Season 4 Episode 6: Ghost in the Shell: Little Sister Complex

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, baby room batterer and action twink rescuer.

Back home, as you finish explaining what happened in Vail, Mom finally stops idly tearing the tissue in her lap to pieces. She stands -- strides over to where Amber sits. Amber is truly shamefaced for maybe the first time ever. She can't even meet Mom's gaze, instead just fixing her sight on the dining room's beachwood floor.

Mom slaps her.

"What the f--" Amber begins, reeling. But Mom hugs her close, cutting her off.

"You idiot!" Mom yells. "You stupid, reckless little moron!"

Amber pushes against her, to no avail. "Fuck. You're getting your tit sweat all over me--" she complains.

Mom nuzzles the top of her head with one cheek. "You reckless brat! Putting your life in danger like that!"

"Mom..." you begin, also shamefaced. Mom shoots you a menacing stare.

"Don't you start!" She growls. "You let her go with you! You're her older brother, Alabaster, you need to take better care of her!"

"You're right," you admit. "I..." but you couldn't possibly say "I'm sorry" for a situation as horrible as letting Amber lose an eye.

"I raised nothing but idiots," Mom sighs, pulling back, inspecting Amber's eyepatch.

Charlotte, sitting across the dining room table alongside her husband, sighs too. "I know how you feel."

"I know you know that," Mom says.

Charlotte isn't precisely tickled by that jab.

"Well I think it's super cute," Rose2 says. "It suits you for sure, Amber! It makes you look cool and mysterious!"

Amber gives her the bird. Rose2 giggles. "See? Like that. You've got that delinquent look on fleek!"

"Don't say that," you tell her.

Rose2 is genuinely confused. "What? Delinquent?"

"Is this ugly business with Mara done or not?" Saul wants to know.

"Done," you say. "For good."

He points at you. "The next time you bring my daughter into something like this, I'll kick your goddamn teeth in."

"Saul," Charlotte chides. "You know how Rose is. Once she sets her mind on something, there's no convincing her otherwise... don't go too hard on Alabaster."

Saul pouts.

"Things are gonna go back to normal now," you insist. "We'll all have normal lives again."

From upstairs, you hear Dr. Carte wailing like a banshee as Whitney pays her a welcome-back present of her own.

"You're grounded, missy," Mom tells Amber.

"You cannot be--" she begins, but Mom is already directing her wrath at you:

"And you too, Alabaster! You're grounded, too!"

"You can't ground me, Mom. I'm almost 23 years old."

"No backtalk! And no video games for a month!"

You sigh. You can't remember when you had the spare time to play video games anyway.

---

You lie in bed with Amber, who's hopped up on painkillers to deal with her eye injury. She's sandwiched between you on one side and Rose on the other. You both pet her hair to soothe her to sleep.

Amber looks forlornly up at you with her remaining eye. The moonlight makes her look almost ghostly. "Are you mad at me too?" She asks.

"No," you reply, firmly, and certainly. Then, thinking: "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Amber says. "Why would I be?"

"Because..."

"It's not your fault, Daddy."

You nod.

"Is that really your thing now?" Rose asks.

Amber shrugs.

"Maybe I should make you start calling me Daddy too," you tell Rose.

"Gag me."

"Is that a yes or a no? I can't tell."

With you and Rose to baby her, Amber drifts to sleep with her little fists balled up against your chest and her head resting against your collarbone. She sleeps through the alarm for school and you let her stay home. She and Noelle can keep one another company while they recuperate.

Since you and Rose sleep together now, you wake up together at the same time, and get ready for work together, too. And since neither of you are quick risers, this involves a lot of bleary-eyed mumbling as you each stumble your way through your morning routines. You shower together -- no frisky business, too damn tired for that. You take a pee while Rose combs her hair in the mirror. You and she brush your teeth together, shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the sink, spitting foamy toothpaste into the basin together, flossing. When Rose sets the toothbrush holder on the right side of the sink, you take it and set it on the left. She takes it and sets it on the right again. You grumble but you're too out-of-it to fight. You comb your hair and get dressed while Rose does her makeup. And then as she gets dressed, you sit on the lid-down toilet, to read your emails on your phone. While she's distracted with dressing, you orient the toilet paper roll hanging beside the toilet back to the proper overhand style; you instantly sense the feng shui of the room drastically improve. You briefly let her know anything important you see in the morning's emails, which she briefly acknowledges with murmurs of understanding. Then the last part of the ritual before you head downstairs, Rose taking her small apothecary's worth of daily pills: multivitamins, supplements, and brain boosters. She grabs bottle after bottle, undoing the safety caps one by one, grabbing capsules one by one, knocking them back with sips of water one by one. Oftentimes, Rose tells you that you should also be taking these, which you typically beg off. You always point out that it's not exactly doing wonders for her physique, her complexion, or her general healthfulness... and let's not talk about the boosted versus unboosted status of her brain. You stand at the sink and sip at some water too, though, while she takes her pills. The last of them, as always, is from the little blister pack in the drawer right beside the sink, on the right: these are the pills you 100% fully support and agree she definitely should be taking, every day. But this day, she dithers. She presses against the plastic casing with a thumb, but stops short of forcing the pill through its thin foil backing. You notice that split moment of indecision. And standing there, she notices you notice it. So then the awkwardness of the moment is forced to blossom. You're standing there watching Rose standing there with the pill undispensed and untaken, you're watching her stand there hesitating. You don't say a word, and neither does she. She just stands there looking at the blister pack in her hands for a long minute or two. And then finally, wordlessly, she puts them away again. You don't tell her otherwise, which is agreement enough.

So here we go.

---

You and Rose keep checking the news, waiting anxiously for word of what happened in Vail to make headlines. But it never does.

Kay explains it to you. "Some things make the local news. Drug busts and school lunch disputes, and blah blah. Some things are so big they make national news... Presidential corruption, auto recalls, mass shootings. Then there are the things that are so huge, so un-pretend-it-didn't-happen-able, that they make international news -- wars, and rumors of war -- things that change the course of history. But then... then there are the things even bigger than that... things so big that they don't make the news at all."

"You think the media is covering it up?" You ask, gobsmacked.

"Oh god, no," Kay says. "It's getting covered up at a level much higher than that. Chinese, Russian, and Americans all dead at a massive hidden server facility directly linked to Sand Reckoner? This kind of stuff can't be allowed to see the light of day. It's--"

Kay stops speaking as Nelson pokes his head into her office. "Hi Kay," he says. "You got a minute?"

"No," Kay tells him gruffly.

Nelson ignores that. "I heard about Lady. I wanted to give you my condolences."

Kay's expression turns gloomy, but she doesn't respond.

"You've been really nice to me in all your writing," Nelson says, "so I wanted to do a favor for you." He jerks his head in the direction of his office down the hall. "Can you come next door for a little bit? Won't take more than a minute. 72 seconds, max."

Kay stands and makes a halfhearted "after you" motion.

In Nelson's office, he sets a tote bag on his desk. It's lumpy and misshapen from whatever lies inside it.

"Did I ever tell you about my pet Schnauzers?" He asks. "They're show dogs. Or at least show caliber... I haven't shown them in a couple years."

"Yeah," Rose says, the light of recognition flickering on her face. "Tutu and Roo, right?"

Nelson makes a finger gun at her. "You got it. They're brother and sister. Tutu isn't spayed since at one time I thought I might breed her, but Roo was supposed to be fixed. Apparently it didn't take. And there was a bit of an accident..."

He opens the tote bag to reveal a shivering little Schnauzer pup, no older than perhaps a couple weeks.

"That puppy is purebred, but she's the runt of the litter, and I would never be able to sell her. I was going to keep her myself, but I thought... well, if you want her--"

Kay makes a sour face. "I had a mean motherfucking Rottie, Nelson, who gave his life to defend me, mauling not one but two gangsters to death. That's the kind of dog I had. And you want to give me an incestuous toy Schnauzer as consolation?"

Nelson awkwardly shrugs.

The little pup is weakly trotting across Nelson's desk. She looks up at Kay and yips. Kay is petting her before she even realizes it as she says: "This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life. I hate yippy little dogs like this. Can't stand them. I'm not some carry-my-dog-in-purse pet-mommy who takes her dog to dog boutiques to get pedicures. I'm not a mincing little toy breed enthusiast like you are, Nelson. I'm an actual dog person, not a cat person masquerading as a dog person."

The dog is in Kay's lap now, and Kay is hugging it close, scruffing it behind the ears.

"I want a real dog. A dog that can defend me, a dog that makes me feel safe. A dog who takes care of me just as much as I take care of it. Not some charity case runt who's gonna be a huge time sink and nothing but a pain in my ass. I--" Kay glances down. "What the fuck, Nelson. Why did you dump this thing in my lap?"

"You picked her up," Nelson tells her.

"Liar."

He shrugs again. "Well if you change your mind. She's all caught up on vaccinations and so on. I've got some food and a bed and a leash here, too--"

"You suck," Kay says.

"Her name is Faris," Nelson says.

"Guy."

"Huh?"

"She looks like a Guy," Kay says, standing. She totes the newly christened Guy under one arm. "That's her name now."

---

Whitney is dribbling up and down the indoor basketball court, dunking on her underlings. As always, the employees at Darkbloom Analytics are too scared to play fair against Whitney, and tend to sandbag when they're against her.

"Don't go easy on me!" Whitney pants, sweat beading on her face and dripping off her hair. "If you go easy on me, I'll fire ya!"

This does precious little to allay her employees' obvious anxiety to be playing ball with the CEO.

Dr. Carte, foot in a cast, sitting propped on her elbows at the bleachers, watches. You sit down beside her.

"This Chloe bitch is bad news, huh?" Dr. Carte says. She pulls a cigarette from her coat pocket and lights it up.

"You aren't supposed to smoke on campus," you tell her.

"Oh, sure, sure," Dr. Carte says. "You wanna princess carry me out, then?"

"My back still hurts from the last time I tried," you tell her.

She slugs you.

"Jeopardy tonight?" You ask her.

She blows smoke. "Oh hell yes."

"Loser has to be the other one's slave tonight," you say.

"I mean if you want to do some mistress-slave roleplay, all you have to do is ask," Dr. Carte says, winking. "You don't need to suffer a humiliating loss first..."

Whitney calls to her from the court: "Hey ma! Did you see that? Did you see that sick three pointer?"

"Give 'em hell!" Dr. Carte hollers back, genuinely enthused. Whitney trots off, wheezing happily.

You stand to go, but Dr. Carte stops you. "Alabaster..."

"What is it?"

"Have you talked to Noelle at all?"

"No, she was still asleep when I left this morning."

"You should talk to her soon."

---

You lounge in the Nail House's living room, wearing just a baggy tee and panties, with Noelle. Who's down to her skivvies too, and has a grip of gauze wrapped around her midsection. What an odd couple you two make, the one-eyed monster and the gutted girl.

She's been in a downcast mood all day, which you fully understand and appreciate. She did get fucking stabbed, after all. But more than that... the glimpse you got of her through the implant's grain told you all you needed to know.

