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Subject: {ASSM} NEW from Morgan: Jean and Jim, Part 8 of 9 M/F Rom
Date: Tue, 24 Jul 2001 02:10:02 -0400
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* * *

The following is a work of fiction regarding sexual relationships.  If you
feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise improper for you to read
this, then DON'T READ IT.

* * *

The Callaways:

Jean & Jim -- Part 8 of 9

Copyright 2001 By Morgan.  All Rights Reserved

Preface & Acknowledgments

This book is the third in a series but it's the first one to be completed.
With the exception of Jim Dawson, all of the major characters will have
appeared in either or both of the two preceding works.  It is being posted
at the insistence of two of my fans, Heiner and Jeff, both of whom have read
it.

Unlike prior books [See <www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Morgan/www>], this one is not divided
into chapters.  Rather it's divided by triple asterisks, but it's an ongoing
chronicle.  The divisions are in the interest of ease of posting and have
nothing to do with the story's structure.

Finally, I would most particularly thank Adrienne for her invaluable
assistance in critiquing this work.  (Another reason it's being posted now
is that if I didn't, her comments would exceed the length of the book
itself.)  All I can say about Adrienne is that she has a background in
intelligence and used it to good -- if for me, painful -- effect throughout.
I mean... is it really fair?  I mean just because a woman's body can't work
that way is no reason to change is it?  (Don't you just hate it when the
woman is _always_ right?  She is and I do.)

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

Any errors remaining -- and I'm certain there are more than a few -- are
strictly my own responsibility.

If you enjoy the story -- or if you don't -- please let me hear from you at
<morg105829@aol.com>

* * *

We arrived in San Francisco and were met by a limousine that took us to our
hotel.  There we had a lovely two-bedroom suite.  Jean and Sandy were going
to go shopping that afternoon.  (What's that line?  When the going get's
tough, the women go shopping.)  I planned on making a call or two on
customers and prospects and, remembering the Castle Industries affair, was
delighted to take Susan along.  Our schedule called for a formal reception
that evening with the next day free, and time in the local Tiffany's on the
day following.  Although invitations had been sent out for the reception,
Jack Thompson had made it abundantly clear that anyone we might wish to
invite would be very welcome.

Our first stop was to a company that was a Callaway customer, but one with
which we felt we should be doing far more business than we were.  I had made
an appointment a couple of days prior with Jeff Fisher, the company's chief
information officer.

The receptionist was expecting me but was surprised to see Susan.  But at
the same time, she was studying Susie closely as she called Fisher's office
to tell him we had arrived.  She hung up the phone and said that Fisher's
secretary would be right out to escort us to his office.  When Susie beamed
at the news, the girl's eyes widened and there was a flash of instant
recognition, but she didn't say a word.

After being ushered into his office, I greeted Jeff and introduced Susie.
His eyes widened and he murmured, "You're a Tiffany girl, aren't you?"

"I'm a Dawson girl, Mr. Fisher," Susie replied.  "And I'm far more proud of
that.  You see, sir, my sister and I are both adopted.  And we've been
adopted into the finest family in the whole world."  Then she smiled her
warmest smile and added, "I guess Mom and Sandy and I have been in a couple
of Tiffany ads, though."

Fisher just slowly sank down onto his chair.  The man appeared to be in a
state of shock.  "My God!" he murmured.  "My wife is in advertising -- the
biggest agency here in the Bay area -- and she's good.  She claims Tiffany's
is the finest advertising that's ever been done, and it's solely
attributable to you three.  I know she would give her right arm to be able
to meet you."

"That's easy enough to do," I said.  "There's a reception at our hotel this
evening at seven o'clock.  Why don't you and your wife come over?  You'll
have a chance to meet my wife and Susan's beautiful older sister, Sandy,
too."

"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous.  "Without question, that reception is
the hottest event in town. _Everyone_ has been maneuvering for an
invitation.  Are you really sure it's all right?"

"I have the personal assurance in writing of Jack Fletcher, Tiffany's CEO,
that it is," I replied.

Instantly Fisher picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number.  When it
was answered, he wasted no time in small talk.  "Darling," he said, "I've
hit the jackpot!  We've just been invited to the Tiffany reception tonight!"

Then his face fell.  "I'll ask," he said skeptically.  To me he said
diffidently, "My wife has a meeting with the CEO of her largest client.
Would... Could she bring him and his wife, too?"  Clearly Jeff's tone was
such that he didn't expect a positive answer.

"Who's the client?" I asked.

When he replied, I realized that _I_ had hit the jackpot.  The company,
Casco Industries, was -- and had been -- the top customer prospect at
Callaway for years.  And to that point we had gotten exactly nowhere.  Not
even a meeting.

"That would be fine," I said.  "However, the nature of the reception is such
that he will need to bring his wife.  I hope that doesn't cause any
problems."

Jeff was beside himself with excitement.  His words were tumbling over each
other as he relayed the good news.  It was all I could do to control a grin;
from the corner of my eye I had seen Susie lock in on the telephone while
she was just sitting quietly and looking around the sumptuously-furnished
office.

Later she told me that Jeff's wife had screamed, "This cements that client
for life!  Darling, it couldn't be better!  And wait till I get you home
tonight.  You're going to have the time of your life!  And darling... as far
as you're concerned, _anything_ goes!  Do you understand? _Absolutely
anything!  And with no safe word, either.  Understand?"_

No wonder his eyes lit up like a kid's seeing his first Christmas tree.

He hung up the phone and studied Susan closely.  Slowly he shook his head
and said, "I just do not believe this!  As beautiful as those advertising
pictures are, they just don't do this girl justice.  I just don't
understand..."  His voice trailed off as he continued to study her.

Then I noticed he focused on her eyes.  "Oh, yes I do!" he continued.  "So
much of your beauty, Susan, is on the inside, isn't it?  Your eyes are
filled with love and joy and... and... Divine grace!"  Then he slowly shook
his head and said, "You, Susan Dawson, are simply perfect!"

"Not hardly!" Susie demurred.  "Mom says I'm an incorrigible imp... and
that's when she's being nice."

"And your impishness takes the form of making others happy, doesn't it?"

Fisher howled with laughter when Susie glared at him and stuck out the tip
of her little pink tongue.

I turned the conversation to the purpose of the visit: why Jeff's company
wasn't doing more business with us.  Based on what we had sold and what we
knew and estimated about the company, we didn't think we were doing even 10%
of the business we could do.  I asked about it.

"It's very good stuff, Jim.  Don't get me wrong.  But it's really not
capable of doing all the things we need..."

At this point Susie took over.  "Mr. Fisher, I gather from the position of
your mouse that you're left-handed.  You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, Susie, but..."

She rose from her chair, went around the desk to the computer and hit CTRL,
ALT, and a function key.  Instantly the desktop layout reversed.  "I think
you'll find this layout easier for you to use," she said.

Fisher's eyes widened as he looked over the reversed layout.  Moving his
chair to the computer, he started to do some things and began to grin.
"It's perfect, Susie, but how did you...?"

She just shook her head sadly and said, "It's in the software, in the Help
material, and in the manual... but no one ever looks."  Then she grinned and
asked, "Anything else?"

"How do you know so much about this, anyway," he asked.

Susie borrowed the mouse and clicked on Help and About.  There, along with
the serial number and registration information appeared:  Interface
designer: Jean Dawson; Ergonomics: Susan Dawson.

Fisher was utterly stunned.  I really thought he was going to fall off his
chair.  "My God!" he murmured.  "All this beauty and brains, too?"  Then he
looked at Susie and asked, "How old are you, anyway?  Ten?  Eleven?"

"I'll be nine years old soon," Susie replied.

"Jeff," I interjected, "if the Dawson women's IQ numbers were converted to
temperature, they could all boil water... very quickly!"

The poor guy was so shook, he was trembling.  Susie was still at the
computer.  Murmuring, "I can never find the stupid thing," she moved her
mouse on the desktop and finally found the spot she had been searching for.
A pop-up appeared that said, Graphic designs by Sandra Dawson.  "Sandy is in
on this, too," she said proudly.

"Look," Fisher said, "I've had a task force looking at this for months.
They have a list of needs as long as my arm.  How would it be if I asked
them to join us?  Then you'll get the whole list."

It sounded like a great idea to me, so he called his secretary.  Minutes
later, people started to arrive in the office.  Susie asked if there was a
similar computer in a conference room and was told that there was.  We moved
the meeting there and Susan took her seat at the computer keyboard.

Fisher was funny. _He_ appeared to be the proud father as he introduced
Susan as one of the Tiffany girls and the ergonomics specialist on the user
interface project.  What followed was utterly stunning.  It was the most
devastating sales presentation in history.  Each person began reading from
his or her list of missing functions.  After each one, Susie would hit a
couple of keys or click the mouse somewhere and the function would appear.
What was funnier was that in at least three-quarters of the cases, while she
brought up the requested function, she then went on to show a much more
advanced function that achieved the same end result but with substantial
collateral benefits.

By this time Jeff and I were standing at the back of the conference room
with all of his people arrayed in a semicircle around Susie.  He was utterly
amazed at her performance.  "I just don't understand it," he whispered.
"She never looks up anything.  She just knows it all.  By the way, how large
was the design team on this project?  And how long did it take?  My people
tell me that if you had 50 people full-time on the project, it might be
accomplished in a year."

"The team was three people and it took about a week.  You've already met
one-third of the team," I remarked.  "By the way, Jeff, have you ever heard
of ML Adams?"

"Who hasn't?" he replied.  "As a matter of fact, Adams was with Casco, my
wife's client, until he suddenly resigned almost a year ago.  God, were they
ever pissed!  But why do you ask?"

"Because her name is Merrilee Adams and she's my wife's closest friend.
Particularly now that it's starting to get warm, Merrilee has almost daily
conferences with Jean.  At least, that's what they call them.  What they do
mostly is lounge by the pool, soak up the sun and gossip.  But every couple
of months another killer app will appear, so what the hell."

