Season 4 Episode 2: Galatea Trick



June 2, 2018


Stackleford is walking back to Gal's with a big old bag of Taco Bell in his hammy grip. He's sweating like a hog, pores glistening in the dim blueness of predawn. The streetlights are coming back on, so he guesses that all the trouble at Darkbloom Analytics must be finished, one way or another. He's a mess of frayed nerves and he uses food to quell them; even now he gnaws on a nacho fry as he trudges down the sidewalk. He wonders whether he's walking straight to his death. He very well could be. Maybe gangsters will be lying in wait at Gal's, American or Russian, or something else entirely. Maybe the police will be there. But where else can he go? He isn't safe anywhere, anymore. He looks sadly down at his maimed hand, the stumps left behind by Stasi. It still hurts days later.


As he rounds a corner, he hears a pssst from the narrow corridor between two buildings on his left. It almost makes him faint with fright, just the sound of someone hissing at him -- he's not capable of dealing with surprises right now. He tries to hurry past as if he didn't hear, but then the person calls out: "Stacks." He stops. It's Camelia.


She's obviously not in a good way. Her face is streaked with gunky brown grime -- blood, perhaps a mix of hers and David Darkbloom's. Her blue hair is matted and her skin is pallid. She sways slightly on her feet as if trying to stand in tropical force winds.


She isn't wearing her patented eyepatch.


This is the first time Stackleford has ever seen underneath that eyepatch of hers. Her eye is fucked up, to put it politely. It looks like the eye of a zombie in a horror movie -- white in the middle, bloodshot, the skin surrounding the socket permanently black and scarred, half-necrotic really. No wonder she keeps it covered.


"I need a favor," she says. Her voice is tired and soft, far cry from her usual manner.


Stackleford is hesitant. "I... I'm sorry... I d-don't think I should be seen with you in pub--"


The first thing Stackleford registers is the muzzle of the gun pointed at him; he recognizes it as the very same gun Camelia murdered David Darkbloom with only a few hours ago. So of course that means she's willing to use it. The second thing Stackleford registers, directing his gaze now upward, is Camelia's scowling grimace.


"I'm not done with you," she says.


Stackleford holds his hands up -- finger stumps and all -- dropping his grease-stained bag of food to the ground with a plop. Camelia holsters her gun. She pulls a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket and forces it into Stackleford's palm, saying simply: "take this."


He's shivering. "Why?"


Camelia does not answer. Instead she goes back for her tracksuit's jacket pocket, this time producing a switchblade. Stackleford takes a halting couple steps backward, but stops stone-still when Camelia flicks the business end open. She keeps him fixed in her cold gaze for a few moments, blade in hand, wordlessly daring him to make another move. He doesn't.


She puts the tip of the blade to her right eye's tear duct.


She takes a deep breath.


She gouges it in.


Even from five paces away, Stackleford nonetheless hears the wet squish of it. This comes followed by a wail of pain not even Camelia can stifle. Stackleford watches in slackjawed horror as Camelia roots around with the tip of the knife inside her own eye, blood spurting like a tiny sprinkler. At last she finishes, and drops the bloody switchblade to the sidewalk. From her ruined eye she unspools and removes the long thin wire. It's like a gory twist on the old magician's trick of pulling a neverending rope of handkerchiefs from your sleeve.


Stackleford is close to vomiting by the time she's done. "Are... are you okay?"


Camelia, through a mask of pain, the right side of her face dripping blood like a faucet that can't be shut completely off, smiles. She goddamn smiles. "Ever get a little fleck of popcorn stuck in your gums? ... know how great it feels to finally dig it out?"


Stackleford opens and closes his lips without finding words to accompany it.


Camelia uses her jacket to wipe her gore off the device, and then forces Stackleford to take it as well. She deposits it in his palm and curls his hand into a fist around it for him.


"Take that implant, and the note I gave you, to the Rutabaga Cafe. Do it now. Put them under the last bench in the back, on the right. Set them next to a USB stick that's there on the ground already."


"Why?"


Camelia frowns. "It's my make-a-wish wish. That's why."


"But--"


"Stop asking questions. Just go. And when you're done, tell no one. Not Alabaster. Not Whitney, or Rose, or Cerise. No one. You understand? If you tell a single soul about any of this, I will find you. Don't make me mad."


Stackleford stands there stupidly.


"Well?" Camelia demands. "What are you waiting for?"


Stackleford is much paler even than usual, as he makes to leave.


"Oh. Stacks. One final thing."


Miserable, he stops, turns.


Camelia is seriously struggling to remain upright. She's swaying in place even worse than before. Her sneakers make scuffing sounds on the concrete as her feet toddle beneath her in their fight to keep her standing. "You should lose a little weight, huh?"


"Uuuh."


"I'm being serious. Start working out. You'll feel better."


"...Ok."


"One more final thing. Brush your teeth every once in a while. The people around you will feel better."


"Ok."


She stumbles forward to walk past him, but he's blocking the way, staring at her creepily, and won't budge. She sighs. "What is it?"


"W-when...?"


"Once in the morning and once before bed, is what dentists recommend, I think..."


"No..."


Camelia waits for him to say.


"When will we see you again?"


She considers it. "Sooner than you think," she says.


She nudges Stackleford aside and continues on her way to who knows where. Her gait is slow, tipsy and uncoordinated. Near the end of the block, she leans precariously to one side, almost falling, but rights herself. She lurches around the corner, and then she's gone. Even Stackleford is smart enough to know that she's dying.



---


Over the intercom, a monotone secretary announces that Amber Catch-a-cratic is wanted at the registrar's office. That's a new one, as far as ways to fuck up your last name go. You'll write that one down in your notebook along with the others for sure.


Gilroy Technical College is sort of like a poor man's ITT Tech, all full of glassy eyed veterans, GED recipients and sad middle managers trying to jumpstart stagnated careers. As five years ago, so now; they opened their doors to the displaced students of North High pending reconstruction of the burnt-down school grounds. The commute back and forth from Palo Alto is going to be a bit of a bitch, but thankfully you've got a helpful volunteer on that account.


You find your way to an elevator and press the button for the lobby. But just before the door slides smoothly shut, a hand shoots through the gap and pries them open again. And then into the cramped space steps Auburn Brantly.


He turns and faces forward with you. "Hello, Amber."


"President Catachresis. Please."


"Where are you going in the middle of the school day?" He demands.


"Pushy," you tsk. "Do you think you're my owner or something?"


"I think we have a StuCo meeting this afternoon. If you keep missing these things, we'll be forced to kick you out of the presidency."


You fold your arms. "Fucking try it, needle-dick. I've got extenuating circumstances."


"Sure. Fine. Since you've got more important places to be, I suppose I'll just have to pick up the slack." He shrugs, grinning. "I'll take care of all this hard, boring President stuff while you're gone. Don't worry about a thing."


You flip him off.


"So crass -- so unbecoming. You're really not fit to be President."


"This StuCo meeting is about a plan to organize volunteer cleanup duty at NHS -- right?" You say. "That should be in your wheelhouse anyway. Aren't you the one that ordered Tongtong to burn down the school?"


"A paranoid conspiracy theorist as always. I see selling out to take part in the dirty process of electoralism hasn't changed you a bit."


The elevator stops, and you step out. He follows.


You spin on your heels and stand there in the empty hallway with him.


"It's not a conspiracy theory," you say. "We all know you and Tongtong were bumping uglies. Your yellow fever is well documented. But you really did a number on her, didn't you? You got her so twisted up that she'd do anything for you."


"You are disgusting. As expected."


"But I would have expected better of you. Isn't what you do with her, like, colonializing her body or something?"


He examines his hand, scratching the nail of his index finger with the nail of his thumb. "If she consents to being colonized..." He hooks his thumb in his trouser pocket now and adopts a defiant stance: "Anyway, Tongtong acted alone. Now she's in a mental health facility, where I hope she gets the treatment she needs. And I don't want to hear about morals and propriety from you. You stink like sex."


"You're mistaken. But I'll forgive you. You aren't used to being near people whose bodies produce measurable quantities of testosterone. It's got you confused."


"Since you're so into politics now," Auburn says, "here's a question for you. How has your opinion on George W. Bush changed?"


You try not to wince, and you're not sure whether you're successful. That little shit. Could a question so specific and out of left field possibly be coincidental? Or is he the one who was in your bedroom -- inside your safe? That's impossible, though. A little fuckweasel beta like Raisin Brant couldn't possibly have the wherewithal to crack a safe. Not to mention the fucking temerity.


"George W. Bush is a murderer," you reply. "Pig disgusting."


"Of course," he says, smoothing his trouser leg. "That's always been a rare point we can agree on. But since you're so interested in dictators, maybe your opinion on Soviet strongmen is different? How do you feel about Vladimir Putin?"


That cinches it. It was him all along. He's the intruder who busted into your safe and scared you enough to make you pack your bags for Alabaster Soliloquy's off-brand Playboy Mansion. You wonder wryly to yourself what his reaction would be if he knew that.


The intercom sounds: "Amber Coochiecrisis, to the registrar's office. Amber Coochiecrisis. Registrar's office." That secretary is just full of 'em today.


[ ] Confront Auburn about breaking into your safe.

>[x] Leave it be.


"I'm not a fan," you say. "He's like a shitty cash-grab sequel. The Episode VII to Stalin's Episode IV, if you get what I'm saying."


"You're mixed up with terrible people. I should report your activity to the--"


You've got him up against the wall before he can react, hand around his throat.


He gasps, and reaches down for something. You stay his hand by grabbing his wrist. And with your knee, you feel it -- something hard in his pants. Not that. Cold and metallic.


"You brought a gun to school?" You breathe. "Trenchcoat mafia creep-ass motherfucker. Fuck."


"You're one to talk," he says through gritted teeth.


"Leave me alone, Raisin Brant. I'm serious. If you fuck with me, you will regret it."


You step back, and let him go. He massages his throat where you held it, not signaling pain -- but more a muted annoyance.


"Oh -- there you are." You turn in the direction of the voice. Standing at the opposite end of the hallway, over by the mouth of the registrar's office, is Dalton Cantor. Or at least who appears as Dalton Cantor.


You thought it would be Vivian picking you up today, but instead you've got the main man himself. This is too good of an opportunity to pass up.


You put a coquettish finger through your hair and twirl it. "Daddy!" You say in your best impression of a bimbo.


Darkbloom blinks, aghast. You skip over to him like a little girl playing hopscotch. Auburn, of course, follows.


"You -- you're Dalton Cantor," Auburn says, surprised.


"I--" Darkbloom says. This is beyond a compromising situation. He is, as far as anyone knows, a top-ranking executive at a major company, and now he's been recognized by a high school student -- while you, a high school girl yourself, hang off of him like a hooker.


"Let's goooo already," you whine. "I wanna play!"


Auburn is seething, and can't hide it. Darkbloom is trying to get free of you, but you won't let go. Between the two of them, it's impossible to say who's more uncomfortable.


"He isn't your father--" Auburn begins, sputtering.


"Duuuh. He's my Daddy."


"I am no such--"


"Do you have the hotel booked? C'mon. Let's go!"


Auburn's lips tremble, and he points an accusing finger at Darkbloom. "You are vile."


"You are -- misunderstanding the situation, young man. This isn't--"


But Auburn is already stomping off.


You let go of Darkbloom's arm, and let your bubbly facade boil away like vapor.


"You are impossible," Darkbloom fumes.


"Thank you. Where's your daughter?"


"She is in the registrar's office. Waiting for you. But I see you live according to your own schedule, as always." He turns and begins down the hall. You trot behind. "Do not test me. I do not have time for your craziness, Amber. The only reason you're involved at all is because Vivian is so insistent. But if you won't be reasonable, I will make her agree to forge ahead without you."


"Pff. Sure. You can't do shit, asswipe. You don't get to make any decisions."


Darkbloom ignores you.


"Your daughter is a rapist, by the by."


He casts a glance back over his shoulder, disturbed but not terribly surprised at this news. "Whitney? It's Alabaster's influence. He's an awful perv--"


"Vivian."


"What?"


"Vivian. Not Whitney. Vivian raped the shit out of me the other night."


"Preposterous." He stops, turns and faces you. That one definitely was a surprise.


"Ask her yourself if you don't believe me. Fuck. Why would I make that up?"


"Because you're a prevaricator, a manipulator and a terrorist."


"Well, yes, but actually no. Everyone wants to say I'm Camelia but frankly I'm not bought in on that theory yet. What I know for sure is that you're a man-sized twat who thought he was a god and died like a dog. True or false?"


"Fal--"


You make a loud, obnoxious buzzer noise.


"You murdered me--"


You do the buzzer sound again.


Darkbloom grabs you by the wrist.


You become all at once aware that you are very small. That Darkbloom is very tall and very strong. Your lip curls up, you begin to say something. But Darkbloom is already turning around again. He tugs you with him, walking briskly, and you have no choice but to stumble and try to keep up.


"What the fuck!" You cry.


"If you want to tell everyone that I'm your quote-unquote 'daddy' then I'm happy to oblige. Someone has to keep you in check, and it may as well be me."


"You motherf--"


"My patience is at an end, Amber. Stop prattling and hurry along."