You've been trying to lift her spirits by indulging in some Japanime with her -- but all she's been doing for the past three-odd hours is complain about how anime these days is a barren wasteland of shit.

Rather than make her happier, this moe marathon is making her angry, and sad -- and soon she seems like she's about ready to have a full-on breakdown. Getting your mental breakdown triggered by bad anime seems kind of pathetic, so you make an executive decision; you pull the ripcord, and turn off the TV.

"What the hell?" Noelle pouts. "I was watching that."

"You were literally just saying that you would rather jump off a bridge than keep watching it."

"Got any bridges handy, then?" Noelle says.

You put one hand on your hip, peering down at her. "How are you feeling? Like physically. Can you stand?"

Noelle, with effort, pushes herself up off the living room couch, and stands. She holds her sore tummy with one hand, wincing.

"We need to get out of the house," you say. "Or we'll both go batty."

[ ] Just you and me.

[ ] Take your sister, too.

>[x] Take Kay, too.

Palo Alto Mini Putt advertises a family-friendly atmosphere with food and arcade games, but they do also serve beer for the over-21. When you and Noelle enter the swinging double doors and stroll through the cold, stickily concrete-floored lobby towards the registration counter, Kay is already there. She's waiting on a bench, ankle on knee, playing on her phone. She has a putter and a turquoise golf ball in hand already. This lobby has a sort of faux Jurassic Park theming to it, with rubber dinos and plastic forestry arrayed around, and walls in the shape of jagged rocks. You would never say it aloud, but you kind of like cheesy decor like this.

Seeing you, Kay stands, toting her purse over one shoulder. "Took you long enough," she says.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," you say sarcastically. "We raced here just as fast as we could... it's a shame our handicap sticker hasn't come in the mail yet, or we could have parked a little closer."

"It's been years since I've played minigolf," Noelle says. "This is going to be a disaster."

"I've never played at all," Kay says. "But how hard can it be? It's a kid's game. You hit the ball and aim for the hole. Easy peasy." She stares at the ceiling, forefinger to chin. Then: "Actually, it can't be much different from pool, right? Just with obstacles in your way. And I'm really good at pool, so."

"Of fucking course you're good at pool," Noelle says.

Kay laces both hands behind her head. "Hey, what can I say? Needed something to pass the time on base back in the day. I hustled so many of my fellow airmen that I practically didn't need the pay I got from Uncle Sam."

"That's a violation of the UCMJ, isn't it?" Noelle asks.

"Yep."

Noelle looks a little judgey.

"It's just how I am," Kay says. "The hustle's in my blood. Literally. You know, my dad once sued Fox because he claimed that Matt Groening heard him say 'ay carumba' in the 1980s and stole it for Bart Simpson's catchphrase."

"How'd that turn out?" You ask.

"They settled. The money from that suit would have put me through college... if the old man wasn't a degenerate gambler. Thus Kay Vera had to go and join the Air Force..." She scowls. "Fuck, that still ticks me off. He pissed away a small fortune on the ponies. Never apologized, even. Just kept saying the game was rigged and that's why we were poor. Couldn't fucking take responsibility for anything."

"Don't have a cow, man," you say.

She clicks her tongue against her palate.

You and Noelle go up to the counter, register, and take your balls and clubs.

[ ] How about we make it interesting? Third place has to be first and second place's slave.

>[x] How about we make it interesting? The two losers have to be first place's slaves.

[ ] No need for a punishment game. I'm sure we'll find something fun to do after we play.

Noelle tees her ball, and lays her club's business end down in front of it, and does a ridiculous little shimmy like she's a WPGA golfer squaring up to take a drive. But in actuality she's about three yards from the first hole, putting across pristinely smooth astroturf the color of the fake grass in an Easter basket, and the only obstruction she has is a slightly angled curve and an uneven downhill slope. The Masters this ain't. And yet with her dignity, perhaps her very chastity on the line, she's as serious as a heart attack.

She pulls her club back to take a putt. Kay sneezes.

Noelle chokingly gasps, angered. But her aim is true -- despite the sabotage, she sinks it in 1 on this par-2 course.

"Yus," she says, pumping a fist.

Kay is next. She licks her thumb and pokes it into the air as if checking wind speed.

"Get on with it," you grouse.

She shrugs. Then lining herself up, she whacks the ball. Whuppp, like that. Instead of putting it -- she gives it some air and chips the thing straight into the hole from where she stands. Another hole-in-one.

"Your turn, commie," Kay says, stepping back.

If they can do it, you can too. This is a kid's game, after all, Kay was right. You rear back and putt; Kay sneezes. And unlike Noelle, you don't have the steely determination bred by years of being a cop. The ball caroms off the far edge of the course's wooden perimeter instead of arcing around the curve, and rebounds up the straight you just putted it down. It comes to rest only about a foot from where you hit it.

You angrily take the ball in hand, and put it back on the tee.

"Hey!" Kay says. "What are you doing?"

"Taking my fucking stroke back," you say. "You cheating cunt."

"I can't help it! I have allergies!"

"Sneeze again. I dare you. I'll take this putter and turn your asshole into my caddy bag."

You try again, this time with no sneezing to distract you.

It doesn't help. You didn't give it enough juice and the ball rolls lazily around the curve, coming to a stop just behind the hole, at the bottom of the slope. You try to tip it in, but you underestimated the slope's angle, and don't make it. And so you wind up +1 over par against the wonder twins, who are each -1.

"That's some bet you made," Noelle says. "Overconfident, huh?"

You grouse. "I'm just getting warmed up. First hole doesn't count."

"Every hole counts," Kay says slyly. "You'll see."

The next two holes don't leave you in any better position. You putt a +2 and a +1 respectively on them, humiliatingly getting your ball caught in a giant clown's eye socket on the third hole. Both Kay and Noelle remain under par.

This is gonna be rough, unless you lean on the ace you have up your sleeve. The thing inside your head, covered by your eyepatch, could turn the tide. It's painful to use it, but times are getting desperate.

>[x] It can't be helped. You'll have to use "that."

>[x] You don't need to cheat. You'll do your best and face whatever fate awaits you!

On the next hole, Kay and Noelle get into a protracted debate about whether LaCroix is actually drinkable or not. Kay is a big fan, and Noelle insists that Kay is lying. Kay insists Noelle is a disgusting NEET play-acting as a functional member of society. The word "tendies" gets tossed around.

While they argue, you assess the course before you. A couple patches of sand and a fake lighthouse separate you from the hole. You slowly peel your eyepatch back, baring the empty ruin of your orbit just long enough to do a true assessment. You can consciously understand very little of what the grain shows you, but you gather at least enough to feel like you can sink the putt in one stroke.

You rear back, and take your shot along the trajectory you know will work. You sink the ball as predicted. Then you black out.

---

When you come to, you're sitting on a bench, upper half draped over a table in the little eating area of the minigolf course, with Noelle and Kay both fanning you.

"There she is," Kay says as you rouse. She adopts a chastising tone: "Did you use your spooky eye to cheat?"

"Fuck you," you snarl. "I--"

That's when you notice Vivian Darkbloom standing across the table, primly regarding you.

"Whoa," you breathe. You sit fully upright, but still feel a bit woozy from your little fainting spell. You gulp down air. "Where did you come from?"

"I was told that you intended to spend the day laid up, and resting," Vivian says. "Not over-exerting yourself with athletic activity."

"I hardly count minigolf as athletic activity," you say. You make a show of looking Vivian head to toe. "Well. Maybe for you."

"For you as well, apparently," Vivian says with a frown. She slides herself onto the bench beside you. "I am glad you are safe, Amber. Please do not foolishly do things that could change that condition."

"You're not my boss--"

"In this matter, I am." She thinks for a moment. "I am told that you made a wager against these women. Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Allow me to assist. Together we will prevail, and punish them accordingly."

>[x] Please assist me!

[ ] I can win on my own!

You follow behind Vivian for the rest of the back 9. You hardly take any further putts -- what can a girl with no depth perception, and shitty aim besides, possibly hope to accomplish against a born hustler and an FBI-trained crackshot, anyway? It's Vivian who does the heavy lifting for you. The first time she goes to take a putt, gothic loli getup and all, Kay and Noelle both snicker at the sight of it -- but that haughty attitude doesn't last for long, because Vivian putts a -1, a -2, and a -2 on the next 3 holes respectively. She makes it look effortless as she gently sinks her ball with strokes that seem to have no kinetic force behind them whatsoever.

After Vivian makes a hole-in-one on a par 4, Noelle has seen enough. She clutches at her face. "How... how is that possible? Are you -- no. You're cheating, too, aren't you? You weird anemic little--"

"I have no need of cheating," Vivian insists. "I am merely superior in this endeavor -- as in all endeavors."

"She's a regular puttputt fanatic," Kay says. "Turned on to it by her dear sweet sister... they've been here many, many times over the past year."

"So you ARE cheating," Noelle says.

"Being familiar with the course is not cheating," Vivian says airily. "It is merely being prepared."

You smile at Noelle. Can't argue with that logic.

In the end, Noelle's deadly aim can't stack up against Vivian's familiarity and Kay's inborn hustle; she's a lock for third place. Kay has a shot at unseating Vivian on the final hole, a par-6 behemoth that requires putting through a semi-vertical pachinko board of sorts. But Vivian comes out on top, by 1 stroke.

"Son of a motherless cunt," Kay huffs. "Fuck."

Vivian laughs; it actually comes out sounding like "ufufufu." Then, folding her arms, she announces: "You two ladies made a wager. Now the time has come for the victors to collect."

"I'm sooo scared," Kay says, playing tough. "What are you gonna do, bully me?"

"Your ass belongs to me now," Vivian says, as simply as she would report the time. "Me and Amber."

Kay isn't so tough anymore all of a sudden. And Noelle is neon red.

As soon as you enter into Vivian's spacious, brightly lit home, she begins to disrobe. Kay and Noelle, trudging reluctantly behind you, are both appalled.

"Oh gross," Noelle spits. She shakes her head. "Gross, gross, gross. I am NOT going to play a quote-unquote punishment game that involves--"

"Be quiet," Vivian snaps. She tosses her bodice aside. "You are a slave and will not speak unless spoken to."

You plop down on Vivian's couch and kick your feet up. Vivian, wearing only her signature flowery black undies now, sits beside you. She points at the tile floor: "Slaves. Kneel."

Kay shakes her head. "What exactly is compelling us to obey? Besides honor and all that bullshit. What are you two actually going to do if we don't play along with this dominatrix act?"

"What is it that you do at Darkbloom Analytics, again?" Vivian asks with a wan smile. "I think maybe the time has come to disinvite you from our premises. We could do without a reporter snooping around all the time."

Kay kneels. Unquestioningly, just like that. She gets down on her knees in front of the couch.

Noelle is a harder case. "Well you have no say in firing me," she insists. "I'm leaving before I get fucking raped. I don't need to stick around and get felt up by a bunch of dykes."

"You want to," Vivian says.

"I--"

"You do. You want nothing more than to feel the quiver of a cunt against your lips as you suck the orgasms from it. I can see it in your eyes, Noelle Keki. You are a lesbian. Dyed in the wool. A lesbian bitch."

