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A Gathering Of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 4 And In The Circus, The Clown Was The Prince

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 04 And In The Circus, The Clown Was The Prince

The sleek, black Lamborghini Huracán drifted down CA 134 like a jungle cat on the hunt; the route connected Pasadena to Glendale and Tad Allan was pushing it at seventy mph., watching for the south turnoff. He had a meeting with the cousin he hadn’t seen in several years; a cousin that while he hadn’t seen her in real life, he had seen lots (and lots) of…in the news.

At nineteen, with television star Jordan Barclay and then with basketballer (Clippers? Lakers? He couldn’t remember) Jamaal Morales, then with that singer Alhambra and most recently with the international race car driver, Angelo Bourdon. It seemed she was always on the entertainment news. Tad didn’t really know much about Emily Hawkins, but he knew she was hot; like super nova.

Pulling onto Berkeley Drive he watched the numbers but in the end didn’t need to, as the Hawkins mansion stood out among the impressive homes. He pulled up into the drive-way and climbed out holding a manuscript in one hand. He adjusted his shades, checked his perfect white smile in the mirror and headed up the four steps to the majestic oak and bronze front entrance.

In a moment, a young Latino woman answered and let him in, showing him to the front area with its bank of windows and expensive décor. In a moment Emily Hawkins entered and Tad simply stood and stared. The television news did not do this woman justice.

“Close your mouth, Tad. You’ll let the flies in.” Emily joked, and strode over to give her cousin a cousinly hug, before looking up into the attractive face. She had heard a lot about her cousin over the years; but the last time she had seen him she was probably eleven and he would have been sixteen.

“Holy fuck, Emily. Look at you,” was all her cousin could  muster.


Drew Downing, mask in place, stood behind the unmarked line, looking at the back of Hawkins’s head. “So, anything from the ladies, Drew?” Hawkins asked, checking on of his four monitors as he chatted.

“No, sir. I know they talk, but they are definitely on their guard with me. I even asked our, um, maid, and she has overheard nothing.”

Hawkins grunted. “Doesn’t surprise me, doesn’t surprise me at all. Those two have been planning this for a while and kept you in the dark so why shine some light on you now, heh? You’re the proverbial mushroom, Drew.”

If only you knew the whole of it, sir, Downing pondered ruefully, saying only, “I’ll stay watchful, sir.”


Tad Allan manoeuvered the powerful auto onto Ventura and headed to Los Angeles. The meeting with Emily had gone well, apart from him wanting to ravage her every three minutes; but she was cool as all get out, as was her reputation; but she had taken the manuscript and said she had a friend or two in mind to show it to.

Tad could not believe she had enough cash to swing this deal, he was looking for between eight and ten million, but apparently she had done well. Very well.

Damn, he thought, this could be it.


“So, gosh, what did Tad have to say?” Melanie asked, sitting across from Emily at the island counter. Chantico was preparing dinner and they were observing and having a little pre-meal wine. “Wow, just showing up after all these years. I will get to see him, right?”

“Yep, Mel-bel, he’ll be back. I think he’s planning to be in L.A. for a while, unless everything goes south, financially. But, yeah, we’re going to meet again and we’ll make sure you’re around.”

They sat and sipped, watching Chantico chopping some vegetables. “Where the Hell is Daddy-dearest?” Emily asked.

Melanie shook her head. “He has not told me a thing; he of course has other properties, so maybe he’s just mad at us and staying away. Doesn’t want to be here.”

Emily snorted. “I think we can say he’s pissed, Mel. We’ve taken control of his company right under his freakin’ nose, while living in his house. Yep, I’m guessing pissed.”

“Do you think he’ll, um, do anything?”

Emily eyed her aunt. “Like what? Hire a hitman? I don’t think that’s his game. No, we’ll work Drew from the inside and keep up the pressure.”

“Why do you want to push him out, Em?” Melanie asked quietly. She knew Emily and her father weren’t at all close, but this seemed to be more personal.

Emily smirked, “Daddy-dearest told me I needed plans if I wanted to get anywhere. So he can blame himself.”

They watched Chantico for a moment as she drained some pasta, and then Melanie continued, looking down. “So, what are the plans for, um, Drew, tonight, uh, Miss M?”

Emily stroked her aunt’s hand. “I’ll be gentle, sweetie, but I need to keep him down. He needs to be controlled and obedient. Plus, I like some of this shit.”

“What, um, stuff do you like?”

“Punishing people.”

Melanie looked with wide eyes, “No you don’t. This is all simply a game.”

Emily sipped some more wine and regarded Melanie as Chantico put the finishing touches to the sauce. “Not everything, Mel.”


Downing was tied to the sofa; Emily wasn’t joking when she told Melanie that it wasn’t all a game. She had some experience with S & M and knew, for one thing, how to tie someone up. And she had always enjoyed spanking nice round asses or abusing testicles; she had a little something for both the girls and the boys.

Downing had a black hood over his head with a hole that his nose was poking out through; this was his only air supply, as his mouth was completely taped. He again had a band around his balls; he would orgasm when and if Miss M decided. What was new today was that Emily had introduced a hesitant Chantico into the scene as a participant.

It had taken a while, but as Emily was seeing, the girl was a natural when it came to pleasure, both giving and receiving. Both she and Melanie had developed a satisfying relationship with the young woman who had come more easily out of her shell than predicted. Emily had actually used the girl’s religious beliefs in her arguments, pointing out that the bible preached all are the children of God, and that Christ was a loving man.

“Jesus would not discriminate, Chantico. He would not withhold affection between people. This feels good, right?” Emily had whispered into the girl’s ear as the two ground their pubic bones together. After Chantico had experienced her first orgasm, her attitude changed. It was like a window had opened, and while she was still cautious, she was ready to explore.

Today, Emily had shown her how to suck Downing’s cock effectively, using her hands and mouth to arouse the man, who now was aroused to breaking; the band around his balls, however, held him from his release. Emily and Chantico had been working him for almost an hour now, and he was now writhing and moaning.

Reaching under the hood, Emily peeled off the tape as Chantico ran her tongue up and down the man’s modest but very hard erection. “You’d like to come, hmmmm, Troy-toy?”

Downing emitted a series of strangled sounds that included several ‘Oh Gods’ and multiple ‘please, pleases’. Emily chuckled, “Soon, Troy-boy. Tell me what Daddy-kins is doing with his other companies.”

In a strangled voice, like the words were being pulled one-by-one from him, Downing said, “He’s. Selling. Everything.”

Emily considered this, glancing at Chantico who had her eyes closed and Downing’s entire cock in her mouth. “You’re a natural, kid.” She murmured to the girl, who opened her eyes briefly and nodded, then went back to work.

“Ok, Drewsie, your reward is very close,” Emily ran her polished nails lightly against the bare skin of Downing’s chest, causing him to move his hips and thrust his cock even more demandingly into Chantico’s warm mouth. “What’s he going to do with all the money?” Drewsums?

“Uh, um, oh God, jeeeez, please, M-Miss M, uhhh, ummmmm.”

“Tell me Troy-boy, what are the man’s plans with the cash.” Emily signalled Chantico to pause.

“He, ummmm, he’s um, just stashing it all away, in bank accounts. He’s, um, he’s not said anything about where it’s going. Please, I’m begging you, please let me come.”

Emily thought on this; it was odd; but then her father had been odd, for a while now. She motioned for Chantico to resume and then after a few moments had her pull off the band and pump the cock furiously. Downing erupted, with cum shooting out and running like lava down his straining shaft.

“Wow,” Chantico exclaimed, having moved away just in time.

“Get some paper towels, Chanti-girl,” Emily murmured, “the dike has done broke.”


Da Costa stood, mask in place, looking again at the back of Stafford Hawkins’s head. “Do you think that, wise, sir?” she asked quietly.

Hawkins sat. “Well, there aren’t a lot of cards to play; this situation has unfolded, quickly. I will probably need to speak to my daughter, person-to-person, soon, and I want another opinion. Drew has come up completely empty, he seems almost confused (Da Costa had that thought cross her mind today; Downing had seemed preoccupied, distracted; whatever, when she spoke briefly with him) and I would like a little more information, anything. Being a woman, she might, oh, reveal more to you. You are good at getting people to open up.”

He paused; he seemed to Da Costa even thinner than usual, like he was shrinking away before them. This business, even if he didn’t admit it, was wearing on him.

“Ok, sir. I will see Emily. Should I contact her or…?”

“Yes, tonight if possible. Thank you, Ms. Da Costa.”

And that was that. Da Costa turned and left, leaving the mask as usual.


“Tad-the bad?” Emily asked impishly.

“Hey, ‘cuz, hopin’ to hear from you. What’s shakin’?”

“C’mon by tonight; I’ve got some news.”

“Hey, Em, you’re killin’ me here; are we talkin’ good news or get outta town news?”

Emily laughed, “What fun is there in layin’ everything out over the phone. Come by and let’s do it up close and personal, baby.” She laughed again.

“Ok, how’s eight?”

“Sounds…great. Ha!” Emily ended with more laughter.

Glad she’s feelin’ good, Tad thought. Although it was encouraging. If the deal was cold, she couldn’t be as up-beat. Could she?


“A call for you on three, Ms. Da Costa.” Ms. Graves announced.

“Do you know who it is, Tia?” Da Costa replied.

“It’s Emily Hawkins, Ms. Da Costa,” was the response.

Well, Da Costa thought, about time. She had been trying to reach the girl for two days. “Carman Da Costa, good to hear from you Ms. Hawkins.”

There was a pause and then Emily started in her usual languid manner, “Just call me Emily, that works. Sorry I didn’t get back earlier, it’s been busy here. Anyway, how would tomorrow night work for a chat, or whatever it is you’re wanting?”

Da Costa looked at her day timer for Friday. “Yes, that would work. At your place is ok?”

“Sure, you know it, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, I have been there, just once really, but that’s fine. And yes, it’s just a chat. You and your aunt are management now, that’s the reality. I should meet you, both I hope.”

“Tomorrow it’s just me, but that will do for a start. How’s eight?”

Da Costa would have preferred earlier but it was what it was. “See you then…Emily.” She said.


Emily sat with Tad’s manuscript before her on the table. Having dated a television actor and popular singer, it turned out, still produced benefits.

Although the thing with Jordan had ended badly, Emily and Alhambra had remained on good terms and she had been able to get back stage at an L.A. performance and met her former lover; it had been pleasant and the singer had given Emily two names of potential movie producers. It was encouraging that one had taken the script off her hands this week and more encouraging that she had just received word from him that he had read it and was pleased with it.

“You caught me at a good time, kid.” He had said, adding that if Emily ever wanted to consider acting, she should call him first. “You’re a knock out, right?” She thanked him and added that she would consider that, when things quieted down a little.

The good news was that the producer had liked the script; a lot. He was certain they could put it together for under ten million and market it directly to Netflix or HBO. “This can make money.” He had said. Making money wasn’t the issue for Emily, credibility was, and the fact she had no great desire to run Documart forever. She was simply taking the company away from her father as payback.

It had been more important to him than she was; end of story. Well, he would see.

The door chime caught Emily’s attention and she heard Chantico head to answer it, then voices, and then Tad was brought in to the main living room.


“Cuz!” they greeted each other and Tad took a seat on the couch across from Emily’s chair. She didn’t make him wait long, announcing the news that she would advise her father to finance this project and they would likely provide the money, fifty-fifty.

With that out of the way and Chantico bringing in some wine, they talked. “Hey, if you’ll share all the nasty details, what ever happened with you and Jordan Barclay? Man, it was all over the news, even in Arizona.”

Emily shrugged, “That was so crazy. I, honestly, don’t watch much t.v., and I really didn’t know Jordan Barclay when we met at some party. He hit on me hard and then was pissed that I didn’t know who the fuck he was. But he was a pretty boy, like you Tad-o,” she smiled at him, “and he had a cool car and a cool place. A penthouse condo in Pasadena. Very cool, but he was a mama’s boy. Shit. Looked like he’d cry every time we argued. Heard him one day actually talking to mommy-kins on his cell and whining about me; and I was gone. Went back and got my few things when he was out. Fuck.”

After her outburst, Emily laughed and drank some wine. “What about you guys and Arizona?” She asked and Tad filled her in on his mom and dad taking their inheritance with the passing of their grandfather and moving to Phoenix and investing in golf courses, which had been very successful; although his parents were not wealthy enough to throw nine or ten million his way for projects.

Tad also left out that this was not his first big project, and that his parents, his mother in particular, had already lost a lot on some of his schemes. But not this one; this one he felt certain of, and he really needed it to work.

He continued, feeling the wine and enjoying Emily. “Hey, and what about Morales, the ball player? Man, that was on the news too.”

“What’s with you? Got a twitter account you gotta feed with info? This is all old news, hey?” Emily smirked.

Tad laughed and nodded his head. “Ok, so I’m kind of the wide-eyed tourist here, but my cousin is someone who gets followed and photographed and I’m sittin’ here with her and, c’mon, I’m only human, Em?” He smiled and he did have one of those ivy-school good looks and charm smiles that worked on many women. Not Emily, but she softened a little.

“Jamaal was kinda like my lab experiment, to be blunt and gross. Truth was, I wanted to fuck a black dude, right? I’m serious. I knew he was a pro athlete but didn’t care shit. Didn’t, don’t look at me like that.” She waved her hand at his grin. “I did it for sex and we got along, but, somethings aren’t like you, you know, planned out, um, well.”

Tad looked at her, “Sounds like there’s more there, Emily. I won’t gossip; let me know.” He gave her the puppy eyes.

Emily sighed. “Well, we did lots of stuff, like threesomes and things where he watched me have sex with people; it was freaky. So it wasn’t like some fairy tale, but then I came in one day, unexpected sorta’, just as he was doin’ a line of blow. I draw the line at drugs, kids. I ain’t gonna preach, I’m just sayin’; it’s not for me, dude, and I was outta there in a hurry.” She laughed. “I can sure pick ‘em, hey?”

Tad simply stared at this exotic creature that was somehow related to him.

Holy fuck, his mother would lose her mind.


Emily was waiting by the window as Chantico brought Carman Da Costa into the room; same room where the night before she and Tad had ended up yakking until two a.m. He’d wanted to stay the night, but she had put her foot down, saying no way, helping him to the door, and that was it. It wasn’t just that he was her first cousin, which was truly gross, but he had been a druggie; supposedly clean now, but Emily’s bias was, once a druggie, always a druggie.  

Things had been a little awkward earlier when Downing came home, but Tad had had enough wine that he wasn’t being the most observant, and the situation was resolved.

But it had been a good visit, all things considered; it had even made Emily a little nostalgic. However, that was then and this was now, and Da Costa was someone Emily had been looking forward to meeting. She looked at the woman as she entered; tall, taller than her; dark, slim, a little masculine; small breasts but long legs rising to inviting hips. Emily could easily imagine the dark, thick tangle of hair between the woman’s thighs.

