Season 3 Episode 13: Rose-sama: Love is War

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, harem master and grooming victim.

You go down to Rose's office to get her for the meeting you're about to have with Vivian.

Rose is deep in focus, consumed by whatever it is she's working on, and only notices that you're here as you circle her desk. She chokes and sputters and rushes to minimize her browser window.

"Were you looking at wedding dresses just now?"

"What? No. Noooo."

"You were. You were shopping for fucking wedding dresses."

"This whole scenario has made your neurosis even worse. How sad."

"Pull that window back up, then. Show me what you were looking at."

"Poor thing's hallucinating now. I understand. I'm not happy about this either. But try to keep your head screwed on, all right?"

"This is a sham marriage, Rose. We go down to the courthouse and sign a slip of paper, that's all. The last thing we need right now is for you to turn into Bridezilla, okay? Get over it already."

Rose chews her lip.

"I'm serious," you say. "We're not going to have some giant, useless ceremony--"

"But shouldn't we?"

She says it all at once, blurting it out, like a coke bottle shaken up and uncapped.

"No! No we should not."

"I'm just saying..." she trails off, thinks for a turn, then avers: "Yes. This is a sham marriage. Of course. We agree. The marriage is a sham. 100%, for sure, a sham."

"Right. It's all a sham."

"Total sham. But this whole thing has to look legitimate, right? It has to look real. If the feds have a reason to suspect we only got married to invoke privilege, they can take it away. That's law. You can look that up."

You make a face. "...Is it?"

"Absolutely."

"You know that I can just walk a few feet down the hall and ask your dad about this, right?"

"Go ahead."

You massage the bridge of your nose. "Do you really want a wedding that bad--"

"No! It's a sham marriage. I get that. You're not listening to me, Alabaster. I'm telling you. This is a matter of law. You can look that up. If they have a reasonable doubt--"

"Forget it. Vivian's waiting for us."

"Of course." She right-clicks the browser window's taskbar icon, and closes it from the context menu. She stands. "But -- about the ceremony --"

"Will it shut you up if I agree to it?"

"What part of this don't you understand? This isn't what I want. It's what we need. It's a matter of law. Look it up."

"For fuck's sake--"

"You're not listening to me! The federal statutes--"

"I'll do it. Jesus Christ."

Rose sits again and pulls up some documents. Actually, many documents. Invitation templates. An agenda. A list of catering choices, and a menu for guests... wine menu separate. Venue selections. A seating chart. Music playlist. And more.

"Oh my god..." you mutter.

"...nondenominational of course, and the Bauhaus architecture really speaks to me. I think it would be perfect for a church wedding. There's a lot of room in the nave for the buffet table, too, which we'll need, especially for the fondue fountain--"

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Huh? Only since dad told me--"

"Bullshit. You didn't do this all in a day."

"Some people are productive, Alabaster. Unlike you."

"Have you been... planning our wedding? How fucking long have you been planning this?"

"There it is again. Your neurosis. Manifesting as malignant narcissism, verbal abuse, gaslighting--"

"Oh my GOD. You have this timed down to the fucking minute? 4:03 PM -- father walks bride down aisle... 4:05 PM, ring bearer approaches... holy shit."

"Why shouldn't we have a plan, Alabaster? Tell me. Tell me why we shouldn't have a plan in place. Are you so psychopathically obsessed with procrastination? Are you honestly so--"

"Hold on." You scan your eyes over the list of potential venue selections again. "Why are you only looking at churches back home?"

"Uh? Because it's where we grew up? Because that makes it the most logical place to have our wedding? Because it's what we would do if we were really high school sweethearts getting for-real married? Are you just pretending to be stupid? This is all about making it look real. So why should we not get married back home?"

"Other than the fact that Gilroy, California is a shithole? Gee, I don't know, Rose. It's also nearly an hour drive each way. I'm sure Palo has plenty of places we could--" you suddenly stop, and shake your head. "Fuck. Why am I arguing about this? Look at what you've done. Now you're trying to rope me into your stupid bullshit."

"You're roping yourself into it! If you don't want to plan, don't sit here and plan with me!"

"I'm leaving. I'm leaving, Rose, goodbye. I'm not talking about this sham wedding for one second longer. So come with me to Vivian's office or don't, I don't care."

"Hold on--"

You sigh a sigh of deep tiredness.

"I just need to know one detail. Do you have anyone in mind for groomsmen? And a best man?"

She's really serious about this crap. For as long as you've been alive, you never thought you'd have to fret over the details of a wedding. What does a best man even do? You're sure Rose knows, but you haven't a clue. Who would you even bestow such a dubious honor upon?

[ ] Whitney

[ ] Alex

>[x] Fazil

[ ] Stackleford

[ ] Custom?

"Well," you drawl, "I guess Whitney did ask to be the best man--"

"No," Rose says.

"Uh. What?"

"I already have Whitney down for maid of honor. She can't be the best man, too."

"Oh my f-- what the fuck, Rose? You and Whitney hate each other."

"Are you stupid? Just because we say we hate each other, doesn't mean we do. Why do you take everything so goddamn seriously? Whitney is great. She'll make a fine maid of honor. Besides, I want to see what she looks like in a dress. Pick someone else."

You rub your forehead. Who else is there? With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you realize a strange fact... you don't have many close male friends.

"Well, fine," you say. "I'll ask Stackleford."

Rose picks a pen holder off her desk and chucks it at your head. It rebounds off your skull and leaves an indentation in your brow.

"I'm gonna fuck you up for that," you snarl.

"Do it. I'll fuck you up if you try to bring that greasy creep within ten feet of my wedding."

"YOUR wedding? This is OUR wedding. I'll bring whoever I goddamn want--" you stop, and try to calm yourself. You're not going to play Rose's game, or let her make you care about the details of this stupid, pointless ceremony.

Just then, like a serendipitous bolt of lightning striking, in walks Fazil. "Ms. Mallory!" He says. "I am pleased to be alerting you of my update to the employee database. It is done."

"What is done?" You say suspiciously.

Rose grins at you. "I'm going to receive an hourly report by email, of every single badge swipe that every single employee makes from now on. An algorithm will flag suspicious ones, too."

You can only nod. You don't want to say so, but it's a great idea.

"Thank you, Fazil, for all your hard work," Rose says.

Looking at him and his bashful smile, you get the flash of an idea. "Hey -- do you want to be my best man?"

"I am your best man!" Fazil insists. "We are best mans forever!" He sticks out his tongue and makes a hang-10 signal with one hand. "Waaaazuuuuup!"

"No--" you say, but when Fazil looks dejected, you quickly add, "I mean, yeah, we're best buds. What I meant to say is, do you want to be the best man at my wedding?"

"Oh!" He says. "You are getting married, Ala-bast-or?"

"To her." You nod at Rose.

"Oh my goodness! Congratulations! Oh! My heart is filling with warmth and glad tidings. And--" he is honestly getting choked up here -- "to permit me such an honor! Yes, Ala-bast-or, yes! I will stand at your side during the wedding! You may count upon me, entirely! I will go to shop for a tuxedo at once! Thank you! Thank you, thank you!"

When you're alone again with Rose, you smirk at her. "That should fill the diversity quota, yeah?"

"Sure. I think Fazil is a great choice." She curls her lips to one side of her face, thinking. Then she adds: "...Just don't let him get drunk."

A rare point where you can agree with Rose.

You meet Vivian in her office, softly shutting the door behind you as you enter. She thanks you for coming and invites you both to sit.

"You can convey what I tell you, to interested parties. Whitney and Ms. Carte have already been informed... it would not do to bring you all in here at once, with mother's office just across the hall -- she might be suspicious of that."

As far as anyone else knows -- you, Rose, and Vivian are simply discussing the details of an upcoming television interview right now. Nothing more.

"Having said this..." Vivian casts her gaze upon Rose, and frowns. "This is a sensitive matter. Is it actually necessary for her to be present?"

You look from Rose, back to Vivian, thinking.

Then you say: "Yeah. It is."

"But of course. You wish to keep your bride in the know. And congratulations, Alabaster Soliloquy, on your upcoming nuptials. My warmest regards and well-wishes to both of you." She smiles wanly, then adds: "and to you, Alabaster, also my deepest condolences."

Rose flips her off.

But despite the sarcasm of that last jibe, Vivian's congratulatory message overall comes off as real. You must be regarding her strangely, because, ever the straightforward and frank girl she is, she goes on: "Of course I expect you not to fall into a life of monotony following the vows. Marriage vows are quaint things and would only tend to get in the way of all the fun."

Unlike her big sister, "monotony" was precisely the word Vivian wanted, but the message is just the same. She wants to keep seeing you. Wants to keep seeing Rose too, now that you think of it. Vivian is equally the bohemian her sister is, or perhaps moreso, even if she dresses her perversions up with high-vaunted language.

"I'll let you suck his dick on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with advance notice," Rose says.

Vivian rests her cheek on her fist and smirks at Rose. "As well as Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays... and no need for prior notification, that would simply be a mood killer. I am not a selfish girl, though -- far from it. Perhaps I'll be gracious and permit you to retain full custody on alternating Sundays."

"Could you two not talk about me like I'm a piece of meat?" You say. "I'm a human being, you know."

"Shut up," Rose tells you.

Vivian pushes her seat back from her desk and stands. "This discussion has made me amorous. I trust, Alabaster, that you are agreeable to letting me fellate you?"

"Now hold on--" Rose begins.

"Sure," you say.

"Excellent. Will you ejaculate inside me?"

Rose is appalled. "This is absolutely--"

"Of course," you say. "Where do you want it?"

"My vagina, preferably. But I know you will ejaculate wherever you please, so there is no point lodging requests. I am yours to use."

"This is not why we're here!" Rose complains. "My goodness, you two. You're like animals--"

Vivian swivels her head to coldly regard Rose. "Why must you prattle and protest so? Take off your clothes and join us. It is obvious you want to." For her part, she's already stripping out of her ostentatious black dress.

Rose makes a disgusted face. You shrug at her. And then Vivian, now wearing only a tiny pair of satin panties and a matching bra that's definitely unnecessary, is on her knees before you. The contrast of her obsidian black underwear with her nearly albino white skin tone is as alluring as always.

She's tugging weakly at your belt buckle. You help her get it undone and unzip your pants for her too. Soon her small, searching fingers find your hardening cock and pull it through your fly. The soft flesh of her hands is cool against your prick. It points proudly up from between your slightly spread legs, curved, already producing precum. Vivian licks her lips. The thing is almost as big as her entire head, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think fucking her with it would be physically impossible. But while Vivian may be frail, she's a surprisingly resilient little slut when it comes to getting your big fat prick inside her.

She lazily masturbates you with both hands corkscrewing, and just enjoys the sight of your dick from up close, underneath it. It's one of her favorite places to be, in a position of total submission to your cock. She pauses a couple times to get its leaky tip under her nose and sniff it -- smearing your cock juice all over her upper lip in the process.

"You two are disgusting -- absolute pigs."

"That is quite right," Vivian coos, still playing with your now fully erect cock. She stares longingly into your eyes and says: "I am a pig... I am a sow for cock... yes." She breaks eye contact with you now, glances up at Rose. "Please don't be jealous. A massive penis like this cannot be satisfied with just one partner, but needs multiple women to pleasure it. Doesn't it? It is no one's fault. Alabaster's penis needs to inseminate as many orifices as it can find... and we helpless to do anything other than offer ours up for his personal use. Please, now, come here and assist me... I rather enjoy working on him in pairs..."

Rose is an open book to Vivian. She was right: your fiancée can protest against your degeneracy all she wants, but that degeneracy is mutual. Vivian's little speech has Rose shifting uncomfortably in her chair, rubbing her fat thighs together, and chewing her lip.

You prod her another way. "I'm gonna fuck Vivian. You can get fucked too if you want, but you won't stop us either way -- why not be part of it, then?"

Tremblingly, Rose slides out of her chair and gets on her knees on the carpeted floor. Vivian is more than accommodating, and scoots a bit to the side to make room for her new partner.

"Rose, do you like kissing girls?" Vivian asks.

Rose sort of half shrugs, half shakes her head.

"Excellent. Do you want to kiss me between Alabaster's cock?"

Rose is mute but her eyes are half-lidded and glimmering with lust. Vivian, taking that as a yes, grabs your dick by the base and pulls it down towards her lips. And though her lips are very small, they're nice and wet and hot against your shaft when she kisses it. Clasping Rose behind her head, she pulls her into a passionate kiss that makes you moan in sheer delight. Your dick is too fat for their lips to meet from opposite sides, but their tongues snake out and mingle with one another, coating the sensitive underside with their collective drool as they lewdly make out and suckle on you. To add to your pleasure, they each lay a hand around the base, and work together to jerk you off too. Their wonderful technique squeezes out a few thick, transparent streams of fuckslop from your piss slit, that trickle down by gravity and mix with their saliva. They don't seem to care about this added humiliation.

Vivian is bolder still, and reaches out for Rose's chest as they kiss. She molests Rose's tits through the material of her blouse, causing her to whine and squirm. But neither girl breaks the kiss. Their tongues lick and swab your cock all over, and soon the two girls have you almost ready to cum on their faces.

But Vivian won't let the proceedings end so quickly. She pulls away from servicing you. Rose, who's a bigger sow for cock than Vivian could ever hope to be, uses the opportunity to claim you all for herself. She clutches your shaft to her face and rubs it all over herself, her forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, basking in the slimy degradation. She would keep going until you pop off and hose her down with a creamy load, but Vivian grabs her by the collar, and rips her blouse open. Buttons go flying. Rose recoils, howling in protest: "What the fuck!"

"Keep sucking his cock," Vivian instructs. "I want to play with your breasts."

"You horrible little--" Rose begins, but you grab a fistful of hair and roughly force her back towards your waiting prick. Her anger over a ruined blouse can wait -- you need to cum. You push yourself past her pink lips and into her warm, moist, cunt-hole of a mouth. Such a nice sensation.

Vivian reaches behind Rose and undoes her bra. Rose always has trouble getting bras in her size and usually wears ones that are uncomfortably small. So when Vivian gets the clasp undone, Rose's already humongous tits seem to grow even bigger, springing free and expanding, practically shooting the bra off her body.

"Oh my~" Vivian says haughtily. "Such indecent things. You really are a whore, Rose."

Roses gasps but cannot say anything in response, not with your prickhead scraping against her tonsils. Vivian falls to all fours and gets underneath her. With both hands, she tests the heft of Rose's udders. Her dainty fingers seem to disappear into the flesh as she presses up on them from the underside and feels how heavy they truly are. There's a bit of jealousy in the way she handles them and marvels at them. For Vivian, jealousy always leads to anger, and anger to a desire to punish. She wraps her lips around one of Rose's big pink nipples and suckles on it, but after a few moments, this playful little bit of oral stimulation turns violent. She purposely begins to scrape her teeth against it, back and forth, turning it raw and bright red. Rose hisses and tries to pull back, her shoulders wriggling. But you grasp her by the hair with both hands, down at the roots, and keep her firmly planted on your sawing cock. You really don't give a shit what Vivian does to her. The wet hole of her mouth is bringing you off, and that's all that matters right now.

Vivian's abusive treatment of Rose's tit-meat gets even more vicious. Turning to the other nipple now, Vivian bites down on it, and lightly grinds it between her incisors. Tauntingly, to mix some pleasure with the agony, she also flicks it with the tip of her tongue. Rose has no idea what to do with these conflicting stimulations, and begins to shiver as you fuck her face. Her throat filled with fuckmeat, her squeals are nothing more than pleasant vibrations against your genitals that only serve to make you feel even better.

Rose isn't in a mood to tolerate this kind of hard use for much longer. She finally pushes herself off your horny cock, and gets away from Vivian's curious mouth. Enraged, she hauls off, and punches Vivian -- hard, right in the tummy, making Vivian fall to her back with a shocked, agonized gurgle. Rose wasn't fucking around with that blow. The force of it has made Vivian foam at the mouth a little, and a trickle of urine escapes her little pussy as she lies on the ground. But when Vivian rises again to her butt, despite the foam and drool at the corners of her mouth, and the mess she made of her panties, she's grinning happily. "That was fun. Hit me more."

This catches Rose so off-guard that it totally defuses her anger. She just huffs and stares in awe at this pale little girl who doesn't care, whatsoever, who is doing what to who -- just as long as it feels good.

Vivian scooches herself forward now, takes your prick in hand, and stares up at you. "Would you like the use of my mouth again, Alabaster?"

You nod. She immediately swallows your cock in her hungry maw. Her tiny jaw looks almost ready to dislocate as she gapes it open and forces your fleshy pole into the back of her throat. Though she has plenty of experience sucking you off, the physical reality of your size difference means she still gags horribly when she deepthroats you. Her retching and heaving against your dick feel great, especially how it brings up rivers of slimy drool from her gullet that hotly coat your shaft. All that saliva makes pretty little bubbles around the edges of her thinly-stretched lips. It messes up her makeup and runs down her chin. She bounces her throat up and down on your prick like she's fucking you with her cunt, and doesn't let her gagging slow her down.

Rose stands and pulls your face towards hers, kissing you sweetly. "At least she knows her place," she whispers.

"I don't think she even has a concept of place," you reply. "You could learn a thing or two from her..."

Rose frowns at you. But then she can't stop herself, and kisses you again. You make out with her for long, wonderful minutes while the noises of Vivian's retching mouth fill the room, and you enjoy the rivulets of her drool running down your cock. You can hardly believe how sexy it feels, her little tongue's wagging, the tightness of her esophagus. Rose reaches down into her skirt, and plays with her pussy while you kiss. The aroma of female arousal hangs heavy in the air, Rose's and Vivian's both, two girls whose pussies get all hot and wet and horny from servicing your dick.

"Why don't you help me fuck her?" You ask Rose.

"Hmm?" She doesn't want to talk, she just wants to run her tongue through your mouth and jill herself off. She tenaciously keeps kissing you even as you try to suggest the next thing.

"Help me punish her," you say.

"Hmm hmm~" she laughs, still kissing you, but finally she manages: "How?"

"Hold her while I rape her..."

Rose's eyes glint. Her hand against her pussy moves even faster.

You gently beckon Vivian to her feet. You're not sure how much of that conversation she overheard, so you politely inform her: "I'm going to rape you now."