Noelle violently shakes her head, closing her eyes. "Disgusting. You're a sick freak."

"Get down on your knees this instant," Vivian demands.

Noelle, trembling, gets down on her knees.

"Jeeeezus, you're a bitch," you say. "This is so cool."

"You must not be lenient with sluts," Vivian tells you cooly. "Say the right words and they will bend to your will." She turns to her two new slaves, now. "Take off your clothes."

Blushing, they comply. You watch and lick your lips, as these suddenly docile women each a decade or more your senior, get naked for you and Vivian. They peel off the layers of clothes like unwrapping candy. Kay's peacoat, Noelle's jacket; Kay's jeans, Noelle's slacks. When they're down to their underwear, Vivian gives them a stern glare to communicate that the job is not yet finished -- and so comes the next humiliation, as they ditch these too, and sit fully nude on their knees on the cold tile floor for you.

"Kay, have you ever been with a woman before?" Vivian asks.

Kay shakes her head, eyes downcast.

Vivian laughs. "What shall we do with them?" She asks you.

"I taught Noelle how to kiss a girl yesterday," you say. "She should teach Kay..."

"An excellent idea." She points at them. "Get to work, slaves."

Noelle, walking on her knees, waddles to Kay. Face to face, she loops her arms over Kay's shoulders. Kay's eyes are wide, and her face is pale, as she stares back.

"Y-you're okay with this, right?" Noelle asks.

"I... I don't know..."

"Don't get me wrong... I-I'm only doing this because I have to... I don't want to either..."

Kay gulps. "W-well then-- maybe we should sto--"

Noelle kisses her.

Of the two, Noelle is obviously the more into it. She throws her whole heart into that kiss, putting to work all the techniques you imparted while lying with her in that car in Vail. Kay, who was hardly expecting such enthusiasm, writhes around and halfheartedly tries to escape the violation. But Noelle is starting to heat up the longer this goes on, and won't let her go. You can see, from your vantage, the wetness stippling Noelle's inner thighs. She's getting this wet just from kissing another girl.

"Shall we play with each other?" Vivian asks you.

You swallow hard. "Uh huh."

Vivian takes your hand and guides it to the waistband of her lacy black panties. You slide your fingers in and find the sticky wet little hole there. She's all horny from ordering these two women around. But you can't say you're any different. Your little hole is all sticky and wet, too. And reaching down into your shorts, Vivian finds the sticky wetness of it with a happy smile on her face. You play with one another's cunts while you watch the spectacle Kay and Noelle are putting on for you.

Kay finally manages enough air to say: "Oh my god, Noelle... what the hell... what is with you all of a sudden..."

"I'm not a lesbian," Noelle says hungrily, as she dives back in for more lesbian kissing. "Shut up. Shut up."

Kay's resistance is quickly eroding as Noelle's tongue works its magic inside her mouth. Noelle, sighing to herself, says: "oh no... oh, no, no, no... they're going to make us do so many horrible things together... oh no..."

"You crazy bitch," Kay growls, glasses askew, kissing Noelle right back. "You're a fucking basket case--"

Vivian, tiny fingers digging through your tiny cunt, asks: "Would you like me to fuck you now, Amber?"

"Oh fuck yes," you grunt.

"Would you like to try a mating press today?"

"Yes," you agree instantly.

Vivian retrieves her magical ejaculating strap-on, the one you've come to adore, and gets your body doubled over itself on the couch. She mounts you, pressing down hard on your thighs to keep your legs spread, and seats the fake cock in your puffy cunny with a single push. It's like she really is a sadistic dickgirl looking to get off inside your hole. The massive, veiny cock is such a bizarre contrast with her otherwise bony, slight build -- and that contrast gets you really fucking wet. With her dainty hands wrapped around your head, she has you locked in place. And as Vivian fucks the shit out of you, you and her watch Noelle and Kay give in to sapphic urges of their own. Noelle begins to flex her thighs as a way of stealthily masturbating. Kay is becoming less abashed, and with a hand between her legs lightly tickles her own naked cunt. The two older women make out and masturbate like bitches in heat.

The couch is squeaking beneath you as Vivian pumps you. "I so love this illegal pussy of yours," she tells you, staring deeply into your good eye. Her entire weight, such as it is, presses down onto you while she fucks you.

"Rapist," you tell her.

"Correct. I want to rape you forever, Amber. Forever and ever. You were made to rape."

"Do it... do it..."

"Do you want me to cum inside you?"

"Yessss," you hiss.

Vivian pulls you into a seemingly never-ending kiss, squeezes the dildo's hand-pump, and nuts inside you. That wonderful, soupy, sloshy feeling of getting cummed in overloads your brain and makes you orgasm like a whore. You can't help it. Your little pussy just cums whenever you feel that hot squirt of semen inside it. When the stars clear from your vision, you dazedly rub your taut tummy with one palm, enjoying the sensation of warmth and fullness.

"Ish sho good..." you slur. Vivian, as if to reward you, nuts inside you a few more times. Each milky spurt of it makes you cum harder and harder. You start to wonder if she likes inseminating you as much as you like to be inseminated...

When at last she's all empty, Vivian pulls out. She points at Noelle: "You -- slave. Eat my semen out of Amber's cunt."

Noelle gasps. "You... but--"

Vivian is high on sexual debauchery and won't be argued with. She strides over and grabs Noelle by the hair, and drags her -- although Noelle doesn't exactly resist -- over to you. Smiling, leering, you get your ankles both up on the couch, doing the splits, fingers laced through your toes. The messy, lumpy cum leaks out of your well-used hole, all over the leather of the couch cushions. It seeps out in a partially translucent stream that's disgusting and alluring at the same time. You simply love the way cum looks as it slides down out of your pussy.

Noelle clasps the edge of the the couch cushion and stares at the messy fuckhole, too. Her little breaths are cool against the overheated furnace of your twat.

"Come on, dyke bitch," you spit. "Get to work."

Gulping, Noelle leans in, and purses her lips into an O, and gets her first taste of another girl's cunt.

She's a natural cunt-licker. Or maybe this is another skill she's picked up from years of yuri anime. Like a porn star, she slurps up all the ersatz cum, and gulps it down -- from your insides and from the the outside. She flicks her cute little tongue back and forth across your puffy labia, over your engorged clit, into your steamy twat -- explores every nook and cranny, tastes your every crevice. She savors it. Her eyes are closed and her face is flushed deeply red and she's loving every second of it, the fucking slut.

Meanwhile, your partner in crime is making use of Kay's mouth. Vivian is naked from the waist down and is squatting over Kay's face, making Kay rim her out.

"Oh," Vivian sighs happily. "Ohhhh. So this is what Whitney likes so much about it..."

"You nasty bitch," Kay growls.

"Be quiet," Vivian commands, and grabs a tuft of Kay's hair, and forces Kay's face even deeper into her ass. While Kay licks her asshole, Vivian masturbates too, rubbing her clit with a flattened palm so quickly that her hand  becomes a blur. Shamelessly, Vivian brings herself to a rolling orgasm, and squirts all over her own living room floor.

Vivian Darkbloom, you've come to learn, really is the nasty bitch that Kay accuses her of being. And you love it.

It's rubbing off on you, too.

"Admit it," you tell Noelle.

From between your legs, her face shiny with cum both real and fake, she peers up at you. "W-what?"

"Admit you're a dyke."

"I'm... I-- noo..."

You push her face back, start to close your legs. "Fine. If you're not into it, you can stop."

"No!" Noelle shouts. There's real, fearful desperation in her voice. She presses your legs apart again. "I'll keep going! I'm a dyke! Okay? Please let me keep going!!"

You pet her and let her keep servicing you. "Good," you croon. "Gooo~ood~" The tension drains from her muscles and she smiles dreamily when you do that; when she realizes that you're going to let her keep feasting on your pussy. All she had to do was be honest. And now that it's out in the open, she can enjoy herself.

So she does. Noelle fingers her own quim as she sucks up the last of the dildo's fake cum and drinks down your juices. She sounds like a pig at a trough and she looks like one, too. A messy fucking bitch at your service.

Vivian, her asshole full of Kay's tongue, smiles lecherously at you. It's good to be on top.

---

"There you are." You sit down beside Alex in the otherwise empty theater area of the DBA rec halls. "I've been looking all over for you."

"What's up?" He asks.

"I don't know. You tell me. You've been a ghost all day."

"Sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm still kinda getting used to being back at work. I didn't think I would ever be back after..."

He trails off.

"I wanted to make sure you're hanging in there," you say. "Things were really fucked up, you know... back there. But we're alive, and..." you sigh. "I'm really bad with this kind of thing. But I want you to know that I'm glad you made it. And that-- well. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, Ally. Don't worry about me."

"Would you tell me if you weren't fine?" You ask him.

He smiles. "Uh huh! Of course!"

You somehow doubt him.

"There's a board meeting later," you tell him. "Whitney wants you there."

"How come?" Alex says. "I'm not on the board anymore."

"That's still up in the air," you say. "Just because of Chloe--"

"There you are."

Here comes the girl herself, now. She strolls down the long aisle of the theater and seats herself uninvited on Alex's other side. "This is the vaunted Alex Best, yes? A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Alex frowns at her.

"I understand that you completed your work on Diogenes and then burnt it down, all in the span of a week and a half?" She says. She crosses her legs. "What a magnificent mind you have. A truly worthy successor to Sable Guiteau."

"I guess you're the successor now," Alex says, voice level and inscrutable. "I report to you."

"Oh, but a demotion is such a sad thing," Qiangxiang says. "I fully believe you deserve your place on the board. Surely more than some of the people who populate it. You, Alex -- you truly are a peer. This afternoon I intend to propose to Whitney that she cleave the R&D division in two. I, in the CTO role, and you, in the newly created role of Chief Innovation Officer."

"CINO," Alex says.

"Yes."

"So you're a biter, after all," he says.

"...Excuse me? I am not following. Biter?"

"You want me to continue the innovative work that Sable and I sweated, bled, and died over... so you can reach across the table and take it off our plate when it's all finished."

"Mr. Best, we are colleagues," Qiangxiang says. "I am fully committed to the success of this company, and to your own personal happiness. I seek what you seek."

"Do you?"

"You have been through heavy trauma," Qiangxiang says. "This is not a fortuitous time to broach the discussion. Many apologies." She stands, and takes her leave. Alex watches her depart with suspicious eyes.

"That girl is evil," Alex tells you.

"Yeah, pretty much."

He looks at you. "What do you think, Ally?"

>[x] Keep Alex on the board in the new role of CINO.

[ ] Demote Qiangxiang, and reinstall Alex as CTO.

[ ] Keep Qiangxiang as CTO, and have Alex reporting to her.

With all the recent insanity, it's bizarre to go through the motions of a board meeting in which nothing insane happens. Qiangxiang makes her proposal, and Whitney accepts it, and the board welcomes Alex back to its ranks with very little to-do.

Whitney also announces another new board member.

You're not surprised that she got the nod -- but she is.

"I still technically outrank you," you remind her after the meeting as the rest of the board is filing out. "My role is somewhere around COO level, I think."