“Hello, I’m Emily,” she said extending her hand, “Could we bring you something?”

They settled on wine and sat, Da Costa sitting just where Tad had been and Emily in the same place herself. They regarded each other for a moment. For Da Costa, she was aware that Emily was young and attractive, but she wasn’t aware just how incredibly attractive, and how confident, the girl was. Clearly Stafford Hawkins underestimated his offspring; maybe he was in some sort of denial as to what she had become?

“So, what’s up?” Emily asked as she raised her glass to her guest. Both sipped and then Da Costa began. “I am here obviously on behalf of your father, and all of us at Documart, but also for my own curiosity. Let’s begin with the company; you and your aunt have controlling shares, you can make the changes if you wish. What plans do you have?”

Emily regarded the other woman for a moment before she began. “I’ll get right to it, even though I’m sure you’ll just run back to Daddy-dear; doesn’t matter. I’ve been paying attention, Ms. Da Costa, since before I reached my twenty-first, and came into ownership of several companies. I kept expecting my father to contact me, to make arrangements, to negotiate. But nope, nothin’. Then bang, I have control of companies worth, freakin’ millions. And not a word from above.”

She paused to sip some more wine, then stood and began to pace a little. “I tried to figure things, but I couldn’t. My father has always been um, strange, let’s be straight here. But this seemed to be, uh, even more. I became like, concerned; talked with my aunt, saw this whole thing he had built maybe being lost. So, I stepped in where I could. Gradually took control.” She stopped and looked at the other woman.

“I don’t want this fucking company, excuse me, but that’s the truth. But I’m not going to let him junk it. So, to answer your question, um, with what happens next. Well, nothing I hope. You guys keep running it, ‘cause it’s still doing well, for now. There, how’s that. Ease your mind?” She sat down and smiled at Da Costa.

Clearly now it was her turn. Da Costa had been running through certain ways to approach this, but Emily’s bluntness had changed the plan. “That’s, encouraging, Ms. Hawkins.”

“Emily, Emily…”

Da Costa smiled. “Emily. I will, um, report back to your father as you guess, but I will not run back to him. I value my job and wish the company to continue. That means considering you and your aunt in this. It’s no longer just your father’s decisions, correct?”


“I mean, to be clear, if the majority of the shareholders want things, changes or whatever, they will get them. So, I clearly want to work with you, I hope you will believe me.”

“You’re not loyal to my father?”

“I’m loyal within reason, but I work for Documart. I now work for you, Emily. I understand that very well.”

“And how do you feel about that, Ms. Da Costa?”

“Carman, please,” she smiled and her face lost its sternness for a moment. “I feel fine, now that I’ve met you and seen that you are no fool. Sometimes youth faces prejudice. You are capable and that is what matters to me.”

Emily stood and went to the couch, sitting beside Da Costa, who turned to face her. She reached up and gently brushed some dark hair back from the woman’s face; an intimate gesture that Da Costa did not recoil from. Emily then leaned in and kissed the lips, smelling the woman’s delicate scent, which contrasted with her looks. Da Costa kissed her back, gently gripping Emily’s bottom lip for a moment as they separated.

They smiled at each other. Da Costa reached forward and stroked Emily’s face. “I suppose many have told you of what you already know; of how beautiful you are.” she said quietly.

“Yes,” Emily smiled, leaning in and kissing the other woman’s throat several times, ending with one kiss for her face. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to hear it, especially from someone as fucking hot as you.”

Da Costa looked like she was about to move in, so Emily spoke. “Hold that, um, thought Carman and give me a couple of minutes.” She then stood and headed upstairs. Downing was at that moment tied naked on her bed, awaiting further punishment; that would have to wait. Emily got him up and led the blindfolded man down the hall to his own room; she dragged the large dog bed along as they went.

Once inside she put Downing on his knees and gave him his instructions; he could sleep in his own room but it was naked and on the dog bed. She would check on him later. “Yes, Miss M.” the man murmured obediently.

Emily then zipped to Melanie’s room and found her lying on her bed with Chantico. “Great,” she enthused, “baby doll can sleep with you tonight, how’s that?” Melanie smiled. She had come to really (really) enjoy having Chantico in her bed. The girl, as Emily had mentioned, was a natural when it came to oral sex, and intimacy in general. For someone who only a little while ago had no sexual experience and was a tangle of repression, she had come out of that quite amazingly. Her first orgasm had had a lot to do with her new found awakening.

With this settled, Emily went back down to the first floor and found Carman standing and looking out at the early darkness.

“This is quite the house,” she noted as Emily came to her and wrapped her arms around her.

“I’ll have to show you it; soon. For now, let me show you this.” Emily then led the woman by the hand to an open area of the carpet, where she knelt down, bringing Carman with her. Silently, the two women undressed each other, with Emily immediately covering one of Carman’s small breasts with her warm mouth once both were completely naked. She sucked on the large nipple and it swelled in appreciation.

“They’re small, not amazing like your breasts.” Carman said quietly.

“They’re beautiful, like you.” Emily whispered, pulling

Carman down to the carpet.

(End of Chapter 04)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 3 Silence Is The Virtue Of Fools

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

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.

“But I….”

“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)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 2 The Ringmaster May Change Yet The Circus Remains The Same

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 02 The Ringmaster May Change, Yet The Circus Remains The Same

Ivy Prendergast came and looked into Da Costa’s office. “Hey,” Da Costa exclaimed with a smile. “Heading off?”

Prendergast smiled in response and she looked quite pretty when she did this. Her height and her hair piled on top of her head often distracted people from this reality. “Yes, just thought I’d check in and see if there was anything before I took my leave.” She stood, with a small smile on her face.

Da Costa regarded the woman in return, a smile playing on her plump lips. “Well, I can think of a thing or too, but I believe there are still folks about, hmmmm?”

Prendergast came, quietly for a large person, and stood behind Da Costa as the woman sat at her impressive dark, wood desk. Prendergast leaned forward so her substantial breasts pressed against Da Costa’s neck. “Would it have anything to do with…these?” Prendergast murmured into Da Costa’s dark head.

Da Costa turned her face and Prendergast leaned forward, sucking the woman’s purple-red lips into her own pink-lipped mouth.


“Your father won’t be coming home it seems; he’s off to San Francisco on business.” Melanie said quietly, watching Emily.

Emily snorted and took a deep drag of her cigarette. They were sitting on another balcony, this one off the room called the library, although it contained no books. They were out here as Emily wished to smoke. It was early evening and they had just finished an excellent meal, prepared by Chantico; one of her many duties.

“He’s just scared to see me, Mel.” She said, wearily. “Nothing changes.”

“I don’t think, he’s, um, scared, Em.” Melanie paused to look again at her ‘niece’; with the evening sun highlighting her hair, illuminating her perfect face, emphasizing her beauty. “I just don’t think he knows what to do with you.”

“He could start by, you know, talking.” Emily stated.

“That’s not one of his strong suits, kid,” Melanie noted, looking out over their hilly vantage point, here in the section where the roads were named after prestigious institutions; Stanford, Yale, Princeton, Berkeley and the like. Melanie gazed down the route of their street as it curved slightly by their large home before straightening eventually and then sloping gently westward, her thoughts interrupted by Emily.

“How old are you?” she had blurted out, decisively stubbing her cigarette in a crystal ashtray; a remnant of the past.

“Thirty-nine. Why? I thought you would know that.” She smiled.

“I would,” Emily yawned languidly, “if I paid attention.”

Melanie laughed and they sat for a moment silently, the sun now almost completely set. “Tell me about Chantico.” Emily added, changing topics and showing her attention issues.

“Yikes, you’re all over the map tonight. What’s up?”

“Nothing, Mel-bel, just sometimes my mind kinda’ goes off on its own thing, you know. I like Chantico; she’s very attractive and I like to know stuff, so come on.”

Melanie just shook her head, a smile on her face. “Well, she’s been with us four years or so; her mom was with us for several years before; you had to have seen her.”

Emily shrugged her shoulders, and Melanie continued. “The mom went back to Juarez to look after her mother, and I guess several other kids. Chantico took over everything for us from cooking to cleaning. She basically sends her money back home to support the brood. Why are you so interested in her and you, um, really think she’s attractive?” Melanie finished in a rush.

Emily snorted again, “Who’s jumpin’ around now, hey?” She smirked. “Ok, I’m going to start my little game of dominance with the lovely Chantico, and yes, she’s fuckin’, oops, sorry, hot, Mel. How the Hell you missed that blows my, um, freakin’ mind.” Emily stopped and looked meaningfully at her relation.

Melanie pondered that, because she truthfully had never considered Chantico attractive or not; it wasn’t something she thought about. “What do you mean, exactly, with this dominance thing?” she now ventured cautiously. As more of Emily’s plans were revealed Melanie was becoming, a little, more concerned.

Emily studied the older woman, considering how much to reveal and how to present it. “Ok, now just let me look after things, right? You’re along for the ride pretty much and for a little support, but I’m like the ringmaster.”

“Does that make me a juggler or an acrobat?” Melanie asked, a smile on her face.

Emily smirked. “Neither, you’re kinda the dude that drives the truck.”

“Oh thanks sweetie, that’s a vote of confidence.”

Emily chuckled. “Fine, fine, quiet now and let me lay it down. It’s all about control, you get that, right? There are lots of ways to control people and I’ve found a few. Aaaannnd,” she emphasized, “I’ve found I like controlling people. I like having them do stuff ‘cause I want it, and well, fuck them; it’s all about me. Sorry. But…” She held up her hand as it appeared Melanie was going to say something, “this deal is more complicated ‘cause we’re talkin’ ‘bout taking a freakin’ business over. I need certain people under my thumb, as they say, and it begins with Drew-baby, but the practice is gonna’ start with Chantico. At least

that’s how I want to try it. Are we good?”

Melanie sat digesting this. “Ok, okee-dokey, actually, that makes things a little, um, clearer I suppose, but what are you, uh, going to do to Drew. Or do I want to know?”

Emily laughed out loud at this, and at the look on Melanie’s face. It was the same look students get when they’re asked to dissect something in biology class. “Hey, I said we’re starting with Chantico….”

“And why her again?” Melanie managed to squeeze in.

“’Cause I want to; and ‘cause I want you to watch.”

Melanie sat nodding her head, but not really certain what she had gotten herself into. “I think I need a glass of wine,” she said, rising.

“Hey,” Emily stayed her companion with a raised hand, “Have Chantico bring it in.”

Melanie nodded her head once again and called for the young woman.


“How could this happen?” the distinctive, high voice asked over the cell that Ryland Ross had pressed to his ear.

“Well, sir, it was done cautiously and carefully and thoughtfully and…”

“You’re…sure it was my daughter? Absolutely sure? It doesn’t sound like the work of a child.”

Ross paused for a moment, “She is twenty-two, sir and a business graduate. She clearly understands what she is doing.”

Hawkins sat for a moment. Emily wasn’t a child and he needed to get his head around that, what was wrong with him? “So what is the damage then? Give me all the details.”

“Well, it’s pretty simple sir. Emily and your sister have bought up fifty-one percent of the core company shares between them, which means they control decision making for Documart and the seven other subsidiary companies.”

Hawkins rattled off the names of several firms, “It doesn’t involve those?”

“No sir, it…”

“Then sell them.”

“Um, excuse me sir?”

Hawkins continued, with annoyance in his voice, “You heard me. Liquidate everything else. Put the money somewhere safe; where my daughter can’t get at it. And you are clear that the two women need to work together?”

“Ye-es, sir. If they vote together, they are in control.”

“But they need to work in tandem?” Hawkins persisted.

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“I see. I see. Thank you, Ryland. I will be back in Glendale in two days. We will meet in my office at eleven on Monday.”

“Very good sir, We’ll see you then.”

Hawkins sat quietly. It was clear that he had been napping as far as his daughter was concerned; well, that would change. As for the take-over, well, he still had a card or two up his sleeve.

For now he was settled into one of his company’s condos in San Francisco. It was essentially a hotel with a suite, and his two assistants worked to look after his needs, both personal and business. Hwang was out now, securing his meal; Hawkins being a very fussy eater. Winters meanwhile was going through papers. The young man was interrupted by the door chime. In a moment he came into the room Hawkins used as his office.

“The two young women are here, sir.” He said with deference.

Hawkins did not look at him, as he continued to stare at the computer screen, where a young woman was being spanked with a cane. “Thank you, Winters. Send them in.” Even though Hawkins did not like engaging in sex, (too personal) he did like…certain things.


Chantico brought in a bottle of Merlot (California of course) and two nine ounce glasses, setting them on the mahogany and marble coffee table. Emily looked at the girl; probably the same height as her, light brown skin; shiny, thick black hair worn today in two braids down her back; young, innocent and a pretty face. The simple dress she wore did nothing to hide the lovely round curves of her breasts and hips.

As Chantico poured the wine, bending forward slightly, the heavy fullness of the breast facing Emily made her smile; she wanted to grab that breast right there and then and maul it; but she closed her eyes and thought, patience.

“And Chantico, cool name by the way, go grab yourself a glass.”

Chantico looked at the woman who was only a couple of years her senior and asked uncertainly. “Bring another glass?”

“Yes, for you.” Emily smiled and Melanie looked on with interest. “Quick.” Emily commanded and Chantico left, still looking unsure of what was happening. When the girl returned Emily poured her a glass and sat her down on the couch beside her. The girl looked uncomfortable and awkward. With a certain amount of coaxing and prodding, Chantico made it through about half her glass, commenting that she did not ‘drink’ often.

Emily reassured her that it was fine and that a glass of wine now and then was a good thing. The two ‘Hawkins-women’ sipped their wine encouragingly and continued to prod their ‘guest’. By the time her glass was empty, Chantico was looking much more relaxed and had told them her life story in detail.

“So, your family is completely dependent on you, Chantico?” Emily asked, her hand resting protectively

on the girl’s arm, gently stroking it.

“Ummm, yes, that is true. All my money, it goes to my family.”

“But you have no green card yet?” Emily said, innocently, applying a little more pressure as she stroked. Chantico looked with alarm at Melanie; she may have been relaxed but she was not completely drunk; any discussion about immigration brought an immediate reaction.

Melanie smiled a friendly smile, but said nothing. Emily’s hand had now moved to Chantico’s knee and was gently stroking there. Chantico put her own hand over the intruder, but Emily maintained her gentle touch. “I suppose it would be terrible if you were to be sent back?” Emily asked softly, her hand moving slightly up the shapely, brown leg.

The girl looked up with an expression of confusion and concern. What was happening? Why was Ms. Hawkins asking her these things? “Why, um, why would I be s-sent back?” She asked with a tremor in her voice; Emily’s hand was halfway between the girl’s knee and her crotch, the girl’s hand resting on it like a rider.

Melanie had, surprisingly, now moved to the girl’s other side and was holding her right hand; Chantico was squirming slightly, uncertain of what these women wanted or what was happening. She could not be sent back; that would be a disaster. She did not want to offend her employer, which was how she regarded Melanie Downing; she had never dealt with Hawkins.