Jeff Fisher was stunned.  "My God!" he exclaimed.  "Your own family does the
impossible with the user interface.  Now you have the world's best writing
your application software to run on the finest system known to man."  Then
in an awe-filled voice he said, "And that's yours, isn't it?"

"I've got a great team of people working for me," I replied deprecatingly.

Looking up, we noticed that there was no further activity around the
computer.  Jeff asked his senior staffer, a woman, how it had gone.

"It already does absolutely everything on our respective lists.  Moreover,
boss, as I'm sure you've noticed, for most of the functions it can do it our
way, but already incorporates a far better way of its own."  Then she broke
down in tears and sobbed, "You'll have my letter of resignation before the
end of the day.  Good heavens!  How could we possibly have been so damned
dumb?"

Susie was out of her chair like a shot and sat across the woman's lap.
Taking her head in her hands, she tipped it and melted her lips to hers.  I
could see the woman's eyes widen and then become glassy.  She went out like
a light, with Susie holding her head to keep it from hitting anything.

When she recovered, Susie said softly, "Please don't do that.  I think
you're a fine person.  The only thing you failed to do was to ask.  Callaway
has a really super customer support operation."  Then she beamed and added,
"And Mom, Sandy and I are as close as your e-mail.  We would love to hear
from you directly."

_"You?"_ the woman, now at least partially recovered, asked incredulously.
"The designers themselves would communicate with... _users?"_

"Of course we would, Miss Clifford.  If we didn't -- and we really want
to -- how would we ever know what improvements our customers want?"

"What an incredible young woman you are, Susan," Mary Clifford said.  "What
grade are you in at school?"

"I really don't know," Susie replied.  "Mom is home-schooling me."

"What genius!" Clifford said.  "And it's obvious that it's shared by all of
you.  So, in addition to being the three most beautiful women in the
world...  My God!"

"And that's why I really have it made," I interjected.  "I have them all,
along with a level of love that is beyond belief.  All I can tell you is
that there's no way I could possibly be happier.  Particularly since Jean
just presented me with our first natural child, a beautiful baby boy."

"Do you mean she was pregnant when those photos were taken?" the woman
gasped.

"Mom thinks that's one reason she looked as good as she did," Susie replied.
"She thinks a woman has three pinnacles of beauty: the day she's married is
the first; the second -- at a higher level -- is when she's carrying her
child; and the third -- where she is now -- the highest level is when she's
nursing her infant at her breast.  And I have to say that Mom is
unbelievably beautiful when she's nursing."

Things were definitely getting out of hand.  Turning to Jeff I asked, "What
now?"

He checked his watch and said, "Well, I've got to get out of here if I'm
going to get home and make it back for the reception."  Then to his staff he
asked, "How many copies do we need to bring our Callaway utilization to
100%?"

The answer turned out to be 1,800 units, far larger than we had estimated.
"What do you want me to sign?" he asked.  "And how soon can we get them?"

"How's the end of next week sound?" I asked.  "And you don't need to sign
anything.  We'll ship and bill you on 30-day terms.  Okay?"

"Any objections, folks?" he asked his staff.

Now fully recovered, they unanimously endorsed the purchase.  Fisher
extended his hand and said, "It's a deal!  And I'll see you tonight."

* * *

About 6:45 that evening, Jean appeared.  It took only the briefest glance to
know that she was apprehensive.  And, as usual, that meant she was uncertain
about her appearance.  Jean was utterly gorgeous as she came and stood
before me with her lip trembling.  The poor girl was truly close to tears.

"My bride, the mother of our children, is utterly exquisite tonight," I
breathed.  I guess it was the right thing to say because she hurled herself
into my arms and melted her lips to mine.

"When are you going to give me the beating that's appropriate for a slave
girl?" she asked.

"Whips and chains?"

"If my master wishes, of course," she replied.  God, I love this woman!

"I shall consider it," I replied pontifically.  "But what about our younger
slaves?"

"They look forward to being striped in a fashion similar to their mother,"
Jean replied.  "In fact, Slave Sandra is looking forward to it as a final
cleansing."  She looked into my eyes and I saw true eagerness... and
pleading.  "Please, beloved master?"

I was stunned but shouldn't have been.  It was totally in keeping with
Jean's resolve to do anything that would increase my sexual enjoyment.  A
very humbling thought it was, indeed.

I moved back to get a better look at her.  To say that her beauty was
overwhelming would understate the reality.  The fact is that our vocabulary
isn't large enough to handle a woman like Jean.  She was wearing a black
gown similar in design to the white one she had worn when Amy and Becky were
over.  It was extremely simple, perfect on her, but utterly disastrous for
almost any other woman alive.  Its neckline was cut down to her navel, and
there really was no back.  It dropped away in back to a point below where
the split of her buttocks began.  The sides were cut up to the hip,
precluding the wearing of any undergarments.  All she was wearing were the
gown and a pair of black patent-leather pumps.  That was absolutely all!
Oops!  She was wearing her gold wedding band.

Although we had married with a huge diamond engagement ring and a wedding
band of diamonds, Jean had insisted on a plain gold wedding band, and it's
all she ever wore.  When I had asked her about a wedding ring for myself,
she had refused.  "If I can't hold you without a ring through your nose --
and that's what I think of men's wedding bands -- I deserve to lose you!"
she exclaimed.

"I think my lovely bride needs a bit more..." I murmured.  Going into our
bedroom, I brought out the diamond set -- necklace, bracelet and earrings --
and returned to the sitting room.  I put them on her and she looked utterly
magnificent... and felt the same way, I could feel.

Then the girls appeared.  To my surprise, Sandy was wearing a duplicate of
her mother's gown.  She was now within an inch of her mother's height, and
her breasts were now larger than Merrilee's.  This was the cause of constant
teasing -- and fake tears on ML's part.  The fact was that Sandy appeared to
be on her way to a full C cup, outdoing her mother.  Her breasts had already
developed to a sufficient extent to hold the two halves of her dress
together.

I looked at her thoughtfully and produced her mother's diamond choker.  She
was already wearing her diamond ear studs.  I hooked it on her neck and was
surprised when she said, "Master, has your senior slave spoken to you about
our beating?"

With her eyes wide she added, "You can't know how difficult it's been for us
at the monthly meeting of the body slaves' union.  They so proudly display
their cuts and welts, while we have nothing to show.  We try to assure them
that we are held in high regard by our master, too, but..."  Her eyes
widened still more as she continued, "...it's becoming very difficult for
us, Master.  Please, sir?"

Then I almost cried when Susie repeated the refrain.  She, too, was wearing
a black silk gown similar to her mother and sister.  The difference being
that her neckline ended at a point between where her luscious tits would
someday be.  But that day was not yet.  She looked up at me with adoration
in her eyes.  For my part, I almost cried.  Susan Dawson was as close to
being a perfect little girl as God, in His infinite wisdom, has ever seen
fit to create.

Looking down at her, I reached into my side pocket, brought out a jewel case
and gave it to her.  "This, my darling daughter, is but a very trivial
payment against what you did for me and for Callaway Industries this
afternoon.  I love you very much, Susie."

She opened the box and found a diamond choker similar to Sandy's.  "Oh!  Oh,
gosh!  Oh, Daddy, it's so incredibly beautiful!  And it's for me?  Honest?"

I dropped to my knees to get closer to her size and took her in my arms.
She was crying her eyes out in sheer happiness.  I just held my little girl
tightly and basked in her joy.  Looking up at Jean, I saw that she was
crying with happiness, too.  And so was Sandy!  What a family!

There was another change I noted.  Befitting her station as a genuine
teenager, Sandy was wearing 2-inch pumps that were identical to her
mother's.  Now only Susan was wearing ballet slippers.  But all three women
were utterly gorgeous.  I can't adequately communicate the pride I felt.
They are all mine.

We arrived at the reception room just ahead of the first guests and took our
positions as we had previously been instructed.  The first arrivals came in
a trickle that in no time at all became a flood.  But we stood there on one
side of the room while the guests congregated across the room.  Very
strange.  And it continued!

"This is utterly ridiculous!" Jean whispered.  "What's going on?"

"My darling, it's very simple," I replied.  "It's called 'awe'... as in
awesome.  And that, dear heart, applies to you!  And to our girls."

"But..."

"'...to the manor born,' dear heart.  It applies to both you and the girls.
You're awesome!  And you're mine!"

"Sure am," she agreed as she turned and melted her lips to mine.  I suspect
it was intended as a light kiss, but...  We've been over that a dozen times:
Jean and I are incapable of pecks, and this didn't break the string.
Instead, as she molded her lips to mine she moved her body sinuously against
me.  The feeling was wonderful.  As I started to come down from the high, I
could hear the gasps from the guests.  Sandy and Susan?  They just beamed
with utter delight.

Just then I saw Jeff Fisher arrive with a woman -- his wife, I assumed --
and another couple.  To Jean I said, "I guess the time has come to get the
boys and the girls together."

She grinned at me and gripped my hand.  When Jeff saw us bearing down, he
went pale.  Honest.  He really did.  I whispered to Jean, "Let's let them
get a good look."

I was on Jean's left with Sandy by her side followed by Susan.  Since the
girls could hear me as well as if I had been speaking in their ears, the
three separated with a distance slightly wider than a close-order dress
right command would produce.  At a distance of about six feet, we all
stopped as if on command.

Jeff and his wife -- and her guest and his wife -- just gaped.  Honest to
God, they did.  After about a minute, Jean -- bless her -- was the first to
move.  Extending her hand, she closed the gap and said, "Mr. Fisher, both
Jim and Susan have been telling us so much about you.  Welcome!"