"Go to hell," she says -- but she's smiling, and can't hide it.

"Oh!" Whitney shouts, bursting back through the doors of the boardroom like a one-woman SWAT team. "One last thing."

You and Rose watch, somewhat perplexed, as Whitney breezes past you, towards the far wall, sharpie in hand.

She pulls a wheeled chair away from the table and props it against the wall. She stands on it, precariously, and uncaps the marker. She takes the fat felt tip to the giant portrait of David Darkbloom still hanging there.

Below the word ASSHOLE, she scrawls:

(mostly)

Darkbloom himself watches this transpire. When Whitney climbs down off the chair and leaves the room again -- Darkbloom wheels it back to its rightful place at the conference table for her. He turns and stares up at the portrait for a little bit.

He begins to say something to you -- but stops, and departs without a word, leaving you and Rose alone in the sunlit room.

---

"Second after the Volga," Trebek says.

A contestant buzzes in, but Dr. Carte is faster on the ball: "What is the Danube," she says. Curled up with you on Whitney's living room couch, face palely lit by the TV screen, she takes a confident sip from her snifter of brandy.

"What is -- the Danube?" The contestant says, much less confident, and lagging behind the good doctor.

"Correct. Board remains with you, Ji."

"I'll take Second Bananas for $800, Alex."

"Series with the most widely-viewed finale, after M*A*S*H*, of course."

The players are stumped -- but so are you and Dr. Carte. You seize on the opportunity to bring the score a bit more even, though: "What is... Seinfeld?" You try.

A contestant also tries Seinfeld, which is wrong. Dr. Carte sticks her tongue out at you. As the time ticks down, Dr. Carte raises her glass high in the air and says: "What is Cheers!"

Trebek is his usual empathetic self when no one else buzzes in before the clock winds down. "Ooh, time's up. What is Cheers -- what is Cheers. You still have the board."

You rub your forehead. Dr. Carte is the only person you know who can show you up in trivia. You wonder how the fuck she does it.

"Don't worry," Dr. Carte tells you, grinning. "Even if you're my slave, I won't peg you."

You choke. "You-- how do you--"

She giggles drunkenly.

On the sectional in the corner, Gal sits Indian style, with Cerise draped over her, chin on shoulder. They're focused on something amusing on Gal's laptop; they may be watching Youtube videos, but you can't tell because they're listening through a shared pair of earbuds. They occasionally stop laughing to kiss. On the other side of the room, Whitney and Rose2 play King of Fighters. Rose2's Mai is kicking the living shit out of Whitney's Geese. Whitney isn't usually so bad at fighters, but maybe Rose2's character pick is distracting her. You'd join them, but you're legitimately worried about what Mom's reaction will be if she sees you playing after her proscription on video games last night.

In the long space separating living room from dining room, which comprises a sort of secondary living room or lounge, Amber and Vivian take turns throwing darts at a life-sized cardboard cutout of Bill and Hillary Clinton. You've no clue where Amber found those cutouts, but that's fine. They're practicing Amber's aim, she says, in case of future minigolf outings or other tests of aim and depth perception. From the luxurious kitchen emanates equally luxurious smells of baking; Mom is going to make an accomplished cook of Rose if it kills them. And it might, judging by the volume of bickering coming from there.

Alex is missing. He was supposed to come by for dinner, but he never showed up; just sent a text that he was busy on campus and would catch up some other time. This is what's keeping an edge on your otherwise serene mood.

>[x] Go and drag Alex back for dinner.

[ ] Give Alex space and enjoy the rest of the night at home.

Alex has already evicted Qiangxiang from that old subbasement office you're so familiar with -- which, over the course of the past year, has passed from Sable, to him, and then to her. Now it's back to him.

Fazil is just finishing loading Qiangxiang's things onto a pushcart and taking it from the office when you arrive. He smiles and nods at you as you enter. "All is right on planet Earth, yes?" He says. "The best man's Best man has come back. That is wordplay."

You suspected Alex would be here, and you were right. He's sitting in Sable's old chair -- but not at the desk. He's idly rocking back and forth, twirling a dry erase marker in his hands, staring intently at a whiteboard on which he has some diagrams doodled. The diagrams are in two parts, separated by a dividing line. One shows a bunch of eyeballs with a cat's cradle of dashed lines between and betwixt them all; the other shows a bunch of eyeballs with dashed lines all leading to a central rectangle, which you suppose represents a server -- like branches dangling off the trunk of a tree.

"There's some pound cake with your name on it," you tell him, walking up. "You should come and get it."

"Thanks Ally," he says, not looking back.

"Chloe is gonna be mad," you tell him. You pull up a chair and sit next to him.

"Nah. She doesn't care where we put her. I already told her I was kicking her out of here... she doesn't deserve to sit where Sable Guiteau sat."

"What's with the doodles?" You ask.

"Those Chinese stormtroopers in Vail..." Alex says. "They were taking equipment out of Mara's office before Le-- before that man barricaded us in there. They've got parts and pieces of Diogenes, now... how much, I don't know."

You expected that already. Still, it makes your stomach curdle to hear confirmation.

Alex finally looks at you. "We've got something of theirs, too."

You raise an eyebrow. From his pocket, Alex pulls a grain attached to a long, thin wire. You see the dollop of hotmelt securing the wire to the grain -- you're no expert but you can tell shoddy workmanship when you see it. This this is a mass-produced knockoff.

"You... took that off one of the Chinese mercenaries?"

"Uh huh."

The sheer level of foresight and quick thinking to have done that in the heat of the moment -- the literal heat of the moment -- not to mention the obviously grisly method he would have needed to procure it...

"Remind me not to underestimate you," you tell him.

"I've been doing a little bit of tinkering with this thing. You know, there's two primary architectures that an SR based platform can rely on. Peer-to-peer -- no pun intended -- or server-based, which is what we've been using. These things, though, the implants Chloe's got installed in her serfs? They don't use either structure."

"Then what?"

"They're self contained. Not networked at all. They're weak, Ally -- it's like a Casio pocket calculator compared to a supercomputer. Broad Dynamics is years behind the curve. Xi Shi is a glorified AR platform, not even as advanced as the Gateway to Heaven that David wanted to use SR for."

"Is that good news?" You ask. "It must be."

"It's... interesting news," Alex says. "It shows why they're so intent on piggybacking off our work."

"What do we do?"

"We don't let them -- of course." He stands. "I wanted to tell you, Ally... that... all this time I was being held by Mara, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry -- sorry for -- and I told you that, when you found me. But I don't want to just be sorry. I'm sick of just being sorry. I want to help. In any way I can. I want to be part of the solution."

"You are," you tell him.

He nods.

"There's one thing, though," he says. "I know it isn't him," Alex explains. "But it's his body. Mara gave the order -- but Dalton Cantor is the one who murdered Sable. Right in front of my eyes. Being in the same room as -- as that monster -- I can't stand it. It makes me sick. Physically ill..."

"It makes me sick to work with David Darkbloom," you tell him. "He killed my parents. I know where you're coming from here, Alex, really -- I do."

"There's so many awful memories for me here. Even in this office. You know-- earlier today, before the board meeting, I was even thinking about resigning. Moving back to LA."

"You--"

"I won't. Not unless you want me to. It would be so selfish... so horrible, after everything. I wouldn't leave you in the lurch like that." He fiddles with the eraser sitting on the sill of the whiteboard. "Still... that one thing, that man -- Dalton. I've never had hatred in my heart like this before, Ally. It hurts, and it won't go away, and it's weighing me down... I don't like it. I don't know what to do with it."

"I do," you tell him.

---

Darkbloom is just wrapping up for the evening, and is on his way towards the opposite side of the C-suite with Nelson and Armstrong. They don't notice you and Alex bringing up the rear.

As usual, Dumb and Dumber are having an argument:

"They're not!" Nelson cries.

Armstrong is beside himself. "I will throttle you. My hand to God. Crack a dictionary open, you'll learn something."

"They actually aren't, though. This isn't even up for debate. Did the syphilis finally spread to the language centers of your brain?"

"What are they, then?" Armstrong demands, gesticulating.

"Shorts are NOT pants. Period. Shorts are a different category of legwear entirely. Separate. Wholly disjoint. You might as well call skirts a type of pants too, while you're at it."

"'Shorts' is literally an abbreviation of 'short pants', Nelson. You goddamn trainable. Don't make me beat you."

"This is asinine."

"Fine. Enlighten me. That thing you rode to school when you were a kid, Nelson. The short bus. Do you consider that a type of bus? Or was that its own category of vehicle separate from buses, too?"

Nelson throws his hands up. "If you ask someone to get you a pair of pants, and they hand you a pair of shorts, what would you say? 'Thank you'? Or -- 'What the hell. I asked for pants, not shorts'? I rest my case."

"WHY would I ever ask for a pair of pants without specifying what kind of pants I want? If I'm ever in that scenario, the fault is on me. Doesn't change the FACT that shorts are pants."

"If only you could dodge DUIs like you dodge questions. You might still be a US Senator."

"I'm glad to see you two ladies are the same as ever," Darkbloom cuts in. "I'm giving this point to Steven, though. Sorry, Nelson."

"Whatever, bodyjacker."

Darkbloom stops to examine his face in the reflection of the elevator's stainless steel doors. He pulls at the skin around his lower eyelid. "These shiners are clearing up nicely," he says. "Alabaster punches like a Nancy."

It's at this moment that Alex taps Darkbloom on the shoulder. He turns. "Mr. Best. Hello. What do--"

Alex punches him in the jaw. Darkbloom stumbles back, into the now-open doors of the elevator, trying to catch his balance on flailing feet and not succeeding, finally falling over. Alex follows him in. Darkbloom shields himself with one arm, but Alex is quicker; gets on top of him and gives him a few hard wallops. Darkbloom, roaring, manages to land a strike of his own, which knocks back and floors Alex too. They lie groaning and defeated together on the carpeted ground of the elevator. Armstrong and Nelson watch on from the hallway with you, baffled. The door starts to drift closed; Nelson stops it with a foot.

"Uh..." Nelson says.

"Sorry," Alex says. "That was for Dalton. Not you, Mr. Darkbloom."

"Are you quite done, Mr. Best?" Darkbloom groans.

"Yeah, I think so."

Darkbloom struggles to his feet, and magnanimously offers his hand to help Alex up, too.

"You pack a harder punch than Alabaster, at least," he says. You glower at him for that jibe he couldn't resist. "I am going to start carrying mace," he adds. "Do not strike me again. Either of you."

Alex laughs, even as he rubs the quickly developing black eye of his own. "Oh, the Rose special? I don't know that that'll stop Ally if he decides to come at you again. He's got a lot of practice, I think."

Darkbloom has no idea what to say to that.

When you get back home, Noelle isn't at the guard shack by the gates; it's the other guy who covers nights for Whitney. That's nice to see, because you assume it means Noelle is inside eating with everyone else. But she isn't at the table, either.

You ask Whitney what's up. Through a mouthful of cake, she shrugs and says: "tired, I guess. Went to bed."

Alex takes his seat between Cerise and Dr. Carte. Cerise ruffles his hair.