A bubble of spit pops between her lips, and the delicate features of her face are messily blurred beneath a thick coating of slime. She replies hoarsely: "yes, of course. Rape me to your heart's content."

"Rose is going to help."

"She should. The more people you get to rape me, the better."

Rose tugs Vivian's panties to her feet and Vivian obediently steps out of them. Rose gets her bra off next. And now Vivian, petite little Vivian, barely more developed than a prepubescent girl, stands naked but entirely unashamed before you.

Rose rubs her chest from behind, and remarks: "fucking pathetic. You don't even have tits. No wonder Alabaster likes fucking me more."

With her other hand, she reaches down between Vivian's legs and plays with her sloppy pussy. Vivian shudders and bows her head. She loves being verbally assaulted, and she loves being physically assaulted even more.

"Get her in my lap," you instruct.

Rose does as ordered and forces Vivian up into your chair with you.

"Get my dick in her."

Rose reaches into your lap from between Vivian's knees, takes your cock-shaft in hand and steers it back towards the slightly parted opening of her vulva. Vivian lightly clutches your shoulders for support. But then you snap: "no hands," so Rose, an eager assistant in Vivian's total debasement, roughly takes Vivian's wrists and pins them behind her back. Now, pressing down on the little girl's shoulders, Rose gets your cock stuffed into Vivian's pussy.

Vivian's flat body goes stiff. You lean back, hands interlaced behind your head, and enjoy the tight confines of her child-sized vagina. Rose, bearing down on Vivian with all her weight, gets you bottomed out inside her. Your prick juts up against, and then pops right through, the opening of her cervix. You're all the way inside Vivian's sucking womb. Its walls wrap around the tip of your dick like a form-fitting onahole. Fucking a girl straight up to her uterus is a rare and deliciously perverted pleasure, and Vivian is among your favorite to do it to. Seeding her up, right in her baby-room, always gives you some of your most powerful orgasms. But of course Vivian was right; you need all the orifices you can get for your horny prick to cum inside of.

"Move her up and down," you growl.

"Of course," Rose purrs.

She holds Vivian about the waist and tugs her body up and down. Vivian is so small and light that even unathletic Rose has no trouble with it. It's as if Rose is just jerking you off with a particularly realistic cocksleeve. You sigh deeply in contentment. Vivian, overwhelmed by your size, stares blankly and brokenly back at you. Whether she even registers anymore what is happening to her is anyone's guess. But somehow she's enjoying herself -- if her clamping, juicing little cuntlet is any indication. You buck your hips, half involuntarily, and fuck back against her.

"I need to cum," Rose grunts. "Fuck, I need to cum..."

You roll your eyes. "Fine. I'll do all the work." You take over for her, grabbing Vivian's thin hips, and masturbate yourself inside her body. Rose, gulping down air, stumbles backward and leans her tailbone against Vivian's desktop. She hikes up her skirt, baring her naked innie of a pussy, and starts rubbing her clit frantically.

She grunts as she masturbates: "Rape her... rape her... rape that fucking cunt..."

Not that Rose should get all the enjoyment. You clasp Vivian's chin and pull her into a sweet kiss as you pound her. Rose never particularly likes seeing you kiss another girl, even after all you've done together, but right now her mind is so fucked up and high on sexual pleasure that she can't stop playing with herself. Rose squirts her girl-cum all over the floor of the office, wailing, as you rape Vivian's mouth with your tongue and rape her twat with your cock.

Gritting your teeth, you feel a surge of adrenaline and then that wonderful rush of semen up your urethra. You cock pulses, throbs, and then squirts -- right against the back wall of Vivian's too-small womb. The volume of your jism quickly fills her tiny fuckhole and seeps out all around you, staining your pants, and smearing her bald cunt lips with pearly white cream. Rose throws her head back, eyes tightly closed, and surrenders to a rolling orgasm of her own. She mashes her clitoris and digs her fingers through her quim and gyrates her hips, cumming and cumming and cumming. It's such a nice sight to accompany dropping a load up this elegant billionaire's cunt.

Vivian retrieves a fresh pair of pants for you, and a fresh blouse for Rose. After so long working at Darkbloom Analytics, you've all learned to keep a few sets of clean clothes on-campus -- just in case.

Rose is still flushed and sweaty, but she gets down to business right away. "What did you want to tell Alabaster about?"

Vivian is also still composing herself after that spectacularly hard use, but she manages an answer. "Before I excised my father from Cerise's head... he revealed to me a few more details about this technology I think are pertinent to the current situation."

You raise an eyebrow.

"We are not the only people -- or I should say, Sable Guiteau is not the only person -- to have worked on technology similar to Sand Reckoner. The USSR, as far back as the 1980s, also theorized that a mind sufficiently enhanced could unlock the power to alter reality. That a properly coordinated mind-machine interface could slide between worlds..."

"Fucking wonderful," you say. "So Stasi Lebedev -- and your mother --"

"As far as father knew, Soviet research into this area faltered when the cold war ended. It came to be seen as the realm of cranks and crackpots, much like contemporaneous US research into psychological warfare and parascience. Stasi Lebedev was in the Soviet military during that time, though, and is likely to have known of the project... if indeed she had an implant of her own as you say, then I daresay it's a certainty."

"In other words, the Russians have their own Sand Reckoner," Rose summarizes.

"Not quite. If they are so insistent on taking ours, then clearly their version is deficient, lacking in some way... but now, with the Chinese also showing interest, and even US allies as well -- Alabaster, Rose... we are entering into conditions that could spark a world war. This is not an exaggeration."

You massage your face and stare down at your lap.

"Father was aware of rumors," Vivian says, "nothing concrete, but... the Soviets had a different conception of world-lines than Sable does. They believed that as realities can be separated, so too can they be merged. Supposedly, there is a rogue facility continuing their research into these matters... somewhere deep in Russia's interior. If such is the case..."

"I understand," you say. "That's why I shouldn't get this thing taken out of my head just yet."

"The more aces we have and the more sleeves to stow them in, the better," Vivian says. "Yes."

"I still think we should take it out," Rose says. "I'm sick of being tethered to this company... of having your life depend on us staying in business."

"Mr. Best will fix that," Vivian says.

"You trust him?" You say.

"Not in the slightest. But I know he adores you, so he will take the course of action he sees as likeliest to help you."

"He is sort of crazy for you," Rose says.

You nod. You guess they're right. Alex Best is a lot of things -- but he's definitely in love with you. You wish you could say how you feel about him.

---

"My little boy is getting married! How -- how wonderful!"

Mom reaches for you, and before you can stop her, it's happening: she's squeezing your cheeks, pulling at them like taffy.

You fight her off and step back, away from her clutches. You sit down on Mom's living room couch again. "Geez," you groan. "You're awfully touchy-feely all of sudden."

She stands straight and clears her throat, a fist to her lips. "Ahem. Well. I-it's not that I'm overjoyed to see my son about to have -- to have the best, most important day of his life -- or -- or anything. I'm just glad to know you won't be a shiftless unmarried loser for the rest of your life -- like I thought you would be!"

Beside you on the couch, Cerise pipes up. "Uh... I guess this is a good time to mention it, huh? I'm -- ahem -- I'm getting married too."

Mom's eyelids flutter. She puts a hand to her chest. "No! Oh -- oh, my -- this is --" She can't contain her broad, silly smile. She hugs Cerise so tight you worry she'll suffocate her. When she finally pulls away, still holding Cerise by the shoulders, she asks: "who's the lucky man?"

Cerise coughs.

"Come on, now -- don't be shy! What's his name?"

"A-Anna."

Mom's mouth hangs partway open, her smile frozen there on her face, while she considers this. "His name is Anna?"

"Her name is Anna."

A long, awkward beat passes, with Mom's mental faculties ground entirely to a halt, her expression once again frozen, and Cerise cringing back at her.

But finally, she hugs Cerise again, just as tight as the first time, and says, "this is absolutely wonderful news! I'm so glad you found someone!" She stands tall again and tells you both: "Wait here." With that, she turns, and hurries upstairs.

You look at Cerise. "You proposed to Gal?"

"Yeah."

"How did she take it? I mean, she said yes, so I guess she took it well."

"She never saw it coming... but yeah... you were right. She flipped her shit. She's... she's happy."

"How about you?"

Cerise looks at her lap. She smiles to herself. "Yeah. Me too."

Mom comes thudding back down the stairs, and she's in such a rush she almost takes a pratfall at the bottom step. Still unbalanced, she skids into the living room and shouts: "Here, here!"

She thrusts a slightly tarnished silver band into your palm, and a gold band into Cerise's.

"Wedding rings?" Cerise says.

"Your father's and mine... they may need to be resized, but... well... I have no more use for them. You should keep them. Both of you."

You look at Cerise and shrug. Hey, at least that's one detail knocked out -- no need to go shopping for a ring. Rose will need one, but at least you've got yours now.

---

Things are moving at a breakneck pace. Only yesterday you made it official, and the wedding is scheduled for Sunday. Saul and Charlotte want to get it done as quickly as possible, since of course the main object is legal protection for both you and Rose. Actually -- the only object is legal protection for you and Rose. Why else would you get married?

So, as you return to work for an awful Saturday spent in crisis management, you're more than a bit taken aback to see Noelle carrying a box full of personal effects out of the FBI security cordon.

When she sees you, she startles, but then her expression relaxes and she sighs.

"Sayonara," she says.

"...Thanks, Stackleford."

Noelle hefts the box to one arm and gives you the finger. She could get along with Rose if their stations in life didn't force them into conflict.

"What do you mean sayonara? Where are you going?"

"Letting Makoto Kikuchi die on my watch was the last straw. I'm off the investigation. Or at least, that's the official excuse. The truth is that your adoptive father twisted the government's arm hard enough that they're backing off. So..." She shifts her weight to her other foot. "You'll like my replacement. His name is Hugh, and he's a moron, and he'll do whatever the higher ups tell him to. You're free and clear, basically. Everything from this point forward is just for show..."

"...Just like that?"

"I was hoping to sneak out of here without you seeing me. But you sure know how to show up at the worst places and the worst times, don't you? It was nice knowing you, Alabaster."

You look at the bobblehead in her box, the one of Mugi from K-On, and the figma of devil Homura beside it. Then upwards, you direct your gaze to her weary, hardened face. She was just doing her job -- and now she's out of it.

"They're reassigning you?"

"They fired me."

"Oh."

"I'm thinking I could join a local PD as a homicide cop. Or maybe follow Kay's lead and join the fourth estate... I have connections, and I'm sure I'd get a lot of juicy scoops -- or whatever the fuck. Well. The world is my oyster now, I guess."

She steps past you, on her way out the door.

>[x] We should get coffee sometime.

[ ] Sayonara.

"Oh?" Noelle says. "And why is that?"

"Because -- well, because why not?"

"Other than the fact that you completely destroyed my life?"

You clear your throat and shuffle your feet. Noelle has an awful way of cutting to the chase. "I'm -- I'm sorry," you manage.

"It's fine. I guess I wreaked a little havoc in your life too. Tit for tat."

"Yeah."

"Sure. I'll get coffee with you... but let's get this out of the way right off the bat. I'm not going to fuck you again."

You frown. "Do you honestly think I'm that single-minded?"

"Yes. Yes I do." She looks up at the tall ceiling of the lobby, and considers her options. She says: "There's this cute little cafe on Middlefield, near Hoov--"

"Pick somewhere else. Please."

"Coffee Bean?"

"That sounds great."

She puts the box on the tile floor, takes a sharpie and a pad from it, and scrawls her phone number down. She tears the strip of paper, folds it up, and sticks it in your pocket. "Call me up sometime... sometime soon."

You stand there staring at her for a moment. And then, fuck it, why not: you lean in and kiss her on the lips.

"You are such an ass," Noelle says, after spending a moment returning it.

"So are you."

"I'll see you around. I'm bringing a rape whistle next time, so don't get any big ideas."

She collects her things and leaves. You watch her go, feeling melancholy. And then a realization strikes you: if the FBI is backing off, and won't pursue you over your involvement with the nightclub shooting or anything else...

There's no more reason to marry Rose.

>[x] Tell her.

[ ] Keep this to yourself.

You step into Rose's office. She's uncharacteristically shy and demure, little over 24 hours away from the big moment, and can hardly meet your gaze. Instead, she stares madly at her desktop. She's blushing.

"Hello Rose."

"Hello Alabaster."

Her reply is meek and mild.

"Listen, uh... I just saw Noelle--"

No more meekness. "That cunt! Oh, she's really pushing us. Did she try to drag you back in for interrogation? This is bad. Oh goodness. There's nothing we can do, then. We'll have to get married tonight instead. This is a critical situation!"

You squint and wince. And then you explain to Rose the truth.

"...Oh," she says, when you're through.

"I mean, this is great news, right? You're -- you're happy. You're happy about that."

"Yes... oh, yes, obviously. It's... wonderful... just amazing news. I'm -- beside myself with relief. To think we almost got married!" She forces a bitter laugh. "What a disaster that would have been. Marrying you. How absurd. But now we don't have to do something so awful and ridiculous. Just in the nick of time, too... I mean... phew. Right?" She fiddles with a paperweight on her desk. "We were hardly... one day away... one day away from having our fates sealed... forever..."

"It's great," you insist. "I'm really glad too. I'll go let everyone know -- that the wedding is -- canceled. That we're cancelling the wedding."

"Of course."

"No more wedding."

"What a relief!"

An awkward silence descends that seems to last an eternity.

"You know--" you begin.

"This has all the makings of a trap," Rose interjects.

"Yeah! That's exactly what I was thinking--"

"--they're trying to trick us--"

"--somehow, the FBI found out about our plan, and--"

"--and they think they can make us go back on it, and then--"

"--boom! In they swoop, and we would have absolutely no recourse--"

"--no recourse whatsoever--"

"--without spousal privilege--"

"--we'd be totally exposed, in a legal sense... they could do anything they wanted to us--"

"--so of course--"

"--of course--"

"--and not that I want to--"

"--I mean, neither do I, don't be ridiculous--"

"--but it can't be helped--"

"--literally, it can't be. It cannot be helped--"

"--no helping it--"

"--no helping it at all--"

"--I can't believe they thought we were that stupid--"

"--to fall for such an obvious ploy--"

"--as if we would!--"

Rose springs to her feet, leaning with her fists balled up against the desktop. "--we should get married twice! Just to spite them!"

You narrow your eyes at her. "Don't get carried away, Rose."

She purses her lips and bows her head and stares at her desk again.

Whitney bursts in. "There you are! Fuck!"

"What's wrong?" You say, feeling a surge of adrenaline. Whitney is rarely so serious.

"Look at the time!" Whitney yells.

You glance at the clock on the wall. 2:37 PM. Absolutely nothing special about the time whatsoever. You look back at Whitney, bewildered.

"It's almost 24 hours before the thing!" Whitney says.

"...The wedding?" Rose says.

Whitney is already behind you, palms against the back, trying to push you from the office. "The groom isn't supposed to see the bride for 24 hours before the wedding! It's bad luck."

You bounce Whitney back a step with your butt and then wheel on her. "What a bunch of superstitious bullshit. What is this, the 1800s? That's ridiculous."

"Eat my whole entire ass, Ally. Eat it."

"I mean -- if you're offering."

She sticks her tongue out at you. "Anyway, we've got a big night ahead of us. A Rose-free night."

"I don't like where this is going," you say.

"Bachelor party! Woot woot!" She tugs at an invisible something in the air, as if blaring the horn of a semi truck.

"That's what I was worried about."

"You're the maid of honor!" Rose protests. "You're not supposed to arrange the bachelor party!"

Whitney grins, wide and toothy. "Don't worry, Rose. I've got only the best talent on top of the bachelorette party, too."

"...Who?" Rose demands.

"My mom, of course!"

Rose turns a shade of pale green as she considers the prospect of what might be in store.

Whitney smiles up at you. "C'mon, Ally! Let's go! We'll get all this work bullshit out of the way as quick as possible. Then we'll hit the fucking town!"

Oh boy.

You're standing at a urinal in the executive bathroom after a long meeting, relieving your bladder, when someone takes the stall beside you. You're a courteous and discreet user of public restrooms, so you don't even glance over. Until this other person speaks:

"Man, I don't think the geometry of this is going to work out."

Your spine goes rigid and you cut your stream off prematurely. You gasp: "What the fuck! Dr. Carte?"

"Talk about penis envy," she says, looking down at the toilet bowl. She has her hands pressed to her trousers, thumbs and forefingers making a diamond centered over where a penis would be, considering it. "I always wished I could pee standing." She looks at you now. "Guess I'll have to come back on my own time and try again."

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed to get you someplace private -- what better place than a bathroom, right?"

"The men's bathroom?"

"They should really make a law against that, huh? Listen. I heard through the grapevine that you've got -- a special something in your pocket." You glance down at your crotch, where your penis is still protruding from your zipper. "No, not that. I already know about that one. I mean something that came out of our mutual friend."

Oh. That.

"I could really use it," she says. "If all this shit about crazy Soviet psyops projects is true -- I think if I could get that thing in an... interrogation-type setting, if you will..."

"You want to interrogate the ghost of David Darkbloom."

"Shh! Yes. We need more information. And who knows how much of what he told Vivian is a lie..."

"But how?"

"Circuit bending, of course. Your sister is all for it." She pulls her purse from her shoulder and opens it for you to look inside. "Meet the new corporeal housing of the worst person to ever live -- a Tiger Electronics brand Furby toy -- uh, imagine a trademark symbol there. Well. You get the picture."

There's something darkly comical about that. David Darkbloom trapped inside a children's toy, forever. You can picture it now: "Me hungry. Achoo. Worry."

>[x] Do it.

[ ] Don't do it.

"Furbytize the fucker," you say, handing the implant over. Dr. Carte takes it with all the clandestine shifty-eyed nervousness of a first-time buyer getting a baggie of weed. She shoves it in her purse and hooks the straps back over her shoulder.

Then she punches you in the chest.

"Oof-- what the hell!"

"Why are you marrying such a fucking harpy, Alabaster? What's wrong with my daughter? Is she not good enough for you?"

You move to stuff your dick back in your pants, rather than stand here arguing with Dr. Carte while it hangs out in the open. But she stops with a hand held up. "Oh no you don't. I'm not through with that thing yet."

You feel a twinge of mixed fear and interest.

"Your daughter encouraged me to do this," you huff. "Go bitch at her."