Chantico didn’t want to speak, not knowing what to say, but the probing incessant hand and the softly stroking hand were arousing her and confusing her. The arousal itself was strange and disturbing.

She was clearly trapped between these two women and her head was spinning and she was very uncomfortable with what they were saying. Melanie poured some more wine for everyone, finishing off the bottle.

“Please Mrs. Downing, I should not. I am already, um,

shaky, um, how you say, spinning.” Chantico protested.

“Nonsense, Chantico, you can’t be rude.” Emily said as she and Melanie released their hold for a moment as everyone drank some wine. Emily then pushed the young woman back so she was against the cushions. As Melanie now held the girl’s hand again, Emily deftly reached under and up and expertly pulled down the girl’s black underpants; Chantico sat frozen, staring with a look of disbelief.

“As long as we are happy with you, Chantico, your job here is safe. You want us to be happy with you, don’t you?” Emily asked in a voice that was sweet and intoxicating, her hand stroking far up Chantico’s thigh. Melanie, surprised and amazed, was more aroused than she had been in years; her last affair with the young golf pro having ended well over a year ago. Since then she had been left to her own efforts, something that she found quite unsatisfactory.

While she had, while pleasuring herself, fantasized about sex with women, just as she had fantasized about being kidnapped and raped by a biker gang, Melanie had never in her life done anything, not even a kiss on the lips, with another girl; yet right now she was feeling unbelievably horny. She slid her hand up Chantico’s right thigh, coming to rest against the thick, curling mass of hair between the girl’s legs.

At this point, Chantico closed her eyes, and Emily covered the girl’s mouth with her own. The two women lifted up the cotton dress and spread the girl’s leg’s revealing just how heavy and luxuriant the pubic growth was. Each woman gently fondled the labia buried beneath the foliage. Chantico meanwhile was moving her hips and making various sounds; moans mixed with whimpers, as Emily continued to engulf her mouth. She stayed in place, though, not bolting and running as Emily feared she might.

However, once one of Emily’s fingers penetrated into the moist inner flesh of her pussy, Chantico sat up and blurted out, “But I’m a virgin,” tears now rolling down

her cheeks, her eyes wide.

“You’re still a virgin, love, this won’t change anything.” Emily spoke softly as she continued to finger the now wet opening. Melanie meanwhile was kissing away the girl’s tears and gently caressing her. Pausing in her work for a moment, Emily lifted the cotton dress over Chantico’s head as Melanie removed the girl’s thin bra.

Then they stood, and with each taking a hand, they led their naked prize out of the room and then up the stairs. They were headed for the second floor and Emily’s bedroom.


Stafford Hawkins watched with interest as girl number two, as he called her, delivered another stinging blow with the leather paddle. Girl number one, the one on the receiving end, was on her knees, hands tied behind her back and her ass now very red. “The tongue,” Hawkins commanded with a quiet but intense voice, and number two bent forward and began to lick the anus of her partner. Number One was attached to a spreader bar, which kept her knees very wide.

Both girls were wearing black masks, jester hats and leather gloves of red and black. They were Harlequins. After watching the licking for several minutes, Hawkins announced, “That will be all.” The girls had been there about an hour. Girl two now untied her partner from the bar and both turned and faced their client on their knees, firm young breasts sitting perkily, nipples erect.

“Thank you,” Hawkins said quietly, handing them an envelope containing fifteen hundred in cash. “You can get dressed and let yourselves out.” The girls looked up with mild surprise; it appeared the man was not going to do anything to them himself.

But then he wouldn’t; Hawkins had not achieved an erection and the thought of the girls actually touching him was repulsive. No, it was the show, and he enjoyed

it. The sex show, done as he desired, and his extensive clown collection, were the only interests beyond his business. Although numerous phobias assaulted his mind.


When Emily woke in the morning, some light was sifting stealthily through a slight separation in the drapes. She glanced to her right at the clock; six-thirty. She glanced to her left and was surprised to see Chantico was awake and staring at her, like a child, brown eyes wide.

Emily turned and stroked the girl’s face, who closed her eyes in response. Emily then kissed the pouty mouth; the girl responding gently, before opening her mouth and allowing Emily’s tongue in. Chantico’s hand with its long, slender fingers came up and cupped the blonde hair as Emily gently clasped a breast, massaging it.

On the other side of Chantico, Melanie said “Good morning,” very quietly, and squeezed the pussy lips of the girl beside her. It was easier today, as she and Emily had cut and shaved the thick tangle of hair that they had found between Chantico’s legs. There was now a dense, but trimmed, dark triangle just above the fat, grey-purple labia, which Melanie was now caressing.

“What is it?” Emily quietly asked the pretty, brown face.

“I need to get things started for breakfast, Miss M. Mr. Downing usually is down for seven.”

Right. Drew. Fuck. They had completely forgotten about him. Had he even come in last night? His room was on the third floor and they were on the second, but they had heard nothing.

But then, they had been making some noise themselves. Wonder if Drew-baby heard us? Emily pondered.


Da Costa, Downing and Ross sat around the small table in Ryland’s office. Hawkins was back today and would meet all three, starting with Ross at eleven. They were making sure all were on the same page.

“So he instructed you to, um, sell, all of these?” Downing asked, looking at his iPhone screen, adjusting his glasses, then glancing at Da Costa; then back to Ross.

Ross nodded his round head and placed one hand over the other on the table. “Yes, and then sent me a text. He wants these turned into cash and invested, ‘where Emily can’t get at them,’ to quote the man.”

“How is it that the two women were able to acquire so many shares?” Da Costa asked. There had been a breakdown and she wanted to get out in front of it, which meant finding someone to be the fall guy. It wasn’t going to be her.

Ross rubbed his chin and carefully picked a miniscule piece of lint from his tailored trousers, before explaining that both women had in the past received shares from Hawkins on special days, and then had carefully bought blocks of shares not significant enough to raise flags, over time and all under holding companies. By the time the transactions had raised concerns with financial (Drew squirmed slightly; he knew both Da Costa and Ross would throw him under the bus if need be), it was too late to intervene.

“Shareholders can sell below five percent of total without any notice or approval, Carman. That’s the way it is. And that’s how it was done.”

So, Carman pondered, she was really number three on the ‘who missed it list’. Let the two of them argue it out; she would sit by and watch. “Interesting.” She said, settling herself in.

Ross; however, looked over at Da Costa. “He wants you to go talk to her.”

Da Costa looked at Ross’s shiny head before asking, “Talk to whom?”

“The daughter.” Ross said evenly.

“Talk to her, to do what, exactly?” Carman asked. “Drew here lives with them, why isn’t he doing this? That would make sense.” Downing squirmed again; he found his niece Emily extremely intimidating, and tried to avoid her almost as much as Stafford did.

“I do not the rules make, my dear. Ours is not to question why, etc. etc. He wants you to meet with Emily this week. I’m sure he will explain more at um, your meeting.”

Da Costa just sat, quietly tapping her fingers on the polished table.


Ivy Prendergast was just collecting her things. The area across from her was empty now, all the staff gone home. Carman Da Costa came quietly up behind her, slipping her arms around the imposing woman and grasping those large, inviting breasts. Prendergast reacted with a start and then chuckled.

“Plans for tonight, big girl?” Da Costa whispered up into the right ear.

“Oh yeah, big plans, girl yourself. Home. Dinner. Television. It’s gonna be a wild one.”

Da Costa smiled at that. She had dodged a bullet today and felt like celebrating; she had convinced Hawkins to have Downing meet first with Emily.

As for tonight, turning Prendergast’s substantial buttocks pink was something that always made Da Costa feel good. “I’m going to pick up some Thai on my way home. I’d love to get enough for two.” She purred.

“Two…big girls, by any chance.”

“Two hot as Hell girls; one who I think has been a naughty thing. I think Daddy needs to bring out his paddle tonight, hmmmm?” Carman ran her tongue up the side of Prendergast’s long neck.

Prendergast moaned, shuddered and rubbed her rear into Da Costa’s groin, as her breasts were being squeezed like over-ripe melons. “Ummmm, naughty girls do need

their punishment,” she sighed.

Both women chuckled.


“So last night was good, hey Mel?” Emily said, lying on the couch in the main loving area. It was a large room with a huge stone fireplace in the centre, opening to both directions. They no longer used wood; natural gas had been installed years ago, but the fireplace had an old world charm. Large windows faced the street but the heavy drapes were closed.

Melanie was in an armchair and Emily on the couch. Chantico was making dinner for Drew who was home tonight; he had not been home since Emily arrived, it turned out, staying in one of the apartments the company owned near their office building. It said something that no one had known he was not here.

Melanie smiled, last night had been wonderful, both for her and Chantico, and she said as much.

“Why didn’t you tell me Chantico was Catholic and her family was so religious?” Emily continued.

Melanie sipped a little wine. “Never thought of it. I’m kind of clueless at times, I guess. I agree with you that she is very good looking, and what a body; jumpin’. You and her are almost twins.” Melanie enthused.

Emily snorted. “Yeah, apart from her being brown and me white. And me, covered in tattoos and her, frightened of being touched.”

Melanie had to laugh at that. “Yeah, yeah, but your bodies are so similar is what I meant. Your height, your, well…everything.”

“Our tits and asses you were going to say.”

“I never say; that. Stuff.” Melanie responded.

They were silent for a moment. Then Melanie began, cautiously, not sure she wanted to know what she was asking. “So, Drew is home at last. Wow, didn’t even

know he hadn’t been sleeping here for a few days. Damn. Anyway, he wants to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Emily replied. “I want to talk to him; to start with.” She smiled.

“What, um, what are you planning, Em? Do I need to make myself scarce?”

“Only if you want to. Drew-baby and I are going to face-to-face, like; and then I’m going to offer him a choice; are you good if he decides to, like, leave, you know, for good?”

Melanie sat in thought. Was she good? Actually she was.

“Yes, Em. I’m good with whatever happens.” Melanie reflected. “I’ve had the occasional affair over the years, you know; and he does whatever he does. We’ve just been playing roles for a long time, hey? Like I wear my wife mask and he wears his husband one, when required.” She paused. “Drew and I have been pretending for a long time.”

“I know.” Emily said quietly.

(End of Chapter 02)

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The Chronicles of LongDarkRoad Book VI: A Gathering of Clowns Chapter 1 – The Circus is a Jealous Wench

Chapter 1 The Circus is a Jealous Wench

It’s a three-ring world and all the while, we’re the ones to make you smile;                              

It took the world a while to discover The Golden State, California, and join the indigenous tribes that had inhabited it for a few thousand years. But when it became better known, there was no looking back.

Gazing down now on the extended metropolis that is modern day Los Angeles, Stafford Hawkins, gripping the armrests of his seat as he didn’t like flying (in fact didn’t really like being out at all) noted, not for the first time, the vast expanse of humanity and sniffed as if confronted by an unpleasant odor.

Hawkins realized that the vast, sprawling mass below him was responsible for his own vast success; but he still didn’t much like it. Any of it, really. He tolerated most of it and avoided the rest when he could. Hawkins closed his eyes as the plane began its descent into Bob Hope Airport; soon (he hoped fervently) he would be on the ground and being whisked to his company offices in Glendale.

That city lies at the southeastern end of the San Fernando Valley, eight miles north of downtown Los Angeles; bordered to the northwest by the Sun Valley; to the northeast by La Cañada Flintridge; to the west by Burbank and to the east by Eagle Rock and Pasadena. It is in the middle of everything, which was why Hawkins had chosen it.

This was where the head office of Documart, one of the first providers of online legal document services and legal family and small business plans, sat. Stafford Hawkins was the CEO and majority owner of Documart; but one would never guess that from looking at the ultra-conservative but very nondescript man, known more for his exceedingly rare public appearances.

One would not be likely either to guess that he was

incredibly wealthy. But he was; he was also eccentric and paranoid, with borderline obsessive compulsive tendencies that he managed somehow to keep in check. His habits may have been a bother, but they had never interfered with his uncanny ability to spot or pursue, and at times even create, innovative technology. Whatever his weaknesses, he had always overcome them with his strengths, and that had always led to financial success.

As his private jet taxied to a stop, he waited for his staff of two to get all his things, and then he made the brisk scamper to his waiting limousine, so that he was out in the open public as little as possible.

On second thought, if one did happen to see him leaving his jet or entering his limo, one might stumble onto his status. Or not. One might just think he was the president’s accountant.


Emily Hawkins, the twenty-two year-old daughter of Stafford, was, simply, nothing like him. Apart from a similar lanky frame and white-blonde hair, they shared very little in common physically or emotionally. At this moment, as her father was recovering from an airplane ride, Emily was blasting along Ventura Blvd., her 2016 Chevy Camaro convertible darting in and out like a lover’s tongue.

When it came to sharing between the two Hawkins, it was something they did not do at all. Emily could not recall the last time she had actually spoken with her father, face to face that is. All communication went through his executive assistant Carman Da Costa or his lawyer, Ryland J. Ross; and word was both of them were now required to wear masks when meeting him.

“What a freak show,” Emily had commented.

Neither Stafford, nor his sister Melanie, were completely aware of Emily’s plans at any moment, so when her baby blue sports car had shown up two days ago on the doorstep of their massive Adams Hill home, it was something of a surprise. A surprise as massive as his abode to Stafford at least; not as much to Melanie.

Melanie and Emily were sitting now, outside the spacious and open kitchen of the house, perched as it was on one of the hilly, winding lanes of the expensive and exclusive district. The house was three stories with several balconies and patios offering views; the patio they were on now faced west to Griffith Park and Los Angeles, the morning sun warming them.

“Your father pretty much fell off his chair when you arrived, Em.” Melanie Downing smiled, her tanned face and blonde-brown head a testament to her years in the California sun.

‘Em’, Emily, or ‘M’ as she had come to prefer, simply smirked. It was her standard response to most things in life. Emily Stafford had not been born into true wealth, but by the time she was five and her mother had passed away, things had changed. Stafford had, two years earlier, sold the rights to his first tech idea; an improvement on the new CD Rom, and the next few years had seen him turn that one hundred thousand into his first million.

Emily’s mother had died in this very house, and a week later Melanie, Stafford’s youngest sister, had arrived to look after the young girl. Emily did not call Melanie ‘Aunt’, did not think of her that way. They were much closer; Melanie had been all these years the unwavering rock in Emily’s turbulent life, even those years when Stafford had hustled her off to expensive boarding schools, the two had stayed in touch.

The first time Emily was shipped off happened when she had just turned twelve, but had already begun puberty. His daughter transforming into a woman before his eyes was too much for Hawkins to deal with and Emily was sent away, spending most of the next six years at schools in San Diego, San Francisco and finally next door in Pasadena. Melanie kept in touch and on those occasions when Emily was required to return home, Hawkins would leave in response and not return until

the girl/woman had resumed her studies.