"I heard you're gonna be a congresswoman!" Alex chirps as Rose serves him a plate.

"Ugh. Don't talk about that. I don't want to think about it."

Mom points at Cerise with a ladle. "You should! You'll be the best darn congresswoman who ever lived. Mark my words."

"I guess that means we can't do our streams anymore, huh," Alex says. He isn't glum about it, or at least he doesn't sound that way -- but you know it's probably a sad thought for him.

Cerise thinks for a moment. "I don't know. Why not?"

"...Why not?" Alex repeats. "Because--"

"Call it voter outreach," Cerise says. "People like a politician who knows their way around Twitch. It's the new hotness."

Alex grins broadly.

"Just, uh... no more extra content," Cerise says. She shoots you a look.

"Alabaster," Rose says. She hefts a plate in one hand; in apron and all, face still smeared with whipped icing from the baking, she looks like some unholy cross-pollination of Mom and Charlotte. "Are you going to sit down and eat with us too, or what?"

You glance Dr. Carte's way. She shakes her head at you; you know what she's wordlessly telling you to do.

"Just a ch-- uh, just a second," you say. "I need to go check on something."

"What!" Rose says as you walk out. Her voice carries down the hall. "You don't want this cake that I sweated and poured my heart into?! What the--"

"He's always been like that," you hear Mom rejoin. "Always! You'll get used to it..."

"A one-eyed birdie told me that you got crushed at putputt today."

You tap on Noelle's door even as you enter. She's sitting at her small desk, browsing shitposts, chin resting on the back of her wrist. She's naked. She murmurs to acknowledge your presence but keeps her eyes glued on the screen.

"Anything good on *chan today?" You ask.

"Has there ever, in the history of mankind, been anything good on *chan?"

"No," You admit.

"There's going to be a season 3 of Magical Witchy," Noelle tells you. "New studio, though."

"Which one?"

"Studio YEEN."

"Oh Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. Didn't think your day could get worse, did ya."

You sit on her bed. "I thought my day was pretty nice, actually."

"Huh." She's still staring at her screen.

"Are you okay?" You ask. "Dr. Carte said--"

Noelle wheels around in her chair. "Fuck. She told you? -- I... god fucking damn it. I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

You shake your head. "She didn't tell me anything else... all she said was that I should talk to you."

"I don't want to!" She yells. Her eyes are welling up. She kicks the foot of the bed. "I don't want to talk about that! Go away, huh? I'm busy. *chan is a very important place, Alabaster, you know."

>[x] Press the issue.

[ ] Drop it and invite her back down to dinner.

A half hour of ugly sobbing later, Noelle is curled in the fetal position in her bed, and you have your arms wrapped around her.

"Were you planning on..." you begin. "You know."

"I don't know," Noelle says through the frog in her throat. "I was still deciding... it's why I never said anything. But that decision got taken away, didn't it."

"Noelle... I'm so sorry -- I would never have let you go to Vail if --"

"Don't. I made that choice... I wanted to be there. It's because I was there that you and your friends made it out... in some small way, at least... I helped. I helped bring down Mara Darkbloom. The world needed that. You needed it. I did too."

You have no idea how to navigate these waters, what words or actions will console her, and you say as much.

Noelle sniffles. She shrugs. And then her trembling goes still, and she falls quiet for a turn.

Finally: "Do what you're best at," she says softly. "Take my mind off of it."

Noelle tugs at your belt and zipper. You briefly resist with a couple murmurs of uncertainty. Given the recent trauma both physical and emotional, it seems like a bad idea. But the raw hunger and needfulness of Noelle's touch, the determined expression shining through the ruddy complexion of her face still streaked with tears -- you realize that she truly wants this right now.

And you also can't deny that despite the circumstances, holding a naked girl has had an effect on you. You kind of hate yourself for it, but it did.

"There it is," Noelle says, a wan smile pushing at the edges of her lips. She finds your member in her soft hand. "There's that fat fucking dick I love. See? I can't be a lesbian if I love your dick this much, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Good."

You peel your shirt and pants off, then twist around, get on hands and knees above Noelle. You gaze down at her, her helpless body still weak from everything it's been through, and still bandaged around the middle. "I'll be gentle," you tell her.

"No," she grunts. "Don't you dare be gentle. Don't you dare treat me with kid gloves, Alabaster, I'll kick your ass if you do. I want you to FUCK me. I want you to fuck me harder than you've ever fucked any of those other bitches in your little stable. Fuck me like you mean it."

You blink.

"I'm serious. Knock me out with your dick. Ruin my pussy... cum in me like I'm a dirty tissue. Do it -- do it now."

You lean in and kiss her deeply, at the same moment as you ram your cock up inside her tender cunt. From either end you're suddenly connected to her, and from either end you feel the vital heat of her body. It rushes over you like the heat of a fire. She's hot all over. And she's wet, and she's tight, and her pussy is sticking to your shaft like it's hugging it. She was being 100% honest, she wanted you to fuck her -- no, rather, she needed it. Her body is crying out for your cum, and you'll be happy to give it to her.

Noelle is so desperate that as she kisses you, her teeth knock yours. You feel the vestiges of her lipstick smearing you, too. Her kisses are open-mouthed and land all over your face. You know that Rose is well enough used to you fucking outside the bonds of matrimony by now, but the thought of her reaction when you come to bed later, stinking of Noelle's body, and smeared with Noelle's makeup... somehow it makes your cock throb even harder.

That thought, and the primal enjoyment of rubbing your cock inside a messy fuckhole like Noelle's, drives you further and further. You really wanted to be gentle. You really meant that. But you can't help yourself. You're pounding her out like a cheap slut. You're bouncing on top of her and pushing her deeper and deeper into the bed. You're fucking Noelle with a deranged lust only you're capable of, and your massive cock is stretching her to her very limit.

And she loves it. Her pretty little pussy, only so recently cherry, stretches out and bruises up and breaks open just for you. This pleasurably painful experience makes her cum like a bitch. She cums again and again, shuddering, groaning in delight, humping back against you as the orgasms roll through her. You feel the wet explosions from her spasming pussy. Noelle's prodigious squirting stains her mattress and makes the room fill with her scent. It invades your nostrils, drives you even farther past that point of no return. You hug her around her lithe, sweaty back, feeling her perky tits mashing up against your chest. You lie over her and press down, hug her tighter still, grip her with a brutal forcefulness. You hold her like you're trying to merge your bodies into one. God, she's so slippery and hot inside. Her chin rests against your slick shoulder. She kisses your cheek between thrusts -- and the deep, guttural sounds emanating from the back of her throat signal her adoration and her passion.

The raw force of your animal fucking seems to have knocked the wind from her. But she finds enough breath, just barely, to whisper gulpingly your ear: "Alabaster... so you know... I'm still not safe."

You pull back just a little, enough to look her fully in the eyes -- even with your cock still seated inside her and drooling freely into her womb.

She grins up at you.

Grunting, you pull all the way out. She squeaks in shock, then, as you roughly spin her around onto her tummy. You tug her ass up, and admire the peach-shaped curve of her butt for just a moment before, yearning for that sweet relief of orgasm, you get back on top of her. In a speed bump position just as brutal and forceful as the missionary you were in moments ago, you give her jackhammer thrusts that push her deliriously grinning face into the pillowtop. You grope her tits and fuck her just as hard as she wanted.  The obscene, wet noises of your mating fill the room and echo off the walls; you grin ear to ear at the thought of what you're about to do. And yep, it's cumming. Your horny cock sputters, then shudders, and then your nuts tighten, and out it all goes, straight inside; you're squirting a hot load into Noelle's womb, and gravity ensures it stays there. Noelle scream ecstatically into the pillow, wiggling her butt, squeezing your dick with her pussy, trying to make sure you're empty. The sound of her squirting against her sheets is loud and satisfying as you pump your jizz into her body.

---

At work, as you walk down the hall in the C-suite, you hear muffled shouts from Gal's office. You're about to step in to investigate, when all of a sudden, out comes storming Cerise. You nearly bump into her as she bursts through the door.

"What's wrong?" You ask her, genuinely concerned.

"What's wrong? Oh, nothing's wrong, Alabaster. I just married a woman who believes in ancient aliens and preaches the healing power of Chakras. That's all!"

You look into Gal's office. Gal, peeking her head from around the monitors on her desk, tells Cerise: "your chakras are misaligned--"

"I was not talking to you!" Cerise yells.

"Hold on," you say. You arch an eyebrow at Gal. "You believe in ancient aliens?"

"i'm not saying i believe in ancient aliens. cerise isn't listening to me. as usual. all i'm saying is if it wasn't aliens, then how did they move those stones. how did they move them."

"Oh my god," Cerise says.

"how did they move the stones, cerise. you can't answer that. you can't"

Cerise stomps off. Gal, triumphant, takes a long drag off one of her vape pens.

When you step fully into Gal's office, you're surprised to find that Mom is there as well; and Mom is feeding Gal some of last night's leftovers. Literally: plate in one hand, fork in the other, all but doing Gal's chewing for her.

"thank you scarlett, but i'm full," Gal tries.

"No you aren't. You need to eat. Eat!" She presses another morsel into Gal's mouth. As she types, she chews. Reluctantly. But she chews.

You're a bit embarrassed on Gal's behalf. But Mom has the right idea. She does need to eat.

"So where do you stand vis-a-vis ancient aliens?" You ask Mom.

"Anna raises some points that I never considered before," Mom says. "I think it's perfectly plausible. Cerise is just being bullheaded and close-minded."

You cringe.

"Don't give me that look, young man. Anna is smarter than both of you combined! And she's done her research. She knows what she's talking about!"

"yes"

Oh joy. Mom has a new favorite daughter. Mom rewards her with another mouthful.

"You should be more like Anna," Mom continues. "They might bicker a little bit, but she really looks out for Cerise. It's so sweet. Do you know what she did? Tell him, Anna. Tell him what you did."

"it's really nothing"

"Go on, honey, don't be humble."

"erm... well... with cerise's announcement coming up and everything... i thought it would be best if someone kept a closer eye on all the... online discussions"

You squint at her. "/CSG/?" You say.

"yes"

"She volunteered to clean up that cesspool!" Mom tells you. "She got a job removing offensive posts about your sister from that godawful bulletin forum."

"Oh my God..." you mutter. "Gal -- you're a... you're a janitor?"

Her abashed silence speaks volumes.

"And guess what!" Mom says. "She isn't even getting paid for it. She's doing it out of love for your sister, and nothing more! For free!"

You stifle laughter. Then, you check *chan on your phone. Unfortunately for Gal, despite the recent move of /CSG/ to a containment board, or perhaps because of it, she has her work cut out for her. One janny alone, no matter how motivated by love, may not suffice. The place is worse than it's ever been.

---

Cerise's intention to run for congress "leaked" in the news media early yesterday evening. The reporter who got the scoop was Kay Vera; and of course, it was a coordinated leak designed to whip up some preliminary buzz and interest in the campaign. Her official announcement is taking place today at the Palo Alto Rotary Club, where Cerise will field townhall style questions from the crowd. Armstrong spent all morning and most of the afternoon prepping her for the event, the first time Cerise has spoken publicly since the Senate testimony that rocked the world last year.

