A Gathering of Clowns
Chapter 03 Silence Is The Virtue Of Fools
Drew Downing stood, waiting awkwardly, just inside the entrance of the ‘library’; a room that was perfectly suitable for intimate discussions; like the sort Emily had planned.
Downing did not know why he felt as he did around Emily; it had been that way from the time she was a teenager and he and Melanie had been married for several years. The girl had always been so good-looking that only the most confident could feel at ease around her. You couldn’t go anywhere with her, even as a teenager, without dealing with the stares and attention of complete strangers.
Adding to this was Emily’s attitude; even at eight, when Downing first met her, she was a precocious child. By the time she was a teen, she had developed a studied air of world weariness that cloaked her in persistent disdain. One, if one were an average person, always felt exceedingly boring whenever one was around this girl. It was not that she was truly rude; she was simply dismissive. Being rude would require effort; she simply disregarded one and, one ceased to exist in her presence.
That was the way Downing had always felt, and here he was with her, she now an outrageously beautiful young woman exuding a potent sexuality that was palpable; and she was, technically, his ‘boss’. Could anything be more daunting? He was about to find out.
Helena, Montana; 1975
Bufford Hawkins came into the kitchen of the family home and assumed his seat at the head of the table. The family was seated and waiting as was the expectation. Mother Shirley was at the other end, solicitous as always; oldest son Bill, now employed at the Hawkins
chair manufacturing plant, Chrome-tome Furniture, sat at his father’s right hand; Georgia sat across from Bill and beside her was the youngest, Stafford, with his head of blonde hair already worn longer than Father allowed. Melanie would not be born for another year, when her mother was forty.
“I thought you were taking the boy to Joe’s?” Bufford asked in his usual blunt manner. He was a tall man with a military look to him, even though he had never served. John Wayne was his favorite actor and he regarded most other actors and all musicians as homosexual. “He looks like a God-damn hippie.”
Shirley started; the three children focused on their plates. Profanity offended her, especially the use of the Lord’s name. She was careful however not to oppose her husband; she not only desired peace, she also feared him. He had struck her more than once, although always in places that wouldn’t show.
“I’m taking him in tomorrow, dear,” she replied mildly.
“Good, ask Joe to give him a crew cut. And he needs to eat more. Skinny as a God-damn rail.” Bufford spoke as if Stafford wasn’t sitting two feet away, and then began shovelling prime rib and mashed potatoes into his mouth; the discussion was over.
At his place, young Stafford sat quietly chewing, his mind working feverishly. He was imagining sticking his fork into his father’s eye.
“Well, don’t just stand there, come in, Uncle Drew.” Emily spoke in her languid way, a smile on her lips; today unadorned tonight. Downing took three steps in and stood, hesitating. “Your father wished me to speak with you.” Downing murmured.
Emily regarded the man through half-closed eyes. He was one of those slim, wistful fellows; his now thinning hair cut very close; his clean-cut face neither pleasant nor unpleasant. The kind of person you would not remember. What Melanie saw in him Emily could not understand. He was good at numbers, apparently. Well, Emily would see what else he was good at.
“Actually, I wished to speak to you, Drewsie.” Emily spoke with a tone of familiarity that made Downing nervous.
“Yes, right. Sorry” He replied.
Good, thought Emily; he’s apologetic. “You are aware of the share changes at the company?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I am.”
“And it means, what; like, to you?”
Drew paused; he wasn’t sure where this was going, but he felt apprehension; and where was Melanie? Why was young Emily running the show? “Well, it means that voting control could sit with you and Melanie, if you chose, or Melanie and her father or you…”
“Fifty-four percent.” Emily said.
“As of today, fifty-four present of the shares are combined between Mel and me. We did another deal; I thought fifty-one was cutting it close.”
Drew nodded his head. “Fine. And, um what, if you could share with me, does this mean, to you?”
Emily sat smiling. “It means I can kick your ass out the door,” she said, quietly.