It took a moment for Jeff to regain his bearings.  Then he took a deep
breath, gripped Jean's hand and said, "I can't tell you how honored we are
to be invited.  May I present my wife, Carol, and her friend and client, Tim
Madison of Casco Computing, and his wife, Gwen."

"And this is our oldest daughter, Sandy, whom you haven't met."  She then
greeted the Madisons and introduced Susan and me.

Tim Madison grinned wryly and said, "I'm really not sure if I should be
speaking to you, Jim."  Then he shook his head and said, "I was going to say
that you stole the best software designer in the world, but I know that's
just not true.  She defected.  Moreover, I know now that she wanted to work
for you so badly she would have paid you to allow her to be there."

He shook his head.  "I spoke to her last week -- managed to catch her on one
of her infrequent visits to your office," he grinned.  "She tells me she
spends most of her time with the user interface design group in your shop.
Only today do I learn that I'm meeting that group -- all of it -- right
now."  He paused and then added, "And meeting your wife and daughters makes
it easy to see why Merrilee would want to do that.  These women -- all of
these women -- are utterly incredible.  You, James Dawson, are the luckiest
man alive."

"I disagree with that," Jean said quietly. "Rather, we three are the
luckiest women alive.  I have the love of the world's most masterful lover.
Not only is he an incredibly skilled love-maker, his physical equipment
is... breathtaking.  And as a father to these two girls he is incomparable!"

Madison frowned for a moment, obviously thinking.  Then he said, "ML said so
mething odd.  She said she had worked directly under Jim Dawson for a while
and the experience was the most incredible she would ever experience in her
lifetime."  He paused for a moment and continued, "But previously, there was
talk around the office that Merrilee had been hospitalized and had been in
very serious condition.  Those two statements are connected, aren't they?"

"No comment," Jean replied.  "You'll have to speak to ML about that."

Madison looked me over carefully with new respect.  "Good grief!" he finally
exclaimed.  "You really are a giant, aren't you?  Your suit is beautifully
tailored, but now I can see that your jacket's upper arms are larger than
normal; that's to accommodate very powerful muscles, isn't it?  And it's
probably custom-made, too because your waist and hips are small but your
thighs are like tree trunks.  How much do you weigh, anyway?"

"About 230 or so, I guess."

"And your wife?"

"You'll have to ask her," I replied with a smile.

"You're definitely getting warm," Jean replied with a very warm smile.  "I
guess I'm about 120."  Then she frowned and added, "I'm really pretty small
on top."

"Small?  Hah!" Carol Fisher exclaimed.  She carefully looked over Jean's
gown and then said, "You're wearing nothing at all under that, are you?  You
really can't be the way it's cut."

At that comment Jean laughed merrily.  "You're right, of course.  And since
the gown is silk and silk can be very light in weight  and this gown is --
with the exception of my shoes, I wouldn't be surprised if my jewels don't
weigh more than the rest of my clothing.  The same thing is true of Sandy
and Susan."

"What a perfect body!" Carol exclaimed.  "But tell me more about James
Dawson, lover."

Instead of directly answering the question, Jean asked, "How many orgasms
have you had in the last seven days, Carol?"

The woman was embarrassed.  "I don't know.  One?  Two?  Something like that.
But why do you ask?"

"Because you asked me about Jim as a lover.  I guess I average about 60
minutes in orgasm each day.  And I mean _every_ day."

By this time, other guests had moved closer and were surrounding us.  Jean's
remark triggered a collective gasp from the group.

"And, by the way," Jean continued with a big grin.  "Now I'm a member of the
Mile-High Club.  And it was great.

"But let me respond in a different way.  Before I met Jim Dawson, I had
never had an orgasm in my life.  Now?  Although I'm sure Jim is so strong he
could easily lift me up in the air with one hand..."  She cocked her head,
appeared to think for a moment and interjected, "Yeah!  I'll have to try
that sometime."  Then she continued, "... but at the same time, he has such
a delicately tender touch he can -- and has -- gotten me off by just
caressing my body.

"There's so much more.  I can't hope to count the number of different ways
Jim knows to make love to me.  But it's a big number!  And whichever way he
chooses -- and he's the one who decides without ever asking me -- turns out
to be utterly perfect for the way I'm feeling."  Then she smiled warmly and
added, "But you know what's funny?  He knows me better than I know myself.
Often the way he does it is very different from what I expected or thought I
wanted, but his way is always better.  And I mean _always!"_  To Carol she
asked, "Does that answer your question?"

"Wow!" the woman breathed.  "I guess it does!"  Then Carol changed the
subject.  "This afternoon I had a long talk with Paul Sanderson."  To the
people surrounding us she explained, "Paul is considered the finest portrait
photographer in the world today.  And he's the one who shot all the
Tiffany's pictures that these women have appeared in."

To Jean she continued, "Anyway, Paul claims that you three women are the
finest model he's ever worked with.  No one else is even close.
Furthermore, my persons are accurate, if odd.  The three of you together
work as a single model.  It's uncanny.  Beyond that, though, he's been
utterly astonished at your innate knowledge of photography, composition, lig
hting..."

She smiled warmly and said, "Paul believes that your daughter, Sandy,
scarcely into her teens, already knows more than the top lighting experts in
the business.  She very quietly and diffidently offered a couple of
suggestions including one on a problem Paul and his whole crew had been
working on for hours.  Sandy solved it in a matter of seconds.  Beyond that,
though, the effect she achieved was far better than what he and his crew had
been hoping for.  He firmly believes that at least half the credit for the
finished photos belongs to her.

"Then, of course," Carol continued, "Paul believes that you could model for
any advertiser out there."  She grinned and added, "I know something you
don't know, unless you've spoken to Paul within the last four hours.  BMW is
a big client of his.  He was speaking to the general manager of their North
American operations and mentioned that Jim drives a BMW M-5.  The guy went
wild!  And he's smart as hell, too.  He knows you're not doing this for the
money.  You're doing it because you like Tiffany's people and its products.

"So what's BMW thinking about?  First if you were to agree to appear in
their advertising, the choice of locations for the shoots would be solely
yours.  Chicago, Munich, Australia... anywhere.  BMW would pay all expenses,
furnish private jet transportation, the finest accommodations and everything
that goes with it, plus $25,000 a day for the work if you will appear in
their advertising."  She grinned broadly and continued, "And your 'work'
starts when a limousine picks you up at your home and the meter doesn't shut
off until you're delivered back home.

"But then there are the goodies on top.  They know that Sandy is too young
to drive.  Nevertheless, they are offering her an all-expense 60-day course
at the world's finest driving school.  This is one that trains race drivers.
On her 16th birthday they will give her any BMW she wants -- any model or
color -- and replace it with a new one every year thereafter.  And the same
offer goes for all three of you.

"Would BMW like you women to appear in their advertising?  Offering a
million-dollar package suggests they sure would!"

"Oh, Mommy!" Sandy squealed.  "That sounds so incredibly neat!  Could we?"

"We'll see, sweetie," Jean replied noncommittally, but I could tell she was
interested and even excited herself.  No wonder she and the girls had so
much fun together.  In many ways she has the same enthusiasms as a young
girl herself.

Carol changed the subject.  "There was one other thing.  Paul referred to an
ad layout that's been done and the photo shot, but that is awaiting your
clearance before anything more happens.  He refused to tell me a thing about
it, but told me its name is Bare Essentials.  If I wanted to see it, he
said, I would have to ask you."  She smiled warmly and asked, "May I see
it?"

Jean just nodded once to Susie who scampered out to the reception room.  In
only a few minutes she was back carrying the large envelope containing the
layout.

She gave it to her mother who passed it over to Carol.  "This is the layout
he referred to," Jean said.  "And as an advertising professional, I would
appreciate your opinion."

Carol took the layout from the envelope and looked at it.  Her eyes widened
and she let out a soft whistle.  "May I show it to the others?" she asked.

Jean just nodded once and Carol passed it on to a bystander.  Then she
asked, "Well?  What do you think of it?"

"What do I think?" the woman responded.  "It's the most beautiful and the
most effective advertisement I've ever seen is what I think."  Then she
slowly shook her head and added, "Paul did tell me one more thing about it.
It's not his ad or Tiffany's agency; it's yours."

She paused to collect her thoughts and then continued, "I always thought a
woman's back was sort of ugly.  But you three!  Incredible beauty, dignity
and grace."  She grinned and added, "I've never seen the word dignity
juxtaposed with nudity, but it really applies here.  'To the manor born.'
That says it all with respect to you and your daughters."  Then she looked
at Jean and with the utmost sincerity said, "You simply must give permission
for this ad to run!  It's the best ad I've ever seen."

Similarly, there were rave notices from everyone who looked at the ad as it
passed from hand to hand.  The most common response was, "What incredible
elegance!" or words to that effect.

Jean just looked at me and I nodded my head forcefully.  "Modesty has never
been your strongest suit, my darling," I whispered.  "Thank God!"

"It's not?" Jean remarked with her eyes gleaming.  "Gee!  Whatever could
have given you that idea?  Besides," she pouted, "I always thought you
appreciated the easy access to my bodily openings."

"I do!  Indeed I do."

She indicated to Carol that she was going to allow the ad to run and then
began to circulate among the crowd, introducing herself as she went.  The
girls scattered and did the same thing, moving with the same unconscious
grace their mother displayed.

As the crowd dispersed, I found myself alone with Tim Madison.  "Jim, I
guess it's time for Casco to surrender."

"I beg your pardon?" I replied in astonishment.

"We surrender... give up.  What's so hard to understand about that?"

I shook my head as if to clear it and replied, "But I'm unaware of any fight
between us."

That caused him to chuckle.  "You're right in a way.  Our board of directors
never passed a formal declaration of war.  But we've been fighting you folks
for a long time."  He grinned and added, "I'll also admit that it's been a
one-way war.  We've been fighting you while you folks have been
concentrating on your business and minting money."  He paused and then went
on.  We thought about a merger or acquisition, but with Jack and Kate
Callaway still owning 90% of the damned thing, you would end up owning us.
So instead, we surrender."