What Hawkins feared and what others came to appreciate was the development of a mesmerizing, blonde beauty. Growing to five seven and a half inches with perfectly proportioned hips and breasts and flowing white-blonde hair set off by a model’s face, Emily Hawkins was a stunner. Whenever she returned home, Melanie would simply stand and stare, thinking to herself it was good that Emily attended an all-girl institution; boys would not be able to focus with her around.

But, as Emily had discovered, that also applied to a certain number of girls. By the time Emily graduated and entered Berkeley Business School (much to her father’s amazement) she had left behind a string of broken hearts, both male and female.

Emily had not given much thought to her sexuality; it was what it was. She had given her virginity up at fourteen to a marginally older girl while at school in San Diego. This girl happened to have an astonishing collection of dildos and devices for a girl of fifteen, and she and Emily spent the final four months of the school year determined to try out them all.

And so it had gone. On her rare time spent at home, Emily had experienced no difficulty in attracting male partners; although after coming down with Phthirius pubis, a.k.a. crabs, at age seventeen, she had been so thoroughly disgusted she refrained from any sexual activity for almost a year. When she became active again, she was far more cautious about her partners.

Still, at twenty-two, she was a very experienced young woman, at least when it came to desire, love and sex.

“So how long do you plan on being here this time, Em?” Melanie asked.

“Well, as we have discussed, I have…plans this time.” Both women smiled. “But, I still don’t know, um, like specifically. It depends.”

“Oh, hey, what happened with your big relationship? Last I heard it was all hot stuff, then nothing, and

now here you are. Who was the guy?”

Emily yawned as if even the memory was boring, “Oh you mean my race car driver?”

“Yeah, him. What’s his name?”

Emily stared straight ahead and had to think for a minute, then laughed, “Angelo, fuck, can’t believe I lost it there. We were together seven months; that’s like a lifetime for me.”

“I know,” Melanie added, “You were in Jalapa, I think, and you called to tell me you had just had the greatest um, sex. I’m pretty sure you were drunk, but you sounded happy.”

Emily smirked, “Yeah, there was a lot of Tequila involved with Angelo. And I think I called you to tell you we had just fucked for three hours.”

Melanie made a face, “You can’t remember his name, but you remember; that.” She grimaced. “And I wish you wouldn’t use that word.” She said.

“Ok fine, we were ‘inter-coursing’ for three hours, how’s that?”

Melanie laughed, “I don’t think that’s even a word.”

“It should be,“ Emily added and lit a Lucky Strike.

“Still doing that?” Melanie asked, making a face.

“Hey, it’s cool. I enjoy it, so what the fuck?” Emily shrugged, “Oh, sorry,” she added with a smirk.

Melanie made a face again. “Don’t you worry about all the nasty stuff that smoking can do?”

Emily eyed her aunt; she had heard all this many times. “The world is a harsh place, Mel-bell. You realize that in the sixties our government, and lots of other countries too, dumped raw nuclear waste right into the ocean, right? You do realize that for decades, and right up to now, food producers injected and fed their livestock with all kinds of steroids and hormones and all sorts of shit?” Emily lectured.

“Ok, ok, I give up. Just saying.” Melanie laughed, and

at that moment Chantico Pena their maid, for want of a better description, came in with the telephone.”

“A call for you, Mrs. Downing.” She smiled and left.

Mrs. Downing, oooohhh, how formal.” Emily laughed, but Melanie waved her off as she took her call.


Carman Da Costa’s phone summoned her into the inner sanctum of Stafford Hawkins’s office. Before entering she donned the face mask almost all were now required to wear while in the man’s presence. She entered and strode to the place on the carpet that marked the boundary of her admittance. “Sir” she said to the back of the white-blonde head.

“Signings, Ms. Da Costa?” The man asked, in his distinctive high voice. If one didn’t know, one might think it was a woman speaking, but it wasn’t.

“Eleven documents sir; I’ve emailed them.” Of course Hawkins’s laptop would have an app allowing him to sign on his screen; he had helped create it. Well, helped in terms of having thought of some things. Hawkins himself was only passable when it came to computers; what he had, had always had, were great ideas and the ability to get others interested in them.

“Excellent; thank you, Ms. Da Costa. That should be all.” The voice remarked.

“Very good, sir.” The tall, dark woman murmured, and made her exit, leaving her mask by the door.

Da Costa seemed, to many who met her, to be older than her twenty-nine years; if might have been her serious nature; she rarely smiled. She was intense, persistent and efficient. Hawkins had come to depend on her greatly in the last four years, whether he admitted it or not. Her and Ryland Ross. And Drew Downing.

Da Costa came and stood by Downing’s desk now; their two offices were across from each other and directly adjacent to Stafford’s. A receptionist, in the imposing form of Ms. Prendergast, guarded the entrance to this


“So you wanted to see me?” Da Costa asked the slim, insipid man.

Downing adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Are you aware of the activity on the main company shares?”

Da Costa was aware of everything, but she left the details up to staff. Financial details were Downing and his assistant’s job. So the answer was yes and no, but Da Costa was also careful of direct answers. “I know there has been trading, and it has influenced the market value slightly upwards. But I’m guessing you have something more, specific, in mind.”

Downing directed his pale, blue eyes upwards. Although almost five foot ten, his whole demeanor made him seem smaller, even when seated. He cleared his throat again; he was actually concerned with what he had been checking, but he wasn’t one hundred percent certain what it meant. And he was always careful with giving Da Costa too much information.

“There have been some larger sales over the last six or seven weeks; several to holding companies that I can’t unlock to a source.” Where Stafford had a high, feminine voice; Downing’s was simply soft, quiet, and cautious.

Da Costa had wondered for the first couple of years she worked with him if Downing was gay, despite being married to the CEO’s sister; although it wouldn’t have mattered to her. But she had come to believe that he was simply nonsexual; she could not imagine him having sex with either gender. “Are you thinking…take-over?” She asked quietly, keeping the concern out of her voice.

Downing removed his glasses and wiped them thoughtfully before placing them back on his nose. “Not sure. It is just concerning. With Miss Stafford receiving that ten percent lump on her twenty-first birthday, and my Melanie getting that five percent last year because of some agreement with Mr. H., that gives them twenty-eight percent together now. The total of these last four large purchases, added to that twenty-eight, equals fifty-one percent of voting shares.

They looked at each other for a moment. “Interesting.” Da Costa murmured. “But you said together. Are they, together?”

Downing shook his head. He didn’t know, although things might be different now that Emily had come home.


“So,” Melanie asked, as the two of them had now gone back inside, with Chantico bringing them some tea. “I think it’s time for you to fill me in some more. You’ve given me bits and pieces over the last while, but I think there’s a lot I don’t know.”

Emily then explained, in point form, what she had in mind. First, a number of things had happened a year ago upon her reaching twenty-one; and she was pretty sure her father had not thought much about this scenario years back when the trust for her was created. Second, Hawkins’s current estimated worth was north of four hundred million, but a clause in Emily’s trust had given her control over several companies included in that total, that at one time were too small for her father to worry about.

They had grown and, thirdly, Emily had liquidated most of them this last year, using a chunk of that money to buy up shares in Documart, between her and Melanie; company bylaws stating no one person other than Stafford Hawkins was allowed more than thirty percent of shares. As of a week ago, Emily sat at thirty and Melanie at twenty-one; so, controlling interest. That was point four.

“Why again do you want to control this, Emily? What am I missing? This is your father’s baby; his pride and joy; what are you, um, we, up to exactly?” Emily sat in thought for a moment. Even though she felt no family- bond sort of emotional attachment, the man was still

her father. Somewhere deep inside she felt a twinge.

“You do realize that Father-dear is, well, losing it, right? He’s been odd for years, that’s understood, but now his strangeness is bleeding into his financial world. He’s started investing in whacko projects and bizarre schemes. I’m sure if you asked your hubby directly he would tell you there is concern.” Emily looked directly at Melanie who shifted a little. She and ‘hubby’ rarely talked about anything.

Emily continued. “I like the dough that I have now, fer shure, but I’m not going to just sit back as my father blows up all he has created. The only way to stop that is to take control away from him.”

Melanie nodded her head; it was starting to make sense, even as it made her uneasy. She hadn’t minded buying up shares with Emily; it wasn’t her money they were using, but now things were getting personal. “And now we have control of the, um, core business, you say?”

“Correct. And over the next little while we will take control of Father-dearest’s main support; Da Costa, Ross and your hubby.”

Melanie nodded her head again, slowly. “And how do you, um, we, plan to do that?”

Emily smiled a slightly wicked smile, “The same way you eat an elephant, Mel-bel; one bite at a time. Starting with the smallest bite: Drew.”

Melanie nodded in conclusion. This was going to be …interesting.


Da Costa marched, which was the correct term, the woman never just walked, past Prendergast’s station and turned left. Across from her were the five rows of cubicles occupied by the staff of twenty as they took phone calls and directed messages. Documart was not actually a law firm, but they had a team of lawyers headed by Ryland Ross available to offer advice, supply documents and answer questions.

Along the far side of the open area, to Da Costa’s extreme right, were four small offices that housed the assistant’s to her, Downing and Ryland Ross, who Da Costa was now on her way to see. His office, the largest of all save Hawkins, sat impressively beside reception; all visitors faced it as they waited in the row of leather chairs that sat before the mighty Prendergast.

And it wasn’t just a name either, that. Ivy Prendergast was a large and imposing woman, tall and bulky, not fat, although she possessed enormous and eye-catching breasts and with her heels on, most visitors looked up at her. As Da Costa passed the woman they exchanged a quick glance. The door to Ross’s office stood open so Da Costa peered in and spoke. “Ryland, have a minute?”

If any man ever desired to be an egg, it was Ryland J. Ross. He was short and round with a head the famed Belgian detective Hercule Poirot would covet. Ross had for many years sported an imaginative comb-over, then one day just shaved everything off and had been that way ever since. People called him ‘The Egg’, ‘Egghead’, ‘Humpty’, etc. but not to his face. His legal mind was almost encyclopedic and he had steered Hawkins’s business ship unfailingly for years.

Ross held up his hand and finished a call, then looked up at Da Costa. “How can I be of assistance, my dear Carman?” Ross spoke warmly, although he did not trust Da Costa much and kept a close eye on her. She was ambitious, and possibly unscrupulous, he thought. But he knew her value and played his cards correctly with her all the time.

“Drew has just brought some things to my attention,“ she remarked, and the next several minutes were spent in discussions about the possible threats to company control.

“So, because of the structure, this fifty-one percent, if held by people working together, could actually tie up not just Documart, but these other seven subsidiaries?”

Ross stroked his chin reflectively, a habit he had developed that prevented him from blurting things out. “Without having more information, you understand, that would be my fear.”

Da Costa regarded Ross’s shiny round head. “Do you think we should tell Stafford?” She never called her boss by his Christian name, except when in conversations with Ross and Downing.

“Should we?” Ross replied with raised eyebrows. “What do we have to tell him?”

Just misgivings, Da Costa pondered, “Right. We need to come up with more.” She murmured.

Ross nodded his egg-shaped noggin.


Feeling a little over-whelmed by all the corporate and conspiracy talk, Melanie wanted to steer things in a different direction. “You’ve added to your tattoos,” she remarked, eying Emily’s tat sleeves, now on both arms. They were a colorful display of tropical birds and flora.

“Hmmm,” Emily noted, gazing down her arms, “I had these done in Mexico when Ange and I were there. It was two months in Jalepa. Hmmmm.” She smiled, remembering. It had been nice, actually. Warm; unhurried. They had drank and smoked and fucked. And then, as it seemed to happen with her, it went away.

“It’s got to be an age thing,” Melanie commented, “I have no desire to mark my body.” She put down her cup; the pot of tea was now finished. Emily sat regarding her with a quirky smile on her lovely face.

Then she stood, and as Melanie watched mesmerized, Emily stripped completely naked and stood before her ‘aunt’. She turned, so that her back and the large, colorful butterfly tattoo above her tailbone was shown, as well as a black scorpion that sat on her left hip. There was also a brightly colored bird on her right ankle. She turned so Melanie could take in the front view again.

Starting with the face that had one nose stud, a diamond, and a nostril ring, the tattoos began with a small spider’s web on her neck, then a rose on one breast and down to a pair of pouty red lips that sat just inches to the left of her shaved pubes.

A double-silver bar pierced her belly button and then a silver labia ring hung from one fat pussy lip. Emily tugged nonchalantly on that now, as Melanie sat transfixed. All of this as well as the full arm sleeves.

“Wow,” Melanie exclaimed, looking dazed. “Wow.”

Emily laughed and dressed in the manner of a person used to being regarded with desire. She sat back down just as Chantico returned.


Carman Da Costa buzzed her boss, and when he responded she announced, “Your car is here, sir.”

“Thank you,” the distinctive voice replied. Hawkins however did not move; he was in thought. With his daughter Emily now at the house, and who knew for how long, he was debating whether he should now head up to San Francisco; there was business there he could attend to, although not urgent. How bad can it be, he wondered to himself at the thought of seeing his child. Bad, he replied again to himself, with a knowing nod.

Why it was that his daughter’s open sexuality, her flawless representation of pure desire, should bother him so was not entirely clear to him. It wasn’t any sexual response on his part; Stafford Hawkins, although he had his unique desires, had not had a real sexual encounter in years. No, it was something else, something more primitive, and he could not shake it. He made up his mind and texted Da Costa with instructions to ready whichever plane was on site. He would be heading off for a couple of days; enough time to think.

Do you need my assistance, Da Costa had texted back.

No, was Hawkins response, just Winters and Hwang; his two assistants; a couple of court jesters, Da Costa thought of them, scrambling around at the king’s bidding.

After she had made the arrangements, Da Costa sat in thought.  Everyone associated with Hawkins, at least as far as business went, were playing roles. No one seemed able to speak directly to him on any concern; they were all busy pandering and catering to him.

A collection of fools, really, she thought. And now this whole shares thing; who would bring that to him, and what would he do with the knowledge? He needed to know. How the ridiculous becomes ordinary, she thought. A strange human condition, this whole business; accepted servitude. But was she any better?

“Off with their heads,” she remembered the Queen of Hearts shouting in Alice in Wonderland. Time to go home, Carman, she admonished herself, you’re starting to lose it.

(End of Chapter 01)

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A Field of Candles by LongDarkRoad Chapter 22 Consequence Yet Hanging In The Stars

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 22 Consequence Yet Hanging In The Stars

“I’ve arrived, my love,” Louis Doukas announced into his cell.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Daphne replied. “I will be in London by this evening. Call you in a couple of days.”

“Very good, goodbye for now.”


Beth put her arm around Susan and looked into her eyes. She smiled, as she said, “And it’s what you want, too?”

Susan leaned forward and hugged her partner, then sat back. “I don’t think the two of us being formally married will change anything, but I love you so much. It would be like a dream, Beth. But why now?”

“Why not?” Beth tilted her head to one side in a way she had that Susan found so compelling. “I’m tired of not being a public couple. I want us together; I want everyone to know we’re together. Now that it’s legal, I would ask why not, and why not as soon as we can?”