"I did. And I will again! You two are perfect for each other!"

"Don't you have a bachelorette party to get to?" You say.

"Yes, I do." She winks at you. "I'll be sure to take my penis envy out on your blushing bride. Hopefully I don't leave her too wrecked for the honeymoon..."

"For your sake, I hope you don't."

She steps closer, and with a sultry laugh she rubs the tip of her nose against yours. Simultaneously, she cups your exposed genitals. "Of course, you can always soothe the savage beast inside me a bit... and then I might go easier on the poor bitch."

>[x] Soothe the savage beast.

[ ] Later.

You relax and allow Dr. Carte to do as she wishes. You figure she's going to anyway. She's a lot like her two daughters. She can get a little scary, and a lot pushy, when she's horny.

Still showering you with Eskimo kisses, she rubs her palm in slow circles around your crotch, bringing your soft dick to life in no time.

"You're making a terrible mistake with this Rose person," Dr. Carte whispers. "One of us Carte girls would be a much better choice. We know how to treat this thing between your legs..."

You cut her off with a deep and tender kiss. Her mouth tastes of menthol, but it's not unpleasant -- just different. You actually kind of like it. You buck your hips and whinny a bit, as Dr. Carte's smooth rubbing motions turn into a loose grip around your cock, and she begins to jerk you off.

You reach down, your arm crossing with hers, and undo her trousers. She allows you to, and soon she's shimmying her hips to get them off her shapely butt. But with her shoes still on, it's no use taking the time to pull her pants completely off -- so she just stands there in the middle of the bathroom with her pants around her ankles, wet panties on display, playing with your dick. You make out with her like she's the one you're marrying tomorrow.

"This is really dirty," she says. "Fucking me right here in the men's bathroom."

"You're the one who wanted it."

"Mm hmm. I did." She swirls her tongue around with yours and your saliva mingles sweetly. "I'm really dirty, Alabaster... will you fuck my dirty pussy for me?"

Your dick throbs in her soft palm. She knows how to get to you. When she wants to turn you on, every word of hers is calculated to bring you to your knees and make you think with your little head. You love it.

"Hey, Dr. Carte--"

"Renee."

"--do you think Darkbloom is aware right now? Do you think he's experiencing the world?"

"Hmm. Maybe."

You reach for her purse, and pull the implant out. You take it and set it on the rim of the urinal, the glowing blue grain facing out, pointed at the two of you.

Dr. Carte laughs evilly. "You're terrible," she chides.

"Jerk me off some more."

She does, with both hands, and makes a spectacle of it. She twists her palms around as and masturbates you with fast, passionate strokes. She winks at the implant. "Sorry, David..." she says. "But now you can tell why I would choose him over you, right? It's obvious..."

She gets down on her knees on the tile floor, and, staring adoringly up at you, she swallows your cock into her mouth. She bobs up and down on it, her hands clutching your knees, and lets the head of your prick scrape the back of her throat.

Her technique has improved so markedly over time that whenever she blows you, she hardly gags at all. But this time -- again, for show -- she gags and sputters quite a lot. She coughs and chokes on your pulsing cock. Her spit runs in thick strands to the dirty ground. She gropes blindly to her side now, curls her fingers around the rim of the urinal for leverage, and works like hell to get your entire prick down her throat.

"You are such a good little cocksucker," you groan.

Dr. Carte pulls you out of her mouth. It makes a lewd little 'plop' when she does. She massages the slick underside of your cock with a flattened palm. She drags her tongue along the circumference of your mushroom head, and breathes huskily: "You made me into a good little cocksucker... thank you for that, Alabaster... I love sucking you off."

You lace your fingers through her hair and tug her back to your groin. She reaches into your pants and pulls out your nutsack out too. Then, still gripping the urinal, she buries her nose against your testicles at the point where they join your shaft, and inhales deeply. She huffs your masculine scent, like an addict huffing paint, hugging your ass with her other hand to push you even harder against her. When she pulls back, her face is wet and red, and her eyes are dark with hunger. "God. I love your dick. It's so fucking perfect."

She licks your cock-shaft up and down, chin tilted upwards, staring into your eyes the whole time. You know if she keeps going like this, you'll cum. And plastering her face with jizz sounds really nice, but you need to make this special. You've got an audience, after all.

"Dr. Carte -- Renee. Are you on birth control?"

"Hmm? No." She flicks her tongue back and forth, lapping at your dick-leak like a kitten.

"Do you wanna get pregnant today?"

She giggles. "That would be so fun. Do you want to knock my pussy up, Alabaster?"

"Fuck yes I do."

"Go right ahead... make a baby in me..."

You tug her to to her feet, and roughly pull her panties down, just far enough to expose her mature little pussy. Then you wheel her around, and get her against the tiled wall -- her legs astride the urinal where the implant sits. Her body is pressed uncomfortably up against the chrome handle and pipework, her cheek mashed against the wall, but her pussy is creaming right up. She loves it. She really is a dirty girl.

"Here it comes, bitch. Get pregnant."

"Okay, Alabaster... okay... I'll get pregnant for you."

You unceremoniously shove your cock into her and fuck her with rapid upward thrusts. The force of your mating pushes her even harder against the wall, and your crotch slaps wetly against her plump ass. You pull her ass cheeks apart and admire the dark brown hole there. You probe a couple fingers in her mouth, which she sucks and licks without question. With the lubrication of her drool, you push your digits into her anus and molest her while you fuck her out. You enjoy the rubbery give of her ass and the silky texture of her cunt. Dr. Carte shivers in pleasure. She crooks an arm and runs her palm sensuously through her hair. She looks back over her shoulder at you. "Oh yes," she moans. "Play with my ass while you fuck me pregnant..."

In and out you pump, your mingled fluids dripping down, all over the urinal, and all over the thing sitting atop it too. You fuck Dr. Carte mercilessly, as if she's nothing to you but a hole, and she plays right along -- this is getting her off powerfully.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Get your fucking cum up inside me!"

You wiggle your fingers around in her asshole and hold her by the shoulder. You stuff her full of that cock of yours, that she loves more than anything else. The cock she'd happily let get her pregnant if only to have a few more minutes of it inside her, if only to feel just one more hot, gooey load sloshing around in her belly. The cock she she's totally addicted to.

"Fuck," you grunt, "I'm gonna do it... I'm gonna blow my fucking nuts in you."

"Yes! Don't stop!"

You jab your cock madly in, as far as you can get it, your balls mashing up almost painfully against the cushion of her butt. And then it comes. Your messy load spurts out, over the course of ten or eleven agonizingly pleasurable seconds -- pulse after pulse. You fill her completely, and then some.

"Oh fuck -- I feel it! You're cumming in me! Do it! FUCK yes!"

She blows a load of her own, her pussy spraying all over the urinal, as you ejaculate in her fertile cunt. All that talk of pregnancy is just bedroom talk, of course, but as you feel her filling up with your seed, as you feel it oozing and shooting from the tip of your dick, you think to yourself that it wouldn't be so bad. For you, anyway. It must surely be hell for the man sitting beneath you, getting sprayed with your sloppy seconds.

---

Armstrong approaches you, fluted champagne glass in hand. You stand in the lavish expanse of the hotel's conference room, that Whitney has rented out and turned practically into a brothel. Half naked -- and, in a couple cases, fully naked -- bunny girls skitter to and fro with platters, serving the guests. The fact that Whitney settled on a theme like this is hardly surprising. Both her biological parents share the same proclivity towards slutty bunnies. Hell, you're beginning to acquire the taste yourself.

"Latching yourself down to the ol' ball and chain, eh?" Armstrong says. He slaps your back so hard it knocks the wind from you. "Dumb fuckin' move if you ask me, but hey -- the heart wants what it wants, right?"

"Uh... yeah."

"I thought for sure you'd marry Whitney, if for no other reason than the financial security. Now Nelson, he had his money on Cerise, thought you two had some kinda Jaime-Cersei thing going. The weirdo. Tyrus was convinced you'd end up with Vivian in the end since he thinks you're both on the spectrum and figures it would fit. Y'know, compatibility-wise."

"Wait. Help me understand. You were all actively debating over who I was going to marry?"

"But now I can't blame you for the choice you did make! That Rose is one sexy fucking dimepiece. I'd fuck her even if her pussy is lined with barbed wire. Hey, just between you and me -- is it? She sure acts like it sometimes."

You leer back at him, grinning smugly. "It isn't. Just the opposite, actually."

"Haha! Now I get it. She hypnotized you with her vagina. All makes sense now. Jesus Christ, Alabaster, how does a dorky kid like you fuck so much? Life just isn't fucking fair. I swear to heaven."

"Mazel Tov!" Nelson says. He approaches you from behind, laying a surprisingly firm hand on your shoulder. "I have to say, I don't always agree with Whitney's decisions as CEO, but she chose a GREAT theme for the party."

"Did she say whether these girls are free to fuck?" Armstrong adds.

You shrug. "I assume, since it's Whitney, that yes they are."

Armstrong tugs at his tie. "Goddamn. Boss of the year 2019."

Speak of the devil, up comes one of the skimpily dressed girls now. Only a microbikini conceals her treasures, and her chest is considerable so it doesn't do a great job. From the side you can see her pussy. "Snacks?" She asks.

Armstrong pokes her tummy, and she jumps back, skittish. "You're a snack," he growls.

She giggles stupidly.

He takes a bite-sized sandwich from her platter and eats it. Nelson partakes too, but you decline. They gawk at her totally exposed backside as she walks off to serve others. You can tell how the cottontail is secured to her, and it isn't with tape. The two men lick their lips.

You, though -- you've got enough girls to fuck already, and you're not too interested in screwing some random stripper. But at least your guests are happy, right?

You sit on an ottoman in the corner, accompanying an Ottoman. Fazil.

"This is not a chaste gathering," he says.

"No. It sure isn't."

"These proceedings are testing my willpower."

You sip at your glass of bubbly. "And how's that willpower holding up?"

"Terribly."

"Good man." You reach into your pocket and produce two black felt boxes. You hand them over. "Wikipedia says one of the things a best man does is hold on to the rings until we tie the knot. So, uh, here."

"Thank you, Alabaster. I will cherish and protect them." Even as he says this, his eyes aren't on the ring boxes, but rather following one of the nakeder girls wandering around.

"I'll pray for you," you tell him.

"Please do. I think I shall need it."

Your moment of relative peace shatters when Stackleford approaches. "This is amaaaa-aaazing," he says. One of the bunnygirls is hanging off of him, hugging him around the shoulders and stroking his biceps. If only that girl knew what he looked like just a year ago. "I owe Whitney, like, big time. BIG time."

"Who invited you? Did Whitney invite you?"

"Uh."

"Goddamn it, Stackleford."

"This is so cool, though! What a party, huh? Huh?" The girl hanging off him agrees, at least. She strokes his chin and kisses his cheek.

"Why don't you and your rent-a-slut go have some snacks?" You say. "There's some nice yakisoba on the buffet table over there."

"Euch. Yakisoba? More like yucky-- more like-- more like YUCKY soba. Am I right? High five."

You leave him hanging. "Every day, I regret just a little bit more that I didn't let you die in the desert."

"Yo... that's kind of an asshole thing to say, bro."

"You're kind of an asshole person to be. So it works out."

"Well, anyway, as they say -- Mazel Tov!"

"Don't hang around with my Jew," you say. "Or any of my other board members."

Stackleford laughs as if you aren't serious, and departs for the snack table.

A few men at the broad, tall double doors leading into the room stand at attention and blow ceremoniously on trumpets.

And then into the room, sitting airborne atop a quadcopter the size of a cushion from a large living room sectional, Whitney enters.

Steering it for her by remote control, and walking underneath, is Ken Smith.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" Whitney says. She sits imperiously, spine straight and chin jutting out. She's wearing a cape and crown, and brandishes a scepter. "I hereby announce the wedding of -- ah!"

She startles as the quadcopter yaws perilously far backwards, almost sending her falling seven or eight feet to her ass. But Ken, bless him, rights the contraption in time.

"--ahem. Of Alabaster Thomas Soliloquy, first of his name!"

"The fuck is this..." you mutter.

The rest of the guests, though confused, nonetheless respond with muted applause.

Whitney's ride circles the room above everyone's heads. They gawk up at her. You, too. And so you're distracted enough that you don't notice Kay until she's sitting beside you.

"Any words from the groom to be on the eve of his wedding?" She asks.

"Fuck. Don't scare me like that."

"Question. Is it true that this is a sham marriage, conducted purely for the invocation of spousal privilege?"

You curl your lips up. "Now, how would you know such a thing?"

"Daddy Mallory gets loose lipped when he's sloshed." She points across the room, to Saul. His face is rosy, his hands digging lewdly in the crotch of a squirming bunnygirl as they both watch Whitney floating around.

"Jesus," you say.

"So? Is it true?"

"No. Rose and I love each other very much. We're doing this because of our deep and abiding passion for one another..."

Kay cackles. "You can only tell the truth by acting like you're lying. That's kinda cute."

"Why are you here?" You demand. "This isn't a party for women, is it?"

"I see plenty of women here."

"Okay. Well it's not a party for YOU."

Kay pouts. "You're so cruel. Why do you want to hog all this bunny pussy to yourself?"

"I didn't know you were a lesbian."

Kay shrugs. "I think any girl would be lesbian for these broads. Say -- your live-in mistress has good taste. Thank her for me."

"Speech! Speech! Speech!" Whitney chants.

"Uh--" you begin. You're utterly confused, until she points her scepter right at you, and you realize what she means.

All eyes fall upon you.

"I'm -- not a speech person," you say awkwardly.

Whitney harrumphs. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

The quadcopter draws wide, slow laps around the giant hall as Whitney begins.

"I met Ally when we were 11. Back then I wasn't rich, or important, or smart like I am today. I didn't have anything but the shoes on my feet and the shirt on my back. I didn't have any friends, even. I was lonely all the time... and sad... it was such a drag. But Ally became my friend... even when no one else would do it... and he always cared about me even if he didn't wanna admit it. He let me eat the food off his plate and take the answers off his tests. Sure he whined about it, but he never said no. And that made all the difference. He's the reason I started taking school more serious, enough to graduate from high school... sports, too... and I think... I think if I didn't know him... I think I'd probably be dead by now."

You blink. You can hardly believe the words coming from her mouth.

"I love Ally with all my heart. He loves me too. It's kind of a weird thing to be saying right before he marries another girl, isn't it? But it's true. We're kind of a unique relationship. I hope that's not a TMI thing. But marriage is, like, whatever. The thing I've got with Ally is forever no matter what. And -- so is the thing he's got with Rose! I don't know how you're going to handle that bitch, Ally, but good luck! I'll help you where I can. God knows you'll need it. She'd have you hogtied over a barrel 24/7 if you didn't have a trump card like me to pull!"

The assembled guests laugh, and glance back at you, and all you can do is raise your champagne glass in her direction appreciatively.

"Ally is about to do something really crazy and weird and stupid, getting married on like two days' notice. Crazy and weird and stupid is what makes Ally so great. We're gonna be a crazy and weird and stupid family together. Ally, and Rose, and me, and Viv, and mom, and whoever the fuck else. That's what I want, and I know it's what Ally wants, Rose too. So Tozel Mov and let's get fucking drunk!"

There's raucous applause, and Whitney, maybe not understanding the nuances of this situation, applauds too.

"Oh..." she adds. "Of course, I'd be totally forgetting the most important thing if I didn't mention -- there's cake, too!"

Into the room, a couple of the slutty bunnies wheel an absurdly tall, multi-tiered cake. You sort of suspect that there's more than cake concealed within.

The quadcopter draws up close to where you sit in the corner, and slowly lowers, so that it hovers just a few inches above you. Whitney, sliding to her back, lets her head hang over the side -- and kisses you on the lips.

You meet her eyes. "Should I cut into the cake, or would that kill some poor stripper?"

"Ally, that's a nasty thing to call the girl of your dreams."

"Oh? You mean you're not the girl of my dreams?"

"I ...am I?"

You answer by kissing her again. She blushes and her eyes flutter. She wasn't expecting that.

But then she composes herself. Drawing her lower lip to her teeth, she lets out a sharp whistle. And this, apparently, is the signal. You look up: springing forth from the top of the cake, dressed in a form-fitting bunny costume you recognize -- is Alex.

So it's like that. Cerise must have had a hand in setting this up, too.

The assembled crowd jeers and claps and wolf-whistles. Alex is wearing his signature surgical mask, and you're not sure how many of these guests recognize him, or the fact that he's a guy.

But he's not the only person hidden in the cake. Up pops another -- a girl you don't recognize -- with long red hair and floppy rabbit ears of her own. Somehow she looks more... leporine, than the other girls here. Her tiny nose and twitchy face complement the look excellently. Somehow so too do her absolutely enormous tits. She's a head taller than Alex, and rests her chin on his crown, between his pointy ears. Her almost totally naked breasts hug his head. He grips his fishnets and squirms uncomfortably.

"Who's that slut?" You demand.

Whitney laughs. "Alex. Duh."

"The other one."

"Oh. I think she said her name is Sam."

"What, as in Samantha?"

"Yeah -- that's it."

You shake your head.

"What do you say?" Whitney asks. "Wanna fuck like rabbits before you get hitched?"

[ ] Just Whitney.

[ ] Just Alex.

[ ] Alex and Samantha.

[ ] Alex, Samantha, and Whitney.

[ ] Alex, Samantha, Whitney, and Kay.

The girl you know now as Samantha clears her throat theatrically and announces to the gathering: "Hello yes! We are pleasure toys -- here for your enjoyment! Please watch!"

Alex is decidedly less enthusiastic than his assistant is. But, poking his forefingers together, and blushing, he allows: "w-we are here -- to give you a show -- so -- f-feast your eyes..."

"That short one is a hot little cunt," you hear a voice grunt, Armstrong's you think -- so it's true, these people are too drunk, and the lighting is too dim, and Alex's costume too lewd for them to recognize him.

Well, Kay does, at least. She's got that reporter's eye. She frowns at Whitney. "This is a really cruel thing to do to your pet twink. He's not into it."

"He's into it," Whitney insists. "He loves getting humiliated. Makes his little cock all hard." She hops down from the quadcopter finally, and joins you on the ottoman in the corner. She curls up in your lap and wraps her arms around you.