Then with a broad smile he said, "We're much bigger than Jeff's outfit, so
instead of about ten people working on systems, we're somewhere north of 30
on this project.  That being the case would it be possible for all of your
women to spend some time with us tomorrow?  Say... ten o'clock?"

"I'm sure they would be happy to oblige," I replied.

Then Tim said, "There were a couple of strange elements in that magnificent
layout, though.  In the first place, Sandy was wearing a bracelet, but it
wasn't mentioned in the ad.  Second, I'm almost certain I saw some strange
shadows or something on both girls' flanks.  Or was I imagining things?"

Before I could respond, Gwen Madison rejoined us with Sandy following in her
wake.  "Tim, we simply must go to that open house Tiffany's is having the
day after tomorrow.  I've been talking with Sandy and she says she'll have a
couple of sketches for pieces she thinks would look good on me.  Could we
go?  Please?" she asked with her eyes wide.

I took advantage of the opportunity and asked Sandy to go and get her
bracelet.  That's all it took.  She knew exactly what I meant.

A few minutes later she was back wearing her bracelet on her wrist.  Safer
that way.  Less likely accidentally to drop down an elevator shaft.

Meanwhile, Susie and Jean continued to work the crowd like very experienced
politicians missing no one.  Remarkable!

To Tim I said, "You asked about those shadows.  I'll show you what they are.
Sandy, show Mr. Madison your brand."

Her eyes widened, but Sandy turned her side toward the Madisons and lifted
up the right rear panel of her skirt.  Because it was slit to the waist, her
brand was instantly exposed.  She just held her skirt that way and looked at
me.

The Madisons were utterly aghast.  "My God!" Tim breathed.  "Who would ever
do a thing like that to such an incredible girl?"

I motioned to Sandy to let her skirt down which she instantly did with
relief obvious on her face.  Nonetheless, she would have remained exposed
indefinitely if that's what I had asked her to do.

Quickly I explained Susan and Sandy's slavery and what they had done for
each other and what had been done to them.  By the time I finished, both
Madisons appeared to be ill.  I concluded by saying, "What you saw in that
picture were two of the three brands these girls carry on their flanks."
Then to Sandy I said, "Hand your bracelet to the Madisons, please, sweetie."

Tim Madison took it and his hand dropped from the unexpectedly heavy weight
of the 18-carat gold.  Then he turned it over, and with Gwen by his side the
two of them read aloud, "To my darling daughter, Sandy, who will wear the
marks of her overwhelming love and courage for the rest of her life, from
her father who adores her."

At that Gwen Madison just began to bawl.  Tim held out his arms to her and
she went to him.  Gently he pulled her close and I could see there were
tears in his eyes, too, as he looked over his crying wife's shoulder at
Sandy.  "My dear," he whispered, "your dad is absolutely correct.  And this
is the most beautiful piece with the most beautiful inscription I've ever
seen."  He paused and then added, "I guess that's what you and your mother
have been trying to tell us, isn't it?  Your dad is just a truly great guy."

"But... But...  Do you think a guy could ever...?"

"Sandra Dawson, you are youthful perfection!  Those marks you wear bear
evidence to the truth of that inscription."  He looked deeply into her eyes.
"My God!  You truly are female perfection!  And the beauty you show the
world is but a tiny fraction of your beauty inside."  Slowly he shook his
head and concluded, "Woman, you are utterly devastating!  And believe me
when I tell you that any guy who would be put off by your brands, regardless
of his appearance and credentials, would be a worthless scum!  Understand?"

Sandy had been studying Tim's eyes.  Finally she said softly, "You're really
serious, aren't you, Mr. Madison."  She shook her head as if to clear it and
then continued, "You're not saying those words to make me feel good; you
really mean them, don't you?"

"I sure as hell do!" Tim exclaimed.

Then Gwen Madison left Tim's arms, held out her arms to Sandy and said, "My
only regret is that we don't have a son anywhere near your age, Sandy.  You
are truly a mother's dream come true.  Now may I have a kiss?  Please?"

Unfortunately, Sandy's joy and enthusiasm overcame her natural caution.  She
really unloaded on Gwen with predictable -- and inevitable -- results.  The
woman passed out.  Fortunately, not only does Sandy have amazingly quick
reflexes, she was almost as strong as her mother at the time.  She easily
held her up with one arm while cradling the woman's head in her other hand
to keep it from flopping and giving her a neck strain.

Tim just watched in utter amazement as Sandy effortlessly supported his wife
whose weight was probably 50% greater than her own.  Moreover, he had seen
with his own eyes that it was the power of Sandy's kiss that had put Gwen
out.

Slowly the woman recovered, but Sandy continued to hold her.  Her eyes
slowly lost their glassiness and then she stood up straight.

It was only then that Sandy released her saying, "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs.
Madison!  I didn't mean..."

"Stop!" Gwen commanded.  "Don't you dare say another word, young lady!"
Then she sighed, took a deep breath and said softly, "Tim, I'll remember
that kiss for the rest of my life.  And I'll be floating on Cloud 9 for
days."  To Sandy she said, "All you did, Sandra Dawson, is to confirm
exactly what I just said: You are a mother's dream come true.  And you have
so much love to give!  It's unreal."

Then she changed the subject slightly.  "How about your mother and dad?  How
is it with them?"

"With them?  A kiss such as I just gave you would be about 10% -- maybe! --
of the power of the kisses they routinely exchange.  Either of them can put
Susie or me out like lights at any time.  Does that answer your question?"

"Tim, this is utterly unreal!  You're 99% certain that Jim Dawson put
Merrilee Adams in the hospital.  And it's clear to me that he did it with
love.  He has more power than any woman can stand... except for his
magnificent wife, Jean."  She just slowly shook her head and muttered, "Good
Lord!"

At that point I spoke up.  "Thank you both, very much, for what you've said
to Sandy.  We've been telling her the same thing for a very long time, but
you know how children are: In a matter like this, their parents are just
being nice to them or are blinded by love.  It really helps for Sandy to
hear this from people she's only meeting for the first time."

"It's the God's-honest truth is all," Gwen Madison said.  Then to her
husband she said, "Darling, I hope you're going to give up that war you've
been fighting with Callaway.  I now know that you can't ever hope to win."

"I know it, too, sweetie," Tim replied.  "That's why surrender terms will be
arranged in our Board conference room tomorrow morning at ten."  Then he
grinned and added, "We tried to get the quarterdeck of USS Missouri, but it
was booked."

His wife lightly punched him on the arm and with a big grin said, "Timothy
Madison, you're impossible!"

With his eyes wide, Tim replied, "Darling, you've been telling me that for
years.  And you know what?  I think you've been right all along."

With that Tim took his wife into his arms and melted her with a kiss.
Although she was getting a bit on the matronly side, she sinuously moved her
body against his and returned his kiss with increasing passion.  When they
finally eased apart, she murmured, "Oh, shit!"

"What's that mean?" Tim asked.

"It means I forgot to renew my pill prescription is what 'oh, shit' means!"
she replied with her eyes dancing.

"So what?" Tim responded.  "We've got lots of money.  We can easily afford
another child.  And since this wouldn't be your first pregnancy..."

"Do you really mean that?" Gwen asked softly.

"I sure as hell do!"

To Sandy Gwen said, "You and your mother are utterly perfect physical
specimens.  Does... Does your mother... coach?"

"Yes, she does, ma'am," Sandy replied.  Then with a lovely smile she added,
"Since Casco just surrendered, you could consider it a part of post-war
reconstruction.  Like what we did in Germany and Japan.  How does that
sound?"

"It sounds like the incredible love that all the Dawsons -- even you, Jim --
carry inside."  Then to her husband she said, "I can't wait to get you
home!"

I left the Madisons with the agreement to meet Tim at Casco's headquarters
at 10 the next morning.  While Sandy drifted off among the guests, I joined
Jean.  Then I just followed in her wake as she greeted every single person
at the reception.  And you know what?  In that incomparable brain of hers,
every person was now an individual file in her database and could be called
up in detail -- along with every word said -- in an instant.

* * *

After a late dinner at San Francisco's premier seafood house, we returned to
the hotel.  When we were back in our room, Jean gave me her most winsome
smile and asked, "Sweetie, could you give us fifteen minutes?  Maybe you
could look over that Executive Aviation material, or something..."

I said I would and gave her a light kiss.  But you know how that works by
now.  The feel of her molding her body to mine through that silk tissue that
passed as a dress was unreal.  And it contained the unspoken promise of much
more to come.

One thing I had learned about Jean and the girls: When they said fifteen
minutes, that's what they meant: not fourteen, or sixteen, either.  At the
appointed moment, I entered our bedroom.

There were Jean and Sandy wearing identical gossamer gowns.  They were the
same as Sandy had worn on her fourteenth birthday.  They were propped at the
head of the bed with their shoulders touching.  Between them was Susie,
absolutely naked except for the diamond choker I had given her that evening.
The two older women had their legs spread wide apart.  Susie had her feet
together, but her knees spread wide opening up her cunt for me.  She was the
centerpiece in the vista.

"And what's all this?" I demanded.

"It's been such an incredibly great day, Daddy," Susie replied, "I thought
maybe you might like to end it by popping a cherry or two.  I'm very tight,
Daddy, and I'm sure you would really love it.  Would you?  There's more,
too.  I'm sure I'll bleed beautifully for you, if you take me."

"Susan Dawson, we agreed to your fourteenth birthday, didn't we?" I
demanded.

"Yes, sir," she replied glumly.

"Well?  Are you fourteen yet?"

"No, sir," she pouted.

At the foot of the bed I just held out my arms.  With a happy squeal, Susie
bounced to her feet on the bed and ran to me.  With me standing on the floor
and Susan on the bed, the height was perfect.  She wrapped her arms around
my neck and merged her lips with mine.  It was truly lovely.

