left edge of the window. King-sized bed up against the outside wall. Dressers opposite the bed. The far wall had saloon-type doors leading to a walk-in closet. The bathroom door he couldn't see but surmised that it must be to the right of the closet. Keeping that same angle for his perspective, he backed up, into the darkness, until he was twelve or fifteen feet away, comfortably beyond the range of the bedroom lighting. When Linda Waterson returned to the bedroom, his cock stiffened in his pants. She was nude, striding toward his end of the room, and his eyes took in the red-head's terrific body. Good-sized breasts with rose-colored nipples standing out like little beacons. A firm, flat stomach leading down to the V of her crotch, and then he noticed that she had no pubic hair. Even from where he was he could see the lips of her sex between her well-formed thighs. His head-on view of her body was lost when she sat down on the corner of the bed, facing the door. He had a view of her back, one leg, and the side of one breast. There was something about her pose that struck him as odd... it was so unlike Linda Waterson. Her legs were spread wide, he could tell, and she held her hands clasped behind her back. Her posture was as erect as ever but her head was lowered. Then it hit him, and his cock jerked anew in his pants. "Shit,' thought Rhett. "Ol' Harry's gonna get himself an eye-full when he comes through that door.' Less than a minute later he did. Closing the door behind him he stood six feet away from his wife and stared, his expression showing anticipation and lust... and ownership. Rhett watched as Harry unbuckled his belt, expecting the man to undress. Instead, he pulled the belt slowly through the loops of his pants until it was free. After doubling the belt onto itself, he approached his wife. Rhett watched open-mouthed as he ran the belt over Linda's face, then her breasts and finally between her wide open legs. He was saying something to his wife, but Rhett couldn't hear the words. After a minute Harry turned and walked away, around the bed and toward the bathroom. Linda got up a moment later and turned toward Rhett, then walked directly toward him. It seem to him that her green eyes were boring into his, through the window and across the dozen or so feet beyond. His breath caught in his throat. But she stopped a few feet from the window and turned, reaching up to one of the hanging plants. Letting his breath out, Rhett realized he was safe. His eyes once again feasted on the body that was centered perfectly in the window, seeing now that she was much closer the puffy lips of her sex and the hint of pink flesh within. She turned away from him and he got a great view of her firm, shapely ass swaying provocatively as she walked away. Walked away with the plant, after having unhooked it from the sturdy J hook in the ceiling. "What the...,' thought Rhett. "She's watering the fuckin' house plants?' She placed the plant on the dresser and returned to carefully unhook the second plant and bring it to dresser. When she returned it was with a long wooden... something, and... "Shit,' thought Rhett, "those are chains!' He watched as she placed the wooden thing, a bench, he decided, long but no more than six inches high, on the carpeted floor. Standing on the bench, stretching her body to it's utmost height, she attached one end of a short chain onto the J hook that used to support one of the plants. The other chain was attached next, each hanging a little over two feet down. At the bottom of each chain was a D ring. Then the housewife returned to sit on the bed, adopting the same pose as before, thighs spread, arms behind her, head lowered submissively. At this point Rhett decided to go get his wife. As much as he'd hate to miss anything that happened, he knew that Jessa would enjoy it as much as he. It was hard to turn away from his view of the nude housewife, but he did, jogging quietly back to his house. He was back at his neighbor's house with Jessica inside three or four minutes. Rhett had whispered to her what he had heard and seen as they jogged back and then crept along the edge of the trees until they came to Rhett's spot. "Oh!' said Jessa, her hands coming up to her mouth, concerned that her involuntary gasp might be heard by the Waterson's. They seemed so close, framed as they were behind the tall window in the well-lit room. Jessa could feel Rhett's hand on hers, squeezing gently in a signal to stay quiet, but her attention was focused completely now on the scene before her. A completely nude Linda Waterson was standing on some low platform, her arms stretched up and in front of her, dark straps around her wrists were attached somehow to chains hanging from the ceiling. Her legs were split far apart and the straps around her ankles were fastened to D-rings in the wooden platform. She was leaning slightly forward at the waist, her hands with those perfect fingers spread, bracing herself, against the wall. The flash of something brought her attention to Harry, but only briefly. He was naked as well, his cock sticking almost straight out from his loins, and he had just finished whipping his wife. Her eyes darted back to Linda as she jerked in response to the blow to her ass, her perfectly shaped breasts bouncing up and down. Jessa watched as the husband stepped forward and reached with the whip---no, a belt she now noticed---between his wife's spread thighs. He was saying something, Jessa knew, while he drew the belt back and forth between her legs, but she couldn't make it out, not over the beating of her own heart. Watching the belt slide back and forth, seeing the red hue of her neighbors ass, Jessa felt her juices flow, surprised and a little ashamed that she was so excited by this scene. Jessica's eyes returned to the woman's breasts and she found herself wetting her lips with her tongue as he imagined what it would be like to suck and chew on those long thick nipples. The red-head's smallish rosy aureoles stood out distinctly from the milky white flesh of her mounds, puffy and engorged in their own right. So damn suckable, she thought, and she would not have been at all surprised that her husbands thoughts at that moment mirrored her own. Glancing higher, she could see only a bit of her neighbors profile, with most of her face hidden behind the arm that stretched diagonally forward and up, the hands splayed against the wall above the level of her head. But she could see that her face was wet and that her lips were moving. She was saying something to Harry. Whatever she said seemed to satisfy her tormentor and he pulled the belt from between his wife's legs and tossed it behind him onto the bed. He stepped up then, behind his wife, his hand angling his angry-looking cock toward his target. His entry was sudden and quick, and Jessa could hear the slap of his hips into her ass from where she was, and see the red-head's body jerk in response to the brutal penetration of her sex. Another thrust followed quickly, the cock drawn back so that Jessa could see the slick shaft for only a moment before it's owner stabbed it forward again, jarring the bound woman's body when his hips slammed against her ass. His hands were on her hips, fingers gripping for leverage, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her ass. Jessica watched as the steady pounding continued, feeling guilty that she was watching, more that she was enjoying herself so much. After several minutes she caught another glimpse of Linda's face when the woman's head fell back. The red-head's eyes were closed, lips parted, nostrils flaring, and then her face flushed pink as her body shook with a powerful orgasm. "Shit,' she heard whispered from behind her as she and Rhett watched Linda Waterson cum. They could her cries even through the window, even over the rhythmic slapping of their bodies as Harry slammed into her, time and time again. As he watched the pleasure reflecting in the woman's beautiful face, Jessica wondered to herself if she looked that good when she came. - o - Back in their own house after their voyeuristic expedition, Rhett and Jessica sat across from one another, silent, sipping brandy. The liqueur stung as it went down, but it instantly warmed her. It hadn't been cold outside, but the brutal treatment of Linda Waterson had chilled her all the same. She had just finished watching her neighbor, somebody she might even call a friend, get whipped, fucked and sodomized. It was different than the games she played with Rhett, she told herself, remembering their sex of the previous night. He had been so gentle, so caring when... "Shit, girl, he tied you up, fucked you like a freight train,' she said to herself but she also recalled how gentle and caring he had been later. Using his hands to give her an incredible orgasm. And upstairs... Pushing that out of her mind, the images of what she had just witnessed came back to her. Harry Waterson had pulled his cock out of his wife's sex a few moments after she had cum. He retrieved something from the top drawer of the dresser and returned, his long hard cock leading the way, glistening from Linda's juices. He had in his hand a tube of K-Y jelly, and proceeded to squeeze a dollop onto a finger. What followed was as different from her delightful experience the previous night with Rhett, as were night and day. Harry unceremoniously stuffed his greased finger up his her ass, driving it as far as he could go as she jerked and cried out. He twisted the digit from side to side, tormenting her, his expression dominated by a cruel grin, before pulling it out and wiping the finger clean in her hair. A moment later he was in place behind his wife, the belt back in his hands. A dozen blows followed and Jessa winced as she watched Linda's bound body twist and jerk in response to his belt. Then he slipped one end of the belt around her neck, threading it through the buckle to form a makeshift leash around her slender neck. Pulling it taught, holding her like a dog, he placed his cock between his wife's firm cheeks and drove upward. Jessica watched it through. She couldn't tear herself away. The sodomy was only slightly less brutal than his earlier thrusts into her sex. She couldn't imagine how Linda's ass was taking the pounding. But she watched, open-mouthed, until at last Harry Waterson cried out and came in his wife's abused ass. She'd felt Rhett's hand on her arm then, urging her to turn away. "No, it wasn't the same!' Jessa told herself, tossing the last of her brandy to the back of her throat. Rhett had made love to her ass, after tenderly preparing her, bringing her to several wonderful orgasms. Harry Waterson had whipped his wife and fucked her ass, brutally hard, seeming to enjoy her discomfort as much as he did the sex. If what Rhett had heard was true, the sodomy was a punishment for showing a little too much skin in public. Feeling the effects of the fiery liqueur, Jessica's mind was a mass of conflicting thoughts. She let them fight each other to a draw before looking over to her husband. "I want to talk about what we saw, Rhett, and what it means. But not now. Tonight I want you to take me upstairs and make love to me. Then I want you to hold me until I fall asleep.' The Stepford Wives - Chapter Five Monday, August 21 8:35 a.m. "Did you monitor the Graham's calls over the weekend?' the Doctor asked. This briefing had become a Monday morning ritual, he and Mike O'Brien sitting in his office, reviewing the status of any new residents of Stepford. They had already covered the three other new residents, two men and a woman, all single. Mike opened his note pad and recited: "Lots of calls in and out on Friday night through Saturday afternoon concerning their dinner party, and arranging for her daughter to stay with Linda Waterson for the night. "Nothing more until Sunday at eleven a.m., when her husband, Rhett, called Linda to volunteer to take her kid for the night. Kind of returning the favor, I guess.' "A call, outgoing, to the movie theater later that afternoon... let's see, and a call to order pizza delivered. Mr. and Mrs. Graham both on the phone for a fifteen minute call to his mother, wishing her a happy birthday. An incoming call a little after ten p.m., Linda W. checking on her daughter. That's it.' Doctor Poulsen was quiet for a minute. Everything pointed to the Graham's having a pretty normal weekend, all things considered. Still, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise every time he thought of this woman coming into this quiet community at this particular time. He realized that it was probably his anxiety, being this close... "Okay, Mr. O'Brien,' he said at last. "Keep it up, though. I've got a bad feeling about this Graham bitch.' "Will do, Doctor.' Mike O'Brien's steps were full of energy as he walked down the hall toward his own office, greeting the staff and patients he passed with a few up-beat words and his charming smile. Barbara Grant, the Sheriff's wife, was in the hospital every Monday morning like clockwork, helping the patients and staff with anything she could manage. She'd stop by to say hello in a half-hour if everything went as planned and... Although they were both part of the same team, Sheriff Grant had never shown