As you approach the registrar's office, Vivian steps forth from it, and is taken aback indeed to see Darkbloom toting you around like an unruly toddler.


---


"We need to fire everyone who Tyrus ever hired, worked with, or so much as had a fucking conversation with."


Usually Whitney's penchant for firing people is a bit wearying but in this case, you fully agree.


"Understood," Spancer says. "I will go through our rolls and terminate any employee with ties to Mr. Kang."


"Now wait just a cotton-picking chotto!" Rose2 says, hand on her hip. She leans way forward and wags her index finger in the air. "Didn't Spancer himself play with Tyrus at the tennis tourney?"


"That's right," you say. "He did."


"I cannot self-terminate," Spancer says. "But after I have completed the current directive, I will willingly resign."


"I don't--" Whitney begins. Then, to Rose2: "shut the fuck up, will you? I like Spancer. I trust him. He's basically a robot programmed to be loyal to this company."


"Does he even have a place of his own?" You ask. "I'm pretty sure he lives here. -- Do you live here, Spancer?"


"Negative."


"Anyway," Whitney says, turning her attention back to Spancer. "I order you not to go. I order you!"


"Understood."


"We need you," Whitney continues. "In fact, I want to promote you."


Spancer sits there passively, with no outward sign that this news has made him either pleased or displeased.


"We're down a CFO," Whitney explains. "I could make Viv pull double duty, but that's not fair to her. She's got enough bullshit to deal with. So I'm slotting Armstrong over to that spot -- that leaves his spot open." She extends a hand. "Long story short, I'd like to bid a warm adieu to our new CHRM!"


"Adieu means goodbye," you tell her.


"Shove it."


Spancer shakes her hand robotically -- once, twice, a third time, and then relinquishes his grip. Whitney doesn't let on, but as she pulls her hand away, you see her rubbing it as if the force of the handshake hurt her.


"All right then," Whitney says. "Get to firing."


He stands, turns in a precise 180 degrees, and marches out.


"Weird guy," Whitney says as he shuts the door.


---


"We're gonna need a new security detail, too," Whitney says, staring pensively from her window, one hand behind her back. It's so strange to see her taking charge like this, making decisions on her own -- and the right ones, even. The disappearance of Alex and her mother has lit a fire in her that you've never seen before.


"Any ideas?" You ask.


"Noelle is free, right?"


"You cannot be serious. First of all -- you hate Noelle."


"She warned us about Tyrus. She can't be all bad."


"Noelle is so cool!" Rose2 says. "She's got this super mysterious vibe, you know? Like she's a delinquent who got her life together and she's hiding a really dark, edgy past that haunts her..."


"Who invited you here?" You say. "I swear to God, it's like you just show up wherever the fuck you please."


"Hai!" She salutes you with the back of her palm pressed flat to her forehead. Her knuckles make a hollow noise against her skull.


"I'll leave this one up to you," Whitney says. "You know Noelle better than any of us." She nudges you. "Biblically, even."


"Err."


"Don't even lie. Don't even joke us."


You shake your head.


"So you can decide whether we can trust her or not," Whitney finishes.


>[x] Hire her.

[ ] Don't hire her.


You step into the frigid interior of Shake 'Em Up, a local ice creamery specializing in milkshakes where you arranged to meet Noelle. Though it's the first time you've been, the place is a minor sensation, and has 10 or 11 locations around Silicon Valley.


Whitney pulls her phone from her purse and shows the screen to a disinterested cashier girl. "20% off," Whitney tells her.


The cashier taps the offer code into her computer.


"A fucking groupon, Whitney, really?" You say.


"What? It's good value!"


"You're a billionaire."


"Yeah. And I wanna stay that way."


You grumble. Turning your head upward, you scan the menu. Mint chocolate chip sounds good. "Yeah, I'll take a--"


"We'll take a strawberry banana shake," Whitney tells the girl. "Two straws, please."


You huff. "What, is this an executive decision?" You say.


"Ayep. A little birdie told me that the strawberry banana shake here is to die for. I want a second opinion, though. It's important."


"What's so important about whether a milkshake is good or not?"


"If it's good enough, I'm buying the place."


That's Whitney. She'll scrupulously collect her 20% discount on a milkshake, then turn around and buy the entire restaurant on a whim. You'd chastise her for being so erratic but her investments usually pay off. She once made a bet with Vivian on who could get the biggest return on $1 million of seed money. Vivian spent weeks researching startups and proudly showed you all her statistical analyses that pointed her towards the investments she settled on. Whitney threw darts at a board with companies written on it. Whitney won the bet.


Whitney sits across from you, and you sit beside Noelle. Noelle seems somewhat perplexed by the way you and Whitney share your milkshake like a couple of teens from a 50s sitcom. Maybe it goes against the image she had in her head -- of both of you.


She's also perplexed about Whitney's offer. "Last month you were shouting 'fuck you' at me from the top of a balcony. Now you want me working for you?"


"You don't get it. This is like one of your Japanimes where two enemies have to team up to face an even BIGGER enemy."


Noelle leans back. "So you want me to be your Pinkerton."


"Yes!"


"Do you know what a Pinkerton is?"


"...No."


"I just don't understand," Noelle says. "I mean. You don't hold any kind of -- I don't know, grudge?"


"Naaah. I don't hold grudges, pig."


Noelle is clearly unsure how to take that.


"We'll pay you," you tell her. "Whitney's a good boss. And you do need a job, right?"


"Yeah. I need a job because of you fuckers."


"So consider this our way of making amends," you try.


"Uh huh. How much are you offering?"


Whitney, who's been slurping on the drink since the moment she said the word "pig," finally lets her straw drop from her lips. She's already siphoned up about half the enormous milkshake. Her expression is vacant as the gears in her head spin. "I dunno. What's fair? $1 million per year?"


Noelle can't conceal the exhalation of surprise she makes, as if someone has punched her in the chest.


"Shit. I'm lowballing you. $2 million a year."


Noelle gawks, and then says nothing. Maybe she's thinking that if she stays quiet, Whitney will keep hiking the price to infinity. And she would, but you step in. "That sounds good," you say. "Noelle?"


"Y-yeah -- yeah. That sounds pretty fucking good."


"Then it's a deal?" You ask.


She shakes your hand.


"Where do you live?" Whitney asks.


"An apartment over on--"


"Wrong."


"I'm -- I'm sorry. Wrong? I have an apartment--"


"Wrong. You live in my house. This is a full-time job, Noelle. Full time. That's why I'm paying you so much. You'll be living with us."


"...Fuck."


Whitney does her little wheeze-laugh and keeps sucking on her drink. Through a mouth of half-melted pink cream, she tells you: "This shit rocks. I'm buying it. We'll take Shake 'Em Up national."


"That's a little bold," Noelle says, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on the backs of interlaced fingers. "Do you have experience running a restaurant chain?"


"None," Whitney admits. "But we do need to di-vers-if-y, and why not start with some bitching ice cream? Anyway. I pay you to keep me safe. Not to talk."


Noelle frowns. She obviously doesn't like how quickly this relationship has shifted in Whitney's head. "If you take a bath on this place, don't blame me," Noelle says. "You know this restaurant only has a B from the health inspector? Just saying."


You feel a bit ill just hearing that, but it fazes Whitney not at all. She says: "we'll fix that. We'll get the best people on it right away."


---


"They don't want to oust her from the CEO position."


You sit in Vivian's living room. You and she watch as Darkbloom speaks over the phone to Mara. The phone is connected by lightning cable to a PC, which Galatea sits at -- recording, and trying to trace any identifying info.


"Keep pushing them," Mara responds.


"Of course. But we need to decide on contingencies. If they don't agree--"


"If they don't agree, we will simply have to kill them. All of them."


Vivian's eyes shimmer with rage.


"That would invite too much scrutiny," Darkbloom says. "We are too close to the end for that... we must tread lightly."


"Again with this over-cautious nonsense. Once Alex Best and David's little cunt mistress finish their work, what difference will it make who knows anything of what has transpired? Focus on the bigger picture, Dalton."


Now it's Darkbloom's turn to simmer with rage. Hearing Mara speak of Renee like that got under his skin, big time.


"How goes their progress?" He asks, masking his anger with smooth nonchalance.


"Need to know basis, Dalton."


"Of course."


"And how goes your progress on the other detail?"


This is bad. What other detail? You have no idea. And neither does he. He tries for a vague non-answer: "I am still working that end."


"We can't accept any delays. You must find a way. Do it yourself if need be."


"Understood."


"I will speak with you again tomorrow."


"Yes."


She hangs up.


You glance Gal's way. She shakes her head sadly. Nada.


"Great," you grumble. "Big fat fucking nothing on all fronts."


"Mother is speaking of drastic action," Vivian says. "We need to press her harder for information that could pinpoint--"


"I know Mara better than anyone," Darkbloom says. "We cannot press too hard. She will grow suspicious."


"We need to do something pretty fucking quick here," you say. "She's talking about killing everyone. That's not bide-our-time talk. That's roadtrip-to-Vail-right-fucking-now talk."


"Amber has a point," Vivian says.


"I can play this out," Darkbloom tells her. "I can find her location with enough time in contact with her. We do not need to go in guns blazing and alert her before we have the upper hand."


[ ] Press for direct action now.

>[x] Let Darkbloom keep working Mara.


Darkbloom stands and starts for the front door.


"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" You demand.


"Home. To my loving family."


"The facade must be maintained," Vivian tells you. "We cannot allow Dalton Cantor's loved ones to grow suspicious, either."


"Suspicious, fuck. You want to let David Darkbloom roam around on his own?"


"Not particularly," Vivian says. Darkbloom can't help looking hurt.


"Have him leave his wife and kids," you say. "He can come live here, with you."


"Under what pretense?" Vivian says.


"Under the pretense that older men leave their wives for pretty young girls like you all the time."


"That is absurd," Darkbloom says. "Dalton Cantor is many things, but he is a committed family man. His wife and children would never believe such a story."


But Vivian is less skeptical. "Why not?" She says airily.


"For them to believe that their patriarch would suddenly and without warning turn their entire lives upside-down to elope--"


"Don't patriarchs often lead double lives?" Vivian says. "Don't they often do things for selfish reasons, leaving their families in sudden disarray?"


Darkbloom sighs deeply. "And if Mara finds out?"


"Then you are using sex to manipulate me, and turn me against Whitney," Vivian says.


Darkbloom doesn't like even the mental image of it.


"Tell Dalton's family that you are leaving them for me," Vivian instructs. "You will stay here, where we can coordinate more reliably."


"You don't trust me."


"No. I do not."


"This is not the right course of action," Darkbloom says. "You must see reason. I will keep up appearances with Dalton Cantor's family. There is no need to try to -- to cage me, like some sort of wild animal."


>[x] Let him stay at Dalton's house.

[ ] Make him live with Vivian.


"I am going," Darkbloom announces. "And I am going alone."


Darkbloom waits for anyone to say boo. No one does.


"I will see you all tomorrow," he says. "Goodnight."


He doesn't exactly slam the door on his way out, but he doesn't shut it gently, either.


You kick back on Vivian's couch, propping your feet up on the table.


"Please do not do that," she says.


You stick your tongue out at her.


"I will be forced to punish you if you persist..."


"What? Are you gonna rape me again?" You nod at Gal. "Right here in front of Cerise's fiancee and everything?"


Vivian laughs haughtily. "If needs be. She has seen worse."


Gal squeaks. She looks away, blushing. "i..."


"We're joshing you," you tell her. "Well. I am, anyway. I don't know about this crazy bitch."


"are you really camelia" Gal asks suddenly.


You blink. You clear your throat. "Uh. Maybe. I dunno."


"i missed you," she says. "if you are."


"Would you feel better if I said I missed you too?"


She nods.


"Well, I did."


---


You sit with Nelson in a conference room, idly passing the time.


"You and your wife have such a toxic relationship," he says.


"Yeah? And how do you recommend that I fix that?"


"I dunno, man. Be more complimentary?"


"Have you met Rose? Do you need me to introduce you to her?"


"I'm just saying--"


He stops himself short as the woman herself walks in. You nod at him and whisper, "watch this."


You glance Rose over from head to toe, looking for something you can use. Spotting it, you cut her off before she can begin talking: "Did you do something with your hair today?"


"What?" She barks.


"Your hair. It's different today. But I can't put my finger on how."


"I--" she stammers. She's already blushing. She fiddles with one of the pins holding her ridiculous drills in place. "I've got some new hairpins in." She bows slightly, so you can see the crown of her head, and the bronze pins there. You noticed them right away of course, but you wanted to give her an opportunity to show off.


"Oh," you say, "how cute."


Rose goes suddenly rigid. Her right eye twitches. "Cute? I'm not trying to be 'cute', Alabaster. You fucking prick. How dare you use such infantilizing, sexist language towards your own wife. Disgusting. That's a classic microagression. Not that I should have expected any better of you. But you can't just -- hey -- are you listening to me? You misogynistic--"


You lace your fingers behind your head, and let Rose's tirade wash over you. You glance over and grin smugly at Nelson.