For my part, I kept increasing the intensity of our kiss until I put her
out.  Then I just held her tightly and waited.  When she recovered, I gave
her one very hard spank right over her brand and said, "That's for trying to
seduce your father before you're old enough.  Understand?"

Tears were in her eyes -- I had really hit her hard -- but they were filled
with sheer love.  "Daddy, tonight I really feel strange.  It's... it's..."
She stopped, shook her head and started again.  "You are my father.  I am
the fruit of your loins and mother's.  You two are my real parents.  And
you're Sandy's too.  It's such an incredible feeling!  We're not adopted any
more.  We're your real daughters.  Does that sound weird, or what?"

"No, my darling daughter, it doesn't at all.  Now will you give your dad
another kiss?"

The kiss was like no other I had ever received.  Her lips were merged with
mine and her tongue was dancing in my mouth.  At the same time there was a
flow of the purest love, verging on adoration.  And, damn it, she _was_ my
daughter... and still is!  When she eased up on her kiss, she put her head
on my shoulder and I just hugged her tightly.  I could feel her slender body
tremble with emotion.

When she calmed down, I said softly, "I love you so very much, my darling
daughter.  My true daughter, the fruit of my loins and Jean Dawson's womb.
And my darling, no womb has ever borne sweeter fruit."

"Oh, Daddy!" she screamed.  "You're so utterly wonderful!"  With that I got
another  incredibly sweet kiss.

Finally it ended and I looked at Jean and Sandy.  Tears were running down
both their cheeks but both were smiling lovingly.  "Now what about you two?"
I asked.

"We thought our lord and master should have his choice of cunts tonight.
Both are sweet, but one offers youth and greater resilience, while the other
offers experience and greater muscle control.  The choice is yours, master,"
Jean said softly.

I thought for a moment -- the instant I saw them arrayed on the bed I knew
something like this was coming -- and declared, "I will take you both.  I
want you side by  side."  Jean was to my right, so I told her to put her
right leg over Sandy's left and get their pelvises up.  "I will start with
youth and give her one stroke with my cock.  Then two for her mother, then
three for Sandy.  This will continue until I cum.  The one in whose cunt I
cum will be the winner; the other will be punished.  Are you prepared for
your master?"

Instantly, they were.  Moving between Sandy's widespread thighs I eased my
cock into her very tight vagina as she held her pelvis up off the bed to
improve my line.  Then I moved to Jean and then back to Sandy.  The two
women were incredible, and Jean had -- as usual -- been correct.  She had
the experience while Sandy had the more supple cunt.  While I was probing
their cunts, the two women were kissing and using one hand to caress the
other's breasts and nipples.  After the first few strokes, the one who
wasn't being fucked used her other hand to masturbate to maintain a steady
flow of her cuntal fluids.  Susan joined in, kissing her mother with all the
passion she could muster.

When the count reached ten, I raised the girl's torso, nibbled on her
nipples and then melted my lips to hers.  The first time I did this with
Sandy, the girl used her vaginal muscles -- not as expertly as Jean, but she
was learning fast -- to massage my cock while whispering, "Thank you,
Father, for using the marvelous cock that created me to give me such joy!
Dear Father, I adore you!"  With that she gave me the most passionate and
loving kiss I had ever received from her.  When I pulled back far enough to
focus on her, her eyes were utterly joyous.

It was the most incredible lovemaking of my life.  And I think it was for
the girls, too.  The room soon took on the musky odor of released passion as
everyone joined in the love fest.

I don't know where we were in the count when I lost it.  I guess we were at
least into the thirties.  Both women had had numerous orgasms during the
process but finally Jean used her incredible internal muscles and screamed,
"Cum with me, my husband. _Cum with me!"_

And I did.  Did I ever!  Our mutual orgasm was utterly mind-blowing for both
of us.  But Jean didn't lose consciousness.  While her cunt was still
pulsing to draw out even more cum, she looked at me with the most incredibly
loving look in her eyes and said, "My darling husband, I think you've just
caught me again!  And I couldn't be any happier."

As it turned out, she was correct.  When later I tried to apologize, she
smiled warmly  and said, "I have a very efficient husband.  Now that he has
me, he doesn't want a single luscious egg to go to waste."  Then she grinned
and added, "Besides... I _hate_ periods!  And now I won't have one."

Sandy looked at me sadly and asked, "How many strokes with your hard hand,
Master?"

"How does twenty sound?"

She shook her head sadly and replied, "It doesn't sound like enough.  I
mean...  Good grief!  You took over thirty strokes inside me, but I couldn't
get my loving father and master to cum.  I think thirty would be better."

"We'll make it 25," I pronounced.

After receiving 12 hard smacks on one side, as she hobbled around my legs
she said, "Wouldn't it be so much better, master, to be using a whip?  That
way you wouldn't be hurting your hand so much.  And it would leave such
lovely bloody stripes on my worthless body, too."

With that she lay across my left leg and received the last 13 spanks.  The
poor kid was really hurting when it was all over, but still she took my
right hand, kissed it and licked it and apologized for hurting it with her
hard ass.  Then without saying a word, she just looked up at me wistfully.

"On your knees, slave, and spread those asscheeks!" I commanded.

Sandy's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  In an instant she was on her
face with her knees under her body raising her ass in the air.  Ignoring
what must have been considerable pain, she spread her tight buns as far
apart as she could to open her amber hole.

I moved between her legs, positioned my cock and drove deep into her.  From
the corner of my eye I could see Susie feasting on her mother's cunt,
extracting as much of our mixed fluids as she could.

As I slammed into Sandy's bruised ass, all I could hear was her muffled
voice -- her face was on the bed -- crying, "Harder!  Fuck me harder, Daddy!
Really slam into my too-tight little asshole!"

By this time, Susie had finished with her mother and had wriggled under
Sandy's belly to position her mouth at her cunt.  At the same time, Jean had
lifted Sandy's torso off the bed and positioned her mouth under hers.  The
two were exchanging passionate kisses; not what one would normally expect
between mother and daughter.  But I guess we really are sort of different.

Finally I could hold back no longer.  Screaming, _"I'm cuming!"_ I really
unloaded.  As I did, I really slammed my cock to the root in Sandy's lovely
asshole and slammed my thighs into her tortured buns at the same time.  She
went off like a rocket!  Her whole body was in spasm as my cum flooded her
bowels.

She just screamed.  The sound was totally inchoate, but it was a sound of
passion and joy.  Then she just collapsed as her nervous system was
overloaded and shorted out.

When Susie finished swallowing her sister's luscious cream, she moved around
and began to probe her still-stretched asshole to extract as much of my cum
as she could.

Me?  I just collapsed on the bed.  That was the last thing I knew for quite
awhile.

* * *

The next thing I knew, it was late at night, probably after three o'clock.
I heard, "My husband, I need you."  I was awake instantly.

Sandy was sleeping soundly beside me, but there was a vacancy where Jean
would normally have been.  Susan was sleeping next to the space.

I eased out of bed, going down to the foot so as not to disturb Sandy, and
went out to the sitting room.  I was careful opening the door so as not to
allow much light in.  There I found Jean nursing Jamey.  The smile I
received was the very warmest ever.

"It really works!" she whispered.

"What works?" I asked, demonstrating my usual acumen.

Instead of answering directly, Jean said, "Something very special happened
today, my darling.  I received a communication -- and the girls did too --
from home... wherever that may be.  The message is that we've been
singularly blessed.  Jim, you heard from the girls that they are the fruit
of your loins... and mine.  And you know what?  If we were to have DNA
testing done, it would prove it.  They have it exactly right: They are truly
your daughters and mine."  She paused and added, "I couldn't be happier!"

"But... But why?" I asked in my usually intelligent fashion.

"Because, my darling, the powers -- whoever they may be -- have decided that
you are the perfect mate.  They feel that what you have done -- and are
doing -- with our daughters is simply perfect.  So anyway, they're now
really ours."  She looked at me and asked softly, "What do you think?"

"I think I'm the luckiest man on the face of the earth, is what I think.  My
darling, tonight was not to be believed.  You are so good and so loving --
as is Sandy -- I'm spoiled rotten."

Then I changed the subject.  "But what's this thing about whips?  I thought
it was a joke, but now I'm really not so sure.  And why did you all bring it
up now, here?"

"No, my darling husband," Jean replied softly.  "It's not a joke at all.  I
want to be beaten -- _need to be beaten!_ -- for all the terrible things
I've done.  God may have forgiven me, but I haven't forgiven myself.  I
really and truly need it!  As far as the girls are concerned, you've heard
it before.  Hell!  You've told the story many times yourself.  You've heard
how they would be beaten into unconsciousness every week.  You've heard how
Susie, usually the first to recover, would spend the rest of the night
licking her sisters' wounds.  Well, they believe -- as do I -- that a severe
beating from you will exorcise the last of their demons.  Please, my
darling?  I know -- I really _do_ know -- how hard it will be for you.  But
please?"

"Why did the subject come up way out here?"

She grinned and replied, "Because San Francisco is the land of the kinks, is
why."  She was truly happy and grinning as she said, "My darling, we live in
the Midwest... the very conservative Midwest.  We don't have nearly the
assortment of whips and chains that are available out here."  She paused and
then exclaimed, "Whoops!  Our youngest is back to sleep.  Let me put him
back to bed."

With that she disappeared into the other bedroom.  (By the way, what's wrong
with this picture?  Two adults and two girls share a single king sized bed,
while an infant has a bedroom to himself.  Hmm.  I'll have to think about
that one.)

In a few minutes Jean was back.  And she looked utterly exquisite.  She
appeared different and even more beautiful than when she had taken Jamey
back to his bed.  Even though I'm a slow learner at times, I realized that
Jean had redone her makeup after putting the baby back to bed.  What a
woman!