“Could we wait until after Hailey graduates? I would like to focus on one celebration at a time.”

“Of course, of course. This is a big deal for your, um, our daughter,” Beth smiled at her own comment, ”we don’t want to upstage her. Let’s plan the wedding, and it will be small and intimate, for early fall. How’s that?” Susan smiled warmly; she could not believe the love she felt.

They sat in silence for a while. “You should probably plan to sell your place, and make arrangements for Hailey and see what Nicole’s plans are.” Beth added quietly.

Susan nodded slowly. “Yes, I know. Once Hailey is off to college we can take steps. As far as Nicole goes, she’s in much better shape now and she knew this was going to happen, some day. I’m prepared to help her get her own place, of some kind.”

Beth stroked Susan’s arm, “That is very generous of you, Susan. But then, you are a thoughtful person.”

Susan looked up. “I owe Nicole a lot, you know.” Beth looked at her. “It was she who opened the door that you walked through; that changed my life to this, special moment.” They both nodded their heads, embracing gently.


It had been just a week since Sophie had been taken. She and the others were kept quiet with tranquilizers for their journey to Tampa. When they arrived there, the three were taken to a secluded house, where the process of breaking them down began.

They were kept naked, raped repeatedly on the first day by the three men holding them, subjected to water boarding, forced to drink each other’s urine, shocked with battery cables on their vaginas and nipples and beaten until finally a savior arrived; in the form of feisty, fifty-year-old Sheila Galvin.

Galvin would ‘rescue’ the girls and take them to a room at Club Scorpion, the collection of buildings near Palmetto Beach owned by Doukas that included a dance bar, a hotel and a private gentleman’s lounge that featured a high stakes poker room with ‘exotic dancers’.

For certain clients and for the right price, one of the dancers would join you in one of the suites. The girls were all young (under twenty-three) and lovely. They came in a variety of colors, too. None of them were there by choice; they were all like Sophie and her two companions; taken and broken; and Sheila Galvin was part of that process.

Once Sheila had the girls at Scorpion, she would tend to them and feed them and comfort them. She would then show them the posh and luxurious club rooms of the venue; this place was not some seedy bar; it was an

exclusive club and looked like it. Then she would talk with them.

At this point they were still somewhat disorientated but intent on getting out. Galvin would offer them the chance to stay and work or to leave. Virtually every girl would choose to leave; Sophie and the two others chose that. The problem was, they were released alone, with nothing but a thin cotton dress, no undergarments at all and a pair of sandals, and they were literally dumped on the streets.

The girls had no money, no cell and no I.D. They were just out there in a city they did not know. Within minutes of being ‘free’, a police car, a real Tampa Bay police car, would come by and stop.

The car would have two real police officers in it, a male and a female, and these officers would have the, in Sophie’s case lone, girl climb in the back.

The officers; however, were part of a group that Doukas controlled, and they would take the girl to another house where they would brutally assault her for the remainder of that day and night, before taking her to a warehouse where she would be placed with a desperate group of women who were being sold to a brothel of some sort. This part was actually real; the women held there were being shipped off, because they were not the type needed for Club Scorpion or any of Doukas’s other clubs.

This was exactly what happened next to Sophie.

Again, Sheila Galvin showed up and rescued her, then took her back to the club; this time she made it clear; Sophie didn’t have a lot of choices; work and ‘earn’ her freedom, or be set loose to be picked up again; and this time there would be no rescue.

Occasionally, a girl at this point would just be traumatized so much she would go into a psychotic state and become a huge problem. More often than not though, the girls, as Sophie did, would accept the situation; they had a nice bed in a dorm-like room; they were well fed; it was a high class place, and Sheila, in her most motherly way, would assure them that it would not take them long to pay their way out with what they would ‘earn’ as dancers.

The reality of course was that no one ever paid their way out. After eighteen months to two years, the girls would be sold into straight prostitution in some place like Mexico or Thailand; and that would be that.

For now, once the girl accepted, she would be taught exotic dancing by a professional; they were also taught how to give a proper blow job, which was usually as much as the girls would be asked to do for the first while. Occasionally, a very important client would get to fuck one of them, and they would earn a ‘bonus’.

The girls would also be introduced to drugs; cocaine at first and then heroin. The scenario that would be used for the first few weeks would see the girls have their hit and then have sex with each other. They not only bonded but began to look forward to this time. Eventually, for most, it would become more important than escaping.

Sophie learned to dance very well quickly. She was athletic and agile to begin with, and her routines became popular, although she would not be known as Sophie. From the moment of her first hit, Sheila Galvin made it clear that Sophie was gone; Sapphire now took her place.

**** ****

Tatjana’s device notified her, and since Marie was out for a while, the girl sent back the ‘Now’ response. It was good that Prescott stuck to routines; she was extremely predictable. Tatjana’s device now said “5 mins”. She switched back to her game but in a few minutes jumped up and went to the door, glancing at the clock on her way. Prescott wouldn’t be back for fifteen minutes, anyway.

Opening the door, Tatjana looked out cautiously, then scooted to the stairwell entrance, down the three flights and to the back of the building. She opened the back door and there a brown bag lay propped against the building. She grabbed it, peeked inside, grinned, and raced back upstairs, down the hall and into the apartment. She stuck the bag under her bed, beside the briefcase.

Returning to her device, she printed ‘Got it’ and sent that message. In a moment the reply came back. ‘Good. Leave briefcase out Monday at three, precisely’.

Tatjana sent her reply, ‘Check’; and then went back to her games.


Mary-Anne Jeffries, formerly Rosalind Kane, had arrived a week earlier in San Pedro, Honduras, a country she felt was sufficiently out of the way to not be on Doukas’s radar. She had always wanted to see Central America anyway, with her family having some roots there.

Today she had traveled by car to the city of Trujillo, right on, as expected, the Bay of Trujillo; which was part of the Caribbean Sea. It was amazingly peaceful here, sitting by the water. Kane/Jeffries was enjoying a glass of wine when an interesting-looking, very dark-haired woman at the table across from her nodded and held up her glass. ‘Jeffries’, having had very little in the way of conversation since her ‘escape’, responded with a smile and the raising of her glass.

The woman clearly mulled for a moment and made up her mind, coming over to Jeffries’s table. “Hello,” she said, “you could be a local, but I believe you are a traveler?”

“Yes,” and Rosalind introduced herself as Mary-Anne, something she really had to focus on saying.

“Welcome to Honduras, Mary-Anne. You are British, I take it. I am Dr. Alejandra Caliez.”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor. And, yes I am.”

“Please, call me Alejandra.”

This was nice, thought Rosalind, a friend.


Doukas and Sheffield were sitting on supple leather in the top floor suite of the Hotel Saguaro, Club Scorpion; it was the first time Sheffield had been with her boss since her disclosure in London.

Doukas was here to finalize the sale of the club, etc. to a Tampa area group; in fact, he had decided to sell off all his night clubs. As he had also decided, for now, to avoid the black market trade in stolen art work. Daphne had not said anything; she wouldn’t; it was Doukas’s decision. It was time, he thought, although her reaction to things was always on his mind.

After a few days in New York attending to some business, Doukas had flown here for this one transaction. Sheffield was here finalizing the matter of Sophie and the other two new girls, that would now become part of this bigger deal.

As Doukas finished explaining some particulars, Sheffield nodded and put away her notebook. “So you’ll be heading back to New York?” she asked.

“Yes, I leave tomorrow afternoon, Ms. Sheffield. And you will be there by Friday?”


“And then we will leave for London next week on the seventeenth.”

“Right sir; everything is in place over there. You don’t need Patterson there right away?”

Doukas had set up a movie shoot featuring six youthful-looking girls and Patterson would be doing the video. This would likely be Doukas’s last video for a while, as well.

“No, the next day or so should be fine for him.”

“Right; sir, and now I’ve arranged that, um, special dessert you like.” Sheffield stood and went to the door, talking on her cell as she went. In a minute there was a little knock and she opened the door to Sheila Galvin and two of the new dancers.

Sheffield led the two girls, wearing micro thongs and tops, to where Doukas was sitting. The two knelt and Sheffield smiled her menancing smile, “Good night sir, see you before you leave.”

The two girls looked uncertain. Doukas spoke gently, “And who do we have here?”

“I’m, A-Angel,” the shorter of the two announced.

“And you?” Doukas asked the taller girl.

“I, um, I’m S-Sapphire, sir.”

Doukas smiled at the two lovely young women.


On Monday, as instructed, Tatjana snuck downstairs again and left the briefcase just outside the door. Whoever she was corresponding with had been clear; she then had watched through the window as a man came swiftly out of a doorway, took the briefcase and walked briskly down in the other direction. He was dressed as she was told he would be, so Tatjana relayed the information that the case was gone.


In Philadelphia, it was Nicole William’s birthday. She had shared with Dani, tearfully at the bar the day after Sophie had been taken, all that had happened to her; Sophie, Amara, Sheffield. Dani had just sat and stroked her arm, but said she understood that Nicole did not feel in the least like celebrating this event. She in fact did not feel like doing much of anything.

Today, she was just lying around, now on her second glass of wine, thinking that maybe she should have gone into work. At least at the office there were things to keep her mind busy.


Tuesday, May 16

“Hello, my dear.” Doukas said warmly; he had not

expected a call from Daphne.

“Louis, hello, I’m actually in Washington; surprise! Something came up involving Dionysus and I volunteered to come over and meet with a couple of government officials, you know, be a real director. We’re meeting this afternoon.”

“Well, here we are, not far apart but separated. It is good to have you close; I wish we were closer.”

Daphne laughed. “How is your business going?”

“Just about completed; our plans are to head off early tomorrow morning.”

“Well, that’s good. I will try to call you when I’m done here, just for an update.”

“Very good, my love. So good to hear you. Talk soon.”


Hailey came down and sat beside Nicole on the couch. “I notice you didn’t have much of a celebration last week for your, big day.” She said quietly; something had been up with Nicole for a few days now; she was quiet and withdrawn, even Hailey noticed.

Nicole smiled sadly at the young woman; “Yeah, sometimes shit happens, right Kid? Just gimme a couple of days and I should be good.”

“You sure?” Hailey asked, concern in her eyes.

“Yes!” Nicole replied, as positively as she could.

“Nothing I can do?” Hailey asked again, this time stroking Nicole’s arm gently.

Nicole did grin a little at this, “Soon, maybe, you little hot box.”


Wednesday, May 17 5:30 AM

The grounds crew took everyone’s bags, etc., including Sheffield’s briefcase, which she glanced at protectively as it was loaded; all bags were to be loaded by authorized personnel, according to security; and it was just going onto the jet she was standing beside, so Sheffield grudgingly accepted that this was okay. 

The man with the case had one other bag; he put the case under the seat indicated for Sheffield, not the gentleman, and the other bag in a compartment. The second crew member was taking a little longer loading food and beverages, but he was new so that might explain it.

It would not explain; however, that when the first crew member went out for a moment, this second man opened a bag on his cart and removed a briefcase that was identical to Sheffield’s.

Tatjana had done her job well.

The new crew member rapidly exchanged his case for the one under the seat, and then loaded the other items and was pushing his cart out when crew member one returned for a final check.

This completed, he stuck his head out to announce that the two passengers could board.

In a few moments, the Dionysus Cessna CJ4 was ready to go. The pilot had both passengers in their seats; he checked his manifesto; Doukas and Sheffield. Two and two only, so he was good. Everything was loaded and the tower now gave him his cue to taxi onto the runway. In a few minutes they would be on their way for the seven hour flight to London.

Wednesday, May 17 – Afternoon

Nicole was busy at her desk, she had lost track of time with her review of a witness testimony, when she became aware of voices; for some reason, people were talking in louder voices than usual, here at van der Strom. Nicole put down her pen and ventured into the hallway, and the sound was definitely coming from the staff lounge area.

As she headed there, one of the tax lawyers who she

hardly ever saw, let alone talked to, came from another hall and the two walked a few steps before the woman said, “Is it true, what I’ve heard?”

Nicole responded in confusion, “I don’t know anything, I’ve been stuck in my office all morning; ate my lunch there even.”

At that point they were at the lounge and the babble of voices came clearly to them. Nicole saw Dani, at the edge of a group who were all watching the wide screen television that was on one wall. Squeezing up behind her, Nicole asked, “What the fuck is going on, D?”

Dani turned, and her generally happy face was serious, “You’ve heard nothing?”

“No, tell me what you’ve heard.”

Dani pointed to the screen, where a photo of a jet plane was being shown, “They say a jet belonging to Dionysus International went down in the Atlantic this morning. We were concerned about Peter, but nothing yet.”

With her heart pounding madly, Nicole asked, “Do they know who was on board?” She tried really hard to keep her voice even.

A woman to her left said, “Um, they think the CEO and maybe an assistant. And the pilot of course.”

“The CEO of Dionysus might have been on the plane,” came from the front.

“Oh, he was. It was his plane. He was headed for London. The plane went down about an hour out from England,” the same woman added.

Nicole watched in amazement as a photo of Louis Doukas came on to the screen. Oh please, oh please, oh please make Sheffield be on board too, Nicole prayed silently.

As the others in the room discussed the tragedy, and could Mr. van der Strom be involved etc. etc., Nicole made her way back to her office and once safely inside punched the air in a quiet, silent, but enthusiastic celebration, that included a dance.

Yes! Yes, yes!  Yes. Fucking YES!!!


Thursday, May 18 

The months of planning coming to an end, Tatjana reached under her bed and pulled out the bag she had stashed there. Inside the bag were a pair of latex gloves, a syringe and a Ruger 22 Pistol with a suppressor. Putting on the gloves, Tatjana held the pistol in her left hand and walked down the hall and then into Marie Prescott’s little office. Prescott was at her desk and glanced up quickly as the girl entered.

“Hello, Tat. How can I help you?” Prescott asked, focusing on the report before her. Tatjana went to the woman’s left, as Prescott was left-handed and then raised the pistol, firing one shot efficiently into the woman’s temple, with Prescott jerking once, then crumpling.

Tatjana removed the ammo clip and pressed the dead woman’s fingers onto a couple of the shells, and then onto the gun, before removing the suppressor and dropping the pistol on the ground, as if it had fallen from her hand.

“Don’t call me Tat,” the girl smiled as she left the office. Moving quickly, she went to her room, took the small pack containing her few clothes and her game, and left. The room looked like a guest room; there was not a single remnant of the ‘girl’. She then went to the bathroom and removed her toothbrush from the glass.

Leaving the flat, ‘Tatjana’ then went down the hall to Mrs. Holmes’s apartment, Prescott and Holmes being the only two people in the building who knew of her existence. She knocked quietly on the door and waited for the elderly woman. Holmes opened the door to the smiling face of the delightful young girl she sometimes watched over. “Yes, Tatjana, how can I help you?” She asked.