anything but quiet disdain for Mike. It grated on him. After all, he had a masters in psychology and the Sheriff was, well... a fuckin' small-town Sheriff! For this reason, Mike enjoyed fucking Mrs. Grant more than any of the others. Well, he thought to himself, Linda W. was always quite a ride, and the girls from the High School, well... Dr. Poulsen placed the call from the back of the diner downtown, cognizant as always of the public nature of phone records. This one was too important to make from his office. "Dole for President campaign,' came the up-beat, cheerful voice on the other end of the line. "How may I help you elect the right president for the next millennium?' Poulsen resisted the idea that first popped into his mind, to suggest to this eager idiot that he check the polls. Instead he said, "Walter Mitchell, calling for Mr. Gregg.' That was the name he was told to use for this leg. He'd spent a quarter million, under the counter, to help elect a republican congressman from a neighboring Missouri district. That candidate had won a tight race in the Gingrich-led Republican landslide of 1994, replacing a democrat that had only these things going for him: he was smart, honest, pro-choice and one of the few real leaders in Congress. Being a veteran of the Congress was not an advantage that particular year, as many long-time fixtures on Capital Hill learned. Doctor Poulsen's generous contribution allowed the young conservative to finance a series of heart-tugging ads that pictured (allegedly) aborted fetuses and their (alleged) mothers-who-might-have-been, crying about the baby they'd lost, saying to the camera that their child would now be in their loving arms if they'd not taken the easy road and opted for a Federally-financed abortion. Had it just not been a choice! It was all it took to get the spineless young man pushed over the edge and elected to office. None of this concerned Poulsen. That contribution was merely a test for him, to see what could be accomplished if he spread a little of his fortune to the right people. A Congressman or even a Senator would be of little help to his cause, but he was patient, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. He'd followed the primaries with interest as one by one the republican candidates surged to prominence only to fall back later, until only Dole was left. With only ten weeks remaining before the election, and with Dole sixteen points behind in the polls, a contribution to the floundering campaign would be greatly treasured. Brett Gregg was the next roadblock to overcome to get his mission advanced. "This is Brett Gregg,' came the voice over the line, only slightly less enthusiastic than the previous brain-dead lad. "Mr. Gregg, sir, this is Walter Mitchell calling.' He spoke into the phone using his folksy accent. "As you may of heard, I've been anxious to have that inexperienced renegade, Bill Clinton, removed as the leader of this great country.' "That's what we're all about, Mr. Mitchell.' Ignoring the interruption, Poulsen continued. "I was hoping to get some time with Senator Dole, here in Kansas, and try to get the measure of the man.' There was a brief delay on the line. Gregg knew about this man's contribution to the Missouri Congressman's campaign, but it was his job to wring what he could out of people without using up the precious time of the candidate. "Well, Mr. Mitchell, Bob Dole has been leading this party's fight for--' "Oh, yes,' interrupted Poulsen. "He's been okay, I guess, as a senator. But the money I'm thinking about... my goodness, young man, you can understand that I'd want to meet the man personally.' "Um... what kind of contribution are we talking about.' He had the little shit. "Well, sir, it would be in the seven figure range, I figure, as long as he's the guy I think he is. And it would be totally without strings attached.' This, they both knew, was code for a cash contribution. All campaigns were anxious for funds that couldn't be traced, that could be used to hire the services of people who's activities couldn't be tied back to the campaign. Hecklers for the opponent's campaign appearances, investigators to check every little detail of his life, even well-paid whores to compromise the candidate or his staff. "I'll have Mr. Sanders call you back within a half-hour, sir, if that's convenient.' Lou Sanders, Poulsen knew, was Senator Dole's right-hand man. He gave the staffer the number at the coffee shop's public phone and hung up. The next call would be the key. Sanders would ask for and need his real name. They'd check up on him and discover his post as head of the V.A. hospital, and his record as a life-long registered republican. They'd check with the Congressman, and might even discover the other service he'd done for that damn fool. After signaling the waitress for another cup of coffee, Dr. Poulsen sat back and waited. - o - Mike O'Brien eyed the naked form of Barbara Grant as he removed the last of his clothes. Her body would have looked great on a woman ten years younger than the Sheriff's wife. She was in her mid-thirties, he guessed, but there was no sag to her smallish, pert breasts, no sign of extra weight anywhere on her body. Well, almost anywhere. "Turn around, Babs, and lie across the desk.' He'd learned the Sheriff's nickname for his wife shortly after his first hypnosis session with the woman two years ago. All the women he regularly used for sex had been hypnotized using the same trick, and it worked every time. He'd ask these attractive hospital volunteers to help him with a patient, explaining how the use of hypnosis would help the old vet with some problem. Some had nightmares, others were incontinent... the "clinical problem' varied but wasn't important. Sitting by the patient, holding the old guy's hand while Mike worked, it was always the women who were quickly brought under by his carefully modulated voice. The patients would be too busy enjoying the attention of the attractive woman to go under, and too feeble to notice or care about the result Mike inevitably achieved. Babs moved at once to obey the man she thought was her husband, and O'Brien's mouth twisted into a grin at the sight of her bent over his desk, waiting for him. This was his favorite way to take her. Barbara Grant possessed generous hips and a round, full ass. He knew she hated this part of her anatomy and exercised fanatically in a futile effort to reduce her disproportional full ass. It was just how she was put together. And Mike loved it. Moving behind her, his hands played with the round, fleshy checks that jutted out toward him. He waited until he was inside her, fucking steadily back and forth, before beginning the game he loved to play with her. "Babs, honey, I'm feelin' real horny right now.' "I know, Ernie... you feel good and hard to me,' she said, giggling and wiggling her ass back against him. "I think I'll fuck your ass next, Babs.' "What! Ernie... my God!' He'd learned that the Sheriff had never used that particular route, and his wife believed to this day that she'd never been taken that way. Each time he used a new and different pproach, taking great delight in his ability to find the words that that would convince the housewife to allow her husband to sodomize her. This time he let it go along longer than usual, enjoying her pussy as well as her angst over her husband's strange, taboo desire. It was a request that shocked her but one that would have to be honored for the Stepford wife to remain true to her purpose. She gave in, of course, as she always did. Removing his cock from her pussy, he took his time greasing himself and the tiny opening deep in the crack of her ass, not wanting any damage to occur that might make her doctor (or her husband) suspicious. Working his cock into her ass was always an incredible rush for him, the housewife whimpering as he filled her, urging him to be careful. A dozen or more times he'd done this, taken her anal cherry, and each time was like the first, for her and for him. Fucking her ass was sweet. She was amazingly tight despite his repeated journeys into her dark cavity. She'd never learned (or retained) the knowledge of earlier fucks, and how to relax the passage he now used. So she was as tight as fucking a virgin. Sweet also because she was the Sheriff's wife. As he drove back and forth in her ass, he pictured the Sheriff's face and smiled, imaging that he could see this. O'Brien also imagined and that he had the courage to boast to the lawman, "I'm butt-fucking your wife, asshole, enjoying your slut in a way that you've never tried. I've fucked her mouth and her pussy, shithead, but what I really like is reaming your wife's big round ass.' With these images playing in his mind, his fingers tightened their hold on the mewing housewife's broad hips. Over the next several minutes he picked up the pace of his thrusts until he felt his balls tighten, the release imminent. When he could hold back no longer, he pulled out of the Sheriff's wife and grabbed his cock, pumping it furiously as his cum sprayed onto her back and the meaty globes of her ass. - o - It was the boredom that finally got her to do it. While it was a joy to spend time with Katie, and she didn't mind keeping the house in reasonable shape, or planning and cooking the meals, there was nothing to keep her mind active. No real challenge after spending the five minutes it took her to complete the morning crossword puzzle. The boredom. Her mind always returned to The Stepford Wives, as she was now referring to them. Capital T, capital S, capital W. She smiled as she remembered the line her mother had frequently used, repeating something Jessica had said as a stubborn seven year-old, when her mother was helping her turn letters into words and word into sentences. "*I* get to decide where the capitals go,' she had said that day, and her mother had used that phrase ever since. Because it was perfect Jessica Graham. "The Stepford Wives,' she said out loud, feeling a little chill down her spine. The boredom caused her to pick up the phone and act on the thought that had been bouncing around in her head. Flipping through her rolodex until she found Carolyn's card, she punched in the number. Like many attorneys, Jessica valued her rolodex as much as anything she could name. It was filled with Answers. In just about every case she'd ever worked on, there came an issue or two that required expert advice. What would an ER doctor normally do given these symptoms of drug abuse? What does a museum curator really do? Is it normal for a roofer to work alone? How much of the fare does the cab driver keep? The questions were the result of the case, when she was struggling to get her mind around what had happened, and why. The Answers were found in her rolodex, the network of people she'd built since law school. Friends from Smith or Harvard, friends of friends, anyone who'd have a perspective on things that Jessica lacked. They all went into the rolodex. Carolyn DiBriggio had been a classmate at Smith, and a close friend. She'd gone on to earn her Ph.D. in psychology, and now taught at Swarthmore with a small practice on the side. Jessica had called her a year ago to get her perspective on a psychologist's testimony that was quite damaging to her case. She could have used someone from the firm's list of "expert witnesses', but she always found it difficult to trust these professional testifiers and if you put them on the stand it always left you exposed. The opposition might be able to sift through your expert's previous testimony and find something that contradicted him. In any case, she'd wanted a fresh, non-biased view and had gotten it from Doctor DiBriggio. After Jessica had relayed the man's testimony, Carolyn had been so enraged by the idiotic testimony that she'd eagerly helped Jessica prepare her cross examination points. The next morning, on cross, Jessica had completely and thoroughly destroyed the good doctor, and bolstered her client for good measure. By the time she sat down, her cross-examination completed, the psychologist's normally ruddy complexion was several shades whiter, and the judge was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. The sound of Carolyn voice brought her back, but it was only her voice-mail. Damn. Jessica left a message. - o - Lou Sanders dropped the phone back into it's cradle and sat back in his chair. That call was to a friend who was the number three man at spook central. He couldn't or wouldn't tell Sanders what Dr. Poulsen had been working on while employed at the CIA, but he was able to share confidentially that the doctor had been rated consistently high in every performance review. He was also willing to confirm that the doctor was privately wealthy, a conservative republican, and a well-respected physician and administrator. The man had called himself Walter Mitchell until he had reached Sanders, demonstrating a keen understanding of the need for privacy, his and theirs. Once Sanders had him on the phone, however, he had apologized for his modest subterfuge, and willingly gave Sanders all the information he needed to check his bona fides. The call to Congressman Grayson had checked out as well, although the junior legislator had no clue as to