"There's something else, though," I said.  "When I came out here after you
called, you said, 'It works!' or something like it.  What did you mean?"

She came into my arms before she replied.  "I said it because I hadn't
uttered a single word.  It's a part of your becoming our daughters' real
father.  I can communicate with you -- and you with me -- mentally.
Darling, I didn't _say_ it, I _thought_ it.  And it worked.  And it worked
in spite of your being a very sound sleeper."

I was holding my wife in my arms while she was telling me this.  "Would my
magnificent wife allow her husband to make love to her on the carpet?"

With her eyes dancing, she replied, "I thought you would never ask!"

The result?  Unbelievable!

* * *

Early the next day I found Sandy in the bathroom with her back to the mirror
looking at her bruised buns.  "And how is my lovely slave girl this
morning?" I asked.

"If you must know, dear father and master, I'm pissed!"

"And why are you pissed?"

"Because there won't be another meeting of the body slaves' union I can
attend for weeks is why."  Then with her eyes wide she added, "Boy!  Could I
ever fix those no-mind little bitches with these bruises.  While they're
lording it over everyone with their whip cuts, I could brag that mine were
inflicted by my loving master with his _very own hand!_  And by direct
contact with my bottom, too!"  She touched one of her bruises and winced.

Then her face fell as she continued, "Of course, I could be in big trouble
if they asked why I was beaten in the first place.  I would have to admit
that I was unable to get my loving master to cum in my cunt; that I was
defeated by another slave."  Then she brightened and added, "Of course, the
other slave is my mother whom I adore."

Sandy looked at me and said, "Daddy master, watching you and Mom together is
unreal.  You are so utterly perfect together!"

Jean had just joined us in the bathroom, naked, as usual.  She joined the
conversation, saying, "Your father is the perfect lover!"

Sandy looked hard at Jean and then said accusingly, "He fucked you again,
didn't he?  After Susie and I were asleep!  He did, didn't he?"

"Of course he did, darling," Jean said blithely.  "And it was the very best
ever."

"But there was no one to clean up..." Sandy complained.

"Oh?" Jean responded with a raised eyebrow.  "We were there.  Your father
did a lovely job of cleaning my cunt and I think I did a more than adequate
job with his prick."

"You didn't..." Sandy said with her eyes wide.

"Make him cum again in my mouth?  Is that what you're trying to say?" Jean
replied, barely able to control her grin.

Sandy could only nod her head with her eyes wide.

"Of course I did," Jean replied with a self-satisfied smirk.  "And it was
luscious, too!  So nice and fresh..."

"Mommy, I would really hate you if I didn't love you so damn... darned much.
And you and Dad are just so great together."

Jean ended the acting and took Sandy in her arms.  It was lovely to see the
two now nearly-identical bodies merged.  "My darling daughter, your father
is the finest lover alive in the world today.  And he just keeps getting
better!  I almost can't believe it."

"I love you, Mommy," the girl breathed.  Then turning to me she said, "And I
utterly adore my father and master!"

* * *

At ten I was the proudest man in the universe as I escorted my wife and
daughters into the headquarters of Casco Corporation.  The women were simply
stunning.  All three were wearing suits -- perfect for San Francisco's
weather -- and Jean had even fixed their hair in a variation of a bun at the
back of their necks.  The poor receptionist, who had been alerted to the
identities of the expected guests, nonetheless gaped.

"Unbelievable!" she murmured as she called Madison's office to tell him we
had arrived.  Then throwing caution to the winds she stammered, "Mrs.
Dawson, could I possibly have your autograph?  You are the three most
beautiful women in the world!"

Turning to me she asked, "How does it feel to be married to a woman as
gorgeous as your wife and to have fathered two such perfect girls?"

As I started to respond, Jean had taken the paper the girl offered, asked
her name and started to write.  She passed it to Sandy who wrote something
and then passed it to Susan who did the same thing.

I said, "I'm the luckiest man on the planet is the way I feel.  You see,
Karen, these women focus their attention on making me the happiest man
alive.  And with their natural equipment, the result is... outstanding!"
(It seemed like more things had happened as a result of becoming the girls'
real father.  I seemed to be developing the same incredible hearing they had
so I heard the girl when she whispered her name, Karen Combs, to Jean.)

Susan slid the paper back to Karen who looked at it and gasped.  Then she
looked up at the girls with sheer adoration in her eyes.  "You three are
utterly unreal!  Never in my life..."

All three had written warm personal messages in their beautiful handwriting,
and Sandy had even sketched Karen's face capturing her charm in just a few
lines.  And until a few short hours before, I didn't know Sandy had any
artistic ability at all.

The girl kept studying my women and finally said, "As beautiful as you all
are on the outside, it's just a very small fraction of your beauty within."
With a warm sigh she concluded, "You're simply perfect!"  There was a dreamy
look in her eyes as we went off to the board room.

Tim Madison let out a soft whistle when he saw my women.  (What a feeling it
is to be able to say, "my women"!)  Then he just said softly,
"Unbelievable!"

I stood in the back of the room while he introduced them.  He truly behaved
like a proud father as he did.  Then they split up with each girl joining a
different group of about ten Casco staffers each and began doing with them
what Susan had done with Fisher's people the day before.

He joined me in the back with a grin on his face.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

He was slowly shaking his head as he replied, "A short time ago I got a call
from Carol Fisher.  What a nut!  As you may know, she and Jeff get pretty
kinky.  And she knows I get a charge out of hearing what goes on.  Well, it
seems that last night took the cake.  She had promised Jeff that he could do
anything to her (which I already knew).  Well, he did.

"First of all," Tim related, "he refused to allow Carol any restraints of
any kind.  No ropes, no gags, no nothing.  Then he had her on her back with
her legs spread opening her cunt wide.  After 25 strokes with a whip, he
fucked her that way.  Then she had to kneel on the floor while spreading her
ass cheeks apart while Jeff gave her 25 strokes on her butt and asshole.
Then he fucked her there, too.

"Finally, though, she had to tell him where and how to whip her to cause her
the greatest pain.  That included her nipples and her clit.  She had to ask
for each stroke and thank him after each one.  Then, with her body covered
with blood from her shoulders to her legs, he took her again."

Tim just slowly shook his head.  "She's so proud, you wouldn't believe it.
And she claims she was flowing like a river, and Jeff even allowed her to
cum whenever she wanted.  There were lots of those."  With a grin he added,
"But she's certain to be at the store tomorrow when the girls are there!"

Then we circulated among the three groups.  One after the other, every
"missing" function proved not to be missing at all.  And this time the
system had superior functions for all but two of the Casco requests.  When
the girls finished up, the whole thing had taken less than an hour and the
Casco people were shell-shocked.

Finally one woman said, "There's just one thing: It's pretty small, I guess,
but we'd really love to have a very slightly modified interface..."

"Modified how?" Jean asked.  The woman told her and Jean just nodded.  She
sat down at a computer and her fingers started flying over the keys.  Sandy
and Susan joined her.  After a few minutes, she changed places with Sandy
whose fingers moved so fast I couldn't follow them.  At the same time, Susie
would point out things to both older women.  Finally, she took Sandy's place
and again fingers flew over the keys.  I had no idea what she was doing.
After all, she was the ergonomics expert, so what was this?  Jean finished
up.

After about five minutes elapsed time Jean moved away from the computer and
asked, "How's this?"

The woman was stunned.  "Absolutely perfect!"  Then she broke down in tears.
"I quit, boss," she said to Tim.  "What these women did in five minutes, our
whole crew couldn't do in five _months!_  Furthermore, after five months the
end product wouldn't be a fraction as good as this is."

"Relax, Sarah," Tim said softly.  "What you've just seen are the three top
software designers in the world today in action.  Each is a true genius in
her own right, but beyond that they seem to work together as if it's a
single brain.  Unfortunately, Callaway Industries has them signed to
lifetime contracts so we have to make do with mere humans."  He paused and
then said, "You're a golfer, aren't you Sarah?"

The woman appeared stunned that Tim knew that she was, but she replied
softly, "Yes, sir."

"And you're very good, I hear.  In fact, you're the women's club champion at
your course, aren't you?"

This man was good, no question about it.  With his natural leadership
ability it was little wonder that Casco was as successful as it was.  The
woman could scarcely control her pride as she replied, "Yes, sir.  I am."

"Belated congratulations on your victory, Sarah," Tim continued.  "Now,
you're a very good golfer.  But what if you were matched against Tiger Woods
playing scratch golf?  Would you expect to win?"

"Of course not!  I would expect to lose by 20 strokes at least -- even more
if he was having one of his career rounds."

"Well, Sarah, as good as Tiger Woods is at golf, these women are far, far
better as software designers.  Now, would you feel badly if you lost that
match to Tiger?"

"No, Tim, I certainly would not.  In fact, I guess I would feel honored to
have even played in a match against him."  She paused and then continued, "I
guess it was like the US Olympic Dream Team in Barcelona in 1992.  Players
on the other teams were proud to have been on the same floor with them."

"Okay.  Now how about software?"

Now Sarah's eyes were bright and she smiled warmly.  "I guess I have to feel
the same way, don't I?  I got to see the very best in action."

"A final question: You said our entire crew would have taken more than five
months to come up with the changes these women just made.  How much would
that have cost us?"

The woman did some quick calculations and then softly whistled.  "Sir, it
would be north of $2.5 million in payroll alone.  Then there are fringes and
support on top of that, so..."

At that point the computer reached the timing point at which its screen
saver came into action.  When it did, soft music came out from its speakers.
Whatever it was, I had never heard it before.

Hearing it, Tim spun on his heel and looked at the computer screen.  The
screen saver, very conservatively done, said, "Casco Corporation" and then
"Quality", "Service", and "Pride", alternating on the screen.  "Can someone
turn up the volume, please," he asked softly.