“Drink?” ‘Tatjana’ said, tilting her head and smiling.

“Of course, my dear, right this way.” Holmes turned to

head back down to her kitchen, but ‘Tatjana’ quickly brought up the syringe and plunged it into the woman’s neck. Holmes collapsed in the hallway; if anyone were to autopsy the elderly woman, the cause of death would be heart failure; but no one would.

Two deaths on the same floor of an apartment building on the same day? It was a coincidence; a suicide and a heart attack, simple as that.

The young woman then went quickly down the stairs and out, throwing the suppressor, wrapped in paper, into a dumpster. She moved rapidly down the alleyway and then along a street. She walked four blocks, coming at last to a squat, tired-looking brick building. She felt under a magazine stand out front and came out with an envelope, inside which was a key. She took the key inside the building, which contained a storage company with lockers, and used the key to open a locker and remove a bag.

Taking the bag, and clearly with a plan in mind, ‘Tatjana’, or whatever her name really was, hustled two blocks to a mangy looking hotel. Inside her bag was a room key, not a modern electronic key card, but an actual and ancient brass key. It indicated the second floor where she found a room.

Half an hour later, her hair dyed black, and cut short, her clothes changed, the girl who emerged looked older than the one who had entered, and Asian; matching her passport. She headed for the bus depot.

A week later she would be somewhere in Eastern Europe.


Friday, May 19

Nicole sat in DiNardo’s restaurant; it was close to her office and she loved the food. She was sitting by the window; she wanted light. It was two days after the announcement of the plane crash; there had been no more news. The seas had calmed where the crash site was located; there was debris, but no reports of bodies.

It didn’t matter; today was ‘Hailey’s birthday

celebration’, something Nicole had put off for months.

But it was also, well, mostly, for Nicole.

She had been contemplating this day for months, as a wonderful birthday present for herself. A celebration for Hailey and then the beginning of the process to turn the girl into Nicole’s personal sex-toy.

Little did she anticipate that the most incredible of presents, the plane crash that eliminated her two hated enemies, would over-shadow this day.

But it didn’t matter; a birthday present was a birthday present, and she was completely blown away by events; and while sadness over Amara and Sophie lingered, for the first time in a long while, she felt okay.

And tonight she would initiate Hailey into her world of submission.

She was sipping wine as Hailey entered, looking amazing with her blonde hair flowing and a simple dress highlighting her body. As she approached, Nicole stood and they embraced, kissing cheeks.

“Hey, kid, ‘Happy Birthday’.” They both laughed.

“Thanks for this, Nicole. Too bad I can’t have some wine with you.” She made a pouty face.

“I’ll give you some wine tonight, as part of our…fun.” Nicole smiled.

“Oh God, Nicole, why can’t we just go home now? This is unbearable.” Hailey howled.

Nicole laughed, “It’s worth waiting for, sweet girl. Let’s enjoy lunch and think about being together tonight. Oh, here…” She handed Hailey a wrapped box. “Go ahead, open it.”

“Are you commanding me, my mistress?” Hailey smiled and Nicole laughed. Hailey pulled off the bow and wrapping and removed the article. It was a black, leather dog collar, with ‘HAILEY’ stamped into it. “Oh, fuck, Nicole, this is too much.”

“You’re to wear it at home all the time.” Nicole said,

feeling her arousal growing.

Hailey looked across the table with absolute devotion on her face.

“Happy Birthday, belated though it may be, to us both!” Nicole announced with a laugh.

Later, as lunch was finishing, Nicole glanced up at one of the screens in the restaurant. She gazed in astonishment at a press conference now being held.

Being interviewed was none other than Louis Doukas.

(End of Chapter 22)


(Epilogue) Friday, May 19 (earlier in the day)

He had always been fortunate, really, in many ways.

It had now been two days since the crash, and as Louis Doukas read his fourth newspaper that morning, he knew he had to go public with the fact that he was still alive.

The Fates had indeed smiled; he never got on the plane; a phone call from Daphne staying him. With her being free and in the states much earlier than expected, and then arriving in town that day, Doukas had decided to stay and then travel with her accompanying him later. At the last minute he had been able to get Patterson to accompany Sheffield, the plan being to begin the series of ‘Young Beauties’ videos before Doukas arrived.

And so it went; Sheffield, Patterson, the pilot and the co-pilot dying over the Atlantic, but Louis Doukas surviving, as he always had.

Today, Doukas remained in one of his New York condos with Daphne, but with no one else’s knowledge.

“Are you notifying people today, Louis?” Daphne asked quietly. She understood the need for some secrecy. The plane crash was sabotage; in no way accidental, and whoever had planned and carried it out was still out there; and with Sheffield gone, Doukas was scrambling.

“Yes, I will call in a few minutes and set up an

interview with CNN or someone. It is time; past time, really.” He chuckled ruefully. “All my adoring fans need to know.”

He then stood and pantomimed scoring a goal or winning a race, arms straight up in the air, fingers making the  ‘V’ for victory salute.

“Louis Doukas lives!! The crowd goes wild!!” He called.

He then looked at Daphne and felt…grateful; humble even, if that was possible for the man.

They both smiled, Daphne gently shaking her blonde head.

The man was truly amazing.

(A Field of Candles By LongDarkRoad

– The End)

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A Field of Candles by LongDarkRoad Chapter 21 For Without Light There Can Be No Peace

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 21 For Without Light There Can Be No Peace 

It was two-thirty in the morning. Nicole had decided to open a bottle of wine, to help with the ‘discussion’, which was more of a confession or a disclosure, Nicole’s legal mind struggling with how to frame what happened to Geneva and share that with her daughter.

Nicole had begun by talking about her own desires, and then Sophie’s, trying to show that sex is a powerful driving force, and you can’t always explain it.

“So, my mom is a slave. A sex slave.” Sophie murmured, sipping on her second glass of wine. “Hmmmm. So what can her, owner; fuck, that’s some messed up shit. Her fucking owner; what can she do? Or, um, I guess, what does she do?”

Nicole went through what she knew from discussions with Christina. The woman Geneva had been sold to, liked having a true slave; someone to wait on her and do her bidding. There wasn’t a dungeon or anything like that. Christina did sleep in a large cage-like thing, and she had a water dish to drink from, but there were no whipping posts or the like. Geneva provided oral sex to the woman three or four times a week, and possibly to some of the woman’s friends. That was as much as Nicole knew.

Sophie sat and pondered, an odd look on her face. “So, you don’t know why my mom, um, wants this?”

Nicole sipped some wine, “Why do you…want to be spanked?” She asked Sophie in return. Sophie simply shook her head in reply, and Nicole continued. “Would you like to see your mom, in action so to speak?”

There was no hesitation when Sophie shook her head assertively and said, “No, nope, nada. No, no, no.”

Nicole laughed softly. “I understand.” They sat in silence for a moment. “I would like to take you to Christina.” Nicole said quietly.

“Why?” Sophie looked at her, but Nicole noted the physical response; the girl’s prominent nipples (Sophie had on a shirt but it was open, her breasts visible) hardening.

“Oh, I would like to see you with someone who knows what she’s doing, you know, with paddles and whips.” Sophie sipped her wine as well, as Nicole continued in a sultry voice. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? We could even arrange to have some people watch you being punished.” Sophie did not reply, but her small smile and lowered eyes said a great deal.


Meaghan Browning looked out the window of the Greyhound as it sped along. Well, she thought, another fork stuck in the road for me. She was on her way to Buffalo, to live with her sister. For now. Who knew? She could be back, some day, but not for a long while.

Her last ‘partner’, a mild-looking woman in her late forties, had turned out to be psycho-of-the-year, as Meaghan related it, eventually keeping her imprisoned. Meaghan’s natural cunning and determination had allowed her to escape, but she couldn’t stay in Philly.

The woman was a judge and had connections. Meaghan’s sister had a different last name and no social media presence, so it would be harder to track her. It was the chance Meaghan had to take; she had no choices really. She put in her ear buds; Taylor Swift, Teardrops on my Guitar was playing.

The fork’s stuck in me, she thought, as the landscape whizzed by in a blur.


The following weekend Sophie had had a commitment, so it was now almost two weeks since she and Nicole had had their talk.

But at this moment, she was now sitting in the back of Nicole’s car, wearing a thin cotton dress, a collar and nothing else, with nipple clamps already in place, a butt plug wedged into her anus and two steel balls nestled in her wet pussy.

She was being taken to Christina’s and her thoughts were going everywhere. She was so aroused she thought she might pass out; but she was also scared silly. She was unable to say anything much; however, the ball gag with the word slave printed on it prevented much, apart from grunts.

Nicole parked her car at the rear of Christina’s large house; the sex toy business must be doing well for her, Nicole noted, as she clipped a leash to Sophie’s collar and tied her hands behind her back. Nicole, who was looking pretty hot herself in a short, tight, black dress, then led the tall girl up the steps and in through the back door, before ehading down the stairs to a large, open room that was carpeted and decorated in a ‘love store’ theme.

Three couples, male and female, as well as Christina and her female partner were there, standing or sitting, all with drinks. A sideboard containing snacks and finger foods was against one wall. All eyes turned to the attractive young woman who was being brought in.

Sophie was placed in the center of the room as the group settled their chairs around in a loose circle. As Sophie glanced around she was interested that the three couples were different races; one white, one black and one brown. Christina’s partner looked to be Native American. It’s a mini U.N., popped into Sophie’s head.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Christina announced as she undid and then refastened Sophie’s hands above her on a hook, before untying the dress strap and letting the top of Sophie’s dress fall away, revealing the lovely, clamped breasts, to an appreciative response of murmurs and clapping, “I’m pleased to present the lovely Sophie for tonight’s pleasure and amusement. Remember, no punishment that will leave more than a small welt is allowed. You may begin.”

A tall blonde woman, late thirties dressed in an elegant gown, strode forward and unclamped Sophie’s nipples before fastening her mouth over one lovely bud, Sophie responding by writhing and moaning as well as she could with the gag. The woman then lowered the gag to hang around Sophie’s neck and placed her large, red-lipped mouth over the girl’s, sucking her tongue aggressively.

Nicole said quietly to Christina, “I think I’ll leave you to it, it’s too hard for me to just watch.”

“Right. Picking her up tomorrow?”

“Yeah, does eleven work?”

“Sure, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing happens to her; nothing bad anyways, you have my word.” Christina smiled.

“Thanks, see you tomorrow.”


“More strudel, dear?” Daphne asked as Doukas cleaned up his dessert plate.

He grimaced and held his stomach, “You, dear, are trying to make me fat. I’m on the treadmill each day now for five k’s, just to fend off your efforts.” They both laughed.

They were sitting on the front patio of Daphne’s home in Geneva; with them was Elena, who had moved here to act as new director Daphne Powell’s assistant, although she had become much more than that. Doukas was happy with the relationship between ‘his two girls’; the days he and Daphne were together he would share her bed. The times they were apart, Elena would be there. And the young woman still provided enthusiastic oral sex for him, with Daphne often being present, offering comments and encouragement and occasionally joining in.

It was a very happy arrangement for all, with or without strudel.


When Nicole returned the next morning to pick her up,  she found Sophie sitting on the back step with

Christina, talking like old friends.

“So?” Nicole asked, as she approached them.

Sophie turned to Christina and burst out laughing before the woman said, “Your girl was a huge, like massive, hit. Oh my God, Nicole. And Sophie had some fun too, didn’t you sugar?” Christina asked, leaning in to kiss the girl.

Nicole felt a small stab of jealousy, seeing these two so comfortable with each other. But then Sophie smiled at Nicole and said “Ready?”

“Let’s go, kid.” And with a final kiss for Christina, Sophie lifted her tall frame up and strode to the waiting car. On the way back home, she filled Nicole in on a night that was; “tying up, tying down, spanking and fucking. Lots of fucking. And some sucking too. Well, lots actually.”

Nicole smirked at this answer and they drove in silence for a bit. “Did you do any of the…sucking?” she asked, quietly.

Sophie had a little grin, then replied, “I sucked and fucked each of the three men. I was with everyone, Nicole, at some point, including Christina’s partner. I sucked everyone.” She smiled.

Nicole was surprised by this; she should probably have clarified things with Christina; maybe she should simply have known. “And you were ok, with the guys?”

Sophie turned to regard Nicole, “I was into it, Nicole. I am not keen on sucking dicks, I wasn’t last night and I’m not today, but I was into it. It was an orgy and I just went with it; everyone did. It was a group fuck, for real. Somebody was in my pussy at some, you know, point, all fucking night and I mean fucking.” She laughed.

Nicole considered this, then asked, “So, what do you think, now, Sofe? I know it’s just the one night, but we’ve had, well, some fun too.”

The girl looked tired but relaxed; she just shook her

head with a smile on her face. “I don’t know; it was an experience for sure.”

After a few more minutes of driving and her house coming up soon, Nicole asked her important question, “So, how many times did you come?”

Sophie laughed out loud, “Oh, God, you would ask that. But how’s this; I lost count.”

“Seriously?” Nicole asked with a smile.

Sophie nodded, “Seriously.”


As April came to a close, Olivia Sheffield had resigned herself to the fact that her relationship with Louis Doukas was changed, and would likely never be what it once was. He had never said anything to her, in the days and now weeks since her announcement to him. He was professional and cordial, but there was a ‘coolness’ now in their exchanges. Doukas himself had changed and Sheffield was pretty sure she knew why.

She had certainly been kept busy, though, established now in New York City. And most of what she was doing was with legitimate Dionysus activity, hardly anything ever with his…shadier endeavours.

But now she had to catch the short flight to Philadelphia. Mr. Doukas had just given her permission to do something she had needed to do for a while.


Nicole eyed the end of April differently than many. For her the thing was that May was upcoming and with that, her birthday, which caused her some somber reflection, as she would land on the big three-o. Dani for one did not let Nicole forget the ‘momentous occasion’.

“Gonna’ need my help in blowin’ out all those candles, Ma’am?” Dani asked impishly, with Nicole responding with a one finger salute.

Dani laughed and clapped her hands.


Nicole answered the page from Dani, “Hey kid, what’s up?”

“A visitor for you in board room three,” Dani said, more formally for her than was usual, indicating to Nicole that the visitor was still standing there. Nicole stood and headed off; when she entered the board room her heart stopped for a second. Why did this woman affect her like this? She wondered as usual, for sitting there like a large tabby was Olivia Sheffield.

“Ms. Martin,” the woman spoke, that light Irish intonation making the words sound almost pleasant, “how good to see you.”

“Ms. Sheffield. What brings you to Philadelphia?” Nicole replied as calmly as she could.

“Oh, just checking up on our little operation here; now that we are not in contact with you, and van der Strom is settled in London, we are, um, disconnected.” The woman smiled but her eyes stayed hard. Why does she dislike me so, Nicole wondered.

Nicole had remained standing, just a few feet in from the door, “Well, there are always emails and text messages,” She said lightly. “No need to feel, disconnected.” She looked at the woman and smiled.