Downing looked up and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, then spoke, “Is that, um, what you want?” he asked nervously.
“That depends, Drewsie.”
There was a pause. The house was quite quiet. Stafford was not home, and Melanie had decided to take Chantico out for dinner; in the end she didn’t want to be there for the first session with her husband. The two occupants of the house watched each other silently in the library. And waited; finally Downing needed to speak. “Depends on what, exactly, Emily?”
Emily stood; she was wearing heels and was almost the same height as her uncle; yet somehow seemed taller. She came to within a few feet of him. “Well, let’s see. One, you will address me as Miss M from this point forward.” She stared at him. “Is that understood?”
Downing licked his lips; they were suddenly very dry. “It seems odd, but none-the-less, no problem, Miss, um, M.” he said in a voice that was now thickening, as if someone was gripping his throat.
“Good. And you will work for me and report directly to me. Clear?”
Downing swayed slightly and touched the back of the couch. “Um, Mr. Hawkins could simply pay me a retainer. I wouldn’t need to be employed by the company.” He said in a quiet voice.
Emily stood and stared at him. “I’m young, Unka’ Drewsie, but I’m not dumb. Sure, work for Daddykins, but it won’t be doing any Documart stuff. That will go to the person I hire tomorrow, right?”
Downing looked down. He and Hawkins had already discussed this scenario; obviously Emily had considered it too. They essentially controlled Documart if they wished, and Downing’s only hope was convincing Melanie to work with Stafford. The fact she wasn’t here tonight wasn’t a good omen.
Melanie and Emily were already working together.
With a smile, Emily placed a set of stapled papers on the back of the couch. A quick glance told Drew they were some sort of legal document; looking more closely and with growing alarm, he read what was clearly divorce papers. “What is this?” he asked in a soft, choked voice.
“I think they call it the other shoe, Drewsie. Those are divorce papers. If you won’t work with us, Melanie will serve them on you and we will not only fire your skinny, worthless ass out the company door, but this one as well.” She slapped him across the face with the papers.
Startled and rattled, Downing blurted out, “Ow; um, Mr. uh, Mr. Ha-Hawkins, w-will never allow that.” Drew protested, but without a lot of conviction.
Emily just smiled and sat down on a chair facing Downing, tapping the papers against her hand. “There is no way to stop us, Drewkins. Well, just one way. Work for me, us, unconditionally.” Emily paused, sitting like a coiled spring, and regarded the man. “Give me your answer; I need to know tonight.” She stared at him.
Feeling light-headed and never a confident person to begin with, Drew nodded his head. “I, um, I’ll work for you, obviously. Does anything change?”
Emily watched him now, standing, swaying slightly, perspiring; twitching. She felt like driving her right foot directly into his balls; but that would have to wait. “Nothing changes at work, but things will change here. I need to know you are, loyal.”
“I have, um, been v-very loyal to Mr. Hawkins all these years. I will be loyal to y-you.”
“Hmmmm,” Emily purred. “So you say. Talk is always easy; Drewsums, actions do speak louder. You’re going to show me.” She paused and dialed a number on her cell, “Come in now,” she said into it, with no other discussion. In a moment two burly men in dark suits entered and stood by the door. “You are just outside?” Emily confirmed.
“Yes, miss,” the nearer one said.
“Good, I’ll call you if I need you.” They turned and left. Emily poured herself a glass of Merlot. “Okee, dokee, Drewsie-woozie, here’s how the play unfolds. You do what I say, obediently, and I send those two nice men away. You resist or fuss or make me unhappy, and they return and haul your ass out and you never set foot in here again. Oh, and they’ll probably punch you a few times, just ‘cuz; you know how it is?”
Swallowing hard, Downing stared like he was in a trance. How was this happening? How could his life become such a mess in so few days?
“What’s it going to be, pussy-boy? My way or the, um, highway?” Emily chuckled.
“What do you, w-want, Miss, uh, M?” Downing asked, looking down. He was now shaking noticeably.