The sun is quickly setting and evening's periwinkle pall through the windows is blotted out by the conference room's garish fluorescent light. The rest of the board filters in -- sans Darkbloom of course. You've made it more than clear that you don't want him involved with any real decisions at Darkbloom Analytics. Whitney agreed with you.


"So what's today's shitshow?" Armstrong asks.


"Nothing," Whitney says. "We're talking shitshow cleanup here."


"Oh yeah?"


"We have one advantage," Whitney tells you all. "Sand Reckoner."


You tsk. "If we could use it. Unfortunately, that's out of the question."


"Why?"


She should know why. Most of the Sand Reckoner platform is disabled. Federal statute prevents Darkbloom Analytics from turning it back on without explicit military approval. You try to explain this to Whitney in a way she'll understand, simple and to the point: "We can't do that. It's illegal."


"Pff. Illegal how."


Nelson tries to field the question. "Well, I mean -- it's the law. 'No private citizen, nor military personnel acting without the express authorization of designated et cetera... shall make knowing, deliberate use of Sand Reckoner based platforms

as defined by section yadda yadda...' You know. The law that makes it illegal to use almost any of our own technology."


"Fuck the law," Whitney says. "Sand Reckoner is our property. We can use it how we want. And if anyone wants to come and tell us otherwise, we can take them to court. Saul told me that. Saul knows a shit ton about the law. He told me if a law's illegal, well... it's illegal. They can make any law they want, but we can sue. And Scootus will tell them to fuck off. Constitutionally speaking."


"...Scootus?" Nelson says.


"Yeah."


"Do you -- do you mean SCOTUS?" He asks.


She points at him. "Yeah. That one."


"Whitney," Armstrong says. "Do you know what SCOTUS is?"


"He's, like, the main judge. He tells the other judges what to do."


"Oh my God," Armstrong groans.


"What?"


"SCOTUS is a court. The Supreme Court."


"I don't see how a guy can be a court."


Armstrong is shouting, pounding the table. "It's not a guy! It's just a court! No guy!"


"Pipe down. Jeez."


"Litigating a case all the way to Scoo-- all the way to the Supreme Court takes years," Rose says. "Meanwhile we could still face legal consequences."


"Rose is quite correct," Vivian says. "Trying to make use of Sand Reckoner would only invite unwanted attention."


"Then let's hope no one finds out what we're doing to begin with."


The room glances uneasily from one to the other.


"This is our trump card!" Whitney says. "Chloe doesn't believe in using her own tech. Mara doesn't have it. It's the one and fucking only thing we've got that they don't. If we could actually use the fucking thing, we could probably stop them both dead before they knew what hit them."


Vivian glances across the table towards you. "Alabaster," she says.


[ ] Turn it on.

>[x] Keep it off.


"You're inviting disaster," you say. "The last thing we need is to get fucking RICO'd by the feds."


"We tried your way, Ally. With the kidnapping and the whatnot. Your way brought bio-dad back to life. I know how happy you are about that. So maybe let's try my way next. If we turn on Sand Reckoner, we can figure out where mom is. Where Alex is. We could get them back, today."


"Maybe this is what Mara wants," you say, eyes darting around.


"Sure. She wants us to find her and murder her. Makes sense."


"No. Think about it. What did Mara do?"


"She kidnapped our people. She put a big fat fuckin' target on her forehead."


"And what didn't she do? She didn't kill us. She could have. She didn't turn on Sand Reckoner. She didn't steal anything, at least that we know of. Why?"


"Because she's a psychotic cunt."


"Because she wants us to do this. She needs Sand Reckoner on, and she expects us to do her dirty work. Whatever she's making Dr. Carte and Alex work on, it's a derivative project... and she doesn't have direct access to our servers anymore, so maybe somehow... maybe somehow this plays into her hand."


Whitney makes a sour face.


"Alabaster's right," Rose says. "And there's too many unknowns regardless. Even if this isn't part of Mara's plan."


"We're handicapping ourselves," Whitney says. "I'm trying to make us handicapable here!"


"You said it yourself," Nelson offers. "Sand Reckoner is our trump card. We can keep it stowed away for a rainy day. No need to act rashly."


Whitney is unconvinced, but she's a surprisingly reasonable CEO; she knows that when her entire board contravenes her, she can't act unilaterally. "Fine," she says. "Then let's move on to shitshow cleanup part two. We're still down one board member."


"There's an excellent front-end dev on my team who would make a great CPO--" Nelson begins.


"Yeah, no." Whitney says. So... not always so shy about acting unilaterally. "You're the new CPO."


"Huh? But--"


"And I'm about to go extend the offer to our new CIO, too. You guys are gonna love her."


---


"Smells like NEET sweat in here," Noelle says. She stands at attention at the front door of Galatea's loft, all suited down, hands in front of her, aviators over her eyes. Ridiculous looking. Galatea regards her fearfully.


Whitney picks up the purple geode from Galatea's computer desk and shakes it like a magic 8-ball. "Whoa. What is this thing?"


Galatea grabs for it weakly, but Whitney turns, and keeps her from taking it.


"it's a crystal"


"Duh. What's it for, is the question."


"it's a healing crystal"


Cerise doesn't try to suppress her groan of disapproval, nor her eyeroll.


"Oh shit," Whitney says appreciatively. "I didn't know they made these. What does it heal?"


"anxiety"


Whitney makes rather a show of looking from the geode, to Galatea, then back again. "Is there a money-back guarantee on this thing?" She asks.


"Give it back to her," Cerise says. She doesn't believe in crystals, but she also doesn't like to see Galatea being bullied.


Whitney sets the thing gently back on the table.


"What do you want?" Cerise asks. "Gal's had a long day. Going out is rough for her."


"I'll make it quick, then," Whitney says. "Ya hired."


"erm... i'm sorry... what"


"Ya hired. I want you on the board."


"i... don't understand"


"CIO Anna Soliloquy. What don't you get?"


There's a long, awkward silence. Finally, all Galatea can come up with is:


"why me"


"I need some of that same juju you used to hack my company back when it was bio-dad's."


"for..."


"Don't get mouthy, Gal."


"Wait a second," Noelle says. "You mean--"


"i can't," Galatea says. "i could never..." she spins in her chair and puts her head on her desk, as if to hide in her hands.


"You're Galatea?" Noelle breathes. "The most dangerous -- oh my God. No fucking way."


"yes way" Galatea says, voice muffled.


Noelle shakes her head in disbelief. "We spent so fucking long looking for-- and you-- fuck."


"We really need your help," Whitney says. "We need someone on our team who can keep this Chloe bitch at bay. That someone is you."


"i can't. i'm sorry. i can't."


"There's always the other way," Whitney says. "I know you were behind 3/10, and the FBI is still looking for someone to arrest..."


Cerise is on her feet. "How dare you. You can't threaten Gal like that--"


"I'm sorry," Whitney says, "did your mother get kidnapped by Russian mafia too? Is your company being invaded by the Chinese too? Sit the fuck down."


Cerise does not comply.


"Sit down," Whitney repeats, more sternly.


You gently take Cerise's hand. "Cerise," you say. And this is enough to finally make her sit.


"I like you, Gal," Whitney says. "You're great. I'm sorry I threatened you -- I don't want to force you to do something you're not okay with. I want you to want to do it, because it's the right thing to do. And it'll be good for you."


Gal turns back towards you again, but she's still staring into her own lap. "i don't see how"


"That's why it'll be good for you," Whitney says.


"I'll give you some time to think it over," Whitney says. "But one way or another... well. Welcome to the team." She nods at you. "I'll be waiting downstairs, Ally."


She motions for Noelle, and together, they stride from the loft.


"I can't believe her," Cerise says.


"I -- can't, either," you stammer. "She's on a fucking warpath."


"She's going to do something stupid. Like always. And when it blows up... we'll all be caught in it."


"She really wants her mom back. And she's scared of what this Qiangxiang is capable of. You can understand that, right?"


"I want Renee back, too. That woman saved my life. And Alex -- I care about him just as much as Whitney does. As for the Chinese, of fucking course I'm scared too. It impacts me just as much as anyone. But she's on some dangerous shit here, Alabaster. She's not thinking straight."


"What do you suggest we do, then?"


She doesn't have an answer.


"You should come live with us," you tell Galatea.


"mm"


"I've been trying to tell her that," Cerise says. "It doesn't seem to be sticking."


"You know -- spouses do tend to live under the same roof," you tell Galatea.


"mm"


"It's a fun place to live," you try.


"mm."


"Okay," you say, standing. "I guess I'm gonna have to go there. This is an order."


Galatea looks up at you, agog.


"An official order," you add "An order from -- uh, from sir."


"Come on, Alabaster," Cerise begins. "Do you really think--"


"ok"


Cerise looks over. "What."


"yes sir"


"Oh Jesus Christ," Cerise groans. You smile at her smugly. Shaking her head, Cerise says: "I guess I better get her packed up, huh."


---


You walk with Whitney back up to her bedroom at home.


When she opens the door, you see something you can hardly believe -- you do a literal double-take. There, in one corner, is a life-sized kennel, made of thin white mesh bars. Like a giant hamster cage. Or maybe more like a rabbit cage. And inside, curled up, is a human being.


"Oh," Whitney says, "she's here."


Whitney's voice wakes her up. She rises, to all fours -- about the tallest posture the cage's dimensions will allow -- stretches her back luxuriously. She yawns, her entire face twitching, and makes a high-pitched, staccato "aaa-hhhh-nnn~" sound from the back of her throat. Blinking rapidly, she smacks her lips a couple times, and then she's looking at you. Samantha Smatters.


"Masters!!" Samantha cries with joy. She loops her fingers through the white wire bars of her kennel. She fixes her attention on you. "My name is Samantha Smatters! Maybe you remember cumming inside me! Ms. Whitney hired me to be everyone's live-in bunny onahole!"


You're beyond words.


"Aren't you forgetting something?" Whitney asks, feigning displeasure.


"Oh!" Samantha pips. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" Still on all fours, she turns in a semicircle. She hikes one of her legs up, way up, like a dog about to urinate, and presses her bare foot against the place where where the cage's wall and ceiling meet. Her dainty toes grip the bars just like her fingers did moments prior. With Samantha in this lewd position, you see that she's been naked from the waist down all along. Presenting herself like this, her smooth and glistening lower holes drift partway open. Her anus and her cottontail alike twitch invitingly. "Do you want to dump your load, master?" She asks.


You wipe the sweat from your brow. "What are you paying this poor woman to do this?" You marvel.


"Ms. Whitney is paying me with a place to live and lots of dick to cum on!" Samantha says, enthusiastic, still presenting herself.


"Great," you mumble. "So you sold me off as a signing bonus."


"Why just you?" Whitney says, laughing. "Samantha's a cumdump. I was thinking I could give her away as a party favor for all our execs at company functions..."


You're not sure whether you approve. But your dick lurches in your pants of its own volition. Unfortunately, before you can disrobe and give Samantha the payment she so craves -- from behind, you hear footsteps. Amber is approaching with Mom close behind, taking the grand tour from Rose2.


"Alabaster," Mom begins, "We just got in, and I was t-- ghh-- what!!!"


Amber breaks into peals of uncontrollable laughter. Rose2 is too stunned to speak.


Samantha turns back around and grabs the cage again. Her voice strains with adoration and excitement. "Even more masters? Oh my goodness! Hello!"


"S-Samantha?" Mom sputters.


"Scarlett?!"


"What are you d--" Mom looks from her, to Whitney, to you, and can't find an emotion to settle on. Bafflement, anger, raw shock... allurement?


"Don't forget your manners now," Whitney needles.


"Oh!" She locks eyes with Mom. "I am this residence's live-in cum receptacle! Do you want to use me? My mouth is very skilled!" She lets her jaw hang open and her tongue loll wetly out. Thick strands of saliva spiderweb between her incisors and roll down off the tip of her little pink tongue. She sits there like that, expression vacant, mouth awaiting anything any of you care to put in it.


Mom spins and practically runs away; her two daughters follow, one still laughing, the other stuttering. Whitney is already stripping. "You wanna go deal with that?" She asks. "Or try out the new toy?"


You know where your priorities lie.


---


Down in the living room, Mom is trying to get her breathing back under control, hand to her breast. "This was -- a terrible mistake." She looks at you. "Amber, maybe we should go back home."


You wave her off. "And miss out on all this tanoshii?"


Rose claps. You knew you'd get her on your side with a little bit of her own lingo.


"You told me yourself that Alabaster's a pervert," you say. "So they keep a literal sex pet in their bedroom. Is that at all surprising? But they're all consenting adults, right? What difference does it make?"


"Just promise me you won't get mixed up in all this debauchery," she says after a turn.


"Oh, sure. You got it. Sure thing." You squint at her. "Should I make you make the same promise?"


She stomps indignantly.


"Nevermind," you say.


Rose leans way off to one side. "Heeeey, Amber."


"Heeeey what."


"Where are you gonna sleep, huh?"


[ ] Your sister's room.

[ ] Your mother's room.

>[x] Alabaster's room.

[ ] Your own room.


>[x] Alabaster's room


You loop a sororal arm around Rose and force a chuckle. "I'll be sleeping in your room, of course."


"Hee! Neato burrito!"


"That's good," Mom says. "You two can keep each other out of trouble."