Sheffield laughed, but even her merriment had a sourness to it. “Well, so much for pleasantries; down to business, shall we. It seems we are not completely done with you, my dear. Mr. Doukas has, unknown to me when we made our little deal, kept some documents about you.”

At this point she opened an I-pad and had Nicole focus on the screen. More blackmail, Nicole thought immediately, as the papers showing now had signatures forged by Nicole early on, and as Sheffield scrolled though them, Nicole’s heart began the usual panicked beating. Would this never end?

“What do you want, Ms. Sheffield?” She was able to ask evenly, as she worked again to keep the rage out of her voice. How she despised this woman.

The odious woman smiled again. “This, you understand, comes from Mr. Doukas himself. He appreciates that we had a deal, and he is prepared to sign off on you, as it were, with one more task for you; then he will turn over all he has on you; everything I had is gone. So that’s the offer.”

Nicole knew there were not a lot of options here, there never were with Doukas; she probably should have asked for more definite confirmation with her last deal with Sheffield, but in the end, she was under a very large thumb and at their mercy. She did believe that, since this was coming directly from the man, that it would be the conclusion. “So, without being paranoid here, Ms. Sheffield, how can I be certain that Mr. Doukas is approving this last…task?”

Sheffield took out her cell, pressed numbers, listened and spoke. “Good day, sir. Yes. Yes. I have Martin with me now.” She passed the phone to Nicole, who spent possibly a minute in conversation with Doukas, who seemed surprisingly pleasant; but in the end she was satisfied that things were as Sheffield had outlined them and that Doukas approved.

“Fine,” Nicole said in a business-like way as she handed back the cell. “What is the…task?”

Sheffield removed a large envelope from her case. “We need one more girl from you, Ms. Martin. Or, more precisely, we need your assistance in acquiring this girl.”

“I have a few names left from before, I can begin….”

“No, Ms. Martin, more research is unnecessary. We have identified our targets; there are two, but we will settle on one.” She took two photos from the envelope and laid them on the board room table. The photos had clearly been taken outside Susan’s (Nicole’s) house, and they showed two young women: Hailey and Sophie. “We want one of these lovely young ladies, Ms. Martin. We don’t care which one. You decide, but we want one.”

Nicole stood, looking in shock at the photos. “You’ve

been watching our home?” she asked, quietly.

“Oh come now, Ms. Martin, you must be the most naïve woman in Philadelphia. We monitor all our assets, for heaven’s sakes. Now, make your choice, I need to be leaving.” As Nicole stood transfixed, Sheffield prompted her. “If you don’t choose, we will simply take both. I am giving you the chance to keep one.”

Even though she was not a violent person, at that moment, Nicole believed, if she had a gun with her, she would put a bullet into the arrogant, fat, fucking face of this woman.

After Nicole had decided and felt like she needed to lay down or be sick, Sheffield paused her, “Not so fast, Bitch, you have one last job…for me.” As she said this, Sheffield lifted her skirts and pulled her underwear over, revealing the amazingly hairy vagina that Nicole remembered all too well. “Get to work, Whore, we still own your ass. The faster you please me, the faster you get out of here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nicole was hurrying down a hallway; she desperately needed to find a washroom. Ms. Sheffield meanwhile was waiting for the elevator, the annoying smile still on her round, satisfied face.

Because Sheffield had also come to deliver some sad news, but she had waited until after Nicole had pleasured her; waited until the very nice orgasm had subsided; until she had allowed the young woman to stand, angry and humiliated, as she, Olivia Sheffield gathered herself; she had waited until that moment to say. “Oh, by the way, your companion, Amara Manos, has disappeared. We are fearful of what this means. There has been no word now for weeks.”

Sheffield had stood, trying hard not to give anything away, as Nicole Martin wilted visibly before her. “Good day, Ms. Martin,” she had murmured, brushing past her, a pleasurable feeling of victory running through her.

But for now Sheffield needed to focus on the new task at hand; putting together a team for Saturday; Sophie van der Strom was coming down and the team needed to be in place to snatch her. Snatch, Sheffield mused, I like that word.

In the washroom down the hall, Nicole rested after her spell of retching had ended. She was on her knees, arms on the seat, head hanging down, drool from her mouth dripping into the bowl. When she felt strong enough, she flushed and pulled herself to sit; then the sobs began; wracking her body. Amara was dead; she knew that. That fucking bitch Sheffield did not need to say anything; Nicole knew; Amara was gone and Sophie would be gone and she was responsible.

Fuck that woman; fuck her straight to Hell.


“So how long will you be in New York?” Daphne asked, as she and Doukas were now inside, sitting on the couch, side by side; the lights very low and the darkness outside providing, strangely, a feeling of safety. Elena had already gone to bed, but these two were relaxed, sipping Drambuie and chatting.

“I will leave in four or five days and be there for, oh, three weeks or so, half of May actually.”

“Is this Dionysus business or…?”

Doukas chuckled; Daphne was always perceptive and non-judgemental. “Mostly Dionysus; you know, since you came into my life, the other things have…receded somewhat.”

“You still own brothels,” she murmured.

“Night clubs my dear, please.” He murmured in turn.

“Night clubs with attractive naked women who will perform sex. Ok, got it.” She kissed his cheek. “Why, um, haven’t you asked me more about my time in that world?” she asked quietly. “Not interested? Jealous?” She poked him.

He put an arm around her. “I have, wondered. There is a bit of jealousy I will admit. Mostly I think you share what you wish to share, as you did with Lady Agatha. But I am curious, a little.”

“Well, you know I worked for an agency with a very exclusive client list, right? Wealthy business men, politicians, even the lords and ladies, as you know. Dukes and duchesses. So I never knew the life of the street walker, or that sort of thing. I was always in luxury, really, even if it wasn’t mine; estates, fancy hotels, yachts, resorts. It was exciting and at times over-whelming for a young woman.”

Doukas sipped some liqueur. “Did you end up making much money?”

Daphne waved her hand, like she was shooing away a fly, at this thought. “I guess, that’s how unsophisticated I was. So we’re talking the nineties, right? The client would pay a £1000 for a night, or thirty-five hundred for the weekend. It was an eighty-twenty split, the agency and the girl.”

“That’s some serious money, which emphasizes my point about some of my, activities. I have been providing girls to agencies like yours, for years. It has been very profitable, which is why I still own several clubs, including one in Tampa, which is part of my reason for going to the states.” He sipped some more. “But even twenty percent of what you are talking, you would have been able to put some money aside.”

She snuggled into him, “I did, put away some. But when I married Anthony, and saw real wealth, my savings seemed so silly. But Anthony was generous, even before the divorce. And now the money I received from you. It boggles my mind what I have now. I could have had more then, but young and foolish, you know the drill.”

Doukas nodded his head. “Ever miss the excitement of …the old days?” Doukas murmured.

Daphne sat quietly for a while. “No, not a bit. With you in my life I have all the excitement I need.”

They both chuckled.


Sophie grabbed her back pack and slid out of her bus seat; the routine was known now; grab a taxi and be at Nicole’s in, usually, fifteen minutes. She checked her cell for messages.



“Yes, ‘Z’, how are you?”

“Good, good as can be expected for my years.” The man known as Z sighed. “But I’m not calling for me; I have heard that your, friend, is missing.”

Gilad sighed and lit a smoke. “Yes, that is correct.”

“And you fear the worse?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I do. She has been out of contact long enough now that one must ask, what has happened? If she was in difficulty, she would have found a way to reach me. That she has been dark this long means one thing, she is gone. There is no other explanation.”

“You believe that Doukas, found out something? Maybe connected you to her? Decided to eliminate her?”

“Again, I do not know, but that makes sense. She only worked for him, and coming on the heels of that Austria affair, it certainly is suspicious.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, before Z spoke quietly, “I will light a candle for you and your friend. I know she meant something special to you.”

“Thank you, Z. That is thoughtful and appreciated.”

“Yes. For without light, there can be no peace.”


As the taxi pulled up in front of Nicole’s place, Sophie’s cell now buzzed. It was a message from Nicole telling Sophie to just come in.

The tall girl took the steps by twos and entered with a “Hello”, walking down the hall. A movement to her right surprised her and then there was a quick stab of pain as a needle went into her shoulder. She saw two men’s faces before things went dark.

The two men carried Sophie, now out cold, through the back to a waiting van, dumped her into the back, and then headed off. They would be in Washington in two and a half hours, and then Sophie would join two other young women who were bound for Doukas’s ‘night club’ in Tampa, Florida.

All this arranged by the efficient Olivia Sheffield.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the house, Nicole was tied naked and face down on her bed. Sheffield, with a broad grin on her face, was proceeding to slap Nicole’s ass with a broad belt; Nicole, never big on pain, was crying and pleading, but her heavily-taped mouth prevented any sounds.

Once Sheffield was satisfied with her work there, she removed her own skirt, pantyhose and panties (sensible white cotton of course, no silly thongs riding up her plump ass) and then tied a belt around her waist and inserted a phallus into the holder of the harness.

The green, hard rubber penis had a two inch stem at the base that Sheffield guided into her now moist vagina. Spreading some gel over Nicole’s tight brown anus, Sheffield inserted one, then two and finally three fingers into the back opening, aggressively pushing and stretching. Once satisfied that this was ready, she guided her green cock into the dark hole, pushed it all the way in and then began vigorously fucking Nicole’s ass, slapping it hard as she pumped.

“Enjoying this, Ms. Martin?” Sheffield grunted, feeling exhilarated, but also knowing this was likely the last time she would deal with this woman; she wanted her to remember this last visit. “By the way.” She spat out between thrusts, “Manos died quickly, in case you’re wondering. One bullet through the heart. And your girl Sophie, is being taken to one of our clubs. In a couple of days she will be serving selected clients. I’ll send you some pictures. Ohhh, um, oh fuck, Martin you whore, I’m coming. Yes. Ahhhh, fuck! Fuck! Yes, yes, YESSSSSS!”

(End of Chapter 21)

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A Field of Candles Chapter 20 Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad  

Chapter 20 Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire 

Nils Woodford’s death sent minor shockwaves out to the business world; the board of directors of Dionysus was certainly shaken; Grant Shillings, in particular.

However, the Dionysus CEO worked quickly to calm the waters, Louis Doukas being the most solemn and thoughtful he could be; quieting concerns, reassuring the alarmed, and acting every inch the decisive leader of an international corporation.

The first thing he did was install a new director; something the board could do on an interim basis until the next AGM. Not many people knew Daphne Powell, but when it was learned she currently owned three percent of Dionysus stock, it was clear she was a person of substance. The board took a little convincing, but Doukas was nothing if not convincing, and Powell was appointed.

The whole business had taken over a week but now things were quietly settling down and Sheffield thought she should now inform her boss about Amara Manos; and she wanted to do it in person.

Doukas had remained in London, with Daphne now joining him, both staying at the Ambra right by the Thames. It was arranged that Sheffield would fly in on Saturday, and as she conveyed, they had a number of things to discuss, including the disappearance of Rosalind Kane and the chatter about Doukas being targeted.

But for tonight, Doukas had a suggestion. At that moment, he and Daphne were enjoying ‘afternoon tea’, although both were actually having coffee, and a very nice selection of pastry at the hotel restaurant. “So, you are enjoying the prestige of being a director of Dionysus, my dear?” Doukas asked, a twinkle in his eye, which Powell did not miss.

“Of course, my love, the crowds part as I come down the

street. I know how the queen must feel.” They both laughed. “But it was a surprise, Louis, to discover I owned so much company stock. Am I able to fire you and run off with the cash?”

Doukas put down his cup and looked across the table with affection. “Actually, the stocks are held by you and a subsidiary of mine, so it would be challenging for you to sell. And no, one director cannot have me fired, although you could try for a coup.”

She smiled. “No, I think I’ll keep you. I’m kind of getting used to you. Kind of.” She smiled again.

He nodded. “So guess what; I am thinking of where to go for dinner tonight.”

“Well, of course you are, food being one of your pleasures, as we have discussed. I look forward to whatever you choose.”

“You know London; why not suggest something?”

“No, no. I like having you do this. It’s a surprise then and special.”

Doukas regarded Daphne a moment before adding, “Speaking of special, I was thinking of inviting the lovely Elena along, just so the two of you can meet, you understand.”

Daphne laughed out loud at this. “Oh Louis, Louis. Louis, you crack me up. But seriously, invite the girl. I do want to see my competition.”

“There is no competition, my dear, and I want you to know that.”

Daphne finished her coffee and grinned at her partner. “I know, I’m just teasing and I want you to invite her. I do.” She paused and now regarded him. “Are you thinking we might all three head back to our suites for…coffee after the meal?”

Doukas grinned in spite of himself; he had planned on a poker face. “Would that, upset you?” He smiled.

“Oh my gosh, I would be mortified.” She laughed.

“Absolutely not of course, and I’m serious. I would like to get to know Elena, as you like her and I sort of like you, so Bob’s Your Uncle, as we say.“ She smiled again, then added quietly “I have been with other women, you know.”

Doukas looked now with interest. He didn’t know that, exactly, although he wasn’t surprised. He did know that Daphne, from age seventeen to twenty-two or so, had been a high-end escort; which was how she had met her first husband (not Powell, D’Arcy Robb) or so he thought. He brought this forward.

“Ah, so you have investigated me, mmmm?” He just grinned. “Well, Mr. Smarty-pants, I didn’t marry old D’Arcy at all; I’ve only been married once, to you-know-who, and I was almost thirty-five then, so what was I doing all those years, hmmmm?”

This was a good question and Doukas was surprised the efficient Sheffield had not discovered this. Of course Doukas had been aware of Sheffield’s investigation, he expected nothing less. But her top person in London was also in touch with him on a weekly basis, and he had the info on Daphne before Sheffield did. But apparently, not all the info.

“I am intrigued my dear, you’ve been holding out on me, after I’ve shared all my secrets with you. So come on, out with it.” He teased.

“Ok, I’m not going to give you the novel, just the summary, right?”


“And you really want this?” He nodded his head emphatically. “Well, I was the companion for D’Arcy Robb for several years, accompanying him to events and whatever. I was not married to him, although for a six month stretch he had me listed as his spouse for some tax dodge or something, but it was a scam.

One time we were out at a posh do, on one of those massive estates that are half-museum now-a-days to cover the upkeep; all the toffs were there. There was an orchestra and what we used to call ‘nosh’, acres of it.”

“Food.” Doukas smiled.

“Precisely, my dear. So usually I would end up chatting with one of my girl-pals, you know, another escort, ‘cuz there were always several of us at these events, and, it was funny, always a number of punters we’d recognize and be discreet about. But we used to laugh. Anyway, at that particular do I was alone and just wandering around and I noticed a woman, gazing intently at me from across the green.

Well, it turned out to be Lady Agatha Grantham, there with hubby Charles Andrew, and we ended up talking for a long stretch, most of the evening in fact, enjoying each other’s company. Charles then left with some fellows and Agatha took me home, as in to their estate, just up the road.