who his mysterious benefactor really was. "If you do talk to Walter Mitchell anytime soon,' the man had said, "be sure to tell him we've talked and to pass along by regards to him and to his niece, Lisa.' Dr. Richard Poulsen didn't have a niece, Sanders knew, so he jotted the name Lisa down on his pad, underlined it twice, and placed a question mark after the name. The Congressman rattled on for several more minutes about this girl, Lisa, and how gorgeous she was, until at last Sanders was able to cut him off, thank him for his time, and hang up. Sixteen points behind in the polls, Sander's thoughts went to all the ways they could use the untraceable money, how it might be possible to crack the Teflon armor of Slick Willie. Rubbing his hands together, the politico grinned. He knew full well that Dole probably wouldn't win regardless of how he spent the money, but it sure would be fun to try. After checking the calendar for his candidate's availability, Sanders pulled his coat on and left the office. This was a call that had to be made from a public phone. - o - Rhett Graham clicked off the Dictaphone at the end of the sentence, paused, then clicked it back on and resumed. "If there's anything else we can do, from our end, to better link our production plans with your supply operations, please don't hesitate to give me a call. It is our hope and expectation that these new procedures, along with a closer working relationship, will reduce the inventory investment for both of our operations.' "Sincerely yours, etc., etc., --- oh, and Lisa, could you put a CC on the bottom for Wes, and make sure the other staff members get blind copies. Thanks.' He clicked off the Dictaphone, and sat back in his chair, smiling ruefully at the small recorder in his hand, thinking how strange it was that technology got in the way of people dealing with people. Lisa Quinn was right outside his door, yet he spoke into this recorder and sometime later this afternoon she'd pop the tape into her head set and dutifully type the letter. He'd never before used a Dictaphone, not until taking this job. He used to have his secretary come in and take dictation, scribbling in that incomprehensible language known only to them. The letter always came back perfectly done, just as he'd said it with the exception that his grammar was fixed. Lisa Quinn was as good taking dictation as any of the executive secretaries back in Boston. The problem was him. She'd sit dutifully in the chair opposite his desk, her steno pad and pencil at the ready, and he'd get a paragraph or two out before he'd screw it up. He couldn't believe those eyes, so big and liquid... looking at him with a mixture of child-like innocence and... something else. Devotion? Those slender legs crossed at the knee, the shapely calves demanding his attention. The body... dressed conservatively, but nothing could hide her curves, the generous breasts, the hips... "Oh, stop it you little shit,' he said out loud, leaning forward then deciding to come to his feet. The business writers wrote enthusiastically about the Management By Walking Around principle. For Rhett it was a necessity, whether or not it helped his understanding of what was going on, or helped the people he interacted with. He just got antsy. Taking the tape with him he opened his door and stepped into the outer office. "Hello Mr. Graham,' said Lisa Quinn, turning in her chair toward him. "Can I get you something?' "Hi Lisa. No, just thought I'd stretch my legs. Oh, there are a few letters on this,' he handed the girl the tiny cassette. "No hurry on those. Tomorrow will be fine.' "Oh, I'll get them done this afternoon, sir. They'll be waiting for your signature before you leave.' "Uh, fine,' he said, tearing his eyes away from the girl, forcing himself to take that first step, then the second. Today she was wearing a pastel sweater, and it reminded him of those poster girls of the forties, or was it the fifties? The sweater hugged her body like a second skin, displaying the two mounds perfectly, making them seem like huge Easter eggs that should be opened and... Mentally kicking himself again, he stopped at the first office he came to and said hello to the secretary, a forty-ish woman that had what Jessica had trained him to call, the Stepford look. "Hello Mr. Graham,' she responded eagerly, getting out of her chair and walking gracefully over to her boss's door. "Did you want to speak to Mr. Reynolds, sir?' That was another thing. People tended to think of New Englanders as stuffy and formal. But at Corporate Headquarters everyone referred to one another by their first names, even the secretaries. He'd tried but had been unable to get any of the clerical staff, even Lisa, to call him Rhett. And every time he was referred to as sir, he had to resist the strong impulse to look behind him, to see if his dad was there. "That would be great, Marsha, if he's got a minute.' She knocked discretely before opening the door. In just a few seconds she was escorting him into Geoff Reynold's office, asking both of them if she could bring a refreshment. "I'm fine,' said Rhett. "Ditto,' said Geoff. "Thanks, Marsha.' After the door was closed, Rhett said, "Nothing important on my mind, Geoff, just thought I'd escape my office for a few minutes and shoot the shit.' "I'm an HR guy, Rhett, that's my specialty.' Rhett chuckled. He liked Reynolds, his easy-going ways, and felt instantly at ease. "How'd you do it Geoff? Learn to concentrate, I mean, with Lisa Quinn as your secretary?' He grinned and said, "I've two answers for that. One I'll give you now, here in the office. To hear the other, you'll have to accept my invitation to golf at Stepford Hills.' "Done. This weekend?' "How about Saturday, early,' suggested Reynolds. "This late in the week it's hard to get a tee time at a civilized hour, but if you're willing to haul your ass outta bed at six, we can get something at 6:45.' "That would be fine,' said Rhett. He stared out the window while Reynolds called the pro shop to get a tee time. He had not picked up golf until three years earlier but was already hooked on the game. But it had taken $1,000 in golf lessons to correct a nasty slice, and to learn how to make those tricky pitch shots and bunker shots that used to add so many strokes to his score. "It's done. 6:50.' "Great,' said Rhett. "Now, back to my question, and don't think for a second that I'm gonna let you squirm out of answering. What's a full-blooded, heterosexual, happily-married man supposed to do to keep his eyes off of that unbelievably gorgeous female.' "One thing,' he said, holding one finger up, the voice and pose a perfect imitation of Jack Palance's character in the movie "City Slickers'. "Yes,' said Rhett, expectantly. "Sex.' "Sex? That's your answer? That's the One Thing?' "Uh huh.' He smiled and continued. "I've got four kids now, Rhett, and three of them were conceived in the thirty-eight month period that Lisa Quinn was my secretary. I came home horny every night. Don't let on that I told you this, Rhett, but Helen got into the practice of putting her diaphragm in ten or fifteen minutes before I was scheduled to come home.' Rhett laughed. "Suffice to say,' concluded Geoff Reynolds, "my wife and I grew much closer during that period.' The Stepford Wives - Chapter Six Tuesday, August 22 8:40 a.m. Just as soon as he got to the hospital, Mike O'Brien let Poulsen's secretary know that he needed time with his boss as soon as he was available. The previous night, just before retiring, he had listened to the tapes of the Graham's phone calls. The returned call from Carolyn DiBriggio, whoever she was, had disturbed him greatly. He brought in the tape so Doctor Poulsen could hear it first hand. "This is gonna screw up my whole day,' said O'Brien to himself as he entered his own office. He had no idea when Poulsen would be free. It could be an hour from now or four, and the Doctor would have him doing something related to the Graham woman as soon as he heard the goddamn tape. He was frustrated because he had plans for this day. This was Tuesday and that meant that Sister Mary Katherine was helping out at the hospital. This would be her third week assisting at the V.A., and he had only last week been able to hypnotize the young, attractive nun. Having gone to parochial school for twelve years, Mike had a great deal of exposure to these women who "married' Jesus Christ and gave their lives to His work. His natural laziness in school had caused the nuns to constantly chastise him and occasionally discipline him with a sharp whack with whatever was handy. He'd developed, over the years, an understandable and deep animosity toward nuns. But, he reminded himself, none of the nuns he grew up with looked anything like Sister Mary. The first time he met her... the clean bright face and those big blue eyes, framed in the black and white habit, had caused his heart to miss a beat. She had smiled and introduced herself, recognizing the startled expression on his face for what it was, having seen it on men quite often since leaving the seminary two years earlier. He recovered enough the shake the offered hand and to stammer out his name. "Michael O'Brien is it,' she said, adopting a lilting Irish brogue. "Sounds like a good Jewish name to me.' "Irish,' he said, feeling foolish once he recognized her little joke. "Irish Catholic,' he said, recovering some initiative and finding his charming smile, "but a lot of people make that mistake, Sister Mary.' She'd smiled at him before excusing herself to return to her work, and he had let his eyes follow her for a moment, looking for any hint of the body beneath her habit. Pulling his eyes off the nun he went immediately to Dr. Poulsen's office to quiz his secretary. He learned that Sister Mary had been in Stepford six months, assigned to the town's one Catholic church. She had just begun the volunteer work that would have her at the hospital two mornings per week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. After two attempts that he had to abort because the patient had acted up, he'd finally succeeded last Thursday in bringing the nun into a hypnotic state. As soon as he realized that her eyes were dull and unfocused, he grabbed her by the arm and escorted her back to his office, communicating only enough words to keep the sleep-walking nun walking in the right direction. To his office. He had only a few minutes before he was expected in Poulsen's office, and he used the time with Sister Mary to program a verbal trigger in the young cleric's mind ("Jesus H. Fucking Christ', he decided after a moments reflection), and to quickly scope out her body through the bulky habit she wore. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God... she's got tits! Big tits! And an ass!' he whispered to himself as his fingers probed. His cock hardened in his pants but at the same time a strong sense of guilt and shame rose in his consciousness. Today was supposed to be his time with Sister Mary, and he had spent many hours thinking through his approach. "Fuck you, Jessica Graham, you interfering little bitch!' he cried, the frustration palpable. - o - The alley was dark and stank of garbage and the urine of bums, but it was the route they'd been told to take. Dr. Richard Poulsen and his "niece' entered the Topeka Hilton through the employee's entrance, as instructed, and took the service elevator to the top floor. They were met by Lou Sanders as soon as they stepped through the doors. The politico shook Poulsen's hand, then Lisa Quinn's. The Doctor was used to the effect Lisa had on men, but smiled to himself just the same as Sanders stared at his breathtaking companion. He led them down the hall and stopped before the Secret Service agent, explaining to his guests that routine security required that he check them and their bags. The agent activated a hand-held metal detector and ran it over the clothes of both of them. If the agent was impressed by Lisa Quinn he didn't show it, and he showed no apparent interest in the neatly bundled stacks of hundred dollar bills in the Doctor's valise. Within a minute they were shown into Bob Dole's penthouse suite. Poulsen had not been that least surprised when Sanders had brought up Lisa during the final call to set up this meeting. When he'd referred to her as, "your niece, Lisa,' he knew that Dole's aide had talked to the Congressman. Lisa had been the one to bring the cash to the republican candidate the year before, introducing herself as Walter Mitchell's niece. It hadn't taken much prompting on her part to get the candidate to make a pass, and his awkward proposal was readily accepted. Poulsen had expected to have to bring up the girl himself, wanting her at the meeting for his own purposes, but Sanders had beat him to it. They had agreed very quickly that his niece, a big fan of Bob Dole, could join them. After greeting them with a politician's ready smile and unctuous warmth, Dole invited them to sit. Poulsen and Lisa sat on one sofa while Dole and his aide settled into another, facing their guests, separated by a rectangular coffee table. It was on this that Poulsen set his valise. "I know how busy you must be, Senator,' started Poulsen, "and I'm very pleased that you could give me