"That was a pretty nice speech," you tell her.

"Mmm hmm." She kisses you, a melding of your mouths that quickly turns lewd, as, by force of habit, you reach for her crotch and start molesting her. Well, when in Rome... you're not the only one doing some heavy petting in this room. Some of the other men are taking liberties with the bunnies Whitney rented specifically for that purpose. Pairs begin to peel off and head for dark corners or private restrooms for the main act.

But others are staying to watch the entertainment. You, too. Samantha hooks her thumbs under the shoulder straps of her microbikini and peels them off -- first one, then the other. Her jugs were already pretty much naked but the act of baring her nipples too, and the sultry way she does it, is undeniably erotic. They poke out, little rubies atop twin mountains of pure white flesh, flesh that ensconces and practically swallows up Alex's entire head. He blushes madly.

"Please watch our lewd masturbation show! Yes!" Samantha pleads.

You rub Whitney's pussy and obey that command. Next to you, Kay is getting hot under the collar too. You hear the soft rustle of her weight shifting backward, and her legs spreading.

Alex, unable to act of his own accord, instead can only stand there helplessly in the middle of the room, front and center, framed by the faux cake he was hidden in, as Samantha strips him of his clothes. First his top. She peels the latex from his pale skin and rubs his shoulders sensually as she does so. The crowd cheers and claps. Alex's puffy nipples are much lighter and smaller than those of this mature woman violating him.

"Show us your pussy!" Someone calls out.

"Let us fuck you!"

Alex trembles and stares at his feet. He's honestly terrified. You're a little bit scared for him, too, although you know Whitney would intervene if things got too heavy. Or you hope.

With a smirk, Samantha squats, and pulls the one-piece outfit's bottom off of Alex now as well. His small, but fat and turgid cock springs free. The air seems to drain from the room as a collective gasp ripples through it. There's stunned murmuring, as Samantha rises again, hugs Alex from behind, and rubs his nipples to hardness with the fingers of both hands. Alex writhes and whines. His cock twitches in front of him, drooling.

"The cake needs icing," Samantha says. She winks. "Watch us ice it, okay!"

Her long red fingernails clack together as she grips Alex's tool and starts to jerk him off. The crowd, initially uncertain, approves. They applaud and egg the pair on. Whitney, who makes a hobby out of her quest to degrade Alex in novel and increasingly extreme ways, has outdone herself. Your cock is hard as stone, and you sigh in contented relief when she reaches for it, pulls it free, and mirrors what Samantha is doing to Alex.

"You guys are nuts," Kay says. But when you look over at her, she's leaned against the back-rest, and she's got her hands down her pants, both of them, clawing at her own cunt.

Samantha pets Alex's head. "Suck," she tells him, and puts her fingers in his mouth under his surgical mask. She swabs them around, practically gagging him. He dutifully obeys the order, sucking on Samantha's invading digits, before finally she pulls them out and shoves them unceremoniously into his anus. He goes rigid, eyes bugging out, but his cock spurts a couple streams of precum through the air.

"Suck!" Samantha says again, and pulls his head towards one of her nipples. She tugs his mask up enough to free his mouth. His expression loosens, his eyelids droop, and he nurses on Samantha's fat tit. Unbelievably -- she begins to lactate. He sucks her milk out and drinks it down -- a masochistic bitch in bliss. Samantha jerks him off as his reward, while the crowd hoots and hollers lewd comments.

It isn't very long at all before Samantha's ministrations have Alex close to cumming. Samantha hikes one leg up, propping it on the rim of cake-shaped box they sprung from, so everyone can see her overheated bunny pussy. One hand still working Alex over, she begins to masturbate, too.

"We hope you enjoy this perverted sight!" Samantha says. "Thank you for watching us! It makes my cunt wet and this slutty boy's cock hard to have your eyes on us!"

Clapping and general approval to this. Your cock throbs in Whitney's expert hand. Your fingers find the opening of her vagina, and curl, and slip inside. "Oh Ally," she swoons, "you're so good at that."

Alex ejaculates. The volume is impressive, even if the consistency is runny and transparent. He squirts his cum all over the cake, and the floor below, and Samantha's smooth hand. Samantha coos and cums too, as if on command, squirting all over the place as well. Their simultaneous orgasm is loud and wet-sounding. When Alex's nuts are empty, Samantha brings her hands up to his face, and pulls him away from her nipple, and beckons him to eat their cum -- both his and hers -- from her slimy fingers.

He does it, unquestioningly, although it's clear he's already feeling faint.

Samantha tells the crowd: "All these girls walking around tonight are free for public use! We're all very horny bunnies... so please give us lots of cock milk tonight. It's what we're here for!"

"Where did you FIND these girls?" You marvel.

"I'll never tell~" Whitney purrs.

An orgy is quickly starting to coalesce. Alex, exhausted, gets left behind. Samantha gently lowers him to his knees, and he lies there half-dozing against the edge of their little makeshift stage, naked and on display, but too much of a pain to get at for any would-be rapists.

Samantha stumblingly navigates her way down, stark naked except a pair of bunny ears and a fluffy tail.

"Oh Ms. Whitney?" She calls out, looking this way and that. Her nose twitches just like a rabbit's would -- it's cute, in a strange and disconcerting way.

"Over here, toots!" Whitney calls out, waving with the hand she isn't using to jerk you off.

She runs over, or more accurately seems to hop over, and stands before you with her wrists held limply in front of her. "You promised me the best cock in the room if I did a good job! So please tell me that I did a good job!"

"You did a GREAT job," Whitney says.

"Yay!" She happily bobs her head. Her face is all twitchy. And, unable to contain her joy, she chews one of her knuckles with tiny nibbles, like a rabbit snacking on a sprig of lettuce. "Where is it! I want it inside me!"

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

"It's right here," Whitney says. She tugs on your dick and presents it to this impossibly strange woman.

"Who are you?" You demand. "I feel like I know you."

"Samantha! Samantha Smatters! Mister, can you please put lots of cum juice inside me? My slutty bunny pussy is ree-eally hungry for it! And -- you're so big down there --oh, I really, really want it!"

"Jesus. I do know who you are. You went to North High, didn't you?"

"Yes!"

You never thought you'd meet the legendary Samantha Smatters up close and personal, but here she is. No wonder she fits her role so well. She's had decades to hone it. Some sort of furry-lite, you think. But she pulls it off.

Kay is fixated on Samantha's supple backside. You can hardly blame her -- those globes look like they would be a delight to push your cock past. But she's got her mind on something else, it seems.

"Your tail..."

You take a closer look now, too. You just assumed that the tail was secured by a buttplug, since that would be the most perfectly slutty way to wear it, and Samantha obviously strives to be the perfect slut. But that's not how she wears it. It's not clear how she does. It protrudes from her coccyx as if it's actually a part of her anatomy.

Kay won't accept that. She reaches for it, and tugs it. It pulls back a bit, stretching, but snaps back into place, and all Kay is left with is a little tuft of cottony fuzz in between her pinching fingers. Samantha jumps, and screeches -- an unpleasantly shrill, actually disturbing and deafening shriek.

She's still in pain after that first, ear-splitting wail. "Owwww! Please do not do that!" She says, rubbing her backside. "It hurts a lot!"

"What ARE you?" Kay breathes.

"I am Samantha Smatters! I'm a very slutty bunny! Would you like to use my body, too?"

Kay uses her tongue to poke her cheek from the inside. She's silent for a turn. Then: "Yes. Yes I would."

"Yay!"

You and Kay make room for Samantha to climb onto the comfy ottoman. Whitney, in your lap, laughs huskily. "Rabbits are pretty fertile, you know," she whispers. "If you aren't shooting blanks, you'll definitely knock her up..."

You shrug. "Whatever. I'll drop some mongrels in her, then."

"You pervert~"

"Oh yes!" Samantha says. "Please make lots of babies inside me. Okay? I really want this cock to make me pregnant!"

This absolutely insane woman is going to make you insane, too. You can tell she's having an equally strong effect on Kay. Maybe as part of whatever operation gave Samantha a built-in cottontail, she also got rabbity pheromone glands installed, to enchant anyone who meets her, male or female. As if her body is constantly broadcasting a signal on all bands, saying: "please mate with me!"

She's got one hell of a body, though, too -- big fat tits that despite her mature age are still perky and bouncy, an hourglass form with wide, child-bearing hips, and the prettiest, puffiest cunt you've ever laid eyes on, glistening nicely with her wetness.

"You may use me however you like, but I must insist that whatever happens, you ejaculate right here." She rubs her pubic mound obscenely to indicate it, as if you weren't already planning on putting your seed in her womb to begin with.

"You're one pushy little slut," Whitney says.

"I'm sorry! I'm so greedy! But -- I just have to have it!"

"Do you know how to use that tongue, Smatters?" Kay asks.

"Oh yes. I am skilled in oral service. Do you need relief inside your pussy too? Do you have a horny pussy, miss?"

"Jesus fuck. Yes, yes I very much do. Eat me, Smatters."

Kay quickly kicks off her trousers and her panties too and sits bare-assed on the velvet cushions. She spreads her legs and points at her dripping slit. "Do it. Come on. Get to work."

Samantha turns and gets down on all fours and leans way in to get her face in Kay's crotch. She doesn't even know Kay's name, or yours, but she's about you let you both fuck her. You've never seen Kay this horny, and frankly, you've rarely felt this horny yourself. Perhaps your pheromone theory isn't off base after all.

Samantha's position, by design you surmise, leaves her thick ass pointed right up in the air, the white star of her anus and the puffy lips of her vulva totally vulnerable to whatever disgusting things you'd want to do.

Whitney acts first, though. "Sorry, Ally -- you can get your cock off in her -- but I just have to eat that cunt a little before you do!"

She clambers over your legs and leans in, mirroring Samantha's own pose, and starts eating the older woman. Samantha's tail tickles Whitney's nose and makes her giggle, her eyes shining bright with her laughter. But her busy tongue is undeterred. She sucks and slurps both of Samantha's inviting holes. With Whitney draped over your lap like this, you take the opportunity to molest her a bit more. You yank her pants down from her toned butt and slip a finger into her asshole. You prod it in and out, enjoying the little pips it produces from her even as she sucks Samantha's cunt. But as fun as it is to play with Whitney's ass, you'd rather rub her pussy, so that's what you do. You embed three fingers in her slick wet hole and masturbate her.

Whitney stops her lesbian cunt-licking just long enough to look at you over her shoulder and say:

"Ally... I love you so much."

"I love you too."

She smiles broadly. Then it's back to eating pussy. You rub your naked cock against her tummy while she enjoys her little feast.

Soon this bit of skinship has you in a state of even greater need than before. You need to bury your cock inside a hole, completely, and ejaculate. And since Whitney already promised you to this woman, apparently, it would be horribly impolite to renege. It can't be helped. You'll just have to inseminate her bunny pussy.

You gently, but firmly, take a handful of Whitney's hair and pull her away from Samantha's rear holes. Samantha whines in protest, or seems to -- it's hard to hear what, exactly, her reaction is, with the way Kay is fucking her face.

You rise to your knees, mount Samantha, and grant her overheated pussy the relief she so desperately craved. You push your fat prick past her entrance, into the squelchy, slurping, wet embrace of her fuckhole. You sink into her like butter -- she's so unbelievably soft inside. Soft and yet tight at the same time. And so fucking hot, that it almost burns, and sears your hard prick. Samantha gasps when you break her open, shivering.

She yells something against Kay's fucking pussy that sounds like "Cock! Yes, cock! Cock! Give me your cock semen please!"

Kay, holding her tightly by either of her pointy ears, wags her hips back and forth across her mouth. Samantha's jittery little nose works wonders against Kay's clit and brings her to a series of small but powerful orgasms that squirt Samantha's face full of girl-cum. Samantha drinks it down with zero hesitation and seems to enjoy how it tastes.

Whitney watches you fuck. She rests her chin on your shoulder and her fingernails lightly scrape against your ass to egg you on. Her breath is hot in your ear. "You'll make me pregnant one of these days too... right, Ally?"

"Oh fuck, Whitney..."

"Heeheeh. Go ahead. Blow your wad in her, Ally. It's what she's for. I got her special just for you... don't hold back... I wanna see it."

"I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna fucking cum in her..."

Whitney draws your face to hers and kisses you deeply. You gaze longingly back at her and feel your nuts tighten up against your body. You can't stop it. It's coming. You bellow and your cum erupts inside this girl who's basically a stranger to you.

"Oh fucking god, yes, yes!!" Kay wails. She's cumming again, too, watching you ejaculate. From either end, you give the slutty bunny the cum she so desires. And your slutty bunny is delighted by it. She mewls just like you'd imagine a bunny happily fucked full of cum would mewl. She yawns, and luxuriates, and sucks your jizz up into her deepest, most intimate parts. Impossibly, her cunt gets even warmer, and tighter, and softer, when it's filled with jism. It's almost painful to pull out, the way the opening of it clamps down on you, and doesn't want to let you go. So you don't. You just stay fucked inside her for now.

You could easily get addicted to jizzing inside this onahole of a bunny cunt.

"Hope you liked the present," Whitney whispers.

"I sure as hell did..." Kay heaves, collapsing to supine position, hand to her forehead. Samantha, still mewling, continues to slowly lap at her leaky genitals.

"Not you," Whitney chides.

"Well, I did, anyway," Kay breathes. She runs a hand appreciatively through Samantha's hair.

"I liked it too," you tell her. "Thank you, Whitney. For -- for everything."

"Of course," she says. "You're my always, Ally."

You kiss some more as you enjoy the sensation of your still hard cock in Samantha Smatters' gooey pussy.

GIRLS FUCKED: 13/12

---

Renee has Rose on her back on top of a small, low coffee table in the center of a cramped karaoke booth. Rose lies there in a clearing among stacks of empty beer cans and liquor bottles, chip bags, plates, and other detritus. Renee is keeping the bride-to-be's supple thighs spread wide apart with her palms pressing down hard on either of them. She so enjoys the soft give and plumpness of Rose's overfed body. It's such a delight to abuse... and tonight, she's going to abuse it extra hard.

Renee pumps Rose just as fast as she can, viciously shoving the enormous dildo back and forth through the wet confines of Rose's definitely-not-virginal bridal pussy. Rose's body slides back and forth with the force of the strap-on's savage thrusts. She would surely be screaming, but her face is currently being smothered by Cerise's sloppy pussy. Cerise, totally fucked up and drunk, grips the edge of the table opposite Renee and humps Rose's mouth.

"Whoa," Amber says. She watches from a sofa along the wall, sitting beside her sister. "This is wild. I didn't know your friends were all bull dykes, Rose."

Amber, of course, wasn't invited, but tagged along when she found out there was karaoke on the docket. She didn't expect THIS. She and Rose2 both lounge with their legs spread wide. Amber's shorts are bunched up around one ankle, and for want of space, one of her legs is hooked over one of Rose2's. She's totally wet right now, and her panties are becoming almost translucent with her arousal, but there's something so liberating about letting the whole world see, even her older sister. So she just sits there like that with her wet pussy on display for any of these raging lesbians who would care to look. She wants them to.

Rose2, who is almost as drunk as Cerise, is even less inhibited than her little sister. She has her skirt up around her hips and one hand down the front of her panties, the knuckles bulging through the thin fabric, playing with herself. She watches the lewd show, slackjawed, and breathing heavy.

Amber is just on the edge of giving in to temptation, too. She uses her ring finger to trace tiny circles around her clit through the sodden fabric of her underwear. Her breathing is getting similarly ragged.

Vivian -- naked, and also wasted, a recurring theme tonight -- stumbles over to where the two sisters sit. She gets on her knees in front of Amber. Without asking, without a single word, she puts her face to Amber's crotch, and starts to sniff Amber's pussy like an animal in estrus. She just buries her face in the young girl's mound, hugs her thighs, and enjoys herself. A pig at a trough.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Amber groans. "I never thought I'd have a billionaire down on her knees sniffing my pussy. What the fuck. This is, like... a fetish I didn't know I had."

Galatea, who was shy as a church mouse for most of the night, is much looser with a bellyful of sake. And seeing the woman she adores riding Rose's face is enough to make her perverted little pussy take over, and do her thinking for her. She saunters up behind Cerise, and hugs her like that, resting a chin on Cerise's shoulder. She nuzzles her.

"you're so beautiful..." she breathes.

Cerise smiles. "You too, babe." She turns her head to the side and kisses Galatea obscenely. The whole time, she never stops using Rose's awesome tongue.

"Do you wanna fuck her, too?" Cerise asks when they break the kiss.

"nnn-- i don't know."

"It's okay. It'd be hot..."

"are you sure?"

"Fuck yeah, Gal. I wanna see you domme a bitch."

Vivian begins to lick Amber's underage cunt through her panties, and Amber does nothing to stop her. In fact, she pets Vivian appreciatively. What a nice girl. Maybe she was wrong about the moneyed class.

Cerise stands upright, unsteadily, strands of her pussy juice pulling apart from the surface of Rose's face and dripping back down against the abused girl. Rose, beet red, gasps for fresh air, and convulses.

Renee spanks her ass a couple times between strokes. "Don't be such a fucking girl, Rose," she sneers. "You can take it."

It isn't at all clear whether Rose even hears or much less comprehends that.

"Sugoi..." Rose2 moans. "Ungh--" She gulps and has a miniature orgasm in her panties. Still masturbating, she chews a knuckle to keep from crying out and potentially drawing the attention of one of these rapists... but of course, the risk of being raped is weirdly tantalizing in its own right...

So is having a messy orgasm right beside her imouto, with their legs entwined. It's not a connection she had ever drawn before, but sure, she thinks, being a siscon could be cool...

Cerise tugs Galatea's spats down. This pale, wan shut-in has a body that's thin and weak-looking from under-eating. She looks like a stiff breeze could break her in two. But she's as hot and in need of a cum as any girl here. Maybe more. When Cerise pulls down her panties next, she can't resist getting down on her knees in front of Galatea, and planting a soft kiss on her tight, small, turned-in cunt lips. The kiss turns into a lick, and the lick into shoving her tongue as far up Galatea's twat as she can get it. Cerise loves eating her out.

Galatea, ticklish, laughs and squirms, and pushes herself off Cerise's face. "t-thank you," she says, not wanting to be impolite to the woman who's basically her goddess.