"Uh huh~" Rose agrees. "I won't let anything lewd happen to my little sis!"


"And I definitely won't let a disgusting pervert like Alabaster get his hands on Rose," you say. "She's too innocent to fall into his clutches."


These bald-faced lies put Mom at ease.


Rose shows Mom to her room, and you bid one another goodnight. You follow Rose back to her room next, and deign to spend a few perfunctory minutes hanging out with her -- to ensure Mom is well and truly asleep for the night, before setting your eyes on the actual target.


Rose's room is gaudy and pink, as expected, and smells of candy. Which isn't a surprise either, since there are open packages of Skittles, pocky, and gum sitting on her desk, and empty bottles of Ramune soda scattered about. It's not an unpleasant smell, just a little bit juvenile. You tote you bag in with you and drop it on the floor.


You and Rose have gone much farther than sisters ever should, but you still share that sisterly nonchalance about nudity in a non-sexual context too. Rose steps out of her clothes and slips into a sheer little negligee, and doesn't bother to conceal anything as she does so. Whenever she moves without a bra on, her tits jiggle and flop around. No, you're not jealous. Not at all. You pull off your shorts, and tank, and sweat-damp underwear, toss them in the corner without a thought in the world. Then, too lazy to go digging through your things for your own pajamas, you figure you'll just sleep naked. Ok, so maybe that part is a little weird for sisters sharing a room. Although you don't intend on sticking around for too much longer -- and any clothes you don will only get in the way of the fun you intend to have soon.


Rose is buzzing with unconstrained excitement. "This is gonna be so totally tanoshii! Just like you said!" She crawls up onto her bed and plops down on the satiny carnation-colored covers. "Roomies for life!" she cries, kicking her feet.


You crawl up onto the bed with her, and sit propped up against the headboard with your knees partially spread. Rose's eyes follow you on your way past, then she turns onto her tummy and props herself up on her elbows, confused. As you grab for a manga from her bedside table and thumb apathetically through it, she finally seems to grok that you don't intend to get dressed. "Amber?" She says timidly.


"Huh?"


"...Haha. You're naked, silly."


"Yeah? So?"


Her lips cup into a contemplative O as she takes in your nakedness and tries to comprehend why it should be an issue. Unable to do so, she finally shrugs and turns onto her back again. She stares at the ceiling.


"Haha. I cannot believe Whitney got an actual fuckbunny!" She says. "So weird. I guess I have competition."


You read from panel to panel in the manga, a bit bewildered -- and then you remember that these things are supposed to run right-to-left for some ungodly reason. "Competition?" You question.


"Uh huh. I'm this house's fuck-kitten, after all!"


You let the manga fall, still open, to your lap. "Good lord. This place really did corrupt you."


"It's suuuper fun," she says, not insulted at all by the accusation. "I know I fibbed a bit to Mom just now, but we're gonna do so much lewd stuff together. It'll be great. She doesn't need to know."


You laugh. "Together? That's incest, you know."


"That's part of what makes it fun~"


Maybe staying nude was a mistake.


"Do you like it here?" You ask. "Other than what I'm gathering is an essentially 24/7 orgy."


"Oh sure. Whitney is tons of fun to be around. Cerise, too. Even that other girl. And of course there's Ally..." Her voice goes dreamy when she says his name. So hopeless. "We do lots of fun stuff besides sex. Video games, movie nights, indoor golf..."


"Indoor golf?"


"Yepperoni!"


"Like... with golf clubs and shit?"


"How else would you play golf, silly?"


Truly, billionaires are a degenerate and decadent class.


"It's gonna be sooo great sleeping together!" Rose says. "I'm so hecking jazzed!"


You're not sure whether Rose is speaking literally or metaphorically about "sleeping together" -- either way, you quash her enthusiasm. "I'm not actually gonna sleep here."


"Wh-what?"


"If I'm gonna live in the dick house, I might as well sleep in the deluxe dick suite. I'm gonna room with Alabaster. I just told Mom I was sleeping with you so she wouldn't pitch a shitfit."


Rose titters. "Are you funnin' me?"


"No."


"...oh."


She's back on her elbows again. She hits you with the doe eyes. "Don't you wanna room with your big sis, though?"


"And get molested again? No thank you. If I have to get fucked, I'd rather go get my back walls blown out by Alabaster."


You say it as a sort of crass joke, but just the mental image of it makes your pussy twitch.


"You gotta watch out for him," Rose warns. "He really is a TOTAL hentai. If you try to sleep in the same bedroom as him, he's definitely gonna get ecchi-sketchy with you." She holds up her hands like fondling two invisible boobs.


"Duh. That's what I'm counting on. You're not the only one who gets horny, Rose."


Rose pulls down her eyelid and sticks out her tongue. "Bleeehhhh," she taunts. "I know you talk a big game, Amber, but you're just a little virgin. Messing around with Ally is serious business. You might regret it..."


"I'm not a virgin," you insist.


Rose's face lights up. "Really? Who have you done it with?"


You frown at her. "You, for a start. And the rest of those depraved bitches at the other Rose's bachelorette party."


"Not girls, silly. Have you ever fucked a guy before?"


"Sure." You blow a bang from in front of your face. You try to read the manga again. But Rose is in gossip mode, and pries for details:


"Then who? Will?"


You laugh. "No. He's a cocksucker, I'm pretty sure."


"That's so hot," Rose says. She puts a finger to her lips, thinking. "Auburn?"


"Oh, god. Kill me. No."


She sighs. "Again with the tsuntsun thing? ... Then who?"


"Alabaster himself."


This shocks her silent. You lay the manga in your lap again and smirk.


"He came in me and everything," you continue. You part your legs a little bit wider, defiant, baring your asshole and your fast wettening pussy to your sister. "Fucked me stupid right in the middle of a classroom at North High."


"When?" Rose demands.


"When he was helping with my StuCo campaign. I paid him with sex. Whored myself right out to him."


Rose laughs angrily, grabs a pillow, and swats you with it. You shield yourself with one arm, and the manga in your lap slides to the mattress unheeded. "Bitch!" You scream. You grope madly for a pillow to fight back with -- and soon you and Rose are duking it out like old times. You become a tangled pile of sweaty limbs and heaving chests, laughing breathlessly together.


Having finally worn her out -- you think -- you work yourself free and crawl to the edge of the bed. "Okay, okay," you say, getting your laughter back under control. "Are we done here? I'm gonna go get that dick now."


"So rude. Don't you wanna share?"


"Maybe some other time. I'm too horned up to share tonight."


"Wait -- wait!" Rose calls.


You turn.


"Do you know what Ally likes?" She asks. "Sexually I mean."


"Putting his penis inside various holes, and thrusting until semen shoots out?"


"We should practice," Rose says.


You don't like the sound of that. But Rose is already digging through her nightstand, fat ass waving in the air, the hem of her negligee riding up to reveal the pale skin of her twin globes. She turns back around, producing an enormous double-ended dildo -- flamingo pink, of fucking course, and partly translucent. She grips it around the middle and wiggles it in the air. It flexes and flops to and fro.


"Ally likes to get his cock sucked," Rose says. "I practice on this."


"You practice for sucking dick?" You marvel.


"Uh huh!" She's so proud of herself. "Every night -- at least the nights when I'm not busy sucking his actual cock!"


"No fucking way."


She twirls around to sit flat on her butt, leaning up against the wall, legs splayed out in front of her. She grins devilishly. She grips the dildo now with both hands, and opens her mouth up nice and wide. She plunges the dildo in.


"Jesus fucking -- Rose?"


Deeper and deeper the plastic cock sinks, until Rose begins to retch and heave around it. Spittle flies from the edges of her mouth. One of her legs jolts, like it got hit by a reflexologist's hammer. She begins to convulse, just slightly.


"Rose!"


She finally pulls the thing out of her throat with a wet squelch. Her breathing is erratic and gasping. A bubble of spit forms on her lips, bulges to an absurd circumference, then pops. She grins at you. Her voice is hoarse. "Like that. That's how Ally likes to fuck a girl's face. Are you sure you can handle it?"


"I..."


"He's probably still busy with that Samantha bunnygirl. You've got time... why don't you come here and practice with big sister, huh?"


You have to admit: you're impressed. Also turned on. There are things she can teach you, after all. Like an obedient student, you clamber back onto the mattress, and sit before her on your knees. "Is he really that rough when it comes to blowjobs?"


"Oh yeah. Even rougher, maybe. He'll definitely fuck your face at some point, if you let him."


"That can't be any fun, though, can it?"


"Huh?" Rose blinks stupidly. "Nooo. It's awesome. It feels soooo good when Ally chokes you and pounds your throat out... and especially when he cums inside. It's like he's squirting his cum right into your belly! It's so warm and gooey..."


You're half breathless now yourself, and acutely aware that your pussy is beginning to drip.


"Say ahhhh," Rose commands.


You open your mouth for her to violate.


She turns the dildo around in her hands -- so the end that was in her mouth is about to slide into yours. You didn't expect this, but she doesn't afford you the time to raise any hackles. The saliva-coated head of the fake cock pushes past your teeth, over your flattened tongue, and back towards your tonsils. You taste the sweet taste of Rose's mouth, indirectly. As if to stave off a last-second change of heart, Rose uses her free hand to hold the back of your head in place, too. She smiles down at you, a bit haughty, while she forces the dildo to the back of your mouth.


You try to say something, something like "stop" or "that's enough" but your tongue is pinned beneath this sex toy, so all that comes out is an unintelligible sputter. Trying to talk with this huge thing pressing against your uvula was a mistake. It makes you gag. You cough and choke, and feel your eyes welling up. Rose laughs. She uses the opportunity to wedge the dildo even deeper still, down into your esophagus, sending your gag reflex into overdrive. It's all you can do not to puke on this thing. Your eyeballs roll to the back of your head and you feel dizzy, see stars. You're going to pass out if this goes on much longer. All the while, Rose is giggling like a cunt. It's awful. So why is your pussy on fire?


Right when you're at the very edge of unconsciousness, Rose lets go of the back of your head, and you slide off the slimy pink cock, and collapse onto your back. You hack and cough, little droplets of your drool flying high up before curving back, landing on your face and chest. When you have enough awareness to look, Rose is busy licking the end of the dildo she was gagging you with. Like it's a popsicle.


"Yoooou," you growl between coughs. "You FUCKING bitch. You almost knocked me out!"


"Hee hee." She's smiling like the Cheshire cat. "It's what Ally is gonna do to you, if you sleep in his room... I'm trying to get you ready." She gives one last, long, luxurious lick to the toy cock, from the middle of the shaft up to the head, as if savoring the taste of your saliva. "Round 2? We can do it together this time."


You shake your head in refusal.


"Come onnn," Rose whines. Before you know it, her fingers are on your pussy. "You're all wet. You're having fun."


What can you say? She's got you.


She helps you rise weakly to your butt again. "Not... so rough..." you say, your only stipulation to continuing this humiliating practice session.


"We'll play a fun game."


"...Which is what."


"We each take one end. And we try to kiss each other around it."


You peer skeptically at the dildo. It's gotta be 14, 15 inches long. She wants you to make the entire thing disappear down your mouths? Impossible...


"Here we go, ok?"


She hoists it up between the two of you and opens her mouth expectantly. You know she won't be deterred, so you might as well get it over with. Here goes nothing.


You get your lips around the rubbery head of the cock a second time. Rose mewls in delight, and then copies you. She keeps the dildo held around the middle to brace it for a few moments as you each slowly, gently, sink it into the confines of your mouths. But once you've both got a few inches in you, she lets go of it, so that it hangs suspended in the air between your lips -- just a long pink shaft connecting you with your older sister. Your eyes meet. Though her mouth is well and truly occupied, her eyes shine, doing all her smiling for her. She literally could not be happier right now, gagging herself on a double dildo with her imouto. She laces her fingers through your hair, holding the back of your head again. You mirror her, not wanting to let her have all the control. As you pull each other even closer, forcing each other to deepthroat this ersatz dick, you begin to retch again. Both of you. But you're both prepared for it, and you're moving more slowly this time to keep from passing out. At this proximity, you can smell your sister, her candy scent, the sweet aroma of her arousal. You're beyond hot -- you need to cum, and soon.


You snake your other hand towards your drooling, needy pussy. But Rose, that horny little sister-raping slut, swats your hand away. She grabs your wrist and guides your fingers instead towards her own cunt, her turned-in cunt lips and fat engorged clit. All the while she presses harder and harder against the back of your head, forcing you deeper onto the cock. When you begin to masturbate her pussy for her like she obviously wants, she sighs through her choking and writhes against you. Then, returning the favor, she gets her fingers into your pussy.


You half-moan, half-scream straight into the merciless pink head of the plastic cock. Your sister begins to molest you, again, just like you knew she wanted to. Jilling each other off and helping each other sink a giant cock into your gullets, you squirt your cum together, all over the mattress between you -- and all over each other. You cum like geysers on each other.


You were skeptical. But as it turns out, big sister knows best. The length of the pink shaft between your lips is getting shorter and shorter, going from inches, to centimeters, to millimeters. With a final heave of determination, Rose surges bodily forward, and slips the last of the dildo's length down into her experienced cocksucking hole of a mouth. She hiccups, deeply, from down in her diaphragm, but the job is done; together, you've made it disappear.