this time.' "It's my pleasure, Doctor,' said Dole, smoothly, his eyes moving off Lisa's legs as he answered his guest. Dole and Sanders were caught off guard by Poulsen's next act. They watched as he turned to the stunning brunette and said, "Albuquerque Waltz.' Her eyes clouded over and her head fell back just a bit, to rest on the back of the sofa. "Lisa so much wanted to meet you, sir, and I hope you'll have a few minutes later to talk to the girl. But I wanted our little chat to be confidential, if you know what I mean.' "She hypnotized or something?' blurted Sanders. "Yes,' he said, then turned to the girl. "Lisa, would you be so kind as to step into the next room.' The men watched as the Doctor rose and helped the girl up, gently escorting her to the door that led to a bedroom. When he returned he took his seat as if nothing strange had happened. "It's my pleasure to make this contribution to your campaign, Senator, and I wish it was enough, by itself, to insure that your noble mission is achieved.' Dole cleared his throat and said, "Well, Doctor, we'll certainly use your generous contribution to our best advantage.' He nodded. "I'm sure you will, Senator. But the funds are not the real purpose of my visit tonight. I'd like to make an even greater contribution to your efforts, one that may assure your election in November.' This got their attention, and both men sat forward, their eyes on the impressive man before them. In minds of both men was the same thought: what could be more significant than a million dollars in cash? Then, what could the Doctor do that would assure a win? "Could you explain yourself, Doctor,' said Sanders. "Senator Dole's biggest problem in the polls is women voters, right?' When the aide nodded Poulsen continued, "It's not just the Senator, as you know. All Republican candidates, male or female, have to overcome what the analysts call the gender gap, all those misguided women who vote Democrat.' "What I propose to do, gentleman, is close and then reverse that gap.' Sanders did some quick calculations in his head, and came to the same conclusion that the Doctor had reached months before. If women voted for Dole by the same margin they now favored Clinton, the incumbent would be history. Toast. "Go on, Doctor.' "I'd be glad to. But first, Mr. Sanders, can I assume that you checked me out pretty thoroughly before agreeing to this meeting?' Sanders nodded. "And the result?' "You're no flake, Doctor.' Poulsen smiled before continuing, starting with his discovery of the RCA additive. He explained at a high level, the mechanics of the drug and how it resulted in women who were more family-oriented, more respectful and obedient to their husbands. He briefly outlined what the drug accomplished in Stepford: the divorce rate was zero for the community of 32,000; spousal abuse was non-existent, child abuse down 80%, all forms of crime down significantly. He mentioned almost casually another side effect of their "corrected' perspective. These "Righteous Women' were much more receptive to the Republican message of conservatism and family values. Of the women who voted in Stepford, and some, he admitted, left this duty to their husbands, over three-quarters opted for the GOP candidate. Sanders whistled under his breath. He knew too much about Poulsen's background from his contact at the CIA to believe this man a nut case. The money helped, and what he did with that girl... "The logistics will be difficult,' continued Poulsen, "and I'll need your help. It would be impossible between now and the election to attempt to cover all or even many of the fifty states. What I propose is we focus our efforts on large metropolitan areas, traditional Democratic strongholds, in those states with the largest Electoral College votes. Aside from the political angle, the water supplies are easier to... manage. Where I need your help most is finding a secure and confidential manufacturer of pharmaceuticals. My lab cannot make enough of the RCA for our purposes.' "Your strategy makes sense,' said Sanders, glancing at Dole to read his reaction. What he saw was a mixture of skepticism and hope. Sanders was thinking along the lines that Poulsen had outlined, and thought out loud, more for Dole's benefit that their guests. "California, that means LA and the Bay Area; New York, the City of course; a little help in Texas would be nice, Florida too. With the mountain states and deep south already in our corner... well, we might need either Ohio or Michigan... but, shit!' Sanders glanced at Dole and saw that he was holding back, not willing to let the hope created by the Doctors comments show itself. He'd spent a career in politics, all of it leading to this final chance to reach his goal. And in walks a stranger who says he can make that dream possible... it was too much to believe, but his aide could see the hope in his eyes. "Perhaps you could give the Senator and me a little demonstration. Your niece, can I assume she's a... what was your expression, a Righteous Woman?' Poulsen nodded and rose to get Lisa, bringing her back a minute later. He kept her standing while he took his seat. "On the count of three, Lisa, you will awake,' said Poulsen. What followed was exclusively for the benefit of Dole and his aide, as Lisa wasn't hypnotized, and wouldn't need any encouragement to fuck Dole. She was completely devoted to Poulsen and his cause. "You will feel for the three men in this room exactly what you'd feel for a husband, and treat them accordingly. One, Two, Three.' Lisa Quinn's eyes opened and her face broke out into a warm smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?' she said, her eyes taking in all three men in turn, the subtle emphasis of her sexy voice on the word anything. "Perhaps I should leave, gentlemen,' said Poulsen, rising to his feet. "Once you've satisfied yourselves as to the qualities of a Righteous Women, would you be so kind as to ask Lisa to meet me at the bar across the street.' Shaking their hands he said, "I'll be expecting your call, Mr. Sanders.' On the drive back to Stepford, in Poulsen's Mercedes Benz, Lisa Quinn briefed him on the events after he'd left. "Sanders asked me a bunch of questions while Dole just sat there like a statue. Then the ol' guy interrupted and said, "Get undressed,' all gruff like. So I stripped, and I was kinda looking forward to fucking Dole. Geeze, I've never fucked a President before. But he just stood and watched while Sanders undressed and had me.' "Dole didn't touch you?' "Not once. Just stood there and watched. I would have noticed any sign that he was turned on, y'know... I looked. Aside from a nervous twitch every once in a while, nothing. You figure maybe he's too old to get it up?' Poulsen thought to himself that if Lisa's incredible looks and centerfold body couldn't get the man excited, nothing could. Instead of voicing this thought he reached over and put his hand behind the girl's neck, the light pressure of his fingers telling the girl what he wanted. As she lowered her head into his lap, her fingers busy with his belt, he drove and thought about the meeting. It had gone well, he knew. Dole was a politician and would do anything to win the election, Sanders too. He needed their help but they needed his even more, to have any chance to win. Doctor Poulsen smiled to himself as Lisa's talented mouth went to work on his cock. If he could pull this off, and get Dole in the White House, he'd have access to all the resources he'd need to complete his life's work. Then his thoughts went to the tape he'd listed to, with Mike O'Brien, of the conversation between the Graham bitch and the psychologist. He started to think about what to do about the whore, but had a hard time concentrating on that, and the driving, with Lisa Quinn sucking on his cock. So he put that problem aside and let himself enjoy the sensations. After five more minutes, his hand dropped to the head in his lap, pushing it down, holding it in place as his cock emptied its load into the deliciously tight throat of Lisa Quinn. - o - Two days later, Mike O'Brien was sitting behind his desk, and his heart was pounding in his chest. Rubbing his hands together, he realized that his palms were wet. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been this nervous, or when he'd looked forward to something with as much anticipation as now. And it wasn't working. She was standing in front of his desk, eyes closed, head lowered, in the same position she'd been in for the last ten minutes, every since his trembling voice had uttered the phrase, "Jesus H. Fucking Christ.' He'd spent many hours thinking about the right approach. Sister Mary Katherine was a nun and a virgin. O'Brien had plenty of experience with former, but none of it applied to what he wanted to accomplish, and absolutely none with the latter. He knew with virtual certainty that his usual approach would fail; before he even put them under, the Stepford wives were already programmed to worship their husbands. It was an easy task to get them to believe that he was him. They were already inclined to do just about anything for their husbands, as he demonstrated during his weekly butt-fucks with Barbara Grant. Sister Mary, on the other hand, was married to the church, to a live of service to God and His son, Jesus Christ. Sex was completely foreign to the young nun, and he assumed that it had been burned into her mind since an early age, like his, that sex out of the marriage bed was a cardinal sin. She'd be suggestible, yes, but the stretch from chastity to whore was way beyond the power of his meager abilities. His planned approach built on his assumptions about her beliefs and motivations. Several minutes ago he'd started, keeping his voice slow and clear as he brought the nun through each step: trusting him, believing him a man of God, valuing his advice and friendship above all others, wanting to please him. Then came the tricky part, building on the Catechism, reminding the nun that God spoke through the Holy See. He suggested to the Sister than he, too, was a messenger from God, but that his mission was to find a woman who would bear His son, the second coming of Jesus Christ. But it hadn't worked. She hadn't laughed, not really, but she'd unsuccessfully tried to hide a giggle. He'd tried again, realizing that even in her highly suggestible state, the nun's mind would resist anything that went up against a strongly held belief, so he backed up and covered again who he was, what his mission was, and how she might be the vessel for His son. "You want to be the mother of God's son, don't you, Sister Mary?' he had said moments before. "Ah... Your Holiness, sir, that's not possible.' Mike was stunned into silence. It wasn't working, and he had no idea why, nor did he have an alternative approach. He asked her if she had some physical problem that wouldn't allow her to bear a child. That wasn't it. He was about to give up, thinking that he needed time to come up with a different approach, when he decided to ask her a few other questions. "Are you a virgin, Sister Mary?' "Yes.' "Have you committed any sins of the flesh?' The nun paused a moment before responding, "Yes, your Holiness. I have... touched myself, but I confess to these sins regularly.' Mike was slightly take aback. "Regularly, sister?' "Yes, your Holiness.' "Okay, Sister Mary, and God has forgiven you. Did you experience an orgasm? These times when you touched yourself?' "Yes.' "How does it make you feel?' he asked. "Guilty?' He watched her lips break into a smile. "Later, sometimes. No, it makes me feel more spiritual. Closer to God.' Mike was non-plussed by the direction of the conversation, and considered once again if he should bring her out of the hypnosis, and think up something else. It had never occurred to him that a nun would enjoy and practice masturbation. But his curiosity kept him going. "When was the last time you masturbated, Sister?' "Last night.' "Do you, um, think about having sex when you touch yourself?' "Oh, yes,' she said, "all the time.' "With whom?' he asked, stunned. "It varies. Sometimes with a parishioner, or a priest. Last night I was imagining having sex with a man at the hospital where I sometimes work, Michael O'Brien.' "Oh?' he said, his cock stiffening at this revelation. "Yes. He's incredibly sexy, and I know he thinks I'm pretty.' "Don't you believe such thoughts are a sin?' "No... no I don't,' she said. "I never have. He would not have given us the pleasure of an orgasm had He not wanted us to feel it.' "But...' Mike was astonished that a nun would form her own opinion on this issue, something that was drilled into him all throughout his Catholic training. "But, you have not had sex?' "No, your Holiness. I've taken a vow of chastity... It would be inappropriate for a Sister to do such a thing.' "But you've wanted to, right? You imagine yourself having sex with men you've met.' "Oh, yes. Men and, sometimes, women.' Mike stopped at this point, totally confused. It had never occurred to him that a nun would allow herself such thoughts, much less finger herself while some fantasy played in her mind. And the Sister had confessed to having fantasies of making love to other women. He decided after several minutes of