Looking up at her from between her legs, Cerise tells Galatea: "Sit on her face. Cum on her."

Galatea does as ordered, uncertainly positioning herself above Rose's head, and squatting down. She rarely takes sexual advantage over someone else like this and isn't used to it. She holds her balled fists close to her collar as she lowers herself, and jerks in surprise when she feels Rose's tongue slither out to meet her slit.

Cerise laughs. "Yeah... Rose is a good suck-slut, isn't she?"

Galatea nods shyly but enthusiastically.

"Vivian." Dr. Carte snaps her fingers like beckoning a dog, and her tone is all-business. "Get over here. I want your tongue in me, too."

There's a lot of various perversions happening here all at once, but as this event's organizer, and the most mature woman here, Renee reigns as queen of it. Her wishes come first. Vivian pulls off Amber's cunt-slit with a sly smile and crawls to where Renee humps Rose. Renee is on her knees to sit level with Rose's pussy, and her bare, womanly ass jiggles nicely as she fucks her. The leather harness of the strap-on leaves alluring indentations where it criss-crosses the plump flesh.

Amber is more than disappointed to have her new friend wander off. She was really getting into the sensation of Vivian's expert cunnilingus, which was amazing even performed through her undies. She can't help the whine of frustration that escapes her lips as she watches Vivian go.

But then she feels soft fingers against her mound. She startles, and glances over at her sister. "Rose! What the fuck!"

"Shh," Rose2 replies, winking. "Let big sister help you, huh?"

"You fucking freak. You dumb c-- unf--"

She grits her teeth and throws her head back as dear onee-chan slips past the waistband of her slimy underwear. Like that, Rose2 starts molesting her in earnest. One hand in her own panties, one hand in Amber's. Molestation, Amber thinks to herself; yes, that's what this is. Rose2, the pervert, watched one too many Japanese cartoons and now she's molesting her own little sister. Amber bites her tongue and focuses on the sensation of fingers that aren't her own digging through her cunt.

Vivian gets down on her belly. She spreads the globes of Renee's ass wide and appreciates the view. The ring of Renee's asshole, small and tight -- and the rear perspective of her motherly vagina, the base of the rubber cock mashing repeatedly against it with every bottom-stroke. Vivian's jaw parts of its own accord, and she feels her mouth begin to water. Yes, she thinks, of course -- if Ms. Carte wants her tongue inside her... that's exactly what Vivian will do. How could she ever say no to holes this inviting?

She latches her mouth onto Renee's backside and begins to suck like a girl demented, her tongue running indiscriminately all around Renee's lower orifices. Vagina, anus, it doesn't matter to her. She just wants to make Renee feel good. She wants to suck on Renee forever...

Galatea is really getting into this. She begins to bounce up and down on Rose's face. Not even Cerise, as much as Galatea loves her, can lick a cunt this well. Rose is something special; no wonder Sir wants to marry her. Cerise smiles back at Galatea knowingly, nodding, and teases Galatea's asshole with a couple fingers for her own perverted enjoyment. The two girls return to making out and staring adoringly at one another while Galatea takes her pleasure.

"Rose--" Amber grunts, and can't help herself bucking against her sister's fingers. "You're gonna-- oh, god--"

"Shh," Rose2 repeats. She likes the idea of this being a dirty secret, even if they're doing it right out in the open. "You can do it... don't hold back. Let's have lots of fun from now on, okay?"

Amber swoons and leans against Rose2's shoulder, and finally reaches her limit. She can't hold back. She cums all over her sister's violating hand.

"Oh fffffuck," Amber grunts, feeling her lower hole spasm and squirt against Rose2's fingers. Rose2 watches with a leering smirk, proud of what she's doing, and makes herself cum too. Incest is excellent tanoshii.

Amber is too sensitive and overloaded with all the stimulus right now, so she clamps her thin thighs shut, and forces her older sister's hand out of her pussy. She hugs herself, hot, but shivering, and blinks repeatedly in a cum-drunk daze. She sits in a puddle of her own fluids. Rose2 sucks Amber's cream from her fingers and enjoys the flavor. She keeps masturbating shamelessly.

"You are such a fucking pervert," Amber spits. "Alabaster really did a number on you."

"Ayep. For sure. I like how soft you are down, there Amber~ I wanna play with you lots and lots~"

"Good lord..."

Amber slides down from the sofa and toddles on her knees the short distance to the table. Watching from the side, she props her elbows up, resting her cheeks on the heels of her palms. Her face is mere inches away from Renee's pumping dildo, and Galatea's humping cunt. And between the two women, that fat bitch Rose Mallory, who tried to fuck her over in the StuCo election. Nice to see her getting screwed so hard. Such a pity Alabaster chose her.

"This is so fuckin' cool," Amber says. "You rich motherfuckers know how to party. I've only ever seen stuff like this in porn..."

Renee, not breaking her pace, frowns down at Amber. "Are you of age, young woman?"

"Nope. I am 100%, completely and utterly illegal."

"Hmm."

"Wanna fuck me next?"

Renee considers it. "Absolutely," she replies. Then: "Have you been with a woman before?"

Amber shakes her head.

"Do you have much experience at all?"

Again, Amber shakes her head.

"Wonderful. Get down behind me, and let Vivian teach you how to use your mouth..."

Amber gives her a mock salute. "Sure thing, mom."

"Don't call me mom unless you want it to stick," Renee purrs.

Amber crawls around, and sits hands-on-knees, waiting expectantly beside Vivian. Vivian is too busy sucking Renee's asshole to pay any heed.

"Vivian." Renee snaps her fingers again. "Share."

This gets Vivian's attention. She finally pulls her face off Renee's ass. Her features are droopy and dull-looking, and her makeup is smeared from all the lewd work she's been up to.

"Oh," she says, taking notice of Amber. "Greetings."

"Haha. Yeah. Greetings."

"Are you here to lick Ms. Carte's asshole too?"

"I... guess I am..."

"Excellent. Would you like to kiss me first?"

"Uh. I've never kissed a girl--"

Vivian gets up on her knees, pulls Amber's face to hers, and showers her with hungry, searching kisses. She moans sensually: "you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes upon. Beautiful, and terrifying -- I cannot resist... I must feel your lips... no, do not protest..."

Amber is more than a bit weirded out, but Vivian is good at this. And the disgusting perversion of kissing someone who was just rimming another woman makes Amber's pussy tingle excitedly. She lets Vivian French her, and does her best to keep up. She tastes the tart taste of Renee's genitals in Vivian's mouth. It makes her eyelids flutter and her heartbeat quicken. As much as Amber always tries to play at being mature and worldly, these girls are light-years ahead of her sexually, and it's all she can do not to really lose her shit right now. She's swimming in an ocean of conflicting feelings, but bubbling to surface above all of it is pure, giddy enjoyment. She loves it.

"Please," Vivian says between pecks and suckles and licks and smooches, "please assist me in servicing these holes... I will teach you all you need to know."

"O-okay," Amber stammers.

Vivian pets Amber's hair lovingly and guides her to her stomach with her. They sit perched on their elbows in front of Renee's thrusting ass. Vivian, with hands-on tutoring, shows Amber exactly how to lick an asshole, how to suck a pussy. She shows Amber how to swab her tongue back and forth through the inviting folds of Renee's fuckholes, how to guzzle down her juices, how to fuck her with her mouth. The two girls, their faces pressed together, tongue Renee out in tandem. Tenderly, Vivian reaches back, and strokes Amber's vagina for her too, while they give Renee the oral pleasure she demanded.

"Girls," Renee grunts, feeling her climax approaching from the efforts of these two wonderful, eager young mouths. "Rose is a lucky woman! Tomorrow she's getting married to the smarmiest, most sarcastic, know-it-all big-dick asshole to ever walk the planet. But tonight she's ours! I want all of you to cum down her fucking throat! Got it?"

"You heard the woman," Cerise coos to Galatea. "And you're up to bat..."

"yes," Galatea gasps. "yes... i think i'm about to cum..."

Cerise takes a swig of sake, as if she needs anymore, and swaps it back and forth with Galatea. As they kiss and share the liquor, Galatea's pussy clamps, and her jerking, quick little humping motions pick up in speed. She's cute and somewhat reserved even when she's cumming herself fucking stupid. She just sighs softly, then moans into Cerise's alcohol-scented mouth while her beautiful pussy sprays its cream across Rose's already nearly unrecognizable face. Rose, her entire world winnowed down to the pounding she's taking from either end, tries to gulp down as much as she can.

When Galatea stumbles back off Rose's face, Rose barely has any time to breathe before Cerise is taking her spot. Galatea is woozy, and knock-kneed, and falls to her butt while her fiancée rides her own orgasm out with Rose's tongue as a sex toy. From her position on the floor, Galatea strokes Cerise's pretty thighs and butt with both hands, to encourage Cerise's nut along.

"Drink it, bitch," Cerise spits. "Drink my fucking cum..."

She rubs her clitoris and hoses her cousin's face down. Renee watches approvingly. She can feel, translated through the plastic dick's base, how Rose's pussy clenches and cums, too. She's a well-trained little piggy.

Renee knows that she's going to lose her own nut too if she doesn't stop fucking Rose or letting the girls behind her keep using their tongues on her ass. She pulls out now, taking a moment to admire Rose's gaping little pussy, raw and red and totally destroyed. Then she turns and looks down at Amber, who gazes back with a scared expression.

"A promise is a promise," Renee tells her.

"Uh--"

Renee sits cross-legged on the floor. "Get in my lap. I wanna fuck you."

"That's--" Amber begins, and audibly gulps. "I don't know, doc. That thing is a lot bigger than I thought. I'm not sure--"

"Get in my fucking lap." The way Renee says it leaves no room for mistaking her. If Amber doesn't climb onto Renee willingly, she's going to end up pinned beneath Renee unwillingly. Her choice.

And Amber makes the right choice. She peels her totally saturated panties off her butt, and gasps when the cool air of the karaoke booth hits her genitals. Then she settles, shaking, into Renee's waiting arms, holding Renee around the neck. Renee can be a gentle lover, too, and helps Amber ease herself onto the enormous, slick pole of her strap-on. Amber makes sharp little hisses and grunts of her own as Renee's cock spreads her open. She's only ever gotten fucked one other person, Alabaster, and the cock Renee wears is even bigger than his absurdly large tool. Amber's tiny pussy can hardly take it. But she knows she has no choice. So she sets her jaw and tries to force herself down. Renee leans back on one hand and enjoys the sight. Raping a girl who is legally a child... now there's a new one. She likes it.

Vivian is hypnotized by the beauty of it. She takes Amber's discarded underwear, pulls them taut like unfurling a boat's sail, and deeply inhales the musk of its crotch seam. She grinds her thighs together, masturbating her little pussy with the pressure of it, as she smells Amber's scent and tastes her wetness. She doesn't know why she should be so fixated on this girl who, after all, murdered her father... but she is... she can't help it... she's so fucking hot for her. It's a primal, animal lust that can't be quelled. Unable to extinguish the flames of her desire, Vivian balls the panties up, and shoves them to the back of her mouth, and sucks them like a popsicle. She plays with her clitty and cleans Amber's panties with her mouth.

Cerise is done cumming, and now Rose2 wants a turn. Watching her own sister eat an older woman's ass sent her into total overdrive. Ejaculating on her love-rival's face is the perfect way to cap the festivities. Sure, Rose is winning the ultimate prize, but Rose2 can exact some just deserts too.

She walks up to Rose's puffy, slimy, blurry face. Rose is heaving and trying desperately just to breathe. Rose2 smirks down at her. "You're kinda messed up, huh?" She says mockingly.

"F-- fuck you," Rose manages, despite the marathon of hard use she's been subjected to.

"That's silly," Rose2 laughs. "Fuck ME? You're the one getting who's fucked, Rose! A-durr."

"I'm gonna beat you to a fucking--"

"Stop being so tsuntsun. Lick me lots and lots, 'kay?"

Rose2 doesn't allow Rose the opportunity to formulate a response. She squats down and cuts off anything she might say by smothering it with her steamy cunt-slit. Rose despises the fact that she doesn't despise it. Why does this stupid slut's pussy have to be so fucking delicious? It's not fair. She almost can't help the reaction it draws -- she holds Rose2's meaty upper legs and laps at her candy-sweet cunt like she's starving. Rose2 mewls and whines in delight.

Meanwhile Amber is struggling on top of Renee, the dick in her butting up against her cervix and persistently trying to wedge itself even deeper. Renee leers at her pervertedly. "Are you sure you don't have much experience?"

"No-- no-- fuck-- it hurts--"

"Hurting can be fun~"

"Oh, god-- oh, Jesus--"

"You slutty little girl. Get it all the way in, now. Or I'll get it all the way in FOR you."

"Ffffuck--"

Vivian practically chews Amber's panties as she watches the young girl getting debauched. Ms. Carte is so beautiful when she does mean things...

Cerise and Galatea are curled up around each other, 69ing blissfully, totally oblivious to anything but the other. Still, even they can smell the bubblegum scent of Rose2's oozing pussy, as she wails and blows her load on Rose.

"Vivian." More snapping, more barking from Renee. "Go cum on the party cunt's face."

"Mmmf mmf," she mumbles agreeably through the fabric.

Rose2 steps back and basks in the glow of post-coital bliss. Vivian takes her place. Poor Rose -- no respite whatsoever. She's just a toilet for every other girl here right now.

Still sucking on those sodden underwear, Vivian straddles Rose's head and hugs her ears with her weak legs. She gets her unripe-looking cunny against Rose's lips, and Rose, accustomed by now to this role, begins to lick. Vivian sighs happily. Sub by nature she may be, but being on top occasionally is also fun. She rubs her genitals back and forth, and even feels, with a thrill, Rose's button nose disappear into her pretty, clean little anus. That sets her off. She has a gasping little climax and her transparent juices intermingle with the sloppy mess already coating every square inch of Rose's ruined cunt of a face.

Amber is getting used to the cock in her by now. She fucks herself up and down on it, of her own free will, and enjoys the way it fills her so completely. She sucks on one of Renee's udders, as if she's actually trying to wring milk from it.

"Are you my little slut baby?" Renee sneers.

"Y-yes-- yes!"

"Say it."

"I'm y-your slut-- I'm your sluuuut!" She swirls her tongue around Renee's fat nipple and puckers her lips around it.

Renee rewards that obedience by fucking back against Amber's tight pussy. Their crotches slap together like two pieces of meat, the noise echoing off the close walls.

"I'd love to make you cum, slut baby, but you need to use the toilet..."

"Uh huh... uh huh..."

But Amber is in such ecstasy that she doesn't want to stop fucking, not now, not when she's so close...

"Go on, now," Renee prods. "Go cum in Rose's mouth."

"Please-- please let me cum-- on-- on you--" She bounces up and down with a singular focus, and tries to win Renee over by suckling even harder on Renee's tit.

"No. You have to cum on Rose." When Amber doesn't respond, Renee snaps her fingers in front of Amber's face. "Listen to mommy, now."

"I--" Amber swallows hard and draws a deep breath. She shudders. "Y-yes... yes, Mommy..."

Renee helps Amber off the giant dick, and guides her to where Rose lies waiting. Amber is completely delirious and irrational -- and her voice is high, pinched off, as she informs Rose: "Mommy told me to cum on you..."

Renee watches with a hand to her lips as Amber rubs her freshly-minted lez pussy on Rose. Amber might talk like a sailor and act like a delinquent, but with a little discipline, she falls in line.

When Amber, howling, adds her cum to the mix, Renee treats her by letting her suck her titties again. Of course, it's also a treat for Renee -- she loves how eager Amber is about it. But Renee isn't satisfied with something so mundane as a little breastfeeding, she needs to have a fucking orgasm already -- it's her turn.

She tugs Amber by the wrist off of Rose and lets her fall to the ground, like discarding a tissue -- used up and thrown away. Amber crawls over to where Vivian lies and makes out with her through the gag of her own panties. Rose2, lying next to the pair, watches and diddles herself.

Renee tugs the dildo's harness from her ass and chucks it across the room. Rose, coughing, sputtering, little streamers of girl-cum flying off her face like water deflecting off a fountain's spigot, begs pathetically: "please -- I'll do you, too, but -- just give me one second--"

"No," Renee says, lays her palms flat on her upper legs, and sits on Rose like mounting a bicycle seat. Her swampy cunt gets even hotter and she quickly brings herself to a spectacular orgasm. Rose nearly drowns from the volume of it. And Renee could not care less. She does precisely as she commanded the other girls -- she cums directly down Rose's throat. A baptism in girl cum is the perfect way to end Rose's life as a bachelorette.

Renee hasn't had long to recover from her cum when there's a soft knock on the karaoke booth's door. She bothers to make herself only minimally presentable, slapping on a pair of panties that aren't even hers and therefore hardly fit (Gal's, she thinks, but can't be sure) plus the tee that Cerise was wearing. She pokes her head out the door and tries to prevent the interloper from peeping in. It's a short, balding Japanese man -- the restaurant's host.

"We were, ah, concerned -- of the noises -- arising from this room," he explains.

"It's all good, chingchong. Don't worry about it."

"The other guests were --"

"Fuck 'em."

"Ah. But, you see,"

"Go get us some more sake, okay? And, oh -- when we're done, you're gonna want to hire an industrial cleaning crew. Fair warning. We'll pay for the damages, though. $50,000 should cover it, I hope?"

He pauses. "Of course, ma'am. You are valued customer A-number-one."

Renee closes the door, presses her back against it, and looks at the spectacle of winding-down debauchery before her. A small army of girls sucking and licking each other sweetly, still drawing tiny orgasms from one another. Heaven.

Rose, a palm to her forehead, is somehow still defiant. A bubble of spittle pops between her lips and she sneers: "is that all you stupid bitches have got? Don't make me laugh."

Cerise's head pops up from the cuddle puddle. "Well, if you're offering. All that beer and sake really made me have to piss..."

"hmmm," Galatea muses. "Me too."

"Me three! Me three!" Rose2 says, since even she can get the picture.

Renee smiles to herself. Maybe it's not winding down after all.

---

"I suppose I owe you something like fatherly support, don't I."

You stand in an anteroom in the church, alone with Saul, in front of a mirror, trying and retrying to get your goddamn tie done up. No matter how you twist and turn it, loop and knot it, you can't seem to get it right.

"Do you want help with that?"