You cum again, wetly, around her curious fingers. With your lips distended by the cock, the way you and Rose kiss each other is a bit awkward, but lewd and loving all the same. You press your mouths together and make out with each other, two sisters with a plastic cock nestled firmly down your throats. The only sound in the room is you and her occasionally gagging at random -- and in the background, the continuous wet, slurping sound of you playing in each other's cunts.


---


You leave Rose semi-conscious on her bed. Rose might have "trained" with you, and she may have wrung a few messy orgasms out of your pussy, but it didn't sate you. Not by a long shot. Rather, all that incestuous sexplay, and the barrage of sexual images you saw earlier -- and the experience you had with Vivian before that -- rather than leaving you content, it left you in terrible need. Boldly, you step forth from Rose's bedroom, still nude, your pussy drooling openly down your thin thighs. You trot lightly towards Alabaster's bedroom. You rub your belly near your navel. You're so empty inside. Ever since Alabaster fucked you, you've been obsessed with that feeling he gave you, the feeling of being full to the very brim, and you need it again at any cost. You don't even care anymore if someone sees you walking around the halls wet and bare naked like a slut. Everyone else here is a slut too, so why not you? You're on your way to get fucked... to get cum squirted up inside you... so what if anyone knows it?


When you open Alabaster's bedroom door, he isn't in yet. Rather, on his bed, is his wife: Rose2. The real Rose2, the snotty bitch who deserves that humiliating name. And she's engaged in a fittingly humiliating pastime. She lies on her back, naked from the waist up, massive cow tits on display; she browses her phone, the pale light illuminating her passive face. Her skirt is hitched up, and she isn't wearing panties. With her other hand, she fingers her own ass -- knuckle deep, alternating between using two and three fingers at a time. Just lying there anally masturbating like a pig. Is she looking at porn? You wonder. Or maybe keeping herself ready for Alabaster. That thought makes you shiver. Does Alabaster like it the Greek way, too? Would Alabaster's cock fit inside you, up there?


Rose2 doesn't realize that you aren't her lawfully wedded husband. Not even glancing up, she begins: "Alabaster... did you see the stock market today? Our portfolios are taking a real--"


"What's the deal here?" You ask. "Are you checking to make sure the stick is still lodged up there?"


Rose2 drops her phone and throws her skirt down over her naked lower half again. She tries, unsuccessfully given her proportions, to cover her tits with a forearm. "What the fuck are you doing in here!!" She pauses, aghast, and adds: "Why the fuck are you naked!"


You relish the way horniness has stolen your shame; rather than covering up, you show off. You arch your back severely, hips jutting out. You stretch one arm straight above your head like a kid in class eager to give the answer, bracing the locked elbow with your other hand. "I'm exploring my new digs. Hey, I didn't know you were so into getting off with your ass. That's pretty freaky. Do you think, on balance, that playing with your own asshole subverts or perpetuates rape culture?"


Rose2 gets onto all fours and sneers at you. "Get out of my fucking room. Piece of shit."


"Whoa nelly. I was told that this is Alabaster's room. Am I wrong?"


"It's our room. We're married."


"You love to point that out, don't you? How married you two are."


Rather than leaving, you step deeper into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. You sit at Alabaster's computer chair. Your naked pussy touches the leather seat, and you think about how many times he's probably nutted here to some truly depraved porno. Rose2, too, now that you think of it. Her eyes follow you, full of aggression.


"What do you think you're doing here," she says flatly.


"I was thinking that I'd sleep here tonight... and most nights, really."


"That is not going to happen."


"Haha. Says who? Says you?"


"Yes."


"I'm thinking it's gonna be a 2-to-1 vote. Isn't democracy cool? Even if you think you should win, sometimes you end up losing..."


"This is not a democracy," Rose2 says. "Get out."


You wheel around and pull up Alabaster's browser. You page through the history. "Wonder what kind of fucked up shit you two look at when the lights are out." You scroll. "...Whoa. ... Whooaaa. ... Oh, shit. ... Oh SHIT. ... Wow, that's not legal, is it? ... Ohhh man."


Rose2 is looming over you, now. You wheel back around and look up at her, sitting in her shadow. Hey, at least she isn't worried about letting you see those tits of hers anymore. They're pretty cute, albeit shamefully huge.


You smirk. "What I wanna know is, which of you two is into erotic asphyxiation. There's so much of it in the history here..."


"Both of us."


"You might be an even bigger freak than your mom is. Did you know that your mom has a sex dungeon in her basement? True story. Super cool. I've only ever seen shit like that in Rose's Jap cartoons."


Rose2 gets her hand wrapped around your throat. Her arm fully extended, she exerts unmerciful pressure, and shuts off your airway. You grasp at her, clawing uselessly at her hand. She tilts her head and gauges the way you react to being choked. "Should I choke you harder?" She asks mockingly.


Somehow, this feels like deja vu. Have you been in this situation before?


"N-n-nn--" You sputter.


She lets go, steps back. Your heart is fluttering in your chest.


"You're such a cunt," you snarl.


She spits on you. Right on your face.


You grab a kleenex from the box on the desk and wipe yourself off. You'll let that one pass. She's a violent girl, don't want to provoke her. Instead, you play a different angle, to get under her skin. "Look, you and Alabaster want to play house, right? What's wrong with adding a third, then?" You bat your eyelashes and put on your best red-riding-hood voice: "Couldn't a mommy and daddy use a little girl to take care of?"


Rose2 takes another step back. "Oh my god. Gross. So gross."


"You're not into it?" You pout. But of course she isn't, and that's the point. "Bummer."


"I'm going to be back soon," Rose2 tells you, slipping herself into a blouse, sans bra. "And when I get back, I expect you to be gone."


"Okay. Sure."


She stops, one half of the blouse still hanging off of her, arm not in the sleeve. She blinks at you. "...Yeah? O-okay. Okay then. Good."


"I mean, it's a free country. You can expect whatever you want to expect. No matter how unrealistic."


She grunts in anger and finishes getting dressed.


You try the innocent babe voice, again. "Oh please don't be mad. I don't know any better..."


She stomps out.


Alone, you stand, and stumble towards the bed, and crawl into it. It's warm where Rose2 was lying. It smells like her and Alabaster. Rose2 might be a stupid cunt, but she's pretty, and she smells nice. Alabaster too, of course, in his own gross way. It's weirdly comforting to lie here in their marital bed, where they sleep together. You were only half joking about playing house with them -- and three quarters serious. You think of the dynamic of it. Rose2 would be usually nice, but you wouldn't (would) want to upset her -- Alabaster would be usually stern, but secretly nicer than his wife. You'd kind of like it.


You turn onto your side and peer into the full-length mirror on Alabaster's closet door. You admire your own naked body. You're a very small girl -- Vivian was right. And like her, you enjoy that about yourself. You enjoy the smallness of you. And you also, vainly, adore your lower orifices. How small and how smooth they are, too. You know that just about any straight guy on the planet would trip over himself to fuck you. You mimic the stance you saw that Smatters girl adopt earlier -- hiking one leg way up, to part your twat and anus for the mirror. You hold your ankle and leer at the reflection. You're so fucking wet. You hope Alabaster will be back soon.


You think to try what Rose2 was doing earlier. You lick your index finger and circle it around your pale, puckered asshole. It's sensitive. You've never seriously considered what it would be like, doing it that way. Would it hurt, would it feel good? This feels good, anyway, just tickling yourself down there. You push against the rubbery resistance, and hiss in pain as your finger slips past, into the hot and vicelike interior. That Alabaster, he's such a fucking prick. You begin to slide your finger in and out, faster and faster. He fucks you, steals your virginity... you add a second finger, probing the already stretched circumference of your anus. He promises to make you his sex friend... then he drops you like a sack of rocks without so much as a thank you. What an asshole. What a useless piece of garbage. You bite your lip and sigh as you get the second finger seated in your teeny asshole.


"F-fuck me..." you whimper to yourself, flashes of obscene imagery dancing through your mind. You try to make your voice high and pinched-off. He likes that, doesn't he? The little girl act. "Fuck me, please... please, daddy? Please? I really need it..."


Voices from the hallway. "No, Whitney -- no. I'm not sleeping in the same bed with that weird half-furry."


"Oh! So she's good enough to cum in, but not good enough to sleep with!"


"Basically."


"You're such a stuck-up prude, Ally! Geez! Samantha's our pet now. We have to take care of her..."


"She's your pet. You take care of her. Anyway, Rose is gonna smack my shit in if she finds out I spent the night balls deep in bunny pussy."


"You're so fucking whipped. God."


"Go suck my cum out of Samantha and get some sleep. We've got like five hours before we need to be at the morning meeting."


"You'll sleep with her tomorrow!"


"Whatever."


You're frozen in trepidation and surprise. You're lying there naked on Alabaster's bed, one leg raised skyward, cunt and ass open for anyone to see. And then he's opening the door -- stopping at the threshold, eyes the size of planetoids.


You slowly lower your leg and divert your gaze.


Alabaster steps the rest of the way in and gently shuts the door behind him. "I'm gonna try not to look a gift horse in the mouth here," he says.


---


"Masters!!" Samantha cries with joy. She loops her fingers through the white wire bars of her kennel. She fixes her attention on you. "My name is Samantha Smatters! Maybe you remember cumming inside me! Ms. Whitney hired me to be everyone's live-in bunny onahole!"


You're beyond words.


"Aren't you forgetting something?" Whitney asks, feigning displeasure.


"Oh!" Samantha pips. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" Still on all fours, she turns in a semicircle. She hikes one of her legs up, way up, like a dog about to urinate, and presses her bare foot against the place where where the cage's wall and ceiling meet. Her dainty toes grip the bars just like her fingers did moments prior. With Samantha in this lewd position, you see that she's been naked from the waist down all along. Presenting herself like this, her smooth and glistening lower holes drift partway open. Her anus and her cottontail alike twitch invitingly. "Do you want to dump your load, master?" She asks.


You wipe the sweat from your brow. "What are you paying this poor woman to do this?" You marvel.


"Ms. Whitney is paying me with a place to live and lots of dick to cum on!" Samantha says, enthusiastic, still presenting herself.


"Great," you mumble. "So you sold me off as a signing bonus."


"Why just you?" Whitney says, laughing. "Samantha's a cumdump. I was thinking I could give her away as a party favor for all our execs at company functions..."


You're not sure whether you approve. But your dick lurches in your pants of its own volition. Unfortunately, before you can disrobe and give Samantha the payment she so craves -- from behind, you hear footsteps. Amber is approaching with Mom close behind, taking the grand tour from Rose2.


"Alabaster," Mom begins, "We just got in, and I was t-- ghh-- what!!!"


Amber breaks into peals of uncontrollable laughter. Rose2 is too stunned to speak.


Samantha turns back around and grabs the cage again. Her voice strains with adoration and excitement. "Even more masters? Oh my goodness! Hello!"


"S-Samantha?" Mom sputters.


"Scarlett?!"


"What are you d--" Mom looks from her, to Whitney, to you, and can't find an emotion to settle on. Bafflement, anger, raw shock... allurement?


"Don't forget your manners now," Whitney needles.


"Oh!" She locks eyes with Mom. "I am this residence's live-in cum receptacle! Do you want to use me? My mouth is very skilled!" She lets her jaw hang open and her tongue loll wetly out. Thick strands of saliva spiderweb between her incisors and roll down off the tip of her little pink tongue. She sits there like that, expression vacant, mouth awaiting anything any of you care to put in it.


Mom spins and practically runs away; her two daughters follow, one still laughing, the other stuttering. Whitney is already stripping. "You wanna go deal with that?" She asks. "Or try out the new toy?"


You know where your priorities lie. You tug at your tie and get it undone, simultaneously kicking free of your socks.


"Thank you!" Samantha says. "Cum inside me lots, ok!"


"Crazy slut," you grunt.


"Yes!" She agrees.


Whitney is undoing the lock on the outside of the cage. She reaches in and takes Samantha's hand in hers, guiding her out into the room beyond. "You don't mind if I use you too, right?" She asks Samantha.


Samantha hops up onto Whitney's California king bed and rises to her knees. "I don't mind," she tells her. "I am free for anyone's use. I am a toilet for cumming inside!"


Whitney pets Samantha's long, wavy hair. "Good bunny," she says approvingly. Samantha closes her eyes, coos and nuzzles Whitney's chest, enjoying the attention.


Naked and throbbingly erect, you step forward towards her. You're less tender. You command simply: "suck," and point at your jutting cock.


"Yes master," Samantha says submissively. She stares at your cock the way a bride stares at her groom on the wedding day. Pure, unbridled love and devotion in her dewy eyes. She unhooks a clasp on the back of her latex bunny suit, and her massive udders flop free, the fat nipples puffy but erect. She wraps the succulent tit meat around your cockshaft. You throw your head back and let out a low, sensual moan of enjoyment. She's so hot, all over -- even her tits are searingly hot. It's like she's in a constant state of fever. And then you feel wetness pooling in your foreskin -- glancing back down, you see Samantha drooling onto the head of your cock, a long laminar stream from the bottom of her lip.