You wanted to be there in support of her, especially since Gal won't be able to make it. But Vivian believes you and Rose alike should be kept at arm's length from the campaign, at least in its early stages. Too afraid of your cunning political mind showing her up, most probably.

You head down to Rose's office to field her thoughts on ancient aliens. The battle lines within the Soliloquy family are fast being drawn, and you need to know Rose stands on the side of facts and logic.

But Rose isn't in at the moment. Possibly she's down in HR getting herself up to speed on the department she now heads. Charlotte's office is on the same floor, though, and like a shark in chummed waters, she immediately senses your presence. She steps out into the hallway and waves you over basically as soon as you show your face on the 13th floor.

"Hi Mrs. Mall-- Cha-- hi Mom," you finally manage, wanting to keep on her good side for the moment, lest you incite that creepy dead-eyed stare from the other day.

She grins. So far, so good.

Charlotte's office is the kind of stereotypically cozy place you'd expect for an attorney's office -- bookshelves lined with dense legal tomes, a desk lamp with an oblong green glass shade, inoffensive art on the walls. Actually, one of the framed pictures hanging there is a charcoal sketch of a crested robin drawn by Alex himself, which Charlotte happened to see one day, and fell in love with, and subsequently demanded to pay him $1,000 for. He said it was the first time he had ever sold art.

"I suppose that makes you officially a professional artist now!" Charlotte had said; which made Alex so happy that he cried.

When you step inside the room, Charlotte closes the door behind you -- which is odd behavior. She never closes her office door, claiming that it makes the room feel stuffy and claustrophobic. Then this: when you sit in one of the armchairs in front of the little round table in the corner, Charlotte doesn't join you. Rather, she leans her coccyx against the edge of her desk, propping her weight up by her hands behind her -- still grinning at you. It almost feels a bit predatory, if you're being honest.

"I'm so glad you're back safe, Alabaster. You and Rose. I know I've said that already -- so many times -- but it's such a relief. I don't know what I would do if something happened to either of you."

"We've got you to thank," you say. "You helped us with Dalton and everything... because of that... we were able to get everyone home safe."

She nods. Then, getting the flash of an idea, she turns, and retrieves a small bottle of cognac from her shelf, and two intricately ridged shot glasses, and pours for you without asking whether you'd be into some day-drinking right now. Well, you would be, so that's fine.

She hands you yours. Standing before you, Charlotte toasts you, clinking the glasses together.

"To health," she says.

"To health," you agree, toasting back, and take a swig.

"And also your decision to try for a baby with Rose."

You choke, and cough, and spray cognac in a fine projectile mist. Charlotte laughs slyly.

"So it's true!" Charlotte says. "How wonderful."

"What did she--" you begin, wiping the spittle and droplets of liquor from your chin. "--Goddamn it. I can't believe she's going around just telling people--"

Charlotte laughs again. "Oh, don't be silly, Alabaster, dear. She didn't have to tell me. I just know."

"How can you 'just know' something like that?" You demand. "More to the point... what makes you think you know? I -- look. We're not trying for a baby, Mom."

Whether or not you really believe what you're telling Charlotte, you'd prefer for her to think so. You've always thought it was a bit creepy the way people announce that they're "trying for a baby" given what "trying for a baby" necessarily entails. It's mortifying. And anyway, you're not trying for a baby, so there's that...

"It's just something mothers know. Call it a motherly intuition. It was as plain as the noses on your faces when you came to work this morning!"

"No way. Rose told you something. Don't treat me like I'm stupid."

She just gives another one of her knowing little laughs, and refills your glass. You meekly accept it. You could use the liquor. She puts the stopper back in the bottle, returns to her desk, and leans against it again. Whether or not it really was Rose who let the cat out of the bag, you know you'll have to pay her back for this little humiliation later.

"I'm sorry, honey. I pry too much. I'm just so excited! I never would have imagined when I took you in, that you and Rose-- oh my goodness. Well in any case, if it's a girl, Charlotte is an excellent name! Don't you think?" You blanche; Charlotte giggles. "There I go, prying again. Sorry, sorry!"

She kicks off her flats, curls and uncurls her stockinged toes against the carpeted floor. When she sees you see this; she says: "These things are about half a size too small for me. I need to get comfy when I can. You understand."

You purse your lips. "Well, I really should be--"

"You never did tell me! How was Palau?"

"It was great," you say, sitting again. "I mean except for the part where Chloe came and threatened me."

"That's all right. She'll get hers." The way Charlotte can say such an ominous line with the same bright smile and warm tone, without batting an eyelash, is kind of scary. You sip your drink. "So you and Rose had a nice honeymoon?"

"Sure. Lots of... uh, fun on the beach."

"How sweet. I hope your mother didn't get in the way!"

You blink.

Charlotte drums the desktop with her fingers. "I mean... tagging along on your honeymoon? And you think I pry too much!" She pours herself another glass of cognac, too. She twirls it around, and then sips. "She can be a bit much sometimes, honestly. I love her to pieces, though!"

You decide to move past her little jabs in Mom's direction. "That's good. It's really nice that you two are--"

"She has such a predilection for tall tales. It's her major flaw. She told me some real doozies about the Palau trip! If you want the honest truth?" She holds the shot glass to her cheek, pinky held out, in lieu of cupping her hand, and whispers: "I think she's a bit jealous. You know. Of what she saw during the wedding." She winks at you.

You massage the bridge of your nose. "Char-- Mom-- I don't think--"

Her voice goes boisterous again. "But look at me, gabbing and gabbing. I'm not being attentive enough... to you, Alabaster. All this craziness of the past couple weeks, you must be under such an enormous amount of stress." She hoists herself up, sits her butt flat on the desk. Her black pencil skirt hikes up just a bit with the motion. "I always pride myself on being the best mother possible. And that means making sure I take care of my boy when he's under stress!"

You gulp. "Mrs. Mallory... you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?"

She parts her knees, just a little, just enough to pull the smooth material of her skirt taut. "I think I've done that already. Haven't I?"

You finish your drink in one hard swig.

[ ] Succumb.

>[x] (Make her even more desperate) Speaking of Mom -- I should really go see her.

"What."

"All this conversation reminded me... I told her that I'd go down to the kitchen and spend some time with her today. I'm a man of my word, you know?" You set the empty glass down on the table. "Thanks for the drink -- and your little offer. I'll catch up later, Mrs. Mallory -- for sure."

You stand and nonchalantly exit the room. Charlotte's shocked eyes follow you out, her slack face swiveling. This is the look of a woman who's never experienced the sting of rejection, of her charms failing her.

You're not sure precisely what it is you've set in motion, but you just know it's going to be fun.

Mom really is in the kitchen, the only person there; the lunch hour has come and gone, and the other cooks have all left for the day. Mom uses this time before leaving campus to prep for the next day's patisserie. She's busy making a sweet dough, hands folding powdered sugar into it, inside a giant mixing bowl, when you enter.

"Oh!" Mom says, looking up from the chrome table as she senses your presence. "So there he is! The boy who never has the time to stop and visit his own mother!"

"I'm visiting you now, aren't I?" You grouse.

She blows a bang from her face, busy hands still kneading. Obviously, this response does not impress her.

You glance this way and that, slyly, making sure the coast is clear. While Mom slaves over her bowl, flour-flecked face deep in concentration, you circle behind her.

"Honestly," she says. "I cook and and I cook, and I work my butt off to feed everyone, and--"

Whatever she was about to say ends in a choke as you run your hand up and across the contour of her ass through her jeans.

"You work your butt off?" You say. "I dunno. Seems like it's still here."

"A-Alabaster..."

"Hmm?" You say, rubbing your cupped hand back and forth, appreciating the give and softness of her backside even through the denim.

Mom is shaking. Her hands in the bowl stop in place. "We're at work. You can't just -- just do things like that to me at work--"

"I fuck so many girls right here at work and it's never a problem. Why not you, too?"

She gasps.

You play magnanimous. "But... if you don't want to... that's fine. I can go upstairs and have sex with Charlotte. She already said--"

Mom spins around, fists balled up, elbows locked. "What! What is that woman doing now?"

"Nothing -- geez. I'm just saying--"

"Why would you want a floozie like her? Listen, dear, I love Charlotte. But we have to face the facts: she's a complete bimbo! You don't need a woman like her to take the stress off. She wants to say you do, but you don't -- not when you've got me. So forget about her!"

You rub the back of your head. "Well, since you're offering. I am feeling pretty stressed right now... I could really use something to take the load off."

Mom's competitive streak falters again. "Right -- right here?" She stammers. "I mean... Alabaster, you might have sex with other girls at work, but I'm your mother. That makes it different. If someone saw us..."

You shrug. "I fuck Cerise at work. Is this really any worse?"

"Cerise--! You-- nooo. You don't. You really--"

"Yeah. In my office, usually. I bend her over my desk and drop a load inside her whenever I feel like it. She really likes to keep my sperm inside her during the day... she says it gives her energy." Mom's face is a shifting canvas of conflicting emotions. But shining through is a mounting lust. This is her weak spot: she gets all tingly when you describe the lurid details of what you and Cerise get up to. Today, you add a new angle to the depravity: "And I fuck Rose2 at work. She's basically my sister too, right? I usually get a little bit rougher with her. She likes it that way."

Mom clasps her lips with a flour-flecked hand. "R-rougher?"

"Heh. You know what the difference between Rose2 and a mosquito is? The mosquito stops sucking when you smack it."

Mom slumps against the prep table, tipping the mixing bowl to its side.

"That's just a joke," you allow, sensing you've gone too far. "I--"

"How hard do you hit her."

"What?"

She repeats, voice trembling: "how hard do you hit her."

You clear your throat. "Well, I don't go gentle on her. If she does something stupid... which is pretty frequently... I have to spank her. That's a big brother's duty, isn't it?"

Her voice is flat and low but husky all the same. "Yes. Yes it is... you're doing exactly what a big brother should, Alabaster... Rose needs discipline. You should be the one to dispense it..."

You smirk at her. "Is that something you'd want to see, too?"

She nods.

"I'll rough her up extra hard just for you, Mom. Let's gang up on her tonight."

Mom moans. You can actually see a small wet spot developing in the crotch of her jeans. She notices you staring. Unbuttoning, and sliding out of them, she sits bare-assed on the chrome table. She leans way back, and parts her thick thighs for you. "Fuck me, Alabaster, please... you said you were stressed... so go ahead. Use my hole to take the stress off."

You won't say no to an invitation as nice as that. You step out of your pants, too. Together, she and you, mother and son, commit for a second time that most ultimate taboo: you fuck. You slide you cock into the wet heat of her cunt and enjoy the sensation of your mother's body from the inside; the soft, silky smooth interior of her vagina. To steady yourself as you stand in front of the low table humping her, you grab her by either of her jiggling thighs. The hot, plump flesh in your palms, contrasting with the cold hard chrome of the tabletop against your knuckles, is a pleasure all its own as you saw your dick in and out. You don't go gentle on her, either; you pound her as fast and as hard as you can. You really have been stressed lately, and Mom's fuckhole actually is a wonderful stress reliever.