"No I don't want help with that. Fuck."

"Alabaster..." he says. He lays a hand on your shoulder. His voice is firm and level. You sense that he's about to lay down some sort of hidden truth, some sort of priceless advice, for navigating life as a married man, with a Mallory woman -- that he's about to pass down generational wisdom that you need to pay attention to. "I don't smell like bunny pussy, do I?" He asks.

You slump your shoulders. "How would I know? If you do, then so do I."

"Okay. Fair."

You turn and try once more to get your tie done up. "Fuck..." you mutter. You don't want to admit it, but you're an absolute bundle of raw nerves right now.

Saul, watching, speaks up again. This time what he says is much more important.

"We haven't always gotten along. But I know you meant it when you told me you love Rose. And I know even if I don't approve... that you'll treat her right. I'm trusting you with her, Alabaster. Don't let me down."

Your hands stop, and you peer back at him through the mirror's reflection. It's useless to deny anything right now. You just nod respond simply: "Yes. I won't let you down, sir."

"Sir... ha. Don't turn into a suck-up."

"Of course not, Saul."

Your hands begin again in their futile quest to tie a knot. You hope today's metaphorical tying of the knot goes more smoothly.

There's a soft knock on the door, and Charlotte, wearing an elegant white gown of her own, pokes her head in. When she sees you, she squeals: "aahhhh! Oh my goodness!"

She barges in, arms held wide, and draws you into a tender hug.

The door wide open, in comes Mom as well -- she's in a flowing red dress that fits her perfectly. Not just because of her name, either. Her form fills it so nicely.

"How's Rose?" Saul asks his wife.

Charlotte pulls away from you, still clasping your shoulders. "Oh, she's an absolute wreck. How's Alabaster?"

"Wreck," Saul affirms.

"Just perfect." She finally turns to face her husband. "She wanted to see you a bit before you walk her down the aisle. She'd never admit to such a disgustingly patriarchal impulse, but I think she needs daddy to tell her that he approves..."

"I don't approve, is the thing..." Saul says.

"Saul." Charlotte's voice is icy.

"Yes. Of course, dear. I approve completely."

He goes.

Charlotte spins and faces you again. "Aaaahhhh! You're so handsome!"

Mom has a hand to her cheek, blushing. "I can't believe this. I never thought this day would come."

"Isn't it divine?" Charlotte says.

"Wonderful."

"Absolutely spectacular!"

The two woman surround you, and somehow, you feel like you're trapped in a den of wolves.

There's a soft knock on the door, and Charlotte, wearing an elegant white gown of her own, pokes her head in. When she sees you, she squeals: "aahhhh! Oh my goodness!"

She barges in, arms held wide, and draws you into a tender hug.

The door wide open, in comes Mom as well -- she's in a flowing red dress that fits her perfectly. Not just because of her name, either. Her form fills it so nicely.

"How's Rose?" Saul asks his wife.

Charlotte pulls away from you, still clasping your shoulders. "Oh, she's an absolute wreck. How's Alabaster?"

"Wreck," Saul affirms.

"Just perfect." She finally turns to face her husband. "She wanted to see you a bit before you walk her down the aisle. She'd never admit to such a disgustingly patriarchal impulse, but I think she needs daddy to tell her that he approves..."

"I don't approve, is the thing..." Saul says.

"Saul." Charlotte's voice is icy.

"Yes. Of course, dear. I approve completely."

He goes.

Charlotte spins and faces you again. "Aaaahhhh! You're so handsome!"

Mom has a hand to her cheek, blushing. "I can't believe this. I never thought this day would come."

"Isn't it divine?" Charlotte says.

"Wonderful."

"Absolutely spectacular!"

The two woman surround you, and somehow, you feel like you're trapped in a den of wolves.

You glance at Mom, and try small talk. "Did you have any trouble with the cake?"

She puts her hands on her hips, haughty. "What! Of course I didn't. Unlike you, I can bake a simple cake. And making it into tiers is child's play. No need to thank me, Alabaster!"

"Thank you," you say anyway. And: "I love you, Mom."

Mom blinks in surprise. "I-- why-- ...you little brat!"

"What. I THANKED you. I said I love you! How is that--"

"You're not supposed to be grateful and nice! You're supposed to be snitty and sarcastic! Changing it up at the most critical moment is a calculated attempt to get under my skin! You rude little jerk!"

You can only shake your head in bewilderment.

"Do you need help with your tie, dear?" Charlotte offers.

"No! I don't need help with my goddamn tie! Fuck!"

Charlotte looks hurt, so you calm yourself, and say: "Sorry. I'm just a bit on edge, at the moment. I -- love you too, Mom."

Calling Charlotte "Mom" is the surest way to win brownie points. And it works like a charm. She smiles warmly. "I love you too."

"Well I love you more," Mom says -- returning the sentiment a little late. "And I loved you first."

"Don't make this into an argument, Scarlett. We both love the little brat. We can share..."

"Hmmm," she murmurs, unconvinced.

Charlotte embraces you from behind. Up close, you can smell her perfume, similar to the kind Rose wears, but thicker, more earthen.

The way she hugs you feels very unmotherly. And even Mom, your real Mom, can sense it.

"Charlotte..." she says.

"Do you have some final preparations to make with the cake?" Charlotte asks her. "I can keep Alabaster company until it's time for him to go stand at the altar, don't worry."

Mom meets your eyes. "Alabaster?" She asks you.

You shrug. "I'll be okay. If there's something you need to finish -- I'll see you there -- or --"

"No, that's fine..." Mom says. "Charlotte is right. I'll... see you at the altar, dear."

She hugs you from the front, and for a brief moment you're sandwiched between two moms. It's not unpleasant.

"I do love you," Mom says softly. "I... I'm sorry if sometimes it isn't clear."

"It's clear," you tell her. "Is it -- always clear, the other way?"

Her eyes are full of tears, but she's smiling, and she nods.

"Good," you say.

She kisses you on the cheek, and goes.

Alone again with Charlotte, who's still hugging you, and swaying a bit, you clear your throat awkwardly.

"Did you pass on my advice to Rose, dear?" She asks.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh, you know what I mean. For her to start giving you tit fucks. That advice."

Your mouth goes dry. You stammer and gawk.

"Well~?"

"Um... y-yeah. Actually. Yeah."

Honesty is the best policy, right?

"Oh my. You're such a horny boy, aren't you? Well? Did she do it?"

You nod slowly. You're keenly aware of Charlotte's own tits pressed up against your back right now.

"How was it? Compared to my tit fuck."

You stare at the ceiling and shake your head. But again, honesty: "Not as good... yours was better."

She kisses you on the cheek. She liked hearing that.

"Don't worry, honey. She'll learn. You just have to keep on top of her... pun intended."

"Oh my god."

"What I'm more concerned about is... since you're marrying my little girl now... when you have sex with her, does she orgasm?"

"What?"

"When you fuck my daughter, do you make her cum?"

"Mrs. Mallory--"

"Please call me mom. Or mommy."

"I-- yes. She cums. We -- have a lot of fun together."

She rubs her cheek to yours. "I don't know if I trust that."

"Why on earth would I lie?"

"It's not that you're a liar, dear. But every man always says that. They THINK it's true, but it's not." She puts on her impression of a monkey-like male chauvinist: "'Oh yeah, I toootally make her cum. I make her cum every night! Snoooore.' -- meanwhile the poor woman's buying Duracells like she holds stock in the company. That isn't what you're inflicting on Rose, is it?"

"No. Trust me. Rose has plenty of fun with me."

"I think... I think you should prove it."

You try to break loose of her iron grip, but doing so only makes her hold you tighter. You feel perilously close to getting raped here.

"No son of mine is going to leave any daughter of mine unsatisfied. Rose and I are alike, so if you can satisfy me... then it would really put my mind at ease... you'll do that for me, won't you, Alabaster?"

"Satisfy you..." you repeat.

"Yes. Do I need to say it more plainly? Satisfy my pussy. Pump me full of cock and make me cum. Just like you do with my girl. Make me cum on your cock, Alabaster... and I'll be perfectly happy to let you marry Rose."

She's kissing you again and again on the cheek, planting lipstick all over your face, as she says these impossibly lewd things to you. There's no way out. And with your cock stiffening in your tuxedo's trousers, you no longer want there to be. You let her guide you to a chair in the corner. The fact that you're about to fuck your bride's own mother -- who's as good as your mother, too -- and biologically, your cousin -- in a church, right before you get married -- is something that should dissuade you. It only encourages you.

You sit down, and Charlotte looms over you. She rubs your chest. "You're already doing it raw, right? Cumming inside her, I mean -- no condoms?"

"No condoms," you say. "Never. I actually don't even know how to put a condom on."

"Okay, you're doing that right, at least. Make sure to keep doing that. And take her off birth control, for godsakes, if she's on it. I want you two making babies right away, Alabaster!"

"Jesus."

She hitches up the runner of her slim gown and tugs down her panties. Then she does something you couldn't have expected. She puts them over your head -- like a hat -- and pulls them so they cover your eyes. Like this, you're blindfolded. You reach up to remove the panties from your head, but Charlotte swats your hand. "No! Pretend I'm Rose, Alabaster. Fuck me like you'd fuck her."

You think she probably doesn't understand exactly what she's asking of you. Or maybe she does.

Charlotte's feminine scent inundates your nostrils and although it's similar to Rose's, it's deeper -- the same way their perfumes nearly match, but not quite. Maybe this is what you have to look forward to as you grow older with her.

Charlotte pulls your cock from your pants. She settles in your lap, legs astride you, and lowers herself down. You see none of it. You're blind, and can understand what's happening only by sense of touch, aided by imagination. But the now quite familiar sensation of a pussy swallowing your dick is unmistakable. You're fucking your adoptive mother's hot, mature cunt. Your jaw hangs open and you moan deeply, savoring that warm moist sliding of her walls against the skin of your prick.

"Just by -- size alone --" Charlotte says, voice breathy, but silken, "--you're half of the way there... a dick like this... is such a prize..."

She puts her hands on your shoulders.

"But of course," she adds, "you still need to use it right."

"Ungh--" you grunt.

She grunts back: "FUCK me."

You grope blindly for her body, and, finding her hips, you wrap your hands around them. You fuck her. You would never disobey Mrs. Mallory, of course, so you do her just like she told you to. The same way you'd fuck Rose. You pound her up and down on your horny cock like her body is a cocksleeve. You can feel her go limp, muscles loosening, but her motherly cunt is tightening. Her teeth chatter.

"Y-yes--y-esss--oh god, honey... fuck, that's good..."

You're not done. You stand with her. You stand all the way upright, holding her. Then taking a couple steps forward, you topple purposely with her to the ground. You get her on her back with a hard thud, and lie atop her right there on the floor of the church. She makes a pained "unff--" and then the wind gets knocked from her with the weight of you pressing down. And, burying your cock into the oh so inviting depths of her pussy, you begin to REALLY pound her. You're brutal, unmerciful, and selfish. She asked you to show her how you do it with her daughter. So you're showing her.

She runs her hands through the hair on the back of your head and writhes beneath you. At first she can't form any words other than: "Y-yess -- oh, yessss!" But then, gulping for breath, she manages: "Fuck me, Alabaster! Fuck my slut mommy pussy!"

Hard to imagine she's Rose when she's drilling it into your head that she's your mom. Not that you're complaining.

Her voice is high and shrill and full of perverted need. "That's it! Put your fucking cock in me! Fuck your mommy! Oh GOD, you need to cum so bad, don't you? Don't stop!"

You nestle your head against her neck and enjoy the raw sensation of rutting inside her. But her command not to stop comes up against an obstacle when you hear a voice behind you gasp: "Charlotte?"

You tug Charlotte's panties off your head. You look back over your shoulder. Mom is standing there gawking at the lewd scene. You try in vain to pull out of Charlotte's wet cunt, but her ankles locked around your butt prevent the attempt.

Mom's lip quavers. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Scarlett? I'm fucking your boy. Or... he's fucking me..."

She rocks her hips up and down, teasing you -- keeping you hard and trying to impel you to keep going. It's hard to resist.

"Alabaster... how could you?"

"I--" you gulp, and try not to focus on the pleasurable, hot wet sensations Charlotte is milking from your dick. You try to will yourself to go soft, but you can't. And you're still unbelievably horny. You need to fuck... to cum... and so your hips begin to move on their own.

So it's not a joke or a cliche, then. That really happens. Huh.

"See?" Charlotte says, almost mockingly. "He's just a very needy boy. I'm only taking care of him. It's fine, don't worry about it..."

You're too ashamed of yourself to look at your mother, so you just nestle your face back against Charlotte's neck and keep fucking her. Charlotte pets you soothingly, arms wrapped around you head. She rocks in time to your jackhammer thrusts.

"If there's a problem, we can talk about it later," Charlotte tells her. "But for now, you can leave us be, right? I don't think your boy is going to stop... and you wouldn't want to see him make a mess inside my pussy, would you?"

You expect Mom to storm out of the room, but you don't hear her retreating. And you can sense her eyes boring into your back. Even still, despite her audience, you keep fucking Charlotte.

"Or you can stay and watch, if you prefer," Charlotte says. Her cunt makes slurping, slapping noises while you rail her.

You hear a soft jostling noise, and sense that mom is sitting down in the chair where you were so recently fucking Charlotte. "Do you two... always do this?"

"N-no," you grunt, voice muffled, still fucking.

"I'm just making sure he can keep my baby girl satisfied..." Charlotte says grinningly. "I had to test it myself. You understand."

Mom gulps. "C-can he? Do you think?"

"Oh, yes... oh, yes, VERY much..."

You hear Mom try, and fail, to stifle a small moan.

"Masturbate, Scarlett."

"W-what?"

"Masturbate while you watch your son fuck me."

You almost cum right then. And again when, a few moments later, you hear Mom lifting the hem of her dress. What she does after that, she keeps well quiet -- but somehow, despite not looking, you can tell she's got her legs spread wide, and her cunt out in the open, and her fingers inside it.

"Hmmm hmm~" Charlotte laughs.

"I'm gonna -- I'm gonna -- " you exhale.

"Shhh. That's okay, baby. You go right ahead. You get all the cum out of that big leaky cock of yours, okay?"

Behind you, Mom hisses.

And in front of you, Charlotte sighs.

And down in your groin, you feel that wonderful, sick rush, like going into freefall, your orgasm racing up the length of your pistoning cock. Here it comes: a thick, creamy load, right in Charlotte's hungry pussy. She says she does this for your sake, or Rose's -- you know the truth. She wants your cum in her purely for her OWN sake. She's a fucking slut. She's a dirty slut for your big cumming dick. So, you give her precisely what she wants. You ejaculate inside her, as she cums on you, and behind you, watching, your mother cums as well.

GIRLS FUCKED: 14/12

Mom hurries from the room before you even dismount -- abashed and ashamed herself, you figure -- and you wonder what's going through her head right now.

A few heavy spritzes of cologne and some wet wipes to clean up the stain on the crotch of your trousers is about all you can manage, this close to the ceremony. Charlotte, fuck-drunk, wipes the mess between her legs with her panties, and stows the soiled garment in her purse. You shudder to imagine what she might do with it later.

"It's almost time, Alabaster! Aaaaah!" She balls up her fists in front of her and shakes them in excitement.

You can hardly believe she can act normally after THAT.

"So I trust I have your blessing?" You venture.

"Yes. YES. 100%. If you screw Rose like that all the time, my main concern is you'll make her cum too MUCH. You'll start killing off her brain cells like that. And she needs all of them she can get."

"I guess I'm flattered."

She pecks you on the cheek. "Five minutes!" She says. "Five minutes until my baby boy and my baby girl become husband and wife! Oh my goodness!"

There's a knock on the door, and you grimace. Will the madness ever end?

Into the room now, walks Cerise.

Charlotte, understanding that this is a moment for brother and sister, leaves you be.

You feel the nervousness hit you all at once. All of a sudden you're getting shaky, jittery, as you imagine what lies ahead. You're minutes away from doomsday here... the final defeat you never thought you'd have to endure.

You try, fumblingly, hands trembling, to do your tie -- once again. And once again, you fail.

"Congratulations, Alabaster." Cerise's tone is warm, and happy, although tinged with just a small hint of sadness as well.

"Gee, thanks," you say. "I'm ecstatic."

"Don't be shitty," Cerise chides. "You and Rose... well. I can't say I'm surprised. I don't think anyone is surprised."

"Are you forgetting that this is all just a sham marriage--"

"Of course," Cerise cuts in. "And you'll be living your sham for a long time, I think..."

She steps forward and reaches for your tie where it hangs loose around your neck. You turn to face her.

"Geez," she says. Her hands work with practiced nimbleness. "Still don't know how to tie a tie after all this time."

"Guess not."

"That's why you need me."

"Guess so."

When your tie is tied tight, she doesn't let you go. She tugs you toward her. And she kisses you.

"I love you, Alabaster."

"I love you too, Cerise."

She worries her lip. "I want this for you -- I'm happy."

You believe her. But a tear trickles down her cheek anyway. You wipe it away. You kiss her again, and deeply so.

"Don't let her brainwash you with her social justice nonsense," Cerise says, gripping your lapels.

"It's not that bad--"

"Oh my god. It's already starting."

"Fine. Then stick around and keep me on the right track, then."

"Of course. What else would I do?"

"Thanks, Cerise. I'm counting on you. Ganbare."

"Ugh. Don't go that other direction, either. You're fine the way you are."

"Shitty?"

"Shitty and mean and sarcastic and arrogant. My little brother. Yeah."

"I'll see you out there," you say, and gently tug her hands from your tux. She smiles wanly. And then, she goes.

You have only a few moments to compose yourself before you hear the music cue, and know that it's time.

Rose2 throws, fittingly, rose petals from a basket -- paving your way down the long, red-carpeted aisle as you follow behind. Mom walks with you, arm in arm, to give you away. It was a hard sell to explain to Amber and Rose2 why she would be doing this for you, but you are ostensibly an orphan, after all -- and Charlotte is Rose's mother, so she couldn't do it, right?... well, you think they bought it.

Mom whispers to you as you walk with her: "I'm sorry."

"--Sorry?"

"I behaved -- obscenely--"

"It's fine. So did I."

She sighs. "I'm ashamed of myself."

"Don't be." You give her a cheeky smile and a cheekier tone: "I still love ya, ma."