“Strip down to your shorts.” Emily said, evenly.
“W-what?” he asked, eyes bulging.
“Strip. Shorts. You. Stupid?” Emily repeated as if she were addressing a toddler.
“Fuck.” She declared, taking out her cell.
“No,” he screamed. “Please, stop. Ok. Ok. Stop”
Fuck, he’s going to cry, Emily realized with repugnance.
Hands shaking like he had palsy, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, Downing removed his shirt and tie, and his undershirt (who wears a fucking undershirt, Emily pondered) and then his shoes and trousers, revealing dark socks and grey boxer shorts (of course grey, and boxers…Emily chuckled).
Emily rose, drifting over to stand behind the slouching figure; she pulled his arms behind him (they’re like twigs, Emily thought with disgust), and fastened them with plastic ties. She took something out of a bag lying beside the chair; it was a ball gag that said ‘CUNT’ on it. She wrapped the cord around Downing’s head and shoved the ball into his mouth.
She then pulled down his shorts and stood in front of him, as his member made a feeble attempt at hardening. Emily looked down at Downing’s manhood as he stood shaking with his eyes tightly shut.
“Open your eyes, pussy-boy Troy; that’s my pet name for Drewsie-poo,” she said, running a finger down the side of Downing’s face. “Looks like your little friend wants to play,” she smirked, rubbing her knee into Downing’s groin, eliciting an anguished groan from behind the gag.
While Downing stood shaking, Emily called her ‘security’ and told them they could go. She then went to a wardrobe and pulled out a tripod with a cell phone mounted on it, and placed it in a specific spot. Next she dragged Downing over to stand in front of a straight-back wooden chair which faced the mounted phone.
As he was turned away from her, Emily undressed and took a harness out from under a cushion and tied it on herself, before inserting a modest six-inch black dildo into it. Tugging Downing’s boxers completely off she tossed them away, then spread some gel onto a small, black butt plug and aggressively inserted it into Downing’s unwilling anus, as he struggled and protested with muffled cries; all in vain.
Using a remote she started the video as she sat on the chair and positioned Downing over her erect phallus, pulled out the plug and then forced his hips down, slowly impaling him.
“Move your ass, Jack, or I’ll start doing some nasty things to your balls. This is shoe number three.” Emily threatened, chuckling at her inside ‘joke’; Downing began to move up and down on the dildo, fighting the urge to vomit. After a few minutes of this, Emily positioned her victim for a sideways view and had him lift his leg so the camera/phone could capture the action of his anal sex and his face as she turned it to the stand.
After fifteen minutes Emily decided she’d had enough for her purposes, now, and withdrew her ‘penis’ and pushed Downing to the carpet. Removing the phone from the stand she took out the device’s card and inserted into a thumb drive that then went into the USB port of her laptop. In seconds she had downloaded the video file and sat watching it, a grin on her face.
She called to the huddled figure on the carpet. “Oh man, lookin’ good Boy-toy-Troy, we see your face, we see all the butt action. You look like a regular rump-ranger, fer shure.” She laughed and then dressed, before picking up her glass of wine and strolling over to the man, lying eyes closed beside the chair.
She turned the body slightly with no resistance, opening the legs a touch; then stood, drew back one leg and slammed her foot directly into Downing’s lightly-haired testicles. The body jerked violently and then Downing curled into a fetal positon, the ball gag preventing the vomit’s release.
Emily texted a message to Melanie. “Drew-baby is all ours. Miss M.” Smiley face.
Helena, Montana; 1971
Six year old Stafford Hawkins arrives home from school an hour early due to the monthly staff meeting. He lets himself in and walks through the quiet kitchen, surprised his mother is not there to greet him. Dumping his stuff on a kitchen chair, he begins the hike up the staircase, but pauses part-way up, a sound above him confusing him and making him hesitate. It is a rhythmic thumping sound and then he hears voices, but they are not speaking, just making sounds.
Not knowing why, Stafford continues the rest of the way up as quietly as possible, then moves down the hall to his parents’ room, where the sounds are clearly coming from.