thought that he must start over, along a track that was more sympathetic to the Sister's feelings toward her sexual urges. After telling her that she'd wake with no knowledge of their conversation, he brought her out of hypnosis only long enough to utter her trigger phrase and begin anew. This time, as he cycled through his routine, he established his identity as a different messenger from God. He assured the Sister that God believed as she did, that her body was Holy and the pleasures it gave her should be welcomed. He emphasized that He had intended all His children to experience the joys of their bodies, most especially those in His service. The sister's answers to his questions came easier now, and he was able to build in her mind the idea that God wanted her to elevate her understanding of the pleasure she was able to give and receive, and that she would grow more spiritual as a result of her experiences. Finally, he assured her that her vows to His messenger took precedent over her earlier pledge. "When I count to three, Sister Mary, you will awaken and find yourself in a Holy place. The man that you will see before you will be a stranger to you but a true messenger from God. You will obey his instructions in all things. His body is Holy, as is yours, and his instructions are the will of God.' "One, Two, Three.' As her eyes opened and her head lifted up, Mike O'Brien held his breath, not sure what to expect. But the nun's big blue eyes were immediately filled with adoration, and her face broke into a serenely happy smile. "Your Holiness,' she said and lowered herself to one knee, her head bowed in respect. "Rise Sister Mary,' he said, "and let me see the woman who will take this Holy journey with me, to find ourselves closer to His presence.' Taking her hands in his, he looked into her beautiful face. "Let us undress, Sister Mary, and perform this Holy duty for our God.' O'Brien watched as the nun moved to obey, her face coloring as she unhooked the collar on her habit and reached underneath to find the zipper. As she pulled it down, her expressive eyes looked over to him, and the psychologist recognized the plaintive look. She was not simply embarrassed about exposing her body for the first time to a man; the look on her face, and in those eyes, was different than virginal modesty. She was concerned about not being worthy of this great opportunity to serve her God, a self-purpose that had grown even stronger with the effects of RCA. "Rest assured, child, that I understand your concerns. You have demonstrated your devotion to serving His wishes, but as a virtuous child of God, you know not how to perform this Holy duty. I, too, am unpracticed in these matters, but not unschooled, and we will learn together, you and I.' "Yes, your Holiness,' she said, her eyes beaming at him. Her fingers returned to her task, and she unzipped the habit. The headdress came first, displaying as it was removed short, curly strawberry-blond hair. O'Brien had guessed from her fair skin and blue eyes that she was Irish like he, and as the habit dropped to her ankles and she saw the freckles on her neck and chest, he was pretty certain that he'd guessed right. The nun stepped out of her habit and the slip beneath, now dressed only in her bra and panties, neither of which were designed to titillate a man. All the same, the workman-like undergarments caused his cock to throb in his pants. The shoes and socks he noticed only when the nun dropped to one knee to unlace the sensible working shoes. He look this opportunity to strip off his tie and unbutton his shirt, kicking off his loafers as he did. After removing his shirt he sat back on his desk and peeled off his socks, his eyes never leaving the kneeling form of the nun. As he unbuckled his belt the nun rose to her feet, the flush returning to her face and chest. With her eyes lowered demurely, she reached behind her back to un-latch her bra, holding her arms modestly over her breasts as the undergarment fell to the floor. His eyes feasted on the milky white of her body, the tops of her swelling breasts showing over her arms, the soft rise of her belly, the thighs and slender calves. She was not like the Stepford women he'd fucked so regularly all these many months, their bodies shaped and hardened by hours of exercise each week. She was not hard, but soft, her service to God's work requiring strength of purpose, not rigorous and vain attention to her form. She was, in fact, just a little plump. Far from disappointing Mike O'Brien, his first glimpse of her body made his cock as hard as he'd ever remembered it. As he lowered his pants over his stiff jutting cock, he realized that he wanted to see and touch her breasts, her belly, her ass, as much or more than he'd ever desired Linda Waterson, Barbara Grant or the others. It was her purity, and not just her virginal innocence, that excited O'Brien. She was to him like a wildflower with a scent that no man had ever breathed into his lungs, a perfect example of his church's ideal of womanhood. He'd grown indifferent to his religion during his tenure at the State College. Freed at last from the straight jacket of Catholic schools, it had been six wonderful years of drinking and debauchery. Looking across the dozen feet that separated them, he caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. As he peeled his boxers over the his rock-hard cock, letting them fall to his ankles, she lowered her arms from her breasts. Large breasts, they were, milky white melons standing proudly on her chest. The nipples were already erect, the coral nubs long and thick. As the nun bent over to slide her panties off her hips and down her thighs, the breasts swayed provocatively, the firmness of the melons evident, and he knew at once were he would start. Stepping out of his boxers, he approached the nun as she was standing up, one arm over her breasts, the other shielding her sex. The modesty appealed to O'Brien and made his cock throb anew. The nun's eyes were on the stiff member jutting eight inches out from his loins, the member looking to the nun like a one-eyed serpent. "Your modesty becomes you, Child,' he said, more to test his shaky voice than anything else. Standing less than two feet away from the girl, he reached over and gently caressed the arm shielding her breasts with the backs of his fingers, noticing as he did the tiny hairs on her arm rise as if by magic. Their eyes locked, he nodded and the arm came down, hanging at her side. The other did as well, exposing a bush of dark blond, silky hair. But his eyes were on her magnificent breasts, and his hands came up to gently cup the mounds. "These are lovely, Sister Mary,' he said, finding himself absorbed in the fantasy he'd created for her. The globes felt heavy in his hands, soft and firm and the same time. Moving his thumbs up to her nipples he moved each digit back and forth along the underside of the thickly-erect nubs. "It is a shame that no child will ever suckle at these breasts, drawing the nourishment that will make it strong.' "Yes,' she whispered, her voice filled with awe. Moving a step forward, he lowered his head and took a nipple between his lips, kissing it tenderly before gently sucking it into his mouth. As he increased the pressure, and drew more of her breast into his mouth, he could feel the nun's body tremble. A small noise escaped her mouth as his sucking continued, and her hand came up, tentatively, to the back of his head. Her fingers combed through his hair, holding him there, feasting on her breast, a light pressure urging him on. He felt the hand and sucked harder, taking as much of her into his mouth as he could manage. Then he pulled off and let his tongue flicker back and forth over the nipple before sucking the flesh back into his mouth. The nun's lips parted and a low moan escaped. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, relishing the pleasurable sensations. When His Holiness moved to her other breast, his tongue flickering back and forth across her nipple, she moaned again. Soon it was both breasts, his mouth suckling one while his fingers rolled her other nipple between them, adding to the incredible sensations she was feeling. "Ohhhhh,' she cried, her mind filled with the pleasure of his ministrations and also the holiness of their task. O'Brien heard the moans, and the cries, but was completely surprised when the nun came, her body trembling as the unexpected orgasm coursed through her body. He was delighted but baffled, having only used his mouth and hands on the nun's breasts and nipples. He felt her body slipping away and just managed to pull his mouth off her breast and get his arms around her before she fell. Holding her to him, his cock pressed up against her soft belly, he looked into her flushed face, saw the serene smile and heard her whisper, reverently, "Closer to God...' The Stepford Wives - Chapter Seven Friday, August 25 2:15 p.m. Linda Waterson's normal half-hour session with Mike O'Brien on Friday was not of the usual sort. The psychologist had spoken the trigger phrase as soon as the red-head entered his office, but instead of passing himself off as her husband for a lusty fuck, O'Brien had quizzed the woman about Jessica and Rhett Graham. He'd been told in no uncertain terms by Doctor Poulsen that the Graham bitch was his problem. His boss indicated he'd be extremely busy with some hush-hush project over the next two weeks, and O'Brien was tasked with monitoring her activities and, when the occasion presented itself, increasing her exposure to RCA. After questioning Waterson for ten minutes, O'Brien was satisfied that she knew nothing of her neighbor's activities or plans, despite the friendship that had developed between their kids. He did take the opportunity to plant an instruction in her mind that would help him later on. After releasing the red-head and escorting her politely out of his office, he sat down as his desk and thought about his plans for Jessica Graham. Linda Waterson would give him a call, here or at his apartment, if and when she learned that her neighbor would be out of the house for an extended period. He wanted to do two things once he got in. One was check the bitch's PC for any eMail she might have exchanged with the psychologist, or anybody else about her observations of Stepford. He'd learned of this possibility after the two women had exchanged several voice mails, never managing to connect, and the housewife last message had suggested they use eMail. Second was the RCA. Doctor Poulsen had given him a vial of the potion that was many times stronger than the dose she'd get from the water supply. His plan was to get inside the house, and add the concentrated RCA to something that the housewife might drink. He glanced at his watch and paused, puzzled for a moment. Linda W. had been gone for several minutes, yet he still had about ten minutes before the usual time he had to get her dressed and gone to avoid any suspicion. "Damn,' he said to himself, "we could'a ripped off a quickie.' In his mind he once again blamed the Graham woman for screwing up his plans. What he couldn't or wouldn't admit to himself, however, was that ever since his time with Sister Mary Katherine, his interest in other women had flagged. He thought back to the day before... After she'd cum from just his hands and mouth on her breasts, he had kissed her deeply while his tongue foraged in her mouth. She moaned, kissing him back with enthusiasm, but with the inexperience of a virgin. His hands slid down her back while they kissed, stopping only when he had a firm grip on the fleshy cheeks of her ass. When he finally broke the kiss, he looked down into her wide blue eyes, the luminous orbs filled with adoration. The globes of her large breasts were pressed against his chest, the erect nipples a reminder of what they'd just done. Lower, his cock throbbed against her belly, reminding him of his passionate need. But in his head, another idea was forming, and he found himself slipping effortlessly into the fantasy. "Closer to God,' he said, smiling at the nun in his arms. "My child, we both need to become closer to God, reaching out together, Sister Mary.' "Yes, your Holiness,' she said, her eyes filled with pride. "I must learn your body, and your mind, so I can help you achieve that blessed state.' "And I, your Holiness,' she said, her expressive grave, "must learn your body.' He smiled at her and nodded. Reluctantly, he let go of her ass and took a step back, watching as the nun's eyes dropped to his cock. "The vessel of my seed,' he said. "Kneel, Sister Mary, and learn all you can about it's feel, it's taste, and how it changes as it nears the blessed state.' Sister Mary Katherine lowered herself slowly to her knees, her hands reaching out tentatively to touch him. Reverently, she slid her hands down it's length, then back. The nun had worked the V.A. wards often enough to have seen the male organ, and occasionally it had been somewhat erect those times when she had bathed the aged veterans. But her experience had not prepared her for this. The organ in her hands, which would soon enter her and give her the pleasure that she had often imagined, was longer and thicker than any she had seen, and any that she