As you establish this brutal, selfish rhythm inside her, Mom licks the broad side of her palm and starts to rub her fat clitty. What a nice sight, Mom rubbing herself off, through her manicured bush, while you use her. The whole time you breed her, she stays intently focused on your face -- staring into it -- practically boring a hole into your soul.

"Oh fuck, Mom..." you pant, tongue wagging, unable to contain your ecstatic grunting.

She strokes your cheek with her other hand, even as she jills herself. "You love you Mommy's cunt, don't you, baby?"

"Yes-- fuck, yes--"

"More than that loose whore who only pretends to be your mother?"

You nod. That was all she needed to see. She smiles broadly, blushes -- happy. And then she quickens the frenzied pace of her clit-rubbing, and starts to hump back against you. Her cunt swallows your dick entirely, down to its thick root, with every forward thrust she gives. The cushiony pad of her pubic mound mashes against your crotch. You feel too the sticky lips of her labia pressing directly against your skin every time your cock sinks in. Her humping makes the table she sits on shake and shudder, its legs squealing against the tiled floor. She's squealing too, as she cums.

Then you're grunting, like an ape, as you mash your lips against hers and dump an incestuous load of seed straight into the sloppy, juicy depths of her mommyhole. The cum spurts and spurts, and Mom accepts it all with her arms looped around your neck, pulling you closer.

When finally you're done ejaculating inside your own mother, you pull back, and relish that delicious tingle as your over-sensitive prick slides out. Behind it, leaking from her unplugged pussy, comes the deluge of your jizz. It pools in a pearly white puddle on the prep table. She looks lovingly down at it, and twirls an index finger through it. "Oh my~ you were really stoppered up~..." Then, looking you in the eye: "Be honest, baby... is my pussy a better stress-relief hole than Charlotte's? She said hers is better -- but it isn't, is it? Mine is."

You know you've got an audience. And before you can craft a diplomatic reply, that audience is making herself known. Charlotte strides up. "Disgusting! You would have sex with your own son--!"

Mom, basking in the afterglow, just leans further back, down onto her elbows, and lets the cum leak out of her in a lewd, continuous stream. "Hahh-- haahhh--" she pants, breathing slow and ragged. "Don't lie. You're jealous, Charlotte... you wanted to be his mommy, didn't you... but you're not REALLY his mommy..." She runs her hand across her tummy and further down, to the cum-matted bush above her cunt, and further still, to the mess on the table, playing with it, while she stares Charlotte defiantly in the face. "You're too late... I already took care of him. But you can lick it up, if you want..."

Hand on hip, Charlotte leans way forward, scowling. "You don't know him half as well as you think. He would never be satisfied cumming only once! You're hopeless, Scarlett -- you're already an exhausted wreck after letting him fuck you only once! How could you EVER take care of his stress that way? A boy like Alabaster needs a pussy he can spunk into three or four times in a row, at least!"

Mom doesn't have that same haughty expression anymore. She's maybe realizing that she miscalculated. Charlotte, jumping up onto another chrome prep table opposite Mom, hikes her skirt all the way back and crooks a finger at you. "Come on, dear... let me finish what Scarlett couldn't. Use my pussy... and don't hold back, either... I can take it. Cum as much as you like."

You approach her. Behind you comes Mom's voice, who's clearly a bit hurt: "Alabaster... Alabaster, if you need to go a second time, you absolutely can use my pussy again! Fuck me as much as you want!"

Charlotte grins smugly at her. Now here too is an expression you're familiar with -- she really is her daughter's mother.

As you tug aside Charlotte's satin panties and admire the other way she resembles her daughter -- that bare, puffy cunt that hardly looks as mature as it truly is -- you tell your other mother, over your shoulder: "Sorry... but you wanted to know who's got the better hole, right? I need to be able to judge fairly..."

"Judge away," Charlotte coos, and sinks her cunt around your cock as you press into her.

Charlotte's pussy is unbelievably soft. She knows it, too: "I should have been doing this the whole time," she says regretfully. "This is so much better for you than those silly rubber pussies you used when you were a teenager... isn't it?"

You nod.

"That's right," she continues. "I knew it. You need a real pussy to cum in or you won't be satisfied... it's okay, Alabaster, I understand. My pussy is your real number-one stress-relief hole, isn't it? Much better than hers... much better..."

"Ridiculous!" Mom shouts. "I'm sure he can hardly feel you, you're so loose! He doesn't need a loose, disgusting hole like yours when he's got his real mother to take care of him!"

Charlotte responds by hugging you around your back and pulling you close to her. "Ignore that silly woman," she whispers. "Just fuck your mommy and forget all your trouble... that's it, baby, just keep fucking me... as much as you need..."

"Fuck," you pant, "I'm gonna--"

"Ohhh baby," Charlotte mewls, rubbing your face with both hands. "You poor, poor thing. You really have got a heavy load inside your balls today, I can tell... don't you? See? Scarlett couldn't even come close to getting it all out... that's why you need me..."

You kiss and nip at her neck, and she ruffles your hair. She says, more for Mom's ears than yours: "Oh, but... you wouldn't really spunk inside my cunt, would you?~ You wouldn't make such a terrible mess inside your mommy's pretty pussy, would you? Would you really mess my pussy up like that?"

"Oh god," you groan, "I can't-- I-- I'm really gonna cum, fuck--"

"Aw. It's all right, honey. Go ahead and do whatever you need to. Mommy understands. Spunk me up... make a mess. Cum in MY pussy."

You do as she commands. Your balls spew another thick wad of cum directly into Charlotte's rental-mommy pussy. Her internal walls flutter around your jerking cock and almost seem to be vacuuming up every drop of your sperm.

Cumming two times in quick succession, in such deliciously soft, inviting holes, as they gently coax it out... it's left you feeling weak, and seeing stars. Charlotte is tenacious in clinging to you, and kissing you, and keeping her legs wrapped around your butt, but you need a moment to rest. You force her to let go of you, despite her cooing protests and insistence that you stay to fuck another load into her. You stumble backward, towards a little stool, and sit. Your two mothers, cunts both leaking your sperm, lie between you, each on either table, about equally wiped.

Mom is the first to stir. She gets down off the table, leaving a little snail trail of cum in her wake as she gets down on her knees in front of you, and stares sadly up at you. She pleads: "Really, though... my pussy is the best... right?"

Charlotte, then, is right there beside her, at your other knee. "Don't let her guilt you. You need to be honest with her. We both know that my pussy is the best hole for cumming inside of... far better than hers..."

You're still out of breath, and you wouldn't want to break either of their hearts anyway. When you don't respond, they take that as an invitation to further competition.

"Oh dear... you're still all hard, aren't you?" Charlotte says. She lightly brushes the glistening shaft of your cock, where even now a little dollop of sperm is pearled on top of the piss slit.

"I'll take care of that for you, baby, don't worry," Mom says, taking your dick by the base and beginning to slowly stroke it.

Charlotte, not to be bested, grabs her sweater and peels it up, baring her huge chest; just as quickly, off comes her bra. She mashes her fat tits together, pink nipples pointing up at you. She shoves Mom aside with one shoulder. Then seizing the opportunity, Charlotte gets your prick in between the slippery confines of her cleavage. As always, it's wonderfully hot, and fleshy, and sweaty. You'll never get enough of that obscene sensation of a motherly titjob. You sigh happily.

Mom gets her balance back, and pouting, shoves Charlotte in retaliation. She tugs her own sweater off now, and her own bra, and you admire the even larger bust she has. Her giant udders are heavy-looking and tender... and when she gets your cock between them, they're just as nice to fuck as Charlotte's. Mom adds her own twist to this perverted proceeding, too; she uses her long wet tongue to pleasure your cockhead while she humps her chest up and down in your lap.

Charlotte's move now. From the other side of you she uses her chest to edge in. There's a brief tussle, as both women, tit-to-tit, push against each other. But they come to a stalemate, your dick still trapped in between. And like that, they've begun to give you an entirely new pleasure. Paizuri with two women at the same time. Their nipples rub one another's as, grimacing at each other, they both work to please your dick. Up and down they work, in tandem, and occasionally they even growl at each other. But they're not fighting anymore because they've got a higher priority: getting you to ejaculate. They're working together to do it.

The two-woman paizuri becomes a two-woman blowjob, too. They swap your spit-slick dick back and forth between them, messing up their makeup, getting their tits all covered in shiny saliva. They're making a real mess: of you, of each other.

They're out of breath and desperate as they each demand, panting over one another: "tell her-- I'm the best--!" -- "no-- she's wrong -- I am-- tell her that it's me--" -- "Don't listen to her, Alabaster, you know I'm the better mommy... you know it..." -- "it's okay, honey, you can cum in my throat... just put your cock in my throat and cum--!!" -- "No, cum on my tits, baby... or, no... pin me down, fuck me! Cum in my pussy... You need to cum inside my pussy again, don't you..."

You close your eyes and relish the indescribable softness, and shifting contours, of four tits, and two tongues, swirling around and mashing against your prick. When you cum, you don't warn them, you just blast them both: their tits and their faces -- a geyser of sperm that smears and stains them both. As if they didn't look whorish enough, now they're coated with and dripping your incestuous jizz.

Groaning and shivering with the decadent, lewd enjoyment of it all, you deliver your verdict: "You're both the best!" 

They can live with that, at least for now. A bit more placid, they stay there on the ground, at your knees, turning their heads this way and that as they swap your cummy dick back and forth, and work to suck out the final vestiges of your sperm. Occasionally their tongues meet, and they don't mind it, because they're so focused on their cleanup duty -- this, too, is a mother's job.

---

Cerise's expression is a mixture of mortified and gloomy, as you and Rose and Gal, sitting in Gal's office, watch the video of her townhall with her.

"Just turn it off--" Cerise begs. "I fucked it up. That's all you need to--"

"Shh--!!" Gal hisses. She wants to see her wife's performance. Good, bad, or indifferent.

The man on the video is just wrapping up his Boston Marathon of a question: "...similar architectures, all of which pose equally perplexing problems as regards our agreement on what constitutes objective reality in an increasingly fractured, polarized discourse -- how will you, as a a scion of this movement towards reality a la carte, if you will -- use legislative power to define the boundaries of what tech companies can be permitted to do in our brave new world? Can we trust you, with all due respect, to legislate with the public interest at heart and not that of Darkbloom Analytics? Thank you."

Cerise, at the lectern, coughs. The navy blue curtains behind her were a bad choice; they make her look especially pale and sweaty. The audience is pindrop quiet for agonizing moments as Cerise, also quiet, composes her thoughts.

She finally responds: "Well... I like technology."

There's another agonizing silence. All the scene needs is some crickets to complete the fremdschamen. The moderator begins: "Okay, well, uh, we'll have another question--"

But suddenly Cerise finds her rhetorical feet. She cuts in: "I like technology, but I hate Darkbloom Analytics."