"Get on all fours," Whitney says. "I wanna lick your ass."


Samantha will never say no to anything anyone tells her to do. She obeys the command.


She hugs your waist to steady herself so she can keep servicing you orally, even as Whitney dives in. You pet her just as Whitney did moments before. Her bunny ears feel oddly lifelike and you can't discern a headband. When you tug one of them testingly, she squeaks in apparent pain. "Please no, master," she begs.


Her plea is a bit heart-rending, so you return to petting her instead. She whimpers her happiness. 


Up and down she humps her breasts on your cock, pressing them against your crotch with all her weight. Their meaty, jiggly, damp and sweating confines bring you strange pleasures you've never experienced. Whitney is making a racket behind her, moaning gutterally as she eats Samantha out. Voice half smothered by the fleshy ass she's got her tongue buried in, she moans: "she tastesh sho fucking goood... ohh my fuckhing god..."


"You taste really good too, master!" Samantha tells you. "And you smell so good! And your cock is so big and fat, and it leaks so much cock juice!"


"Oh fuck," you grunt.


"Please put lots of cock semen in my horny pussy tonight! Fuck my mouth... but save your cum for my womb... mate with my raw cunt, please!"


With that appeal, she opens up again, and swallows your dick to the root. Down, down, down she sinks -- all the way, and doesn't gag even a bit. Your knees knock and you struggle not to fall. Her throat is like a cunt of its own, so soft, and grippy, and wet -- and like the rest of her, so warm it nearly burns. You begin to fuck back and forth, screwing her mouth. It sounds just like when you use a rubber onahole. She has no resistance whatsoever, doesn't cough, or sputter. Nothing. You just slide easily back and forth like masturbating in a cocksleeve. That's what she is, after all: a cocksleeve. So this really isn't sex at all, it's just masturbation. She's a masturbation device, exactly as she told you.


Whitney, her face shiny with cum from Samantha's hot pussy, grins up at you. She keeps Samantha's ass spread wide with both hands, and laughs: "What do you think? Best pet on Earth, or what?"


"Y-yeah..." you agree, voice weak. You're about to lose your nut. But you want to oblige Samantha's request; you want to breed with her.


"Fuck, Ally," Whitney moans. Her voice is shaky. "You're gonna blow your load, aren't you?"


You nod.


"You wanna do it inside her cunt?"


You nod again. As always, you and Whitney are simpatico.


Whitney makes way for you. You pull from Samantha's mouth with a wet slurp and get onto the bed, circling around. Samantha gets twitchy all over with anticipation. It's warm and humid in this bedroom, especially with all the body heat that sex produces, but Samantha is shivering like she's in the middle of the arctic. Whitney guides Samantha onto her back and climbs over top of her, bare cunt hovering over Samantha's face, gazing down at the spot where you'll soon be mating with this rabbity slut. Helpfully, Whitney uses both hands to spread Samantha's sopping labia open for you. "Fuck her," Whitney says, voice pervertedly husky. "Fuck her full of cum..."


You sink in. You've fucked this whore once before, but despite that, you can't believe how good it feels. It's a feeling beyond pleasure, beyond relief, beyond sexual gratification. Something like nirvana. You feel it all the way down to your toes, and all the way up to the crown of your head. Her overheated pussy is a purpose-made cumdump without compare. Human, rabbit, whatever -- it doesn't matter. All she really is, is a hole. A hole for your cock to pound and cum in.


Whitney is rubbing her cunt on Samantha's face as she watches you fuck. "Oh god, Ally, her tongue is so good... fuuuu-uuuck~" her voice goes high and she sways, threatening to faint. She grabs your ass to keep from falling over. Woozy, she gazes longingly up at you, cheek pressed to your abdomen. Her eyes are afire. Simultaneously she presses you deeper into the intimate reaches of Samantha's toilet cunt. "Breed her... cum in her... yesss!"


You make an incoherent, rumbling growl, like an ape, and empty your balls inside Samantha Smatters' bunny pussy. Samantha shrieks her orgasm directly into Whitney's genitals; and Whitney, going off now too, squirts all over Samantha's little face.


When it's over, Samantha, enervated, curls up on the bed -- right in the middle of the cummy mess you all made. She looks as comfortable as can be as she paws at the mattress, wiggles around a bit, and dozes off in the middle of the slop.


You pull your pants and shirt back on, stumble into the hallway on shaky legs.


"Hey--" Whitney says. "Wait. Aren't you gonna stay in bed us?"


"No -- no, I'm not," you pant.


"What the heck! What is this? Pump and dump? You gotta sleep with her too -- you'll hurt her feelings if you don't!"


"No, Whitney -- no. I'm not sleeping in the same bed with that weird half-furry."


Whitney is on your heels, stomping after you down the hall. "Oh! So she's good enough to cum in, but not good enough to sleep with!"


"Basically."


"You're such a stuck-up prude, Ally! Geez! Samantha's our pet now. We have to take care of her..."


"She's your pet. You take care of her. Anyway, Rose is gonna smack my shit in if she finds out I spent the night balls deep in bunny pussy."


"You're so fucking whipped. God."


"Go suck my cum out of Samantha and get some sleep. We've got like five hours before we need to be at the morning meeting."


"You'll sleep with her tomorrow!"


"Whatever."


You open your door, but you don't even take a step into your room before the sight you see stops you dead.


Amber slowly lowers her leg and glances away.


You collect your bearings again and peek back out into the hall to make sure Whitney didn't see. Thankfully, she's already halfway back to her room. You step the rest of the way in and gently shut the door behind you. You study Amber's delicate, naked -- and obviously aroused -- body. "I'm gonna try not to look a gift horse in the mouth here," you say.


---


"Where is Rose?" Alabaster asks.


You rub the outside of your thigh, still unable to meet his gaze. "She stormed off. She didn't wanna play with me."


"Should I ask why you're lying there like that?"


You gulp. All the brashness that being horny gave you has withered away under the cold reality of Alabaster's confused eyes. This was a little forward, even for you. But the jig is up, so you may as well try something bolder still. You raise your leg again, the way it was before, showing off your holes to him the way you know he likes. Still staring at the bedsheets, timbre trembling, you tell him: "Well... I... wanna play."


You hear the jangle of his belt buckle coming undone and the zip of his zipper. Then the depression at the foot of the bed, of his weight settling down.


"Where do you want it?" He demands.


"Here... please, right here." You point at your little cunt, and finally meet his eyes. "Please... please fuck me. I need your cock in me so bad..."


He turns you around onto your back and pries your legs apart, wide apart, akimbo. He's rough and somehow gentle at once. You can't stop him anymore, you wouldn't be able to if you tried. He's staring intently down at your face, brow furrowed.


"I might take a little longer than normal," he says. "I just went."


"Good..." you pant. "Good."


"Are you ready?"


You nod.


He presses forward, and sinks his cock into you. This is what you missed. That full feeling, way up deep inside. So lewd and obscene, but loving... so hard, but weirdly soft, too... so wet and squishy and tingly. You breathe hard through your mouth, throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him. He kisses you back. You lock your ankles around his waist, to keep him held fast, and ensure that he doesn't even think of not finishing inside you. He has to finish inside you. All the other girls get to feel him finish inside them. So you should get to taste that pleasure, too. It's the best...


"What... what should I call you?" You ask him dreamily.


"Alabaster is fine," he says -- distracted, fucking you fully now with long, deep strokes.


"That's no fun. Everyone calls you that, or Ally... I want to call you something special..."


He doesn't respond, just keeps fucking. Such a one-track mind when his cock gets all hard... it's like it controls him... and everyone around him... you included.


"You liked mister, didn't you?" You prod. He picks up the pace, almost imperceptibly, but he's definitely fucking you harder now. You wiggle against him, enjoy the scruffy feeling of his pubic hair, the wet union of your crotches mashing into each other. "How about big brother?" You pull him towards your face, kiss his cheek. He nips at your neck, moans sweetly into your shoulder. His ass is a blur as he fucks on top of you and ruins your young little cunt. As he messes you up inside. You lick his ear. You whisper softly, breath hot: "...daddy?"


His chin, against your shoulder, chatters -- he shivers. His whole body tenses. He grabs you by the back of the head with both strong hands. The sound of his cock in you becomes almost deafening, the wet splashing and slapping of it, his thighs colliding against yours on every thrust. You're gonna bruise -- you're gonna be sore. Of course you're gonna be sore after daddy fucks you. That's the price you pay to make his cock feel good... and to make yourself feel good, too, at that spot nestled deep inside. The spot in your womb that gets all itchy, and can only be scratched by a cock as big and hot and hard as his -- that can only be scratched by having his cock belch its boiling hot cum all over it.


"Oh, what the fuck, Alabaster." It's Rose2's voice. Returned at the absolute worst possible moment.


"Shut up," Alabaster says between jagged breaths, not even looking back.


"What are you doing?"


"The fuck does it look like," he snarls.


She gets up onto the bed on her knees, right near the left side of your face, and watches, disapproving. You look up at her. From your perspective directly beneath her, she seems enormous, and frightening. But you're so awash in pleasure, you don't worry about angering her. You just say: "he's fucking me... he's reee-aaally fucking me... I'm so happy..."


Rose2, maybe touched by the tone of your voice, softens her hard expression. She watches your face as Alabaster uses you. She goes from upset, to placid, to somewhat interested.


"How do you like it?" She asks after a while of watching Alabaster rut in you.


"I loooove it."


"It doesn't hurt?"


"No... it feels so, SO good."


She takes your hand in both of hers and clasps it gently. She holds your hand while Alabaster fucks you. It's lovely -- motherly.


"Do you want to make me feel good, too?" She finally asks.


So that's what it is. Not motherly at all. She selfishly wants to take her pleasure from you, too, like her husband is. That's okay, though. You nod.


She swings her legs up and over your head, squats down, braces her hands against her meaty upper thighs. She instructs you as if you don't know what you're doing: "I'm going to sit on your face... kiss my pussy like you kiss someone on the mouth, okay? Use your tongue inside me... lick me all over. I'll feel real good if you do that."


"Okay."


She does exactly what she said she would. And you do exactly what she told you to do. You kiss and lick and suckle her all over. You taste her smooth, wet pussy. Her juices flow like nectar to the back of your throat. All the while, Alabaster's fat spongy cock is plowing in and out of your bruised, battered interior... are they making love to you? Are they raping you? You can't honestly tell.


Holding her thighs apart, you peer up at Rose2's now adoring face. She has a hand cupped to her cheek, another under the heft of her enormous breasts. She's flushed and sweaty. You get enough air to ask: "C-can... can I sleep in here tonight? Please?"


She pets you. At the same time, she mashes her cunt to your lips and nose, to shut you up. "Sure~" she purrs. "If you keep us happy, then sure..."


Alabaster is getting increasingly frenzied and rough inside you. Rose2 turns 180 degrees to face him. You can't see, eyes blotted out by Rose2's jiggly ass, nose brushing up against her asshole, tongue lapping obediently at her slimy pussy. But you're pretty certain the two of them are smiling at each other -- somehow you sense that. And then you hear them kissing. How nice. You hope they're getting off as hard as you. Oh -- they are. You feel the hot, almost painful pulse of Alabaster's cock expanding then contracting inside you, over and again. Then the warm gooey rhythmic splurts against your interior walls... yes, that's it... there's that itch getting scratched, all right... oh god, you're cumming. And so is Rose2, she's cumming all over your fucking face. Alabaster is grunting into her mouth and she's squirting like a pissing animal all over you. All the while, what feels like whole quarts of semen slosh around in your now-spoiled little cuntlet. You could not be more fulfilled, than you are right now.


---


On your way out the door in the morning, you pass by Cerise and Galatea sitting together in the living room. They must have gotten in really late. Galatea's bags are strewn on the floor all around the couch, and the two rampant lesbians sit side-by-side, indian style. They each wear tees, pantsless but thankfully with the basic dignity of panties to cover their shame. Cerise sips a mug of coffee and Galatea works studiously on a laptop.


Rose passes them right by, in a hurry -- as always -- but you and Whitney stop to chat.


"Coming in to work?" Whitney asks. "I know I encourage people to wear business casual, but..."


"Give us a day," Cerise says. "Gal needs to get some stuff in order."


"What stuff?"


"if you announce that you hired me," Galatea says, not looking up, "people will get suspicious... they'll ask why you invited a jobless 19 year old girl to be a top ranked executive at one of the world's most powerful companies..."


Whitney blinks. "Shit. Yeah. Good point."


Cerise makes a sort of exasperated, get-a-load-of-this-girl motion in Whitney's direction, using the flat of her hand. You can only shrug.


"i'm gonna forge an identity," Galatea says.


"19 year old Anna Healy will be 32 year old Anna Soliloquy -- maiden name Anna Moss," Cerise explains.


"Can she pass for 32?" You ask skeptically.


"i aged gracefully"


You didn't expect a sardonic comment like that from her. Good for her. She's really matured in the past 12 hours.


"i graduated with honors from a university in dublin," she says. "did cybersecurity work for some NGOs... worked at some government thinktanks... sat on the faculty at a university in south africa for a while... now i'm here"


"Smart," Whitney says.


"yes"


"This is why I'm hiring you."