The music came up and it was the sound of pride and joy.  "What is that?" he
demanded.  "Where in hell did it come from?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Susie said, very abashed.  "I can get rid of it in an
instant..."

"You did that?" Tim asked.

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"A few minutes ago.  I thought it might sound nice with the screen saver
Sandy designed."

Turning to Sandy he asked, "And the screen saver: when did you do that?"

Sandy was nonplused.  "A few minutes ago, sir," she replied.  "You saw the
whole thing."

Tim Madison just slowly sank into the nearest chair and shook his head.  "I
do not believe this," he said softly.  "My God!  Not only do we get the
operating software we've been after for years, but we also..."

He picked up the nearest phone and made a call.  At that point I became
certain I had gained some of the girls' powers; I could hear both sides of
the conversation perfectly.  As a test, I turned my back but as the girls
had told me, the lock-on function worked.  I continued to hear every word.

Tim was talking to his executive vice president -- marketing.  "Gus, how
much have we paid those idiots who've been working on music for us?"  The
answer was more than a million and rising fast.  "And the slogan?"  The
answer was the same.

"Okay, Gus, kill both projects instantly, understand?  I want them dead, and
I want them dead _right now!_  Clear?"

Gus swallowed hard and replied, "Yes, sir!  It's _very_ clear."  That was
the end of the conversation.

Turning to Susie he asked, "Is there any more to the music than what we just
heard?"

"There isn't, sir, but there could be," Susie replied.

"What does that mean?"

"It could scale up to a full symphony."

"And you could do that?"

"Yes, sir.  I could write it, but..."

"But what?" he demanded.

"I'm really not very good at full symphonic scoring," Susan admitted.  "I
can do the strings okay, but I have problems scoring for the woodwinds and
sometimes for the brass, too."

"And how long would this all take?" he asked.

"A day or two...  Oh dear!" Susie exclaimed as her face fell.

"What's that mean?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Madison," Susan said.  "I forgot that we won't be home for
almost two more weeks.  And then it would take a day or two after that.  I
guess that's really too long for you to wait, isn't it?"

"You're serious?  You could deliver a full symphonic score -- although not
scored for all the instrumental parts -- in less than three weeks?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where does your musical ability come from?" Madison asked softly.

"From her father," Jean interjected.  "I can't carry a tune in a basket."

"Do you sing too?" he asked.

"Not very well," Susie replied, "but Mom, Sandy and I fool around with it a
bit when Daddy's not home."

"Would you sing something for us now?" he asked.

Clearly, Susan was embarrassed.  Never had she -- nor either of the
others -- sung in public outside of church.  And they had never sung in my
presence except for church.

If she was embarrassed, I was utterly stunned when Jean asked me to join
them. _I_ was the one who couldn't carry a tune in a basket.  Or so I
thought.

The most startling thing of all was that we began with _Shenandoah._  And I
had the lead!  I had certainly heard the song often enough -- it was the
Callaway girls' theme -- but I didn't know the words.  But I did!  And I
amazed myself with my baritone voice.  The women came in with harmony on the
theme and I guess it sounded okay.

Then Jean took the lead with the girls singing _Ave Maria._  Her voice
soared!  She seemed to be able to hold high notes perfectly and endlessly.
It was utterly angelic!  And she claimed to be unable to carry a tune.

Then we sang _America, The Beautiful,_ followed by _God Bless America,_ and
then _The Battle Hymn of the Republic._  We ended our impromptu concert with
_The Star Spangled Banner._  To my utter amazement, everyone rose when we
began.  We even sang the fourth stanza, "And thus be it ever when freemen
shall stand/ Between their beloved home and the war's desolation!/ Blest
with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land/ Praise the Power that
hath made and preserved us a nation./ Then conquer we must, when our cause
it is just,/ And this is our motto: In God is our trust./ And the star
spangled banner in triumph shall wave/ O'er the land of the free and the
home of the brave."  Everyone present joined in on the last chorus.

Tim Madison just slowly sank down onto a chair with a look of stunned
amazement on his face.  Finally he pulled himself together and said to his
staff, "Okay, folks.  How many here think we should continue our war with
Callaway?"  He looked around at the sea of faces.  Then he said, "Anyone?"

There wasn't a sound in the room.

"Smart people," he declared.  "Let's face it: we're so overmatched it's
pathetic!  Can you believe what we've experienced in the last 90 minutes or
so?  We've had a demonstration of the finest software the world has ever
seen presented by the women who wrote it.  We've seen three women modify it
for us in fewer minutes than we would have needed months!  A
fourteen-year-old girl produces a logo and slogan for us as a byproduct.
And an eight-year-old girl outlines a symphony, for heaven's sake.  Finally,
just for relaxation we hear the finest _a capella_ singing I've ever heard
in my life.  What a family!"

To me Tim said, "Look, Jim, I know your systems sell for about $10,000 per
installation.  We will need about 40,000, but how fast could we get the
first 10,000?  And could you shade the price a bit on that quantity?"

My God!  I was looking at nearly a half-billion dollar order!  "You can have
the first 10,000 by the end of next week.  How's that?  And I'll let you
know about the price."

Madison nodded and then picked up the phone.  I ignored him this time.
Instead I took my wife into my arms and we kissed.  Boy, did we ever kiss!
Then I kissed Sandy and Susan, whispering to them how incredibly proud of
them I was.  The girls simply beamed with pleasure.

A few minutes later a woman came in and gave Tim a small stack of corporate
checks.  Each had been signed once, but apparently these required two
signatures.  He signed them all, then gave one of them to me.  It was
payable to Callaway Industries in the amount of $50 million.  "This is a
down payment on our first order.  Okay?"

"More than okay," I replied with a grin.  Initially I thought about phoning
in the order, but then I changed my mind.  Instead I asked if the computers
were wired in to a network printer somewhere.  Assured by Tim that they all
were, Jean sat down at the keyboard and I dictated a letter.  A few moments
later, a woman brought in the three copies that Jean had made.  It was a
letter from Tim to Callaway listing the initial order and the follow-up,
along with his check.

"Now," I said, "all we need is a FedEx envelope.  I'll charge it..."

"You will like hell!" Tim exclaimed.  He buzzed and dispatched the letter
after we both had signed it.

"I sort of like the idea of Jack Callaway starting the day staring at a nice
big check," I said with a grin.

Tim chuckled and said, "So do I, as a matter of fact."  Then to Jean he
said, "This is for you," as he handed her a check.  Then he gave checks to
each of the girls.

All three looked at their checks in stunned amazement.  Jean's was for $2.5
million, while the girls' were for $1 million each.

"No!" Jean screamed.  "You can't!  I won't!..."

"You can and you will," Tim insisted.  "You heard it yourself: I'm really
being cheap.  We would have spent that in payroll alone, forget fringes,
support and all that good stuff.  And the end product is far better than we
would have come up with, besides."  To the girls he said, "We've already
spent over a million dollars each on a slogan and some music and have zilch
to show for it.  Nothing!  Not a single thing!  And you two come up with
utterly perfect material while we're watching.  Unbelievable!"

Then to Susan he said, "And as for you, young lady...  In about two month's
time -- just about the end of our concert season -- the San Francisco
Symphony is going to premier Dawson's First Symphony on a theme from Casco.
And guess who's going to be conducting that performance?"

Susan's eyes were widening in fear.  Slowly she began to shake her head from
side to side as Tim continued, "You are, Susan Dawson!  The composer will
conduct the first public performance of what's going to be a truly memorable
work of music.  Okay?"

"Not okay!" Susan cried.  "I can't!  I won't!"

"You can and you will, darling," Jean interjected.

"But I know nothing about conducting..."

"Susan?"

"All I do is fool around sometimes..." Susie protested.

"Yeah...  Just fooling around," Jean said wryly.  "Sandy and I watch as you
bring up the strings, call for the brass, signal percussion...  Yep.  Just
fooling around."

When Jean realized the size of the check, I cut her off by pointing out that
she would be saving Tim money if she took it.  The same was true of the
girls.  Otherwise, as independent contractors to Callaway, their fees would
have been roughly tripled and added to Casco's bill.  "And, dear heart, you
know damned well Merrilee wouldn't settle for a fee of only $2.5 million,
don't you?"

"Yes," Jean said glumly.  "That bitch!  Those are arguments I can never win.
Whenever I'm winning on logic -- which is most of the time -- what does she
do?  She threatens me with the heavy artillery, spelled Kate Callaway.  She
knows there's no way in hell I can ever win a battle over money with that
woman."

At that point the meeting broke up.  Kate and the girls went off in search
of their toys and other implements of personal destruction, leaving me alone
with Tim.  He brought up a rather strange subject: aircraft.

"You came out here in a private jet, didn't you?"

"That's true.  So what?"

"How was it?"

"Absolutely great!" I replied.  "And you heard Jean bragging about being in
the Mile High Club, so let's just say it was significantly better than
commercial.  But why do you ask?"

"Because...  Let's face it, Jim.  Commercial flying has become a nightmare.
Flights are over-booked, canceled, crowded...  You know the drill.  Hell,
our businesses are similar in that we both deal in multi-million dollar
orders.  Now how in hell can a representative do a decent job of
presentation or negotiation if he's still in a state of shock from his
inbound flight?"

He frowned and continued, "A number of my people are after me to buy some
jets of our own.  It's not really a matter of money.  It's...  Oh, hell.  As
you may know, I began my career -- like so many other guys in our line of
work -- with IBM.  Its air department got so big at one point the FAA
accused them of operating a scheduled airline.  They had to break off a big
piece.  That's certainly not what I want.  But is there an alternative?"

"Yes, there is," I replied, thinking of Janice Page.  Only then did I
remember that we had forgotten to get the Page's phone number; we didn't
even know where they were staying.  But I did have her business card with an
800 number.

Very briefly I told Tim about Executive Aviation.  Then I asked if there was
anyplace he might like to go that day.