She lets that sink in. Then, detaching the mic from the lectern, she steps away, and begins to pace back and forth across the length of the stage. "I hate Darkbloom Analytics. That company destroyed my entire life, if you want to know the honest truth. It did. David Darkbloom, God never rest his soul, he murdered my parents. He did. And I didn't know that when I first took my job there. I also didn't know that my own childhood friend Whitney was his daughter... that she would end up being the fu-- the dang CEO. So it was two times in a row that I basically got forced to work in a company I hate. I like technology but no, I don't like Darkbloom Analytics. And you know? Neither does Whitney. She hates that fu-- that dang company. We run it because we want to keep it in the hands of people who do hate it. Instead of people who think it's just peachy fucking-- peachy dang keen. The last thing you want is a Darkbloom Analytics being run by people who believe in Darkbloom Analytics. But buddy, trust me when I tell you: we've got competitors who do believe in what they do. We can't keep that at bay forever. Sand Reckoner is a genie out of the dang-- the fu-- the dang bottle. It is. We're at our limit of what we can do, in a business way, to keep Sand Reckoner out of the wrong hands. So I want to go to Washington -- because I hate Sand Reckoner. And Washington needs someone who understands Sand Reckoner enough to know how bad to hate it. So, ... yeah. Thanks for the question."

You glance up from the video. Cerise has her eyes closed, shaking her head; she obviously thinks quite dimly of her performance here. But glancing at Rose, you nonverbally confirm that it was the best possible response Cerise could have given to the accusation of being a Darkbloom Analytics toady. And Gal's expression is even more approving; she's smiling broadly, nodding along, fully in agreement.

"Yes, the gentlemen in the third row there--" the moderator in the video is saying.

Beside you, Cerise's head-shaking gets more violent. She moans like a wounded boar; this is obviously something she wants to relive even less than the last question.

"Yes, hi, Mrs. Soliloquy, and thank you, for coming here today."

"You're thank you," Cerise replies.

"Uh--"

"Welcome. You're welcome. Not you're welcome -- uh, you're thank you. Not that. But welcome. I -- uh. Go ahead..."

"Right. Um. So Mrs. Soliloquy, if elected to congress -- you would be one of just a few openly lesbian representatives. And so, in such a unique position, I'm just curious, what you would do to further the rights of gay and lesbian--"

"I'm sorry. Go back. What was that?"

"As potentially one of the only openly lesbian congresswomen in the House--"

"What are you talking about?"

"I--"

"I'm not a lesbian. For fuck's sake, man."

"But... Mrs. Soliloquy... your wife--"

"OH! So because I'm married to a woman, that makes me a lesbian! Well la-di-fucking-da!" She throws her hands up in the air. "Just because I've got a gal pal who helps me out, who I'm married to, I'm a lesbian! That's how it is, huh? That's your viewpoint?"

"I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't think--"

He begins to sit. Cerise points menacingly at him. "Don't you fucking sit down, you hydrocephalic peabrain. You little bitch. I'm not done with you. Now you listen here, shitter. I don't know what time machine you stepped out of or what year you come from, but just because I'm a woman who's in love with a woman, that doesn't make me a lesbian. Jesus Christ. And you know, another thing, I'm up here talking about reality bending fucking technology and you want to ask me about my wife! What the fuck! I'm already pouring out every dirty detail of my life story here, with the murdered parents and the whatnot... now you want to know all about my love life, too. Cool. Fucking cool. Stupendous. That's why I'm here, huh?"

"I'm ... I'm so sorry, Mrs. Soliloquy..." He sounds genuinely scared.

She lets hims it. She clears her throat, smooths her blouse, composes herself. "So in summary, gay people are fine. Next question."

"Please turn it off," Cerise begs you. You do.

Rose sighs. "Well. It was a good try."

"You wouldn't have liked Washington anyway," you tell her, rubbing her back.

"we still love you" Gal says.

Cerise is on the verge of tears. Not from the obviously lost-before-it-began campaign, but from the sheer embarrassment of it all.

"Cerise!" comes Armstrong's roaring voice, as he steps into the office. "There's my future representative! Great job today. You knocked 'em dead."

You give him a what-the-fuck look -- a, did-you-even-fucking-watch-that look.

"It's over..." Cerise groans, head in her hands. "Just forget it... just cancel my candidacy... it's over."

"What?" Armstrong says. "You're national news, Cerise!"

"Oh god," she says, sounding like she's about to ralph.

Armstrong pulls out his phone. He scrolls through it. "Glowing reviews. From all sides even. Huffpo -- 'WATCH: Congressional candidate Cerise Soliloquy's epic clapback against bi erasure'... Fox -- 'Cerise Soliloquy's no-BS approach hearkens back to the Democratic Party's former glory ... shades of the Kennedys ... the future of the party'! Oh, and Twitter is all abuzz too. Here: 'We stan a badass bi bitch. Hashtag bicon.' You're trending!"

Cerise, rheumy-eyed, gaping, stares up at him.

You exhale, part happy for her, and part bemused. You nudge her. "Congratulations, Cerise," you say. "You're officially a Slay Kween."

"Fuck you, Alabaster. If I hear those two words in that order from you ever again, you're dead. Dead."

"Oh -- and you've managed to pull over a million dollars in campaign contributions today," Armstrong adds.

"What!" Cerise howls. "That's so -- so fucking stupid."

"why" Gal asks.

"I'm a billionaire. Why on Earth would anyone donate money to a billionaire?"

"Are you going to say no?" you ask.

"That isn't the point!"

Armstrong pockets his phone. "Look, Cerise. I've been in this business long enough to know. Some people have it, some don't. You've got it. This train's going straight to DC -- no brakes. All you've gotta do is hop aboard."

He leaves you all to ruminate on that.

---

At school, word travels fast. When you get to third period, sitting on your desk is a little basket. Tied to its handle is a balloon that says "Get Well Soon". Inside, prominently, is a teddy bear. The teddy bear has one of its eyes pulled off.

Also inside the basket is a black eyepatch, and a pair of 3D glasses, and a novelty-sized googly eye, and a lollipop made to look like a giant eyeball. And a "sorry for your loss" Hallmark card... inside of which, hand-written, is a note: "We'll keep an eye out for you, Amber!"

As you leaf through these things, you feel heat rising from head to toe, flushing through your entire body. You're aware, acutely aware, of the snickering of your classmates as they watch you go through each article in the basket, each one more humiliating than the last. You don't let them see your trembling jaw or your good eye welling up. Here it is, the reminder that you won your StuCo election not because your classmates liked your ideas, but because you're basically a zoo monkey to them; because they wanted to see the crazy bitch be president. This, too, is part and parcel of it all. More fodder for the zoo-goers.

When Will comes in and sees the "gift" basket too -- when he begins to rifle through it -- anger shadows his face. He picks it up and hoists it above his head. "Who the fuck did this? Huh? Come on, you fucking cowardly faggots, come on! Tell me!"

Of course no one will answer -- they just laugh.

"Don't," you tell him softly. You take the teddy bear and the eyepatch. You play your role. "It's fine. I've got a new mascot for the Nazbol Club now." You put the eyepatch on the teddy bear, and set him on your desk.

---

Qiangxiang visits your office.

"I fear I have been misapprehended," she says as she shuts the door softly behind her.

"Oh, have you."

She strolls to your window, and stares out at the quad below. Her tan is coming along nicely; she's a few shades darker than she was when you encountered her in Palau.

"I truly want this company's success. Your success is my own. I mean it when I say I am not the enemy... did I not, after all, help you in Vail?"

"You were there to steal Diogenes."

"The equipment my men took? It has been returned to Alex Best already. It never left American shores. Never had anyone else's eyes on it but his. He can verify that fact for you himself. I have held fast to my agreement not to peek at the things you do not want me to."

"And you tried to kidnap Amber," you snarl. "I won't forget that. Neither will Whitney."

She turns. "Alabaster, you misunderstood their intent. They wanted to take Amber back here -- she was in dire need of medical attention. She was wounded. She needed help. Moreover..." she sits across from you, strokes your arm. "I lost men, good men -- I lost them defending you. I saved your life, did I not? I helped kill Mara Darkbloom, did I not? At great personal cost, to my reputation at home -- Uncle and the others at Broad Dynamics are calling me a traitor..."

"I don't believe a word you say."

She pulls her hand away. Her face looks careworn and sad. "I know. It is a pity. I've gotten off on the wrong foot, and now you will never-- but that's all right. Alabaster, at the very least, you could thank me."

[ ] Thank you.

>[x] No thank you.

You lean in, with arms folded on the desk in front of you. "Chloe. Come here."

You beckon her to lean in too, with an index finger.

She leans in. Close -- very close. You're almost kissing.

"Are you listening?" You ask.

"Yes."

"Fuck you."

She kisses you. A peck on the lips, nothing more -- but it does jar you.

She leans back, then. "You are trying to burn this bridge. I understand. It is your way. It is what I admire about you, your reckless devotion to arson." She rests one elbow in the crook of the other. "The way forward is clear. I will show you my trustworthiness through my actions. Thank you for being open and frank about how you feel."

She stands to go. She doesn't know it, but your door is locked. She gets there, and tugs on the handle, and finds out -- just in time for your shadow to fall across her as she turns around again.

This remote lock was a handy mechanism to have installed in your desk for when things get frisky -- but it came in useful for a different use now, too.

"Alabaster--" Qiangxiang begins.

You press her against the door.

"Still listening?" You ask.

"Oh, yes. Yes. Very much so."

"Stay away from Amber. If you or anyone you know comes close to her again, I will kill you."

"Understood."

You go to your desk and unlock your door.

END OF EPISODE 6.

MEANWHILE...

"Don't go around tonight -- well it's-a bound to take your life -- theeeere's a bad moon, on the rise..."

Darkbloom, sitting on the porch swing under the cover of the veranda, taps his foot along to the music. The thunderstorm has blotted out the sunset, leaving the world under a gloomy blanket.

"Heee... daddy... what are you listening to?"

The little girl, runs out from the door and gets up onto the swing with him.

"John Fogerty," Darkbloom replies. He turns the radio down.

"This isn't like that classical music you always listen to..."

He nods. The funny thing is, were he in his own body, 10 years in the past, and speaking with Vivian -- her reaction would be much the same. She never caught him listening to the music he most enjoys either.

"Should I put on some Bach?" He asks.

She shrugs. "I dunno. This is ok too I guess."

She plops to one side, lying her head in his lap, staring out to the quickly inundating lawn. "Rain, rain, go away," she chants. "Man... what a bummer with this weather huh."

"Yes."

"Hey... what happened to your eye?"

"I fell at work. It's fine."

"Clumsy head."

The sky turns blindingly white for a split second. Then a few moments later the ear-popping crack of thunder, from very, very close -- a mile or two at most, judging by the volume.

She twists and looks up at him. Blonde-haired blue-eyed Hazel Cantor. She smiles, baring the gap where her front tooth used to be. "Daddy, where does thunder come from?"

"Lightning heats the air, and the expanding gas causes a shockwave--"

"Silly. You're supposed to say it's angels playing bowling."

Darkbloom purses his lips.

"It's angels playing bowling," he says.

"Haha."

"But also it's a shockwave from expanding gases."

"You're weird, daddy."