had imagined as a teenager when she'd first fantasized while her fingers were busy in her sex. She was not scared by the prospect so much as filled with wonder, that this large shaft could enter her body, the cavity that she'd forsworn in her service to Him five years earlier. What was it that His Holiness had said? That they would need to achieve the blessed state of orgasm together... if their union was to bring them to a heightened state of spirituality. That goal was the blessed aim of their activities, she knew with ever ounce of her being. She needed to learn of this organ, but how? Raising her eyes to His Holiness, she asked, "My father, how can I best serve our Holy mission?' Mike O'Brien had long ago set his real personality aside. He was not the detached clinician but was instead as thoroughly engaged in his part as was Sister Mary. He smiled at the virgin kneeling before him with his throbbing cock in her hands, and found that the words came easy. "I have been told, Sister Mary, that we must learn how to achieve the blessed state together, so that we are one with each other and with God when He decides that the moment is right. It will take practice on our part to achieve this Holy thing. Practice, my innocent angel.' She smiled at him before bringing her attention back to the shaft in her hands. The tiny hole in the head was oozing a clear liquid, and as she squeezed the shaft the pre-cum formed a droplet and slid off the end. Acting from impulse she stuck her tongue out to capture the drop. "Nectar from God,' he said, delighted at the virgin's initiative. He gave her a few suggestions and after a minute or so her mouth and tongue were busy exploring his cock. One of her hands was fondling his cum-filled balls while she sucked the head of his cock between her lips and into her hot, warm mouth. That the nun was inexperienced did nothing to diminish his enjoyment. Watching her lips slide an inch or so down his shaft, feeling her tongue bathe the underside, it was far more erotic than the same act would be if performed by one of the Stepford wife/whores. They could suck like powerful vacuums, and would eagerly take his cock into their tight throats. In contrast, the pressure of Sister Mary Katherine's mouth and tongue were light; she treated his cock with love and reverence. She was clumsy at times, but that just made it more exciting for him, her large blue eyes looking up to his face for guidance, reminding him with every look of the nun's innocence. His cock throbbed in her warm, wet cavity, occasionally surprising her by jerking in her mouth. After several more minutes of this, he decided to take control. "You must learn to gauge the pleasure you're giving, Sister Mary. This is how it will feel, for me, when I'm inside your sex. A little tighter, I'm told, but we'll learn that together.' Placing his hands on each side of her head, the fingers combing into the nun's strawberry blond tresses, he continued his discourse. "Watch my eyes, child, and listen, while I move back and forth. Keep your teeth back, yes, that's it... and suck a little harder.' He knew that he'd come sometime very soon, the eroticism of his conquest adding to the scene he was witnessing. Her eyes, filled with wonder, watching him while he fucked his cock back and forth into the nun's mouth. "I will achieve the blessed state in just a few moments, Sister Mary, and you will be rewarded with your first sample of my seed. It will be warm in your mouth, comfortingly warm, and it will taste delicious. You must try to feel the minute changes in the vessel of my seed, so you can recognize them later, as I achieve the blessed state. You must swallow the seed, all of it, and imagine that you to are feeling the pleasure of His presence.' He groaned as his balls tightened and began pumping his cum up he shaft and into her mouth. Watching her face with half-shut eyes, savoring the delicious feeling of release, he saw her eyes widened as his cock spurted inside her. She'd felt the subtle changes to his organ and to the balls cupped in her hand, just before the back of her mouth was splashed with his seed. It was warm, she thought, and a little salty, swallowing just before the second blast coated her tonsils. She felt something else as his organ bucked and throbbed in her mouth, releasing his Holy seed. From her long-neglected sex, she felt the start of her second orgasm of the session. Clamping her lips more tightly on his shaft, swallowing gratefully, she groaned as her body shuddered, her orgasm bringing her once again to that Holy state. Closer to God. When he'd fished cuming in her mouth yesterday morning and regained control of his senses, he'd watched the kneeling nun with something approaching awe. The virgin nun was moaning with passion, bobbing her head back and forth on his now-drained cock, and her body was trembling, hips swaying in small circles. It was obvious that she was cuming, again. He'd decided right then to postpone the taking of her cherry. After the nun had finished cuming she'd fallen back onto her haunches, the expression on her face one of pride and devotion. He put her back under, and questioned the nun for several minutes, reinforcing the earlier messages. He'd also learned from her all about the church in which she served, a building on the edge of town that O'Brien had driven past on many occasions but had yet to enter. When she indicated that the church was empty late Saturday night, he knew the time and place he'd take the nun's cherry. - o - Rhett Graham's practice swing felt good to him and he stepped forward to address the ball. Like a mantra he repeated the five words in his mind: relax... tempo... coil... power... release. Then he let his mind take over as he slowly brought the club head back... up... pausing at the top, letting his coiled muscles bring the clubhead down... the speed increasing as it descended, and then, the sound---that he believed the most beautiful in the world, a well struck ball---then the release, his shoulder easing his head up in the follow through, leaving him in perfect position to watch the white dot soar over the tree that guarded the green... falling softly on the manicured surface, stopping eight or ten feet away from the flag. He heard the soft whistle behind him, from the cart. "Heck of a shot, Rhett.' Walking back to the cart, he couldn't suppress the grin on his face. "Geoff, I think those are the two best shots I've hit in a row in my life.' He'd needed two putts to par the first hole. The second was a short par four, but he'd lipped the par putt that would have tied the hole, and had to settle for a bogie. But here on the par-five third hole, he'd crushed his drive and the adrenaline had helped him decide to for the green, over a tree and 200 yards away. Now he was sitting on the green with an eagle putt. If he made it he would be one shot under par after three holes. He'd never scored an eagle nor had he ever been under par in any of the rounds he'd played over the years. "Yeah, sure,' said Geoff Reynolds. "That's what you East Coast hustlers always say. Shit, Rhett, if you're an eighteen handicap, I'm Mother Teresa.' Rhett laughed and got into the cart. Later, on the green, he studied his putt while his playing partner blasted out of a bunker to within two feet of the flag. Rhett conceded this short par putt and stepped up to address the ball. He missed his ten foot putt, reading more break that was there, then watched in complete frustration as his ball kept rolling until it was four feet beyond the hole. "Shit!' he said, but was saved the ignominy of missing the come-backer when Geoff picked up his ball and tossed it to him. "That's good, boss,' he said. "Nice birdie.' It was during a short recess after nine holes that Rhett remembered Lisa Quinn. They'd stopped for a hot dog and a cold soda before heading to the tenth tee. "Breakfast of Champions,' said Reynolds before biting into his hot dog. Rhett took a bite of his and waited until he was done chewing before bringing up the girl. "Okay, Geoff, you've told me half the answer I sought, about how I can keep my hands off Lisa Quinn. I've been following your advice, and Jessa's delighted.' "And you want the other half?' "Uh huh.' Geoff waited until they had both teed off before speaking again as he piloted the cart down the path. "I won't give you all the needless background. You've seen the girl, you know what it's like to work with her.' "Yep.' "I gave in, Rhett.' "You....' "I screwed her one day, right there in my office.' "Holy Christ!' Rhett said under his breath. "And...' "And I'm a knucklehead, or so I thought, when it comes to my wife and family. They're more important to me than anything. I went home that night and confessed to Helen.' They hit their next shots and Rhett's sliced badly, onto the next fairway. Rhett took a few clubs and went after his ball. After meeting back up with Geoff on the green and finishing the hole, he returned to the subject of Lisa Quinn. "I've got two questions, Geoff,' he said as they drove to the next hole. "First, what did your wife do, or say.' "She was pissed, but she forgave me,' he said, the lies coming easy. The truth was that he and his wife were enthusiastic members of Stepford's upper-middle-class wife swapping club. Helen Reynolds enjoyed three-ways enormously, and was hoping Geoff could seduce the comely brunette. "But it happened again the next week, and she wouldn't talk to me for several days. Finally she sat me down and gave me the most incredible ultimatum, either I stop screwing Lisa Quinn or... she gets to join us.' "What?' said Rhett. "Helen?' "Yeah, if that didn't beat the band.' It wasn't difficult making this part sound truthful, because it was. He and his wife had spent countless hours with the gorgeous brunette, fucking and sucking until they were both exhausted. He decided to share this with Rhett just in case his young wife was bisexual. Rhett immediately thought of that time in the Bahamas with Lois and Todd, then pushed those images aside. Helen Reynolds was not somebody he would have thought would even consider such an arrangement, and his cock stiffened a bit as his mind pictured the attractive but conservative 40ish housewife and Lisa Quinn... "And your second question?' asked Geoff Reynolds, interrupting Rhett's thoughts. "Um... Ah, well, what the fuck. How was she, Geoff? Lisa?' Geoff Reynolds grinned as he looked over at Rhett. "Think about the most incredible sex you've ever had or imagined... well, it wouldn't come close.' "Sheee-it,' said Rhett. - o - Mike O'Brien got the call from Linda Waterson Saturday morning, at his apartment. "Jessica's just left with little Katie,' said the housewife, not really knowing why she was calling this man. "The husband is out golfing. Nobody will be home for the next hour or two.' He'd rushed over to the Graham's neighborhood, parking his car a half-block away and walking the rest of the way. He found the key just where Linda said it would be, under a small potted plant on the front porch, and let himself in. He went immediately to the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. There were bottles of soda, regular and diet, and several pitchers. The first contained pink lemonade, and he set that one back. The second pitcher was half-filled with iced tea, and it was into this that he added the RCA. After setting everything back as it was, he left in search of Jessica Graham's PC. It was in one of the second-floor bedrooms that he found it, or rather, them. Two tables were arranged in an L and on each sat a computer. One was a Macintosh, and the other was a Compaq PC. He tried the PC first, flipping it on and waiting impatiently for Windows to boot. The interface was Windows 95, and it took him a moment before he found the America On-Line application. Five minutes later, he reversed his steps until the machine was turned off. This was the husband's system, he learned, from the eMail he'd read that was to and from RGraham@aol.com. He tried the Mac next, and cursed as a dialog screen popped up, demanding a password. He paused and thought for several minutes, then checked in nearby drawers for any scrap of paper that might contain her password. He found a couple of possibilities and typed them in, one at a time. After a half-dozen failed attempts, he decided it was time to leave. - o - Rhett pulled his Lexus into the garage, noticing absentmindedly that his wife's Saab was gone. He had thoroughly enjoyed his round of golf with Geoff Reynolds, despite the twenty bucks he had lost when his game deserted him during the back nine, when his mind was on Lisa Quinn instead of his game. He left his golf bag in the trunk, hoping to make it a regular date. Entering the house through the garage, he went straight to the kitchen. Sitting in front of the TV with his sandwich and drink, he watched college football while he waited for Jessica and Katie to return. At a commercial, he took a long draught of the ice tea, and thought of Reynold's shocking revelation. He found himself rehearsing a conversation with Jessa, one that he hoped would convince his wife to bring Lisa Quinn into their bed. Back in the kitchen, he poured himself the rest of the iced tea and put the tea kettle on to make more. It