"As a matter of fact, there is," he replied.  "Pendleton, Oregon.  And don't
you dare ask what were doing with a facility out in the boondocks!  Just the
thought of that trip turns my stomach, but I've got to go.  I've been
stalling too damned long as it is."

"Can you go right now?"

"Sure can, but how?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," I replied.

Picking up the phone, I called the 800 number, identified myself, and asked
to speak to Bill or Janice Page.  There was music-on-hold for a while and
then I heard the passion-filled voice of Janice.  "Hello?" she gasped.

"Hi, Janice.  It's Jim Dawson.  What are you doing, anyway?"

"What you and your gorgeous wife were doing most of yesterday morning if you
must know," she gasped.  I could almost see her grin.  "But what's up?"

"How do we go about getting an Executive Aviation jet to go up to Pendleton,
Oregon," I asked.

"You tell me you want to go to Pendleton is how," she replied.  "And you
just did that.  We'll be ready to go in about an hour, if that's all right."

"What is this deal, anyway?" I asked.  "And where are you staying?  I forgot
to ask yesterday."

She and Bill were staying in the same hotel we were, and had a junior suite.
"It's simply fabulous, Mr. Dawson," she said.  "I guess I mentioned that
this trip was shaping up to be really great, but neither Bill nor I realized
just how great.  First of all, this whole arrangement is out of the ordinary
for our company.  This isn't a series of trips; it's a 15-day charter.
Beyond that, though, what's really different is that Tiffany's is providing
us with super-deluxe accommodations, and that's really different!  We're
under orders to take you and your family wherever you want to go,
regardless."

"You mean... Melbourne, Australia?" I asked.

"For that we would have to whistle up a second crew and that would take a
couple of hours.  But yes, if you wanted to go to Melbourne, we would take
you today."

"Good grief," I murmured.  "There are two bits of information for you,
okey?"

"Yes, sir.  What two things?"

"First, you're taking the chairman and CEO of Casco Industries, so have lots
of brochures and business cards handy.  Okay?"

"Yes, sir!" she exclaimed brightly.  "And the second?"

"The name is Jim!  I don't answer to Mr. Dawson all that well.  I usually
think of my father, but he's dead."

"Well... it would really be letting down the bars.  I mean... I've only been
a spectator while you were fucking your wife, and then she entertains me
bare-assed.  But if you insist, I guess Bill and I could call you Jim."

A Casco limousine drove us out to SFO's executive air terminal.  There we
found our G-5 on the ramp with its starboard engine turning over slowly.  We
went up the boarding stairs and were greeted by Janice.  She retracted the
stairs, locked the door and returned to the cockpit for takeoff.  Tim and I
took our seats and off we went.  Since by then it was just after noon -- not
the most popular travel time -- we received immediate clearance for takeoff.

I was amazed at how fast and nimble the aircraft was.  It almost jumped into
the air, and I wouldn't be surprised if we were several thousand feet in the
air by the time we reached the airport's boundary marker.  In no time we
were at cruising altitude and Janice came back to serve lunch.  A real
lunch, by the way, not the usual cardboard the airlines serve, if you get
even that.  That girl really uses her head!  On the way north I told Tim
about the G-5 and the G-4, along with the super-range G-6.  For his part, he
just enjoyed the relaxation of what otherwise would have been a very painful
trip.  Then I moved on to a discussion of Executive Aviation and how it
offered Casco complete flexibility without tying up capital or the myriad
problems of operating an airline.  He was very interested.

In no time flat, we were in final approach at Pendleton.  After landing we
were met by the local general manager and driven to the Casco facility.  In
less than an hour, Tim concluded his face-to-face business and we were on
our way back to the airport.  I had called as we were leaving the plant, and
again the engine was turning over as we boarded the aircraft.

"Now that was a good trip!" Tim exclaimed.

No sooner were we back at our cruising altitude, than Janice was back to
serve drinks.  And they were real ones; no miniature bottles.  We sipped
Cardhu and nibbled on some lovely hors d'oeuvres Janice had gotten from
heaven-knows-where in Pendleton.

"Is this typical of the service these people provide?" Tim asked.  "It's the
finest I've ever seen."

"Let's ask."  I called Janice back and asked her to take a seat.  She buzzed
Bill on the intercom to let him know she wasn't lost, then turned her
attention to us.

She explained how the service worked.  There were approved caterers in every
major city in the world, and for small places like Pendleton, they called
headquarters where there was an enormous database of just such facilities.
"It's really not hard to do," she concluded.

"Who's vice president of sales in your organization?" Tim asked.  Janice
told him and then he said, "Executive Aviation is also a sales agent for
Gulfstream, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir.  We love their aircraft.  They just do not crash.  Ever!  And
they're built as strong as anything in the air, and far stronger than most.
This looks like a plane, but it's really a tank with wings," she said with a
grin.

"There's a phone on board, I assume," Tim said.

"Of course, sir.  There's one at every executive seat."

"Neat!"  Tim found the phone and called Executive Aviation's vice president
of sales, Roy Neill.  He identified himself to the operator and -- no
surprise -- was put right through.

Tim introduced himself and said, "Roy, I'm in one of your birds right now.
And in addition to having one of the world's most beautiful women as
copilot, she's also a great saleswoman.  Because of her, I would like to
order two Gulfstreams for Casco Industries, a G-4 and a G-5.  In addition, I
would like to sign a contract with you people to transport mine.  I don't
know exactly all the options are that you offer, but I'm thinking about the
biggest standard package you have to start.  How does that sound?"  He
paused and said, "Further, I'm assuming that any sales commission would go
to Mrs. Page.  Right?"

Using my new-found hearing ability, it was clear the man was stunned.  This
was more than $50 million in business that had fallen into his lap.  He
asked to speak to Mrs. Page.

Janice was so stunned herself, she was in a state of near shock.  It took a
couple of moments for her to regain enough composure to talk, but then she
took the call.  I could still hear both sides.

"Yes, sir," she said.  "I'm certain he is Timothy Madison, chairman and CEO
of Casco Industries.  He was introduced by our client, Mr. Dawson, of
Callaway.  It's the Dawson charter that Bill and I are flying."

She was silent for a few minutes as the sales VP first collected his
thoughts and then gushed, "Janice Page, this is the most outstanding piece
of work by a flight crew in the company's history.  Aside from the standard
sales commission -- which on a sale of this size is just going to give you
and Bill major-league tax problems -- there will be a huge bonus for each of
you.  And incidentally, there's no split on the commission.  The salesman in
the territory has never been able even to see a person in the Casco
organization.  He's never been able to make a sales call.

"Anyway, I can't thank you enough for what you've just done.  And keep up
the great work!"  He paused and then said, "May I speak to Mr. Madison
again?"

Tim took back the call while Janice just glowed with joy.  I realized she
was a truly beautiful woman.  Meanwhile, Tim was concluding the call with
the promise to have a company check for $20 million FedEx'd that day.  After
hanging up, he called his office and did just that.

"I would ask you to join us, Mrs. Page..."

"Janice, please, sir!" she begged.  "After what you've just done for our
company and for Bill and me personally..."

"The name is Tim, Janice.  That's how I'm known by everyone in my company.
But anyway, as I started to say, I would ask you to join us, but you're
helping to fly this bird so I guess that's not allowed, is it?"  Janice
shook her head, no.  "In that case, why don't I buy you and your husband
dinner?"

With that he took out a business card, wrote on the back and passed it over.
It said, "Dinner for the Pages and guests.  Bill me at Casco."  Tim had
signed it.  He said, "This is accepted at any establishment in the Bay Area,
so take your choice.  But for heaven's sake, pick a good one... a _real_
good one.  Okay?"

Then Tim grinned and added, "My wife, Gwen, will be thrilled.  So much so,
in fact, she might be as... welcoming... as she was last night."  Then he
explained, "When I'm faced with a trip to a place like Pendleton, I become
as warm and friendly as a wounded grizzly.  When Gwen learns I've already
made the trip...  Hmm!"  With that he grinned lewdly provoking a wickedly
sexy laugh from Janice.

It was really a wonderful trip back to San Francisco.

When we landed, I exchanged suite numbers with Janice and was pleased to
find that their suite was on the same floor as our's.  Interesting.

I left Bill and Janice to attend to the aircraft while Tim and I returned in
the company limo.  He had the driver take me to our hotel.  As we were
parting, he shook hands and said, "Thank you, Jim Dawson.  This has been
about the best day in my entire business career.  And it's been a lot of
fun, too, thanks to you and the magnificent women in your life."

With that I returned to our suite and found that the girls had returned.
They were bubbling over with what they had bought, but of course refused to
tell me any of it.  Moreover, I learned that some of what they bought --
heavy items, I'm sure -- had been sent directly out to the airport to be
stowed on our plane.  Interesting.

The girls were utterly ecstatic with happiness.  Not only were they having a
great time, but they were making money for themselves and much greater
amounts for Callaway.  Then I told them about Janice Page and the sale of
two jets and a massive contract with Casco.

"You did it all, didn't you, darling?" Jean asked, arching her brow.

"I helped a little," I admitted.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed with the warmest smile I'd ever seen on her face.
"They've caught you with the charity gene, too."  Then she very daintily
stuck out her tongue.  She thought for a moment and then said, "Darling, we
will have to have dinner with the Pages tonight... and stuff."

"Dinner I understand," I replied.  "But what's 'stuff'?"

"Just... stuff," she replied with a truly lecherous grin.

An interesting evening was in prospect.

* * *

End Part 8 of 9

To be continued --

************************************************************

Comments and constructive criticism are sincerely welcome.  Let me hear from
you.  morg105829@aol.com

* * *

"Jean & Jim."  Copyright   2001 by Morgan.  <morg105829@aol.com>

All rights reserved.  No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any
information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the
author.

* * *

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