"Tch -- geez." She hands you off at the altar.

You're not sure what's a more marvelous sight: Whitney, all bedecked in a luxurious, floor-length gown, the most feminine dress you've ever seen her in, complete with tiara, and veil -- or Alex, wearing basically the same, and blushing even harder than Whitney.

Fazil pats you on the shoulder and shakes your hand. "My best man!" He says. "Very proud of this day! Make children tonight, okay?"

God. Even Fazil wants grandchildren. You're beginning to feel the universe is conspiring against you.

"The problem at hand is..." he says. "I have misplaced the rings."

The blood drains from your face. "What?"

"Ah! Hahaha. It's joke. The rings are here." He opens one side of his tux, and reveals the bulges in an inner pocket. He reaches in, and hands them over. "I am sorry. In reading about the duties of best men, I also read that they are often playing the pranks and being jokesters. I hope this jest is taken stride."

"Yes," you say, breathing normally again. "...Good one."

"Haha."

"Fuckin' A!" Whitney shouts, pounding a fist upward against her flattened palm. She makes her impression of an explosion: "Bch-ooowww! You're a smokeshow today, Ally. Hot as hell."

"You too," you say, grinning.

"I--" she blinks rapidly. She blushes deeply and shakes her head. "N-no... no I'm not... I'm ugly... fuck. I hate this stupid dress. Shut up. Shut up! Don't laugh. I see you laughing, Ally, fuck you!" She couldn't possibly see you laughing, though, because she's staring at the floor.

"I'm so happy, Ally!" Alex says.

You narrow your eyes and simply nod at him.

"I..." he begins.

But he doesn't say anything more.

The music swells, and Rose comes out, arms linked with Saul.

If Whitney was blushing, then Rose is infrared. She stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, the tendons of her neck taut and twitching, her spine rigid. She looks about half a second away from melting into a puddle.

They get closer, and closer, and closer. And finally, they're upon you, and Saul is handing his daughter over. From his hand to yours; you help Rose up the final steps to the small pedestal in front of the wreathed arch and reverend's podium.

Saul nods at you. You nod back at him. He returns to his seat in the front row.

The reverend looks from you to her, and he's smiling happily. But of course it's just another day, for him. For you --

"This is -- it," you say. You hand her the ring she's about to hand back to you in a few seconds. You would never say it, but looking at her through the gossamer veil, you think she's the most beautiful girl here.

The music slows, and then stops, and then silence descends. Your heart is going to beat out of its chest. You're sure everyone here can hear it.

"We are gathered here to celebrate the union of two young people, joining in holy matrimony..."

The reverend drones on, and you tune him out -- instead, just staring wild-eyed at Rose, who's staring wild-eyed back at you.

Until, of course, comes the part where you have to interact.

"And so then. Do you, Rose, take this man, Alabaster, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish for all time, until by death shall you part?"

Rose squints at you. You squint back at her.

You continue to squint at Rose.

Rose continues to squint back at you.

Finally, she turns to the reverend: "Doesn't the man traditionally go first?"

"Oh, and YOU'RE one for tradition--" you begin.

"Don't even. Don't even," Rose is repeating over you.

"Is there a problem?" The reverend asks.

"No..." Rose says. She swipes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm just pointing out the traditional--"

"Are you trying to fuck me?" You say.

"Excuse me?" Through the gossamer veil, her face is beginning to turn red again.

"You're trying to fuck me. You want to make me go first so I have to say 'I do.' Then when it's your turn, you get to say something smug and cunty instead. That's what this is. Don't deny it."

"You are RIDICULOUS," Rose cuts in.

"No -- no, you're fucking me--"

"--smug, egotistical, paranoid moron--"

"I will beat your ass, Rose. I will beat the shit out of you right here in front of God and everyone."

"Oh! OH!" Rose says. "I'd like to see you try! Hit me then, if you're such a big man! Limp-dick, chickenshit--"

"I'm sorry," the reverend says, timidly looking from you to her. "Are you sure you want to continue? This union may be--"

You fold your arms. "No. We'll continue. We will definitely continue. And YOU go first."

"No way," Rose says. She folds her arms too. "After that? Now I know what your gameplan is. I was going to do this like normal but after THAT little display -- nuh uh. Nope. YOU go first."

The reverend impotently scratches his head and then leafs through his bible as if looking for a passage that would provide guidance for this unprecedented scenario.

It's Whitney who says: "Jesus fuck, you two. I have places to be. Go at the same time."

"I think, hopefully, we can agree to that?" The reverend says.

You stare down the bridge of your nose at Rose. She stares back at you. Finally you both give the reverend a curt nod.

"All right, then." He clears his throat again. "Do you Rose, and do you Alabaster, each take the other, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish for all time, until by death shall you part?"

"I..." you and Rose begin, in tandem, that single syllable seeming to stretch to infinity so that it actually becomes two syllables: "aaaa-eeee...."

Your eyebrows slowly lift, until they seem to be crawling to the backs of your scalps -- "...eeeeeee..." Like an endless question mark, your voices crest on a continuous upward lilt -- "...eeeeeee..." -- your torsos tilt steadily away from each other until you're both recoiling so much that you may as well be playing limbo.

When you both run out of breath, you pause, still in that recoiling stance, silent and motionless, cringing at each other. Someone coughs.

Now comes the next, even harder bit. You begin in fits and starts, "d-d...d-...d-d--" neither of you wanting to be first to begin any more than you want to be first to finish. You stammer your D's, sizing each other up, daring one another to go. But your syncopated stutters finally catch like a stubborn jacket zipper and you begin, together, in earnest: "Doooo..." another long, long, exhalation, an eternal purr, a forever-sigh, "...oooo..." your bodies tilting towards each other now, until you're practically butting brows like boxers before the prizefight, voices lowering more than an octave as you work through your last emergency reserves of oxygen, the reserves typically called upon only in the final moments of drowning, or strangulation, reserves the use of which saps your blood of all its red and leaves you blue in the face, lightheaded, dizzy and close to unconsciousness, "...oooo..." the O's pulling apart like melted taffy, becoming low, quiet, and pinched-off, two people saying one word in slow-motion -- each precluding the other absolutely from finishing last.

Finally, at the end, there is no victor.

You each outlast the other; you outlast Rose and she outlasts you, against all conceived laws of linear time. But paradox aside you have both have now said it, over the course of 2 minutes or so. You have both said "I do."

And now it is irrevocably sealed, as you slip the rings onto each other's fingers, and the reverend, smiling, says: "by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Rose Mallory has become Rose Soliloquy. Rose Soliloquy is your wife.

There is a smattering of polite, but confused applause. Rose closes her eyes, sets her jaw, and sighs.

"You may now kiss the bride."

>[x] Kiss her.

[ ] Make her kiss you. (It's empowering that way, isn't it?)

Rose's eyes are still closed. You step forward, and clasp her behind her back. And this sudden motion causes her eyes to shoot open.

You lean in, practically sweeping her off her feet. Holding her in your arms, supporting her by her severely arched back, one of your hands linked with hers, you stare down at her surprised face.

"Alaba--"

You cut her off with your lips, pressing them to her lips. You kiss her.

She tenses in your grip -- but then opens her mouth to you, and kisses you back.

You kind of make out a little.

It's only with Fazil politely clearing his throat, that you get the message that this is edging into PDA territory. You let Rose come up for air, helping her upright again. She's a bit faint, but she's smiling. The applause to this is a lot stronger.

There's the uncorking of champagne, and throwing of the bouquet (Cerise catches it, but when Rose turns back and winks at her, you figure Rose relied on her almost preternatural aim to make sure it went to the right person).

There's dancing, first you and Rose to an appallingly sappy song by the fucking Postal Service (really, Rose?) then the rest of the attendees joining for music that's only a hair better. There's revelry. And there's cake -- oh god, is there cake -- cake that leaves the guests high on an almost sexual sugar rush.

"Jesus fuckin' -- Jesus -- JESUS!" Armstrong moans, horking down fork after fork.

"I could die. I could die, right now, and be happy..." Stackleford says.

"And I as well," Vivian says. "I am in a state of seemingly perpetual bliss..."

"Ungh-- oh my GOD," Nelson moans sensually. "I need a medic...take me now..."

Mom watches on smugly. Somehow, someway, you need to get the recipe from her. But really, of course, what you need is her magic touch. Maybe one day you'll have it.

---

You ride the limo back home, with Rose, alone together. The ride is long and awkward -- as you predicted it would be -- neither of you have said word one to each other since "I do." Rose fidgets in place on the other side of the backseat, gloved hands in her lap, veil parted. But she's smiling. She has not stopped smiling since you kissed her.

At your doorstep, Rose goes as if to step through the front door like normal, but you stop her, tugging her by a wrist, holding her back.

"What?" She says.

(Already bitchy. Joy.)

You scoop her up into your arms anyway, her butt resting between the crooks of your elbows as if she lies in an invisible hammock.

"What are you doing!" She whines.

"I'm -- fuck, you're heavy --" You knees wobble and threaten to buckle.

"Heavy? I'm 5 foot 1, Alabaster! I weigh less than 100 pounds! Go to a gym! It won't kill you!"

"You do NOT weigh less than 100 pounds. And I thought you were 5 foot 4, huh?"

"Yeah, and you're 6 feet even, huh? Go fuck yourself!"

You struggle, despite Rose's protests, to get the front door open. You step groaningly over the threshold with her. And despite the protests, she lets you.

"I suppose this means you think you're entitled to sex with me now," Rose says, when you let her down to her feet again in the foyer.

You rub the small of your back. "Gee, I dunno. We just got married. So I think that's customary. Traditional? You're traditional all of a sudden. So."

You lock eyes with her. You stare at each other for a few long moments. And then together, you dash upstairs to her bedroom.

Through her door, leaving it open, to her bed, tugging at your tuxedo jacket, as she crawls up to the mattress and turns onto her back and tries to help you. You mash your lips against each other, as if you're attempting to suck out each other's very souls. Your tongues entwine and you run your hands through the ruffles of her ornate wedding gown. You can't bear trying to get this ridiculous thing off of her -- too many clasps, garters, and other nonsense. You just want her, anyhow, anyway -- right now.

She must be the same, because you hardly manage to get your belt undone and trousers to your ankles, before she's pulling you by the tie right back into her arms. She doesn't even let you kick off your shoes, much less take off your shirt. She's nothing but limbs and kisses and breathy exhalations. You run your hands through her absurd hairdo, and grope her face, and feel her warm body through her dress. This one's going to be quick, you know, you're already hard, your cock is already leaking, and when your hands find Rose's bare pussy beneath the layers of the dress's skirt -- did she really go nopan to her own wedding? Jesus, Rose, amazing -- her cunt slit is already oozing wet and ready.

"Just -- just fuck me --" she sighs. "Fuck me, Alabaster."

It's important, as a husband, to listen to your wife.

You fuck her.

You shove your cock into her waiting body. Her warm pussy accepts you entirely, conforms to you, swallows you. Rose's feet, still clad in heels, kick skyward, and lock around your hips, the soles clacking together as you screw her. You press down on her, with all your might. You interlace fingers with her and feel her clench you back, her hands so small but surprisingly strong. She's all sweaty from exertion, and from the sultry confines of her outfit, but she's lost in bliss. She stares right back at you. Her jaw is hanging open and her tongue is hanging out but her eyes are dewy, and full of -- and yours, too -- you kiss her, again and again, letting your mind turn to mush. You fuck Rose for what feels like forever. It's the hardest you've ever fucked her but somehow the softest, too. Your cock fits inside her so nicely that you'd think you were literally made for each other. She's snug and tight, and just for you. Her pussy is just for you. The other girls might get their share of it, but it's yours -- and she wants you to have it. But not just her pussy. She wants you to have her, all of her. You want her to have you. You fuck her in a way that communicates this, without words. You fuck her like you never have, her or anyone. In a giving way. Giving yourself to her.

"Do it!" Rose pants. You didn't even have to warn her. She knows you're about to cum, and she's giving you full permission in advance.

"I--" you grunt -- beginning to say it, but you can't. Even now, you can't. Instead you say it physically. Your tongue in her mouth, and your dick inside her deepest parts, you and Rose become property of one another. You ejaculate, a huge, seemingly never-ending volume of it. You spray her full of semen and mark her as yours. In return, she cums around your jerking cock, and marks you as hers.

Perspiring, drained, exhausted, you fall atop her, and go limp. Your breaths are labored and jagged. Hers too.

"Are you fucking cuddling me right now?" Rose says.

"Yes." (Voice muffled by her breasts.)

"Don't get up..."

"I can't..."

It feels like perhaps half an hour passes before Rose finally speaks again.

"Today was fun," she says.

A little after 4 AM, you nudge Rose awake. The dead of night is the best time for this.

"Hmmm?" She murmurs after a sharp intake of air, groggy, and ready to fall fast asleep again. In the dark, Rose is a formless shadow among many. But you feel her. Her body is so nice atop you, the weight of it, and her radiating warmth. And, too, the way she fits you perfectly -- your lower halves still mated, her head against your collar, her little fists balled up on your shoulders. As if she was purpose-built for being a human blanket to you, or maybe you were purpose-built for being a human pillow to her.

Your cheek nuzzles the crown of her head. "I want to... say something," you whisper. Your voice catches a little bit, with anxiety, and self-consciousness.

"Oh... okay, Alabaster." Rose's voice is catching too, the slightest hint of a stammer to it.

"You have to be serious," you tell her.

"Serious? I don't underst--"

Your heartbeat quickens. You try, fumblingly, to explain what you mean. "This time -- I don't want to do it like always... or, I mean -- what I'm trying to ask is -- this is something important. And I don't want you to just--"

"I'll be serious," Rose tells you.

You nod. You run your hands down her back, from the nape of her neck to her butt, and up again -- just appreciating the softness of her in your grasp. As you mentally prepare to say what you want to say, your heartbeat goes even faster, but for only a moment. Because caressing her like this, firmly, but tenderly, your pulse slows back to normal, and then even slower still -- to the steady surety of a monk's in meditation. You pet the back of her head now, running your hands through her hair, and then stroke her pretty face. You pull her chin gently up with a forefinger. You can't really see each other in this pitch black bedroom, but you're looking at each other all the same.

You put your cheek to hers, and you whisper something in her ear.

She tenses -- and then relaxes, like someone jolting awake from a half-dream. She wiggles and nestles her body against yours, wraps her arms around you.

She whispers the same thing back to you.

She does, and always has.

You get an email the next afternoon at work from Rose, who sends a daily status update on various things with all the executives at Darkbloom Analytics CC'd. But you're paying more attention to the header.

You march down to her office. "Why haven't you changed your email?"

"What?"

"Your email username. It should be Rose.Soliloquy now. Not Rose.Mallory."

She purrs in disgust. "I told you, Alabaster, I'm not changing my surname--"

"Like fuck you aren't. You're my wife. Change your name--"

"No. This is a sham marriage. I refuse to change things for the sake of this illusory--"

"Oh! Says the woman who literally wore her fucking wedding dress in to work on the day after the wedding. What the fuck are you still doing in that thing?"

"It feels comfortable! I didn't have time to change this morning!"

"You're crazy. Legitimately a psychopath, Rose, wearing a wedding dress a full 24 hours after the nuptials. Change your fucking email address."

"Make me!"

You pick up the phone. This is becoming something like a dare, as she watches, arms folded. You dial HR.

"Yeah, Spancer?" You say when he picks up. With mounting frustration, you watch Rose's increasingly smug face, as she listens to your half of the conversation: "I wanted to let you know that Rose's email username -- Rose Mallory -- yeah, her. Her email username should be changed. -- She married me yesterday. So it should be Rose.Soliloquy. -- Yeah, I -- What? Why? -- I'M telling you. Why do you need HER perm-- listen. She's my wife. She has my name now -- no, that's not the point -- just -- just -- FUCK."

You slam the phone back down.

"Do you ever get tired of losing?" Rose asks.

"Go fuck yourself, Mrs. Soliloquy."

You stomp out, slamming the door behind you.

>Meanwhile.

"This tiramisu is no Scarlett Catachresis wedding cake extravaganza, but it's amazing," Renee says, digging in. "This place might have some bad memories, sure, but it's got great food. No denying that."

Across from Renee at the Rutabaga Cafe, Alex eats his tiramisu, smiling. "I agree. An off-campus lunch break was a great idea, Ms. Carte!"

"I know things are kind of messed up right now, and I wish Alabaster would treat you better -- but I think if we're successful, he'll forgive you."

Alex is dour all of a sudden. "I hope so," he mumbles.

Renee pulls a laptop out and boots it up. "In any case... until Alabaster, Cerise, Whitney, or Vivian tell me otherwise -- your project has got my unconditional support."

"Thank you. Diogenes still has a lot of kinks to work out... and Ms. Guiteau is... well, she isn't always the most reliable sounding board to bounce ideas off of. She's been wrong about a lot of the technical details too. It was the same way with Sand Reckoner. She's got the basic idea for the codebase, but the actual structure of it... ehhh. She's kind of a hot mess, if you wanna know the truth. Brilliant in concept... lacking in execution."

"I already surmised that much." She chews a paper straw and puzzles over her CAD program. She's working on the first stages of the new implant, as requested by Alex, and ordered by her bosses.

Weird to think of her daughter and her sex friend as bosses. But it's better than having David Darkbloom as a boss, anyway. Or the California penal system...

"I can help you a bit with code, I guess," Renee says. "But I'm no genius. Not like you. I think you've got it covered, honestly. My realm is bio-engineering -- and I'll do my very best to--"

The chime above the door dings, and in stride two rough-looking, portly, pockmarked middle-age men in cheap suits. One of them, without hesitation, pulls a pistol from his waistband, points it at the table beside the entrance, and blows the brains out of the plainclothes bodyguard who's been staying at the periphery of everywhere Renee goes. Her second bodyguard, springing to his feet, draws, and returns fire.

There's screaming, shrieking -- a commotion of feet, a stampede of people fleeing.

Renee's second bodyguard is already dead but her third and fourth plainclothes bodyguards, and Alex's full retinue, provide enough cover fire for Renee and Alex to react accordingly. Somehow, both of them are calm. Well. They've been through this before, or similar situations -- situations with life and death in the balance. Renee makes certain to keep her laptop with her. And her purse too, where inside sits the implant she's been toting around for safekeeping. Stupid, she thinks, stupid... goddamn you, Renee Carte, she thinks.