was a warm day and he knew that Jessa would be thirsty when she returned from her errand with Katie. - o - Richard Poulsen surveyed the dozen faces, seeing in their eyes the same feeling he felt for them. Pride and admiration. The twelve young men ranged in age from nineteen years to twenty-three, and they all looked amazing like one another. They also looked like a much younger version of the middle-aged Doctor standing in the front of the room. Dr. Poulsen had just turned thirty when his development of RCA had reached the stage where it needed experimentation. He'd worked like a dog for years in the CIA labs, forcing himself to make steady progress on the research for his spook masters and simultaneously on his own work. There was limited opportunity to experiment with his drug on animals. RCA was much too tailored to the biophysiology of female humans, and it was too tricky to manufacture to waste it on the monkeys in the lab. He'd needed to experiment on live subjects, and to this end he made himself available to three local university for what the idiots at the schools termed, Career Mentoring. In his case, he volunteered to discuss with coeds opportunities for women in the careers of medicine, science and research. The girls at Swarthmore and Penn and UVA had come to his offices like lambs to the slaughter. Using a much more potent dosage than he dared risk today, he brought the girls one-by-one under his control and influence. Each was told of her noble purpose to bear his child and each accepted their responsibilities with alacrity. Over those four years in the early '70's, a steady stream of young coeds would show up at his Virginia farm, their eager young faces excited as they shared with him the news that they were ovulating, that their temperature was perfect for conception. All of the twenty-six coeds had spread their legs for him like the whores they were, taking his seed into their fertile wombs. The unexpected mothers-to-be had left college shortly after learning of their happy fate. Poulsen had hypnotized and programmed the girls in this and many other things. Over the years, each mother of a son wrote to Poulsen of the progress of his child. The whores who produced daughters, on the other hand, were left to their own devices. His son's mothers received a generous but untraceable stipend in the mail each month, more than enough to support themselves and his child. There were other instructions that each followed to the letter, that insured that his sons grew up with the very best schooling in all things. It was the mothers themselves who demonstrated first hand to their sons the advantages of Righteous women. On the son's fourteen birthday, each boy was treated to an education in the joys of access to a willing slut. From an early age, all of his sons had been drilled by their mothers that they had a special purpose in life. When Joe or Joey was young, their mothers would make it a game, hinting often of this mysterious and wonderful purpose. When the boys were older, lying in their mother's beds before or after a lusty fuck, she'd remind them that their purpose in life was critical, and that it would become clear in due time. The telegrams had gone out last week, to twelve of the fourteen sons he had fathered. One of the original fourteen had died as an infant, the other, Joseph Reed, had displayed such bad judgment throughout his teen years, often involving drugs and violence, that Poulsen had decided against using him. "Your real names, my sons, are Joseph Mengele the third,' he began, and every bright intelligent face looked up at their father with expectancy. After talking respectfully about his own father he covered with little modesty the results of his life's dedication to the purpose of Righteous Women. He spoke next of his joy and pride in their upbringing, in how well they'd endured the twenty-odd years with the whores that were their mothers. Some blushed at this and a few became angry for a moment, but all were soon drawn back to the sound of his voice as he told them of the experience that all of them had shared. He spoke of the advantages of learning first hand, from one's mother, of the true nature and calling of women. One of the Josephs, who had bristled at his father's coarse description of his mother, looked around the long table and realized that he wasn't alone in his taboo enjoyment of his mother for all those years. All of these guys, his brothers, had used their mothers probably as thoroughly as he had... a blow job before school, perhaps, or a quickie with her bent over the kitchen table... and at least one fuck later in the day, in her wet, warm pussy or in her deliciously tight ass. "Yes,' he thought, "she was a whore.' Pushing these thoughts and his momentary doubts aside, the young man focused his attention back on his father and learned, along with the eleven others, his assignment. The Stepford Wives - Chapter Eight Saturday, August 26 10:40 p.m. Mike O'Brien parked a quarter mile away from the church, tucking his car down a one-lane dirt road that split two large fields of corn. The cloudless sky was filled with bright stars, and the quarter-moon provided him with enough light as he walked back toward the edge of town, a backpack suspended from his shoulders, toward the church. His thoughts were on his rendezvous with Sister Mary, but as he got closer, and could make out the cross on the church's steeple set against the starry sky, he found himself feeling a deep sense of guilt. He had never consciously bought into the teachings of his church, but they'd been drilled into him for so many years that he could not forget them if he tried. And he had tried, during college, pushing the Catholic morality aside just long enough to seduce his first girl. The guilt followed, but it wasn't as powerful as his lusts, and the second girl was easier. The other guys, his friends and dorm mates, showed no restraint at all. They acted and boasted as if it was all a game, and the winner would be the guy who got laid the most. The guilt lessened over his freshman year, until that awful time in the Spring when his girl friend of the time told him she was late. Two weeks later she was tested positive, pregnant. She'd had the pregnancy terminated, and his feeling of guilt was magnified. He'd gotten a vasectomy shortly thereafter. Through the rest of his undergraduate years, and his graduate studies, he had used his charm and good looks to bring a steady stream of coeds into his bed. The guilt faded into the background. But as he approached the church, it's steeple and cross looming large against the sky, the guilt returned. He was a fornicator, he knew, and that was a sin. But the thing he was about to do was far more serious. A nun. In God's house. He tried the side door and found it unlocked, as the sister had told him it would be. Slipping inside the darkness, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The smell of the place was familiar, that mixture of candle wax and something else... he couldn't identify it but the smell evoked the many times he'd sat through Mass. Creeping forward like a thief, he walked furtively toward the neat lines of pews, until he could see the candles burning on each side of the pulpit, the dim light swallowed by the cavernous space. Behind that, high on the far wall, illuminated by the moonlight filtered through the stained glass window to his right, was the relief of Jesus Christ on the cross. He stared as he walked down the aisle, and would have stumbled over the kneeling form of Sister Mary had he not stopped. It was the quiet mumbling of her prayers that stopped him short, and he found himself straining to make out the dark shape a dozen feet away. He walked quietly forward, and could make out her habit, and see that she was rolling her rosary beads in her hands as she prayed. Swallowing back his fear, and his guilt, he said in a voice that was barely a whisper, 'Jesus. H. Fucking Christ.' Twenty minutes later he just had to stop. His jaw and tongue ached, and his face and neck were drenched with her juices. Pulling himself out from under the habit, he sat back on his haunches and stared at Sister Mary. She was as he'd remembered her before he pulled up the bottom of her habit and crawled inside to feel with his tongue for her virgin sex. Sitting on a pew bench, her eyes fixed on the relief of Jesus Christ. There were some differences now, he noticed, the eyes were impossibly big, luminous, her lips set in a reverent smile, and the headdress of her uniform was off her head, upset he knew by the gyrations of her passions. He'd been trapped for fifteen minutes in the pitch black of her skirts, his mouth and tongue constantly at her sex. Even so, he could not have missed the nun's many orgasms, her cries of release, the first less than a minute after his tongue first found the slit of her sex and eased inside. They followed more quickly as he continued, and in the end it seemed to him that she was cuming almost constantly, wetting his face with her discharge. He rose to his feet and pulled his tee shirt over his head, then kicked off his shoes as his fingers released his belt. All the time he undressed he watched her, sitting there in rapturous attention to her master, Jesus Christ. Even when he stood before her, nude, his cock fully erect, she didn't move, not even blink, as if she could see through him to the relief on the wall. As he pushed her wide open legs back together, and climbed on the bench, one knee on either side of the nun's thighs, and brought his cock to her face, she stared beyond him, or at the image in her mind's eye. The silence after her passionate cries was eerie, and he didn't want to break the mood by speaking. His hands went behind her head and he set her headdress back in place. Holding his cock in one hand, he used the other to caress her lips, then to part them. As he slid his cock over her lips, her newly-formed instincts took over. She opened to take him inside, keeping her teeth out of the way. It didn't take him long at all, sliding his cock back and forth in her wet, warm mouth, the pressure of her lips and tongue delicately erotic. With her habit on he was constantly reminded that he was face-fucking a nun. Less than two minutes after he'd started, he groaned as his cock blasted his cum into her mouth. "Come, Sister Mary, let us experience the joys of our Holy purpose,' he said. After cuming in her mouth five minutes earlier, he'd walked around the church, looking for the best spot for taking her virginity. Behind the pulpit was a raised dais, with seats on one side for a choir, and an organ on the other. Between them was six feet of open flooring, directly beneath the relief of Jesus Christ. He retrieved from his backpack a towel and a camp pad, and pulled the valve that allowed in to inflate. "Yes your Holiness,' she said, taking his hand and rising to follow him. Still dressed in her habit, and only her habit, having "forgotten' to don underclothes after her evening bath, the nun didn't take undue notice to his nudity, nor did she wonder why The Holy Man directed her to lie down on the makeshift bed without having her disrobe. As she looked up and saw the form of Jesus Christ looming above her, she hardly noticed his hands pushing her skirts above her waist. O'Brien's cock stiffened anew as he uncovered her legs and sex to his view. He caressed her calves and thighs before lifting her legs up and back, raising her ass up long enough to position the towel beneath the white globes. He knew she'd likely bleed and was also concerned about their juices creating a suspicious stain on her habit. But, at the same time, he wanted Sister Mary dressed as a nun when he took her. Leaning forward, he found the zipper near her throat and pulled it down to her belly button. He pulled the garment apart, exposing her milky white globes. When Sister Mary felt the probing at her sex she tore her eyes off the figure of Christ and looked at the Holy man lying over her. She felt his mouth at her breast, and the head of his cock pressing into her sex, and groaned. Placing a hand on his head, she urged him on, arching her back to push more of her breast into his mouth. Her cunt was like a hot furnace as he eased inside the tight passage, stopping only when he reached the membrane that guarded her virginity. He worked his hips around in small circles, not attempting any further penetration but instead moving the head of his cock inside the lips of her pussy, across the erect nub of her clit. Sister Mary moaned as she felt the fire build within her, the Holy purpose of their coupling central to her thoughts, the pleasure unlike anything she had ever imagined. Closing her eyes, she felt her heart race as the warm sensations coursed through her young body. Feeling his mouth leave her breast, she opened her eyes to see him above her, the clear blue eyes showing patience along with the passion of their Holy purpose. She knew that she had to have him inside her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips in a signal of her need. O'Brien lifted himself up on his arms above her. Slowly, he pushed his cock further into her very tight hole. He could feel the walls of her sex stretch wide to accommodate his