Halting at the door, he sees a naked body bent over the bed; a woman, and behind her a man, his back and legs hairy. The man is moving back and forth against the rear of the woman. Even though he cannot see the woman’s face, Stafford knows it is his mother. He doesn’t know who the man is. He watches in silence as the man becomes more agitated, both people now grunting loudly and crying out.
Stafford stares at the wall and the painting hanging above the bed. It is a painting of a Harlequin by Rodster; it seems to be watching him; calling to him.
Retracing his steps, Stafford goes back downstairs and grabs his jacket and goes outside. He sits on the step, the image burned into his mind; but as he recalls it, the Harlequin’s face becomes his own.
Emily woke to a kiss on the cheek. “Morning, Miss M. It’s time for breakfast, but what am I doing this morning, with, um, him?”
Emily chuckled; how Chantico’s life had been turned upside down. First sex with women, which she was just beginning to be okay with, and then last night, coming home to a naked Drew Downing, tied up and waiting.
Melanie looked almost as astonished as Chantico, but Emily took control and basically laid out the astonishing news; Drew had to pay a debt to her and he would do it by being her slave. That was it. Chantico did not have to ask questions or take part; just do what Emily directed.
So last night Downing had slept on a large dog bed against the wall in Emily’s spacious room, as Chantico and Emily shared her poster bed. The routine this morning would be established and Chantico would be shown her role in all this. At eight o’clock Downing would leave the house as usual; but that would be the only regular aspect. The rest of his time at the house would be as a slave; at least for now. At work he was to provide his usual financial support, talking with Hawkins as needed, but sharing nothing that Emily didn’t want shared. His loyal silence would eventually earn his release.
Melanie wasn’t sure how she felt about this part, but it was happening and she was okay with it; at least for now. She had no real feelings of affection for her companion of fifteen years; she wasn’t sure now that she ever did.
It had really been a marriage to suit Stafford Hawkins.
Ryland Ross sat in one of the two chairs in Stafford Hawkins’s office; Hawkins himself was facing his lawyer; neither wore masks, Ross being the only one treated so. “And what of the house?” Hawkins asked quietly.
“Well, sir, because it was purchased through the company it is listed as an asset and cannot be dealt with, without…approval.” Ross left that statement dangling.
“Meaning Melanie and my daughter.” Hawkins concluded the thought.
“Yes, sir.” Ross nodded his shiny dome.
Hawkins folded his hands on his thin frame; “Well, I guess I can’t toss them out.” The two men sat in silence.
“Have you, considered, em, talking with her, your daughter I mean.” Ross ventured, looking earnestly at the pen set on Hawkins’s desk.
Hawkins surveyed his lawyer; the suggestion had crossed his mind, to be quickly dismissed. “What do you think would be gained from that, from a legal point of view?”
Ross did not propose his thought that meeting face to face with your own kin was natural; that was not a legal opinion. “I believe it would be a show of good faith if this were ever to be brought before, um, authority.”
Hawkins considered. Yes, that actually was something to be considered. “Send Da Costa first; I want a report. Has Downing anything?”
Ross looked intently at a stapler occupying the corner of the desk. “He has not brought anything to me; but I feel the, em, ladies, have kept him well out of the loop, as it were.” He spoke smoothly.
Hawkins nodded; that was his belief as well; Downing wouldn’t be of much use here. “Quite so. Thank you, Ross. Please prompt Da Costa and we will speak tomorrow, or if there is any more action on the shares.”
Ross rose to leave, “Will do. Good day, sir.” Hawkins
nodded in the direction of the departing figure, and then his intercom lit, signalling a call from one of the assistants. It turned out to be Ms. Graves, Da Costa’s associate. “Yes Ms. Graves?” Hawkins spoke into the mic.
“A message, sir, for you to call your sister. Georgia, sir. She called earlier but I’ve waited until Mr. Ross left to inform you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Graves.” He considered for a moment. “Could you contact her now please, and let me know what she’s after?”