"yes"


"Okay, well... get to work."


"Wait--" you drawl. You glance down, notice the ring on Cerise's finger. Galatea's too.


Cerise holds her hand up to show it off. "We've been married for two years. I was with her in South Africa during her professorship, that's why I disappeared from the public eye. I came back a little before she did... now she's back with me."


"Smart!" Whitney says.


"yes"


"Okay," you say. "But... that's sort of anticlimactic. Isn't it?"


"What are you talking about?" Cerise says.


"You can't just get fake-married. You gotta have an actual wedding too."


"Pfft. Fuck off."


"No. You fuck off. If I have to suffer the indignity of a big, pointless ceremony, then you definitely do."


"Take that up with your cunt wife, asshole," Cerise says. "You let her whip you into having a wedding. That's on you. Me and Gal don't need one."


"What the hell is up with all this 'whipped' talk lately?" You grouse.


"Whihh-chuu" Cerise says, in imitation of a whip.


"Oh, fuck y--"


"Whihh-chuu," Whitney mimics.


"Besides," Cerise adds. "If I have a wedding, I want Renee and Alex to be there for it. It wouldn't be the same without them."


You can at least understand that.


---


"I gotta thank you," you say. You sit with Kay in her office. "Your advice brought the worst monster to ever live back to life, for a second time."


"Don't be melodramatic," Kay says. "And FYI, my advice saved your sorry asses. If it weren't for me, Mara would have sent a hit squad to do some wetwork on all of us by now."


She finishes typing something -- what, you don't know, and maybe don't want to -- then pulls her laptop from its charging dock and stows it in her canvas bag. Next goes the power cable.


"Going somewhere?"


"I need a vacation from assholes like you who don't know how to say things like please, thank you, and excuse me."


"Oh, excuse me," you say. "Can you please tell me where you're going all of a sudden? Thank you in advance."


"I'm following a new lead. On a new story. Unrelated to anything about Darkbloom Analytics, so stop bothering me."


"Oh, yeah," you say. "I forgot all the hard-hitting journalism you do outside of leaking this company's secrets." You begin to recite the titles of actual articles she penned during her days as a blogger: "Which Subway Footlong Are You? 15 Dancing With The Stars GIFs That Will Make You Swoon."


Kay shakes her head violently. "Shut the fuck up."


"33 Celebs Who Have Celeb Crushes of Their Own. 15 LOL Moments From Ghost Adventures."


She cups her hands to her ears. "Not listening. Not listening."


"What Fairy Type Pokemon Are You? Which Disney World Ride Are You?"


"LALALALA! NOT LISTENING! NOT LISTENING!"


She stands and marches circles around the room like a goosestepping Nazi.


"Kay."


"LAALAALAA!"


"Kay!"


She cringes at you, partially uncovering one of her ears, half-crouched, squinting.


"Seriously. Where are you going? You're not running away, are you?"


"No. I'm investigating something."


"Tell me what, for the love of god."


"Maybe this will clue you in. I'm taking a chartered plane to the sleepy little island nation of Palau."


"Meeting Gustav?"


"You got it." She sits again.


"22 Pirates of the Caribbean Reaction GIFs For Any Occasion."


"FUCK!" She pounds her desk with both fists, then points menacingly at you. "Don't you fuck with me, you miserable asshole. I will publish every single shameful thing your dominatrix wife has ever done to you."


You gulp.


"Yes, I'm meeting with Gustav. He might be able to point us towards Mara. And maybe he knows some other stuff besides."


"Like what?"


She shrugs. "I dunno. You ever hear that Rumsfeld quote, about known unknowns, and unknown unknowns?"


You frown.


"You can come, too, if you like. Take a nice honeymoon with your domme wife."


"No thanks."


"Oh, come on. It's supposed to be a fun place. And their independence day celebrations are coming up. I hear they get pretty wild."


"Sounds like a waste of time, if you ask me. Aren't there more important things I should be doing? Fucking off to take an island vacation right when everything is getting crazy... sounds... so irresponsible."


"Pah. You're no fun."


"I wouldn't want to risk another stowaway situation," you say. "I just dealt with taking both Roses international. I couldn't possibly do it twice in the same week."


Kay nods. "That's Rose2 for you. Give her 7 inches and she'll take 6300 miles."


"It's really more like 8 inches..." you say.


"But who's counting, right."


"Why are you helping us?" You ask. "What's in it for you?"


"Other than saving my own skin? I want to see Mara get hers, same as the rest of you. And frankly, I don't want to wind up being Mara Darkbloom's vassal... I really, really don't want to."


Kay leans way back in her chair, sighing.


"I know how you feel," you say glumly.


"Yeah."


"...Got some time to kill?" You ask.


She tilts her head. "Sure. Do I need to ask what you're thinking?"


"Oh man. Maybe you should."


She rests her chin on her wrist, grinning slyly. "Are you thinking something perverted?"


"I was wondering whether you wanted to grab some lunch."


Her eyes go half-lidded, in a disgruntled rather than alluring way. "Not hungry."


"But thirsty."


She shrugs. "I'm gonna be marooned on a desert island with no dick in sight for hundreds of miles. Except Gustav, who -- sources tell me -- swings a different way. Aside from being old, gross, and German."


"What's the matter with being German?"


"You focus on the weirdest sh-- nevermind. Do you want to fuck me or not?"


"Sure." You stand and begin to unbuckle. But a thought strikes you. Belt still in hand, you say: "you know what? Maybe I will tag along on your Palau trip, after all."


"Why the sudden change of heart?" Kay asks.


"There's something I need to decide. Maybe down there, with Rose -- is the best place to decide it."


She waits for a beat, then: "How mysterious. I like a man of mystery. Gets my cunt all wet."


"Charming."


She sticks her tongue out at you. Then standing, she repeats a performance you saw relatively recently: she hooks her thumbs into the elastic of her skirt and shimmies from it in a tantalizingly cute, quick, practiced motion. She folds it and lays it over her chairback. Her blouse soon follows.


But then something new. She gets totally nude, stepping from her bra and panties. Then, stark naked, she walks to her window and raises the shutters. The broad daylight washes across her. She lays her palms flat against the pristine glass, arches her back. She stares at you over her shoulder and wiggles her upturned ass at you. Her pussy and her asshole are open for your use.


"I turned you into an exhibitionist," you say appreciatively.


"I always was." She faces the window again. "The little people deserve some entertainment, don't they? They can watch how Alabaster Soliloquy and star reporter Kay Vera fuck like wild dogs. They can watch me take a nice hot load of jizz in my cunt..."


She draws herself fully upright again -- and then arches the other way. Palms still pressed to the window, she rubs her bare pussy on the warmed-over glass. Her toned calves flex as they rock her rhythmically up and down. You can see the little streaks her arousal leaves in its wake.


"Alabaster, please," she says, "don't you know it's impolite to keep a girl--"


Kay is shocked to turn her head and see you with your phone in hand, pointing it at her.


"What are you doing!" She sputters.


"You want everyone to see, right?" You say mockingly. "Why limit the show to people who are lucky enough to be out there in the quad right now? We can upload it online, for the whole world to watch you get spunked..."


She's facing you now, one arm over the little buds of her tits, her other hand between her legs to conceal her pussy. "You put that away right now!"


"Huh. Not such an exhibitionist after all," you say with a frown. "Just a faker. You'll fuck in front of a window at 4 PM when there's hardly any chance of someone walking by down there. But with the camera's eye on you, all of a sudden you're as shy as a schoolgirl..."


She steps forward, reaching for you. The motion reveals her cute little breasts, the hard almost mauve-colored nipples. You zoom in on them.


"That's not funny! Stop recording me!"


"Fine, fine," you say. You hit the stop button and pocket your phone. "No need to get all bent out of shape. Go back to the window and get your ass up for me."


"You are such a f--"


You snarl: "Don't you fucking make me wait, Kay. I've got any number of girls I can go fuck right now instead of you. Get yourself back up against that window."


She seethes, but she doesn't fight you. She resumes her position, palms flat on the window, stooped slightly over. She even, despite her scowl, waggles her ass again to entice you. It's so cute how desperate she gets from a simple threat to deprive her of your cock.


You scan the room for something you can use, and find it; oh, this is perfect. When Kay glances impatiently back again, she's just in time to find you propping your phone against her Pulitzer Prize so that it stays balanced.


"Alabaster!" She snaps. "What the f--"


She tries to wheel around but you're already on her -- you grab her by the nape of the neck and force her to stay firmly pressed against the window. With one hand you pull your pants down and step out of them.


"Asshole! Are you still recording me?" She demands.


"Of course not. You asked not to be recorded." You lovingly swipe some of her hair behind her ear using the back of your hand. "This conversation is totally off the record. Don't worry."


"Yooouu..."


You grope her cunt and press down on her neck so her back bends at a sharper angle.


She's a whirlwind of emotions. Fear to anger and back again to fear. Tremulously she asks, "y-you're not really recording. Right? You're just fucking with me?"


"I'm fucking with you all right," you say. You pull your cock from your boxers and rub the tip of it against the sticky folds of her labia. Kay's pussy lips are dainty, but well-defined, dark and hot. The wet crevices and creases of them feel so nice tickling your horny prickhead as you guide it back and forth. The teasing pleasure of it gets you hotter. It lights that overpowering need inside you to ram your cock up a tight little hole. A tight little hole like Kay Vera's cunt, for example. Your little intercrural foreplay is getting Kay horny, too. She whines and lets her head hang down, no longer so concerned about the camera that may or may not be documenting her shame on video.


"Say you want it," you tell her.


"You are such a fucking rat bastard--"


"Say you want my cock."


She gyrates against you, trying either to slip it in without your permission, or tempt you to relent and fuck her before you make her say it. But you won't be tricked. You stay her with both hands on either side of her surprisingly muscular butt. You take this opportunity, with your thumbs, to spread her ass cheeks. You appreciate the discolored pucker of her anus, plus the sheen of her arousal on her cunt lips and the underside of your angry red cock. Your shaft and bulbous mushroom tip look absolutely massive jutting up from between her ass, more like a weapon than a sex organ; Kay is a petite woman, with equally petite orifices that hardly seem big enough to fit such a thing.


"I-- I w-want it," Kay says softly.


"Want what?"


She groans in agonized, needful frustration.


"Want what," You repeat, firmly.


"I want your cock!" She shouts. It's loud enough for everyone in the C Suite to hear. "I want your cock, Alabaster, fuck me already! Fuck me!" She bounces her butt as best she can against you, succeeding only in smearing a little more of her cunt juices against your glans, frenulum and testicles.


"Don't tell me."


"What?"


"Tell the viewers." You point at your phone on her desk leaning up against her cherished prize. "Tell them how bad you want it."


You spin her around, her body still bent at nearly 90 degrees, holding her about the waist. She's directly facing her desk and the uncaring eye of the phone's camera. She still isn't certain whether this is all just a roleplay or you really are recording her against her will. She shakes like a bird all over. Lust and mortification are obviously doing battle in her mind.


"Say: 'I, Kay Vera, am a slut for Alabaster Soliloquy's cock.'"


"I-- I, K-Kay Vera... am a slut... f-for Alabaster Soliloquy's... c-cock..."


"'Please watch him cum inside me.'"


"P-please watch... please... please w-watch him c-cum inside me..."


"'Please masturbate to my shame.'"


She moans, goes limp. You have to catch her to keep her from falling to her stomach.


"Say it, you cunt."


"Please masturbate to my shame!" She shrieks, going suddenly stiff. Her neck muscles strain and she stares directly at the camera's lens. Her face is flushed and her eyes are wild. "Jerk off and watch me get fucked! Watch me spread my fucking legs and get fucked!"


You stick your cock in her. Good behavior deserves a reward. She hugs herself, and whatever trace of resistance that possibly remained is utterly demolished. She stares heavenward, eyes rolling up, a delirious smile on her twitching face. You weren't just talking dirty. It's literally true: she's a slut for your cock.


Rutting in Kay's pussy is always a joy. It's as firm and taut as the rest of her, smooth but deliciously wet. And so grippy. And so sticky. Yes, she's a slut for your cock, and this is the part of her that makes her that way; her wet little slut-hole. It controls her utterly. Makes her go all stupid. Makes her forget her shame. Makes her actively enjoy her shame, even. She paws at her own tiny tits and fucks back against you, wailing, almost sobbing in ecstasy. Her tongue flops from her mouth like she's her dog. Her arms, hanging limply at her side, are good handles. You hold her by the wrists and rail her with deep, powerful thrusts.


"Seeeee?" She says, gulping air. "I'm such a slut... I'm such a slut... watch me be a slut, everyone, please..."


Her tight pussy hugging you like a form-fitting onahole is too much. You're dumping a load inside her before you can stop it. It's a powerful, sloppy orgasm that can't be contained in a hole so small. There's a lewd wet slurping noise as you pump and squirt the cum from your pulsing cock, and it flows back from out of her overfull womb, down around your pistoning shaft. It drips between your bodies, oozing in thick strands to the floor.


"Oh god," she groans, "it's getting everywhere... it's... oh, fuuuuck... can you all see it? Can you all see how he's fucking me full of his, his.... dirty... nasty cummmm?" Her teeth chatter and she climaxes hard around your still squirting dick.