They need not exchange a single word. They're already up and on their feet, and they spring over the counter together, and disappear into the kitchen. Then out the back door, running, past smelly dumpsters, over sunbaked cracked asphalt -- as far, and as fast, as their legs will carry.

Taking full strides, Renee clacks off a short, simple text to Alabaster Soliloquy.

>We've been attacked.

>Tell you more when safe.

Then she gets hit by a car.

A van, actually, a black van out of which spring more armed men, and from among them Mara Darkbloom, and a fellow member of the board -- her lackey, Dalton Cantor.

Renee, howling in pain with what she figures is a shattered ankle, hardly takes notice. But Alex does. Standing there, he's got a choice. He can make a break for it -- run, and leave Dr. Renee D. Carte to whatever fate awaits her. Or he can stay, and suffer that fate alongside her.

He stays.

---

"Burn down the Googleplex! Do not let the Chinese take over your brainspace!"

Sable is wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, how quaint, cringeworthy even, but it conceals her identity perfectly well. She's giving marching orders to the first gathering of fans of her podcast, a bedraggled army of neckbearded losers, social outcasts, NEETs, recipients of the 'tismbux, members of the Yang Gang -- you understand. Sable does too. She knows she's crazy. But she isn't like THAT. She hams it up for their sake, standing on a milk crate in the center of the warehouse. But her orders are sincere. She wants to incite violence. She wants them to destroy Google, to riot, to burn down their facilities. To make the buyout too toxic to the Chinese for them to continue with it. If they don't... the world could end.

This motley gathering swiftly become an abattoir.

Somehow... somehow they found her... somehow Mara Darkbloom got to her a second time. Despite the precautions. Despite the careful preparation and obfuscations, the opsec, despite it all. She's found. These poor, unwitting useful idiots get mowed down in twos and threes and tens, as Mara's men storm the building and fire. Sable can but stand there, in the middle of the room, obediently waiting for the end. She's pretty sure they won't kill her. They'll just kill her listeners. These stupid, venal, petty criminals... killing some of the only people who would listen. Forgive them, basilisk, they know not what they do.

When the violence is over, as swiftly as it began, in now comes Mara, and Dalton. In tow, toted by burly mooks, Renee Carte, limping; and Alex Best, crying.

Sable removes her mask. A fine mist of blood spins complexly in the dim light all around her. Her ears ring from all the gunfire.

"You are a stupid fucking whore," she tells Mara.

"Get down off your soapbox. Your constituents are no longer listening to the stump speech."

"You will destroy the world. You will destroy everything. For what?"

"I will own it," Mara says. "And you will deliver it to me."

"Ms. Guiteau..." Alex begs. "Run! Please, run!"

Sable regards him, but says nothing.

"We got two for the price of one," Dalton says, his voice somehow... catlike, with pretension and smugness. "We wanted only Dr. Carte, but we received also for our trouble Alex Best. You complete the trifecta."

Mara harrumphs. "We can kill Alex Best now. He can be Sofia Sant-Elizabeth as far as the world is concerned -- gunned down by one of his own madmen -- and the world need not ever know that Sable Guiteau stood here also. She's the important one."

Sable is passive, as Dalton shrugs, and puts his pistol to Alex's skull.

Alex locks eyes with her. His face is messy with tears. Dalton cocks the hammer.

"Wait," Sable says.

"Speak quickly," Mara commands. "Not your usual narcotized drawl, please. For Alex's sake."

"Alex is my assistant. I need him at my side."

"No you don't. You did just fine without him. You will again."

"I will not work without Alex. You can torture me as you wish. I will not bend if he is dead."

"Torture has a way of changing minds," Mara says.

Sable pulls a gun from her pocket. The men startle, wheel on her, but Mara is apathetic. Sable's motions are swift and all business. She puts the gun to her own shoulder, and fires it. The blast caroms off the high walls. The bloody, bone-flecked mist from Sable's body joins the miasma already in the air. Sable's arm hangs uselessly at her side, the rotator cuff destroyed. She tosses the gun to the ground with a clatter. She does not even flinch.

"Torture will not break me," she says.

Mara laughs loud and long. She says: "I love you, Sable. I honestly adore you. It's such a pity we're on opposite sides."

"Ms. Guiteau -- Ms. Guiteau!!"

"If you kill Alex, I will not help you. I need him. He is every bit as critical to this undertaking as I am."

"Somebody has to die," Dalton says. "You or him."

"Kill me!" Alex screams. "Kill me, then! Don't --"

"Alex knows the details of Diogenes and Sand Reckoner, inside and out," Sable says. She hesitates not a microsecond. "Even without me, he would finish the project with ease. Perhaps even faster. I could only delay him."

"Is that true?" Dalton asks Mara. Mara considers it, shrugging.

Renee, arms pinned behind her back, can just barely get her fingers in her purse. And she can just barely get Cerise's implant in her hands. She needs to be swift, and she only has one chance.

"I think it's true," Mara says finally. "Yes. And what is certain -- Alex is more reliable than this unbalanced crackpot. He can be persuaded. Sable Guiteau cannot."

Dalton nods, and approaches the milk crate where Sable stands immobile and bleeding.

"Ms. Guiteau -- no! I can't -- I can't do it -- I can't do it -- I could never -- don't die! Please, don't die!"

"I love you, Alex," Sable says.

Dalton raises his gun, fires, and kills Sable.

She falls to the side, a dead hunk of flesh, among the the many on the ground.

Sable recently told Alex, as he lay entwined in her arms, his cock still inside her, basking in post-coital ecstasy together: that she did not believe in a soul; that Sand Reckoner was the creation of the soul from the forges of mankind's striving. That without this soul, we are just meat, destined to turn to maggoty rot, and then to dust. But that lying with Alex she thought maybe she actually did have a soul, after all, and hoped quite sincerely she did, because she didn't want to lose that moment to the mire of oblivion.

"No!" Alex screams. The O draws out, into a hideous wail, that makes Renee weep, too, and she can't bear to look. "Noooo! No! No! NO!"

Even as she cries, Renee knows this is the only opportunity. She drops the implant to the cold concrete floor, between her and the random asshole keeping her held fast. And no one notices. David Darkbloom's soul, if that's what it is, will not fall in Mara Darkbloom's clutches today.

"All right, then," Mara says. "Off we go."

"I will not help you!" Alex screams. "You can kill me! You can kill me right now because I won't! I WON'T!"

"You silly little faggot. Of course you will." Mara puts her own revolver beneath his chin. Strokes his face with it. "You will help me. Because there are so, so many more people for me to kill, and for you to watch die. Just who should I even begin with? Whitney Darkbloom? Cerise Soliloquy? Alabaster Soliloquy? So many to pick! And so many ways to torture them before they die. You can see it all, if you refuse to help."

Alex hyperventilates, and then -- he begins to scream. He screams incoherently, shrieking, in a total, world-shattering panic attack. He's through the looking glass now; driven mad.

Mara motions for one of her men to gag him. She strides from the warehouse, and her followers -- well, follow.

After all is quiet and still again, from behind a column -- wigging the fuck out, but alive and unscathed, comes Amber Catachresis.

She's shaking with raw adrenaline. And she saw what no one else did. Renee Carte dropping a... something to the ground. She walks over. She picks it up. She examines the glowing blue grain.

She puts it in her pocket, and flees out the back of the warehouse, and gets as far from that awful place as she can.

Amber bursts through her bedroom door. Standing in front of her TV, her childhood friend Will is busying himself with a round of Wii bowling. He swings the Wiimote with perfect follow-through, and scores a strike. The scoreboard shows that he's currently rolling a perfect game, all the way into frame 8.

"Jesus," Amber groans. "Invite yourself in, why don't you."

"You're late," Will tells her. "We were supposed to go running, like, two hours ago!"

"Fuck that!" Amber spits. "Serious shit is going down."

"Pfft. When is serious shit ever not going down with you?" He rolls again, another strike.

Amber pulls the implant from her back shorts pocket. She steps between Will and the TV, climbing up onto the TV stand for extra height, to reach the portrait of George W. Bush hanging on the wall there.

"What the fuck!" Will whines, trying to peer around Amber's butt, and messing up his 10th strike. He ends up with a 7-10 split.

Amber glances over her shoulder. "Will you forget your fucking Wii, Will?" She blinks dazedly for a second, contemplating the ridiculousness of that sentence, before going on. "I just saw a fucking multiple homicide! Okay? That's more important than your 11th 300 in a row."

"Whoa -- homicide? Like murder?"

"Yeah. Like murder. Fucking moron."

"Who?" Will asks, circling around to face Amber from the side.

"That crazy Sofia Sant-Elizabeth bitch I've been listening to. Turns out -- she's none other than Sable fucking Guiteau. Or WAS. She got domed by none other than Mara fucking Darkbloom..."

"Sable Guiteau has a dick?" Will breathes. "Mara Darkbloom sucked it?"

"Wha-- God you're the stupidest person on the planet. She didn't get dome. She got domed. Shot in the head. Blasted away. Kaboom. Brains everywhere. Like that."

"Holy shit. This all goes back to that Alabaster creep you've been hanging with?"

"He's not a creep!"

"I thought you said he was a creep--"

"Will you shut the fuck up, Will? Goddamn it."

She tugs on the portrait's frame, revealing that it's hinged on one side, and that behind it lies a safe. She quickly inputs the combination, spinning the dial to click the tumblers into place, and pops it open. Inside, another implant sits already -- and a folded piece of paper. The implant in the safe glows a steady crimson. She sets the other one beside it, and it glows a steady blue. The two glowing grains of circuitry face one another. She shuts the safe again.

"What are those things?" Will demands.

Amber hops down and puts her finger in his face. "Don't you dare tell anyone about any of this shit. Are you listening to me, you dense motherfucker?"

"Aye aye, captain," Will says sarcastically. "Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning..."

"Forget it. I need to get my mind off this bullshit. Are we still running or what?"

Will smiles stupidly. "Thought you'd never ask. Let's go!"

From the driver's seat of his car, Auburn Brantly watches Amber and Will jogging as they depart from Amber's house. He has a severe expression on his face as he replays everything he just witnessed. Amber, getting up close and personal to an armed confrontation between Russian mafia and a wanted criminal... retrieving a piece of electronics that is surely related to Sand Reckoner -- and to that strange, awful billionaire she's fallen in with. Alabaster Soliloquy, that rat bastard. Auburn clutches his pistol in one hand and considers what kind of measures he's going to need to take to keep Amber out of harm's way.

---

Ding-dong, comes the doorbell.

Scarlett answers it. "Hello, Auburn. I think you just missed Amber--"

"Oh, shoot," he says, in his best aww-shucks voice. "Well -- I have some project stuff for her, you know, for StuCo? Is it okay if I drop it off?"

"Go ahead," Scarlett says. She steps aside and lets him in. What a nice, clean-cut young man.

Auburn hurries upstairs to Amber's bedroom. He can search a room top to bottom in 5 minutes flat and find most of the typical concealment spots. In this case, it takes him less than a minute. It's obvious -- the only thing hanging on the wall. What kind of stalker searching this bedroom would fail to consider the only thing hanging on the wall? He laughs to himself.

Cracking a safe is child's play. He's great with all kinds of locks, and getting past them.

In the safe, yep -- that weird thing she picked up off the floor of the warehouse. And a twin. He stares down at them and gets the uneasy feeling that they're staring back.

Well -- regardless, he considers whether to take them or not. No, he decides. Too risky. She'd know.

He instead picks up the folded note, and unfurls it, and reads it.

>Джopдж,

>пpиятнo былo вcтpeтитьcя c Baми в зaмкe Бpдo. Eщё paз cпacибo зa тёплыe cлoвa и пoздpaвлeния. C нeтepпeниeм ждy вoзмoжнocти пoceтить вaшe paнчo и пoзнaкoмитьcя c вaшeй зaмeчaтeльнoй ceмьёй.

>Дaнным пиcьмoм я хoчy пoдвecти итoг нaшeмy paзгoвopy o пpoeктe "Pycaлкa". Mы ocoзнaём, чтo дaнный пpoeкт cпocoбeн измeнить миp. Eгo peaлизaция являeтcя oдним из вeличaйших дocтижeний coвeтcкoй нayки нapядy c кocмичecкoй и ядepнoй пpoгpaммaми.

>B cлoжившeйcя cитyaции мы нe мoжeм pacкpыть инфopмaцию o мecтoнaхoждeнии мaякa, и, тeм бoлee, нe cмoжeм выпoлнить зaпpoc o eгo paзбopкe или yничтoжeнии. Пpoшy пoнять, чтo дaннaя пoзиция никaк нe влияeт нa нaши oбязaтeльcтвa пepeд CШA и HATO, мы гoтoвы к взaимoвыгoднoмy coтpyдничecтвy.

>Bлaдимиp.

Well... he can't read it. Not right now.

Fucking Russians, again. Russians cause so much trouble for the world these days. He snaps a photo of it with his phone, which he's keeping on airplane mode, and endeavors to translate it. He closes the safe, and hurries away.

Alabaster is in the midst of crisis mode, when there's a knock on his door, and his personal guards dump Amber and her dumbass friend Will onto his doorstep. Fucking perfect.

"Unhand me!" Will shouts. "You assholes! I know karate--"

"I cannot deal with you right now," Alabaster growls to Amber. "I am NOT -- in the mood--"

Rose, Rose2, Vivian, Cerise, Galatea, and Whitney peer at the two teenagers from the living room.

"You wanna hear this," Amber says. "Renee Carte and your gay fuck friend Alex got kidnapped--"

Alabaster's face gets even more serious, if that's possible. "How do you know that?"

"I was there. I saw it happen."

"Who did it?"

"Mara Darkbloom--"

Of course.

"--And she killed Sable Guiteau, too."

Alabaster feels the nausea he's felt all afternoon get even worse.

April 25, 2020

Unalaska, Alaska

And finally in the end there was only Rose.

You sit with her in a shitty rundown tavern in the town of Unalaska (officially now part of the Independent Alaska Republic) preparing to make the final push now. You will need a boat, and supplies, and a hell of a lot of luck.

Somewhere in the frigid Bering Sea is the lighthouse. Somewhere out there is last and only chance. Somewhere out there is the reset button.

At a corner booth, getting the side-eye from drunk locals, crab fishermen mostly, you puzzle over a map with her. She's in rough shape, same as you -- skin grimy, hair uncombed and greasy, deep bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. And yet somehow she looks so energized and alive. In fact she's practically glowing. Like there's some wellspring of vitality inside her driving her forward. She reads the map as she snacks on a giant dill pickle from the bar.

"It's a dice roll," you say. "We'll be at the mercy of the tides. There's no point trying to figure out which direction to go."

"Don't be defeatist."

"I'm telling you -- never mind. What's your plan, then?"

You both fall quickly silent as a fat, warty waitress swings by with a platter of drinks. You only asked for a coke, but Rose got an enormous chocolate milkshake. Not that cost is an object, since you're going to leave without paying, but you can't believe she's got enough of an appetite for this stuff, at a time like now.

"We can stop in Adak," Rose says. She points at the map. "That'll get us closer. I'm thinking the lighthouse must be on the other side of the dateline."

"Fucking seriously? You want to try getting all the way over the dateline in a rowboat?"

"You're the one who said it doesn't matter which direction we go," Rose counters. She takes a bite of her pickle and a big sip of her milkshake, chews and swallows the disgusting combination. "Why not go in mine?"

You can't argue with her. You don't have the energy and you can't think of a good comeback. A lull settles in the conversation. You let Rose examine the map, charting out courses, while she snacks. You cherish a moment like this, to watch her in silence, while she isn't aware your eyes on her (or maybe she is, she probably is), so that you can just appreciate her presence without having to invent an excuse for why you're staring. She's the only thing you have left in this world.

"I've got one for you," you say finally.

Rose meets your eyes. She's already scowling -- she knows this is going to suck.

"Did you hear that Vishnu went on a crime spree? Local authorities described him as dangerous and extremely armed."

Rose sighs. "What is with you and these jokes?"

You shrug. Recently you've taken to telling Rose corny jokes, in an attempt to lighten her mood. You're not sure where it comes from -- you were never a big joker, and you certainly never cared for cheap puns and wordplay. Of course, protest though she might, you know she likes your jokes. She just won't admit it.

A glint through the windows catches your attention, Rose's too. Hi-brite headlights approaching. You've had enough practice at this by now that you know to trust your instincts and not worry too hard about civilian casualties. You grab your duffel and pull out Rose's shotgun for her, handing it over. No sooner have you given her her weapon than you produce your own pistol from your waistband and stride purposefully towards the front of the pub. Rose is fast on your heels. These hard-scrabble locals aren't so tough after all -- they're clearing out in a sudden frightful commotion as soon as they see your firearms. All the better anyway because yep, you've been made: they're here.

You fire a couple warning shots through the window, which are met with a hail of suppressing fire that forces both of you towards the safety of the interior. You dive for your bag, which has the ammo, and blindly follow Rose. She leads you up an ancient-looking log staircase that ends at a dusty, disused dancefloor on the second story -- knotted gray wood slats for the flooring, old chairs stacked on top of each other in the corners gathering cobwebs, faded red-white-and-blue bunting all around the walls.

More engines join the growing cacophony outside and the hi-brites shining in are only getting brighter. You step up and watch through the window, side by side with Rose, as she loads shells into her shotgun. The black vans pull up to the tavern in twos and threes. This isn't a sortie, this is an all-out offensive. They're encircling you. You are officially under siege now, and there is no way out but through.

"This isn't the end," Rose tells you.

"Aren't you chipper today..." You heft the pistol in your hand and consider the gathering mob below. It's about 50 to 2.

The sound of shattering glass scares you both back from the window. But it was coming from downstairs. A few moments later you smell smoke, and feel heat, and hear the crackling of burning lumber. The bar below you is on fire. They tossed molotovs in.

"It's not the end," Rose repeats. She sounds desperate to convince herself, more than anything.

"No," you agree, to reassure her, "it isn't."

She slowly approaches the window again. Glancing back over her shoulder, she delivers her last instructions: "No matter what happens... we stick together."

"Together."

"Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I love you, Alabaster."

"I -- I love you too, Rose."

You walk over and join your wife, to start again into the unknown; to fight.

END OF SEASON 3.