“Right away sir.”
Hawkins sat in thought. Family, hummmpff, what good had they ever been to him? Suddenly his intercom lit again and Ms. Graves was back with news that Georgia Allan (nee Hawkins) was on the company line.
Hawkins sat for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Good-day, Georgia,” Hawkins said into the receiver, in his distinctive voice, free of any emotion. It could have been the dry cleaners he was speaking with, not a sister he hadn’t spoken to in over seven years.
“Stafford, so good to hear from you, really. It has been so long.”
“It has,” Hawkins agreed, “how may I assist you?”
“Oh, well, I had called about something. But how are you? How are Melanie and Emily?”
“Everyone here is just tip top, sister. Please, let’s proceed with what you need.”
“You believe I’m calling because I need something?” she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. This actually made Hawkins smile.
“That usually is the case, Georgia. I am correct, yes?”
“Well, yes, although I did want a little news. It’s unfortunate our family is so spread apart.”
“Why?” Hawkins asked, still with a voice that betrayed nothing.
Georgia sighed. “Ok, fine, some things never change. Well, it’s just that Tad (Georgia’s second child, Theodore) is in L.A. and looking for financial support. I know he is reluctant to speak with you, but I think he has a promising project on the go. Would it be possible for him to see you at your home?”
Hawkins was just about to say ‘fat chance’ or something to that effect, but instead murmured, “He should come around and speak with Emily. She is expanding her, um, wings, financially so to speak, and two young people might understand each other better than, um, we.”
“Well, thank you, Stafford. Your address remains as before in…”
“Adams Hill, yes, that is correct.”
After a few closing comments the call ended and Hawkins sat with an odd look on his face; this could actually work out, now that he pondered on it. Damn memories, he smiled to himself.
Helena, Montana; 1977
Stafford watched his sister Georgia from the corner of his eye. Now sixteen years old to his twelve, his sister had taken, when their father and older brother were out, to parading around the house in her bra and panties, her developing body on display. Right now she was talking on the house phone, located in the kitchen, and she was sitting, legs parted, by the table.
Stafford could see the dark patch visible in the crotch of her panties and was well aware of what that meant, even if he was generally clueless about social issues, he knew the difference between boys and girls. He himself had just begun getting pubic hair, although his was thin and very light brown. His sister took after their father, with a head of dark brunette hair and clearly a pubic area to match.
Suddenly he looked up to see her staring at him as he was staring at her. She smiled, leaving her legs open invitingly for a moment, before turning to the wall to continue her conversation.
It went that way for almost a year, with her giving him little glimpses of her female ‘attributes’. He actually saw her full breasts, nipples and all, more than once. But there was no touching, except what Georgia did to herself in her room, with thoughts of Stafford’s clear desire making her smile. She had a friend who was doing the same thing with her younger brother. They would compare notes and giggle.
Drew Downing was on his knees, licking the high-heeled boots of his niece. Emily sat on the same straight-back chair she had used the night before. Downing was naked, with a dog’s chain around his neck. Eight wooden clothespins had been attached to the sensitive skin on the underside of his testicles, and Emily would occasionally rub the toe of one boot against them, producing an immediate reaction. Also around Downing’s testicles, and he was made to put it on himself (I ain’t touchin’ your nut sack, Boy-Toy-Troy, Emily had drawled) was a band that wrapped tightly, preventing any ejaculation.
“You’re pretty good at this, Drewsie-poo; I’m thinking you’ve done some boot lickin’ in your time, hmmmm?” Emily chuckled and pulled the choke collar tight for a moment.
Downing was unable to say much one way or the other, with a leather cord tied around his head and through his mouth; he was only able to lick and grunt. “Lickin’ and gruntin’, that’s all widdle Drewsie-woozie Troysie-woyzie can do,” Emily teased, looking over with a smile at Melanie seated on the couch; she was silently watching all of this; an odd look on her face.
(End of Chapter 03)