girth, but her face showed no signs of pain. When his cock pressed again up against her membrane, he stopped and then withdrew until just the head was inside. Back and forth he went, fucking his a few inches into her tight sex, stopping each time his cock reached the barrier. He angled his penetration so that his cock shunted across her clit each time he pushed inside. Sister Mary was groaning loudly now, twisting her head from side to side as the pleasure coming from her sex increased. Her hips began pushing back at him, moving around to increase the contact of his cock on her center. The pleasure built with each stroke of his cock, and soon she was close to the edge. When she did cum, the feelings in her brain were like a thousand little explosions, and she felt him drive into her, hard, breaking though her hymen and driving deep inside her womb. The pain was lost in the power of her orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body. O'Brien stared into the nun's face, watching the angelic features distort with the pleasure she was feeling. His cock felt like it was in a velvet vice, the tight walls of her sex gripping his rod, pulsating as he pulled back several inches before driving once again into her spasming sex. Her orgasm seemed to go on and on as he forced his cock back and forth in her sex, her copious discharge easing the way, thoroughly wetting his cock and balls. When at last Sister Mary felt the hot eruption of His Holy seed deep within her, splashing against her womb, the power of her orgasm doubled... tripled... and she could feel His presence as never before, the warmth of her merciful God filled her as her consciousness slowly faded away. - o - Jessica Graham hummed to herself as she sat in front of her Mac and flipped it on. Rhett was down the hall reading a good night story to Katie. The weekend and been delightful, she thought to herself, and smiled when she recalled the look, *that look*, on Rhett's face while he was shooing Katie through her pre-bed ritual. It meant that their weekend was not yet over. They'd made love Friday night after a delicious Japanese dinner in town. Saturday, when she'd returned from her back-to-school shopping with Katie, Rhett had sat impatiently through the modeling of all her new clothes. As soon as he had the chance, however, he pointed out to the five-year old that Sallie was playing at the swings next door, and had reached for Jessica as soon as the door closed behind the girl. There on the family room floor, he'd given her several great orgasms, first with his tongue flickering in her sex and then during a wonderful fuck, his hands on her breasts while she bounced up and down on top. Jessica wondered how a game of golf could make someone so horny. Last night, he'd gone out to rent a movie after their family dinner. It wasn't until much later, after she'd put Katie to bed, showered and gone downstairs in her robe, that she learned of his choice. She feigned disgust with the XXX-rated movie, but had secretly enjoyed the wildly improbably sex on the screen as well as the constant attentions of Rhett. There were two scenes she especially liked, in part because Rhett was spooning her on the carpeted floor, his hard cock inside her, stationary but throbbing, while they watched. A blond girl was on a king-sized bed, on her hands and knees, getting her ass fucked by a well-hung stud. Lying on the bed beneath the blond, head to tail, was an auburn-haired girl who possessed a long and versatile tongue. Jessa could readily imagine herself as the girl on the bottom, because they looked somewhat alike. The cut and color of her hair was the same as hers, and the girl lapping at the blonde's cunt had Jessa's full breasts and neatly trimmed pussy. The blond, by contrast, was tall and slender, with gold rings pierced through her nipples, belly button and labia. The close up shots, alternating between the thick cock gliding back and forth in the blonde's stretched anus to the auburn girl's tongue foraging in her cunt, were a little too clinical for Jessica. The overhead shots were incredibly sexy, however, to see that incredibly long cock driving... disappearing between those firm white cheeks.... deep inside... The second scene she recalled with even more pleasure. It was the same three lovers, but the two women were lying face to face on a thick rug in front of a crackling fire. They were rubbing their breasts and cunts together, kissing passionately, and Jessa found herself wondering how the blonde's rings would feel against her breasts, nipples, and clit... The man appeared after a few minutes, and quickly joined the action, mounting the girl on top, the Jessa-like girl, driving his cock into her cunt. During this scene, Rhett had eased her onto her belly and entered her from the rear. By the time Rhett had cum inside her for the second time during the movie, he had stroked her through a half-dozen orgasms, some of them small. This action, however, watching "herself' pinned between the man and woman while in real-life Rhett fucked into her from the rear... her orgasm had coated Rhett's cock and balls with a tremendous discharge. Sunday morning, she'd returned to their room after making Katie's breakfast and starting the coffee. Discarding her robe, she climbed back into bed. Jessa knew that Katie would plop herself in front of Sesame Street, and that she could sleep another hour snuggled next to Rhett's warm, sleepy body. But after a few minutes during which sleep didn't come, she got another idea, and slipped down under the covers. Rhett woke from a particularly erotic dream a few minutes later, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. He smiled as he tossed the covers aside, seeing his wife's head sliding up and down on his erect cock. Folding his arms behind his head, on top of the pillow, he relaxed and watched his wife work on his cock. After a minute or two he felt the stirring in his balls that told him he was close. "It's been awhile, Jessa babe,' he said, "since you've sucked me off. You don't mind if I let you finish... while I just sit back and watch?' Her mouth full of his cock, she managed only to nod her head. "Oh that's good, Jessa. Mmmmm. Suck me, baby... suck me good and hard... ohhhh, baby... ohhhh...' She'd increased the pressure she was applying, and swallowed the squirts of cum as soon as they reached her throat, taking him as deep as she could handle. Shaking off those memories, Jessa glanced at the Mac screen before her, and typed in her password at the prompt. She was about to hit enter when she stopped, puzzled. At the bottom of the security program's dialog box were the words, "Six failed attempts since last successful log-in.' She stared at the screen, trying to remember the last time she's logged on. It was Friday afternoon, and she'd read a detailed eMail from Carolyn DiBriggio, and had typed in a response. In actuality, the primary reason she was logging on tonight was to see if she had any additional mail from the Psychologist. "What the fuck?' she said, just as Rhett poked his head into the room. He only heard the last word of her comment, and said, "Be happy to babe, although you've worn me to a frazzle this weekend.' Jessa snorted and said, "Pot to kettle... come in please.' "What's up?' "It's my Mac, come look,' she said, pointing to the notice of six failed attempts. "Could Katie have been trying to log onto my system?' "I can't image why,' he said. "She knows the best games are on the *real* computer.' "Turn your piece o' shit on, Rhett. See if... oh, I don't know. I'll be right back.' Jessica walked down the hall and entered Katie's room. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she kissed her daughter goodnight. "G'night, mommy.' "Honey,' she asked, "have you been trying to turn on mommy's computer this weekend? To play games?' "Geeze, mommy, all the really cool games are on Daddy's computer,' she said, yawning. "I never use yours.' When she returned to their office, she found Rhett staring at his system, his expression puzzled. "Katie tells me she wouldn't be caught dead using my boring system,' said Jessica. "Smart girl,' he said. "This is a little strange... my AOL account---' "Yes, it is a little strange that a modestly intelligent man would submit himself to that piece o' crap...' He laughed. "Here, take a look,' he said, his wife looking over his shoulder, "see how my 8/15 note to Walt is higher in the out basket than the later note to Peter.... I've set up AOL so it orders things by date of last access, but I can't remember re-reading that note, or why I would ever want to.' He double clicked on the message in question, and Jessa read the two-paragraph note to Rhett's younger brother, Walt, telling him that they'd moved in, and giving him their address and phone number. A chill came over Jessica as she thought about the implications of this. Someone had tried to get into her system, tried six times! If Rhett was right, that same someone had entered his computer and checked some of his eMail. She felt violated and scared, then angry, then frustrated. "Let's take a walk through the house,' he said, rising from his seat. "See if anything is... well, different.' Twenty minutes later they had checked every room in the house, and had come up empty. If anyone had broken in, or found the key they hid on the front porch, they hadn't taken anything. The couple had some expensive silver pieces, her jewelry, the electronics, and Rhett's coin collection he had accumulated as a kid---all untouched. The Stepford Wives - Chapter Nine Wednesday, August 30 8:45 p.m. Rhett Graham sat in his office drinking his second cup of coffee, this one decaffeinated. He was about to ask Lisa Quinn to join him, and he didn't need any more artificial stimulation. He and Jessica had agreed last night that something needed to be done, and that Lisa was a good place to start. In her eMails to Jessica, Carolyn DiBriggio had told her all she could without having examined and tested the women in person. The Ph.D. psychologist had offered her analysis of the behavior they'd witnessed, however. The submissiveness displayed by Linda Waterson before and during her brutally sexual punishment at the hands of her husband, and the fact that she'd helped him by setting it up, were highly unusual. The psychologist had remarked further that the women who were sexual submissives, and took pleasure from their servitude and debasement, didn't tend to show the other traits of the housewife. The extreme pride of appearance, of her person and home, her daughter, even her standing in the community, would not be expected of a sexual submissive. Dr. DiBriggio had speculated that the cause might be in some part physiological, and wrote that there wasn't much more she could do without lengthy interviews of the subject(s), and/or without a blood sample to test. Rhett buzzed his intercom and told his secretary that he wanted to see her for a few minutes. As his door opened and Lisa Quinn stepped in, he rose from his chair and motioned to the area of his spacious office that contained a sofa, coffee table, and two easy chairs. "Please, Lisa, have a seat.' "Thank you, Mr. Graham.' She was wearing a navy blue skirt and an off-white blouse, the top two buttons loose. As he took his seat in the chair facing her, he crossed his legs and let his glance take in the girl's slender ankles, shapely caves, and the promising curve of her hips and bust. He'd never allowed himself to examine her this directly, but he had been coached by Jessica to make his attraction known. Looking up into her face, he caught a glimpse of a new look in her large hazel eyes. It was gone quickly, the look, and her eyes gazed back at him now with the sexy innocence he'd come to expect. But he'd seen it, the pleased look that said, "Finally, he's noticing.' "This won't take long, Lisa. My wife and I were talking last night about the Labor Day weekend coming up, and she suggested that I invite you over for dinner.' He smiled and shrugged before continuing. "I told Jessica that you probably had dates set up... heck, she's heard me talk about you enough to know that you're just about the prettiest girl in Stepford.' Lisa manufactured a blush, and smiled. "What do you say, Lisa? Can you join us Friday night? Saturday? Jessa's a wonderful cook.' "Oh, that would be very nice, Mr. Graham. I'd love to meet your wife and little girl. Friday would be fine.' Rhett let his eyes drop to the girl's body once again before looking back into her eyes. "Well, Lisa, we were thinking of having Katie, my daughter, spend the night with her best friend next door. Jessa and I do like an adult evening every now and then. But, in any case, is 7:00 good for you?' She nodded and thanked him again, and after Rhett rose from his chair, holding out his hand, she let him help her up. As she passed him by, she couldn't help but notice the slight bulge in his trousers, and could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked to the door and let herself out. "Bingo!' she thought to herself as she settled into her chair in the outer office, a satisfied smile on her face. "Even if I have to screw your wife, too... it's about fucking time.' 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