You let her go. She slides from your dick and she falls in a heap at your feet. She lies there for just a couple moments, sweaty chest heaving. Weakly then, arms and legs wobbling, she rises to a sitting position, and stares up at you. She's a bit more rational, now. "F-for real... you're not honestly recording--"


You grab her by her ponytail, another convenient handle, and force her back to her stomach. She grunts in surprised protest as her chin collides with the soft carpet of her office. You're pressing her face into the wet spot like she's a dog who wasn't properly housetrained and made a mess. "I'm not done with you," you tell her. "Lick it up."


"S-sto-- unnff--"


You mash her nose and mouth into the floor. With no other option but to comply, she does it -- she darts her tongue out and starts to lick up the slimy mess of your combined fluids. From the corner of her eye, she's staring up at her desk -- at the phone there silently capturing this humiliation as well.


"How does it taste?"


"It's... it's disgusting... I love it..."


You get her onto her back and kneel over her. You cup your hand across her genitals and start to finger her messy, cummy little cunthole. You scoop up some of your semen, and pull it out, then smear it all over her face. The viscous, pearl-white jism coats her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. "Tell everyone how you like it."


"It's horrible," she says, shivering. "It's smelly, and bitter, and slimy... it's fucking disgusting... ungh, oh god... so good..."


You get over top of her, resting on your haunches, and start fucking her again. You pull on her lower jaw and probe the interior of her mouth, just to degrade her. She happily licks the cum from your fingertips. The remnants of your first cum slosh around inside her pussy and coat your fucking cock, lubricating it even more. The room stinks of raw sex and semen. Kay is writhing in sheer delight.


"You want everyone to see this, don't you."


"Yes!"


"You want them to see you getting fucked and smeared with my smelly cum."


"Yesss... yesss, please..."


You moan, suddenly feeling yourself gripped by a mini climax of your own. Without warning you lose another couple squirts of spunk inside her. She sighs hoarsely and lets it happen without complaint.


You fuck her like that for a little while, just enjoying the looser, messier feeling of her cunt on the second go-around. It's so welcoming and inviting now, so greedily accepting of your cock and anything that comes out of it -- no more resistance at all. Meanwhile, Kay runs her fingers over her own face and revels in the disgusting mess there. Occasionally she turns her head to one side and laps at the wet spot on the ground too, groaning like a sow.


The minutes pass faster than you realize: soon you look up to find that it's getting close to 5 PM. This is the hour when employees are usually leaving campus. Time to step it up, then. You have one last miniature orgasm inside Kay, just for fun, because you love to cum inside so much. You relish it, spurting more cum into her ruined pussy. But you hold yourself back, saving the rest of your spunk for the finale.


You dismount. Kay whines in protest. But she doesn't have time to voice her desperation in words because now you're dragging her -- like a caveman, holding her by the hair, and sliding her across the floor on her butt towards the window again.


Roughly, you get her up on her knees.


"Suck my cock."


She glances first at the phone again -- then out, to the quad below, and the fast growing crowd of people leaving the building. Already now, a few of them are noticing: the naked woman in the corner office on the top floor, on her knees in front of a hard cock.


"N-no--" she pleads. "No, w-wait--"


You don't let her say anything more. You shut her up by grabbing her head with both hands and rubbing your achy, leaky cock all over her face. It pushes her glasses askew and musses her makeup even further. The light application of eyeliner she had on is running down her cheeks in black little clumps. Her lips wrap around your meaty shaft. She looks like a cheap whore.


You begin to jerk yourself with one hand, coaxing out your load.


"I'm not just fucking with you," you tell her with a growl. "I really am recording this."


She tries to push away from you with her hands against your knees, but you don't let her. Her eyes are saucers. She can't settle on whether to focus upon the camera, or the ballooning audience below -- or the dirty cock using her face as a dick sleeve.


"I'll keep the video," you tell her. "Maybe I'll upload it, maybe I won't. You'll never know..."


Despite herself, she licks you -- she licks your cock. A little trickle is leaking from her pussy, down her thigh -- your cum and hers, mixed together.


"Strike a pose for everyone, huh?"


Shuddering, Kay lifts both hands -- and flashes peace signs. She's done her research, all right -- or maybe it just comes natural to a slut like her.


"Mmmmmm," you moan deeply, from the back of your throat. It's cumming. Your nuts tighten, and you paint her with semen. It splashes across her face -- her broad forehead, her mouth, her black-rimmed glasses. When you pull away from her, finally relinquishing your grip on her, she doesn't stand or try to cover herself. Instead she just rises to the balls of her feet, squatting, legs spread as wide as they go -- right in front of the window, and starts to rub her cunt. She blows a kiss to the crowd below, winks, and squirts her own cum all over the window. It comes in pulses -- squirt, squirt -- and between these blasts, she slaps her messy cunt. It erupts from her like a broken water main, and runs down the glass in long thick, translucent streamers. Your own cum, thick and white, oozes straight down in long spindle-like threads, over her taint, across her twitchy asshole, and to the floor.


When finally she's all cummed out, she swoons. Losing her balance, she falls onto her side. And you don't have to direct her this time; this time, she willingly licks the mess all up. First off the floor, then off the window. All the while she wears a dreamy expression on her face. A few people down below actually clap. How sweet.


---


>Besides Rose and Kay, which harem member(s) do you want to take?

>Amber, Alex, and Renee cannot come. Top 3 votes will be invited to tag along. Can vote "no one" up to 3 times if you want.


>[x] Cerise

>[x] Gal

>[x] Mom


As Kay walks down the hall, slightly limping, you call after her: "These Epic Revelations From Reddit AMAs Will Leave You Speechless!"


Kay stops in her tracks, hunching up her shoulders, balling her fists. She wheels on you. She calls back: "Hey! Just curious! Is the safeword still tenderness?"


"W-what?"


"Still holding stock in Preparation H?"


"How do you know about that?!"


She laughs cruelly. "I warned you, fucker."


Noelle, standing close to Kay at the door of the C-suite conference room, looks confused. "Should I even ask?"


Kay cups her hand to Noelle's ear and whispers. Noelle's eyes bulge -- then she begins to laugh. "Ohhh my god. No. No way."


"Yes way," Kay says.


"Holy shit."


You feel the hot flush rising from your neck and all the way up your face.


"See you later," Kay says, winking at you.


Noelle resumes her on-guard stance, pulling out her sunglasses and donning them with a smirk. She glances back your way. Though her face is shielded by her ridiculous aviator glasses, you worry that she's looking at you with new eyes. You hurry past her, towards Whitney's office, to tell her that you'll be taking a day trip to Palau without her -- Soliloquys only.


A family vacation might be just what you need to get your head straight.


---


You get home early that evening.


Mom was overjoyed to get the invitation to go to Palau with you, on your double honeymoon. Gal was less enthusiastic, but Cerise brought her around. And Rose feigned disinterest, but you could tell she was excited at the prospect of a real -- albeit short, you stressed that point, that this trip was going to be short, very short, and to-the-point -- honeymoon.


Kay intends to leave in just a few hours, so you need to be ready to go, quickly.


Rose was home even earlier than you. Mom wanted to talk to her about something before heading out -- something alone. And now, coming in through the front door, you get an inkling of what it was. Because greeting you there at the threshold, is Rose, wearing your own pink apron.


"What the hell..." you breathe.


"Hey," she says. She's still got a ladle in hand, and you see the smears of chocolate on it. Rose, who knows that you tend to take a shower right away when you come home (out of necessity more than anything) -- asks a question you guess is pretty practical:


"Do you want some dinner? Or to bathe first?"


You feel a surge of adrenaline in your gut. "Or..." you prompt her.


But she doesn't get it. "Or what?"


You scowl. "Nevermind. ... What's up with you going iron chef all of a sudden?"


"Ask Scarlett. She was deadset on making me a baker all of a sudden."


"And -- you agreed to it? Seems a bit... traditional for you, doesn't it?"


"Don't go there."


"Kinda... tradwifey?"


She swats you with the ladle.


"Ow! Fuck!"


"This is just one more thing for me to be better at than you are. That's how I look at it." She turns and goes back to the kitchen, where heavenly smells are emanating. You're glad to have Mom's desserts back. You'll be eating like a king before you depart for Palau.


You sit back on the couch, lounging, hands laced over your eyes.


Your brief respite gets interrupted by dainty hands rubbing your shoulder blades.


You turn, craning your neck. It's Amber.


"Goddamn it. Where did you come from?"


"I'm sneaky, huh."


"Go away, you fucking zoomer."


"That's messed up. Your wife is a zoomer, Ally."


"I don't like my wife, either."


"Pffthaha. Fine. I'll take her."


You grimace, and face forward again. Amber, impossible to deter, lays her hands on your shoulders once more, and begins to massage you neck. Her technique is as good as you remember. Soothing feelings radiate from your neck outward as she rubs the balls of her palms in tender circles on your sore flesh. You didn't realize how sore you really were -- until Amber started giving you this relief.


"See? Not so bad, is it?" She says. "Your little girl knows how to take care of you."


"Would you cut it out with the DDlg shit?" You say. "It's creepy. Very zoomer fetish, right there."


"Hmmph. It seemed to get you off well enough last night. But then I guess even you're pretty much on the cusp of zoomerdom, too. Sort of in that awkward intergenerational space... don't know what you are... you're all confused, and conflicted... right?"


You close your eyes and shake your head.


"Then again, maybe I should call you big brother instead, huh?"


You don't reply.


"Why is my Mom suddenly taking a plane trip to Nauru with you?"


"Palau."


"What the fuck ever."


"She's my personal chef."


"Why did she walk you down the aisle at your wedding?"


You don't respond.


"My sister is dumb as fuck, she'll believe anything you tell her. But you know me well enough by now. You gotta know how weird this shit is to anyone with two brain cells to rub together."


"I don't know what you want from me."


"Alabaster..." She stops massaging you. "Are we related?"


[ ] Yes.

[ ] No.


>[x] I don't know.


You shrug. "All women are my sisters and all men are my brothers. And anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister."


"I recognize that..." Amber mutters.


"You should. It's one of yours. Well -- Jesus first, but then you."


"Be serious," Amber says.


"The truth is that I don't know. Well. I know this. What you said to me in that clothes store?" You do a little hoedown swing of your arms. "This mom is your mom, this mom is my mom... from the... et cetera... that was true."


"But Mom never had any other kids."


"In her current life. You had a different life, too, right?"


Amber stares at the ground. "If we have the same Mom, then we're siblings -- no matter how you look at it -- right?"


"Sure."


"Great. I'm a brotherfucker. Like. An actual brotherfucker."


"And a sisterfucker. Fun, isn't it?"


---


The armored van jostles as it navigates hairpin turns and random changes in elevation. There are no windows, but Renee judges from the obviously rugged terrain the vehicle is navigating, and the thinness of the air, and the time they've been on the road -- and her knowledge of Mara's personal history -- that they're passing through the Rockies.


The armed men on either side of her, and on either side of Alex sitting on the bench opposite her, have not said a word since taking them many hours ago.


Her shattered ankle is black and blue and swollen and she's almost sobbing from the pain -- but she won't let on. She won't let these bastards see her so much as wince.


Alex is staring at his lap, and has been for hours.


She lays a gentle hand on his knee. She leans forward and cranes her head down, to look into his ruddy, tear-streaked face.


"It's going to be okay," she whispers. "It's going to be okay, Alex, I promise."


Alex's head snaps up. He looks at her, blinking rapidly. He doesn't seem to be fully present at the moment. His lips part. He stares at her as if disbelieving.


"Ms. Guiteau?" He breathes.


Renee is taken aback. She tilts her head -- disturbed. "...Alex?"


The mystified, half-gone expression on his face disappears in an instant. He's back to reality again. His lips tremble. He looks away.


---


A little while later, the van pulls to a halt. Renee and Alex slide forward on the benches, displaced by the sudden stoppage of momentum. Renee rolls her bad ankle again against the van's floor as she slides across the bench, and can't help hissing in agony.


The back doors open. Sunlight floods in.


The armed men force them out at gunpoint. Renee first, limping; Alex behind, crying.


They're being led up a winding gravel pathway to a featureless, white concrete building. It's massive -- several acres at least. Glancing quickly around, Renee sees nothing. Not a town on the horizon, not any other human-made structures. Just wilderness in all directions, and mountain peaks on the distance.


---


Inside, there are people waiting. The scruffy beards and lanyards and vague hint of BO leave no mistake: programmers.


Behind them, stretching seemingly to infinity, server towers.


Above, on a mezzanine, holding the railing, watching approvingly, Mara Darkbloom.


Renee feels a handcuff slip around her wrist, and looks down to see the other cuff tethering her to a workbench -- where supplies and a PC sit out, waiting for her skilled hands.


Alex gets similarly cuffed at a workbench across from her.


Mara has the most psychopathic, empty, leering smile on her face Renee has ever seen -- even from her.


Renee meets that evil smile with a hateful staredown of her own. But then glancing over, Renee realizes -- neither woman has anything on the look Alex is giving Mara. What burns in his eyes can only be described as murder.


END OF EPISODE 2.

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