Agatha turned out to be one of those horse women, always riding to hounds and such and then running charities and the like on the side. Castles and carriages, the escorts used to call them. Bored yet?”

“Absolutely not. I know the Granthams, or knew, they’re both gone now, yes?”

“Yes.” Daphne paused in memory for a moment. “That first night we spent in her bed and we ended up there for three days, more or less. It was girl on girl like you wouldn’t believe. We did everything. I mean it; she was insatiable. On the Sunday night when I should have been heading back to the city, she said it wouldn’t do and I was to stay with her forever and Charles could go hang, or words to that effect.

And so there you are, we were lovers for five years, until she died in a horrid motor smash up. On a country road, for heaven’s sakes.” She accepted more coffee as the server drifted by.

“I was gutted. Charles was with her and injured and so I stayed on and helped him. I was never his mistress, though, more like an assistant. Helped him with his

memoirs actually, at one point.

We talked of marriage, more out of duty or pity, almost. But it never came to be. We were never man and woman; he was unable, to, you know. Plus he was much older than me. We always had separate rooms, but I would accompany him to events and the theatre and the opera. He was very good to me, very kind, even hired me tutors for things I was interested in.”

“Like languages,” Doukas noted.

“Yes, precisely. We went on like that for years, until I met Anthony at another do, and he took me out a few times and them proposed. Bang. I knew he was wealthy and pleasant enough, and….”

“And?” Doukas smiled.

“And, well….”

“And, Bob’s Your Uncle?”

“Brilliant,” she smiled.


“AAAAHHhhh, ohhhhh, FUCK!” Elena, gripping the headboard with both hands, could no longer contain her pleasurable wave, and as she cried out her slim body lifted off the bed a bit. Daphne, the source of Elena’s arousal, lifted her head up from between the young woman’s thighs after a moment, when things had calmed.

“I’m guessing you liked that?” Daphne grinned up at her young companion, her face showing the evidence of Elena’s pleasure.

Elena lay with her eyes shut and her mouth in a stupor-like grin. “Am I still alive?” she murmured, and Daphne moved up and kissed her face and mouth gently and lovingly.

“Yes, my sweet, beautiful little one, you are alive. And you need to recover soon, eh?”

Elena opened her eyes and looked at the attractive face floating above her. “Why?”

“Well, you need to get to work, hmmmm. I want one of those too.” Daphne chuckled softly, and Doukas, observing all from a safe distance, chuckled as well, raising his vodka glass in salute. He was enjoying this, from the not-so-cheap-seats.


Nicole’s phone buzzed. She was hoping it was Amara, but the number that came up was not familiar.

“Hello,” she said cautiously.

“Nicole, it’s Sophie.”

“Sophie, well how are you?”

“Not really a social call, Nicole. I’m just hoping you could tell me what’s going on with my mom.”

“Like how do you mean?”

“Like, is she still living with you?”

“Um, well, no; didn’t she contact you.” Nicole put that in there, hoping to stall the young woman, who seemed annoyed.

“Yes, well she left a message. Mom and Dad are divorced, you know; they’ve sold the house, she said something about not being at your place. I’ve left messages but now I’m becoming pissed and concerned.”

Nicole considered her next comment for a moment. “I can understand that, Sophie; I could help you a little, but you need to come down here.”

Sophie snorted. “Oh, c’mon Nicole, what’s with that? You’re going to force me to come down there?”

“I’m not forcing you, Sophie. I’m just saying that if you want my help you need to be here, asking for it.”

There was a pause. “And what will you expect from me?” (like I dunno, Sophie thought.)

It was Nicole’s turn to pause. “You enjoyed things last time, Sophie, whether you’ll admit it or not. You know what I want. But you’ve got to give a little to get a little.”

“I’ll never be yours, Nicole, not like, you know, Mom was. That’s not going to change.” Sophie insisted in a quiet voice.

“Well, you know the deal, come down and we’ll go from there.”

The pause let Nicole know Sophie was considering. “Ok, fuck you. I’ll be down tomorrow. But I want some fucking answers.”

“That attitude will mean some punishment, Sophie.” Nicole chuckled to herself as she heard the quiet intake of breath.

“Yeah, but I do want some answers.”

“See you tomorrow, Soph. And I’m guessing your hand is down your pants right now, yes?”

“Mmmmmm. Fuck you, Nicole.”


Tatjana was waiting again by the open door of Marie Prescott’s little home office. As the conversation within concluded, she moved silently back to her room. In a moment Prescott was at her door, noting the girl sitting on the floor, playing a game. It was what she did. Along with watching television; she seemed to enjoy American cartoon programs.

“Ok Tat, so I’m just out for a little while. Mrs. Holmes is in, if there is any problem, you go to her. Who can help, tell me?”

Tatjana looked up with her large eyes bright, “Missus Olmes,” she replied, seriously, then broke into a wide grin.

“That’s my girl,” Prescott said, coming over to tousle the mop-like hair. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye.” Tatjana repeated.

The girl sat playing for a few minutes; this was not new, Prescott having taken to leaving her for up to half an hour. Tatjana pressed one of the buttons on her device and the time showed. She pressed another and the device became a cell phone. She printed in the word, “Now” and pressed send, then went back to playing a game; she actually liked playing games, so this part had always been easy.

After a few minutes her device vibrated and she read the message, then went out into the main hallway and looked down in the direction of Mrs. Holmes apartment, before scooting quickly to the stairwell and skipping down the three flights and then running to the back entrance. She opened the door and saw the object waiting as directed. She picked it up and dashed back down the hall, up the stairwell, back down her hallway and to her apartment, entering rapidly and quietly.

Breathing hard she paused, then proceeded to her room and placed the object under her bed as far back as it would go. Ms. Prescott never looked under her bed, so it was safe.

The object was a briefcase; one that looked exactly like that of Olivia Sheffield.


The same Sheffield was at that moment sitting in Louis Doukas’s hotel room, waiting as he finished a call; the distinctive hard shell briefcase sitting by her feet. She was feeling apprehensive and running over her ‘presentation’ in her mind.

As Doukas came and settled in an armchair with his coffee, she began. First, she filled him in on what she knew of Rosalind Kane’s disappearance. He was only mildly interested.

“She has made good on her escape, the first time clearly upset her,” Doukas chuckled, sipping some coffee. “It really is of no concern for now, Ms. Sheffield, I do not foresee any art activities, shall we say, for a long while. Let Ms. Kane enjoy some isolation; she will surface, it is only a matter of time. And end the watch on her old friend; we can obviously find him any time we wish.”

“Very good, sir.” She then detailed the information she

had sifted through regarding threats to Doukas himself.

“It seems one needs to get in line if one wants to kill me,” Doukas remarked casually. In response to Sheffield’s concerns and protest at this, he continued, “I do appreciate the seriousness, Ms. Sheffield, but I feel you are on top of it. There have been threats against me for many years, so perhaps I grow careless. It is good that you watch, but I am satisfied with how we are responding; I do not intend to change my life in any significant way.”

Sheffield nodded and they sat for a moment. “Anything more, Ms. Sheffield. I feel all of this could have been discussed over the phone, yet you have flown all this way…?”

Sheffield sighed and took a breath. “I have, sir, because I wanted to talk with you in detail about Nicole Martin and Amara Manos, mostly Manos.” She then laid out the whole surveillance information and the interrogation of Martin, the phone tracking and the connection to Mossad, and finally, the assassination of Manos, or as she termed it, the termination.

Silence settled over them; in the distance the sonorous tones of Big Ben could be heard. Doukas had been sitting facing the window, his face in profile to Sheffield, turning now and then to look at her. Now they sat silently, he staring forward, mute. Sheffield felt a growing sense of dread. What had she done? Only what she felt was needed to keep the man safe.

Finally Doukas spoke. “Thank you for all that, Ms. Sheffield; I understand why you wished to address me in person. You have made a serious decision and taken a significant action. And you have done all this without consulting me.”

As Doukas paused, Sheffield’s heart was racing; she was beginning to feel light-headed. She had feared his reaction; that was why she hadn’t told him anything. She wanted to blurt out her feelings, her justification, but she knew Doukas had the floor, so she waited, dying inside.

“But, that is what I pay you for. Thank you for your efforts. Leave me with this now, and head back. I need you in New York. Continue to monitor the chatter and inform me as needed.” He spoke carefully and with controlled emotion, but he never once looked at his assistant. Feeling like she had been dismissed, emotions coursing through her, Sheffield stood and picked up her briefcase.

“You’re welcome, sir. I am always there to assist. I know you know that. I will be in touch once I am back in the states.” She hesitated and then proceeded to the door. She paused again there, her hand on the doorknob. She felt uncertain still; she wished to say more. “Good-bye, Mr. Doukas.” She murmured quietly.

Still without looking at her, Doukas spoke quietly, “Good-bye, Ms. Sheffield.”

After the door had closed, Doukas ran a hand over his forehead and sighed. It was early in the day, but he poured himself a vodka.

Out of his memories came the image of a poem on the wall of his tiny room in Mr. Darren’s house; a poem he had stared at for months until he gradually learned to read English. He spoke quietly,

A million glowing candles, a thousand million; but when touched by the restless wind are silently gone…to the earth…to the sea…to darkness.”

Doukas raised his glass of vodka and murmured, “Amara, you were special to me. I wish I had told you that. I am so sorry for what I did to you, those many, many years ago. I still regret that. We are all just candles. Peace, my child.”

He drank the vodka quickly, then sat still, the muscles in his jaw constricting and releasing; then he turned and swiftly threw the glass against a wall, where it shattered.

Doukas remained sitting, staring out the window.


Nicole was watching out her window as the taxi pulled up. She watched as the tall, dark, young woman climbed out, carrying the one back pack, paid the driver and looked up at the house, then began the trek to the door.

Let her ring, Nicole thought. She would not be waiting; she would make Sophie wait.


Hailey and Brooke were lying on Brooke’s bed; Nicole suggested this might be a good day to be out, and an arrangement had been made with Brooke’s mom so that Hailey would sleep over.

The two girls were lying side by side, both naked; but the relationship had not really evolved as Hailey had hoped. Brooke was an assertive person, but not a dominant one. But the two girls enjoyed each other’s company, as it turned out, and there was some sex, but it was not any role-playing or spanking or tying up; just regular sex. And Brooke was clear she still wanted to date guys, so the relationship was also a little casual that way too.

But they had all of today and tonight, so they were in no rush and happy to be together. They talked about maybe going swimming, or whatever; it was going to be a relaxed day.

It wouldn’t be long before exam finals and end of year stuff began, and that would be crazy, so why not have some quiet time now, they told themselves.


“UUUUuuuunnnngggghhhh!!” Sophie cried out, eyes closed, mouth remaining open after the cry. It was almost midnight and Nicole had spent the last four hours doing everything she could think of to the young woman, who was now tied spread-eagle on Nicole’s bed. A moment earlier, Nicole had pulled off the ten wooden clothes pins that had been attached to the fattened pussy lips of Sophie’s freshly shaven pubic area.

Two vibrating eggs, the larger in her vagina, had

stimulated Sophie throughout the evening. Heavy clamps had been attached to her nipples off and on, their release and Nicole’s mouth, bringing delicious stimulation to the girl over and over again.

Nicole had paddled the lovely round ass a number of times as well and it still had a nice, red glow to it. Sophie had experienced three orgasms, including this most recent one, and now lay, eyes closed, coated in sweat; more satisfied than ever before in her sexual life. She didn’t want to move; she was on a cloud, the released hormones giving her a high.

Nicole undid the four straps, and ran her tongue over those luscious, plump lips. “Tell me you didn’t enjoy that, Sophie?” She purred quietly into Sophie’s ear.

Sophie moaned a little as Nicole kissed her face. “You know, you’re not losing anything to just admit that you like, well, some of this. When’s the last time you had three orgasms?”

Sophie opened her eyes; she had a small smile on her face, but she wasn’t smirking. “Maybe if you didn’t push so hard, Nicole.”

“What? Say more, come on.”

“Well, yeah, I am aroused; you arouse me, but it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s like I’m a fucking freak. I get off on pain; how sick is that? And then you’re right there, shoving my face in it, demanding my affection ‘cause you…do this. It’s just, oh, I don’t know; it’s fucking confusing and I just want to run.”

Nicole listened to this intently, as it was really the first time Sophie had shared feelings with her. Up to now it had only been attitude, and it had seemed to Nicole that she just needed to work harder to break the girl down; but maybe that was entirely wrong.

“What…um, I’m sorry, Sophie. I am, uh…”

“An aggressive bitch?” Sophie softened the judgement with a smile.

Nicole grimaced, “Well, that’s not exactly how I would

phrase it.” She stroked some hair away from Sophie’s face. “Tell me, do you want any of this? It’s not, bad, to have needs. You’re not a freak. Do you understand? Sex is complicated; how we learn about it is messed up. What we’re told is bullshit. Stop blaming yourself for your desire. Let me help you. Please.”

“Why do you want to, you know, help me, Nick?”

Nicole pondered that for a moment. “Oh, it’s a little selfish, because I really like you and you don’t like me, it seems, and that makes me kind of crazy.”

Sophie protested, “But, you can’t make someone love you, or like you, or care for you.”

“I know Sophie, believe me I know. But I also see what you experience. What you are feeling right now. So tell me, how can we work this out. Give me something and I will get out of your face.”

“Really? Can you do that?” They regarded each other. “What do you want, from me I mean?”

Nicole sat up on the bed; she ran her hand gently down Sophie’s wonderful body. “I guess, I want you to like me, at least not fight me.”

Sophie smiled and sat up. She leaned over and kissed Nicole, holding it for a minute. “Well, we’ll see. But, now you were going to give me some information.”

“Tonight? It’s past midnight.”

“Yes, Nicole, tonight. It’s Sunday tomorrow; we can sleep in.”

“Ok fine, but it’s a long story and there may be stuff in it that will make you uncomfortable.”

Sophie got up and pulled on her thong. “That’s ok; I would rather know, than just wonder.”

Nicole nodded her head slowly.

(End of Chapter 20)

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A Field of Candles by LongDarkRoad Chapter 19 And A Time To Gather Stones Together

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 19 And A Time To Gather Stones Together 


The world turned and in its never-ending circle of the sky, the northern hemisphere slipped quietly into March and awaited spring; with all the little comings and goings of billions of humans having no effect. But comings and goings there were.

In Belgrade as the sun was rising, Amara Manos, as was her custom, got up and showered. Then she had a joint. She planned on doing some grocery shopping today, but that would happen later. For now, she turned on her computer and scanned for news. Across the street, two of the three watchers were still asleep; shift change would be in half an hour; watcher three had his glasses trained on the front window of the little yellow bungalow; he had noticed movement behind the thin curtains.

A little later, in Geneva, as the sun rose there, Louis Doukas was already up and had been for a while; he was now enjoying his coffee. He would be flying to London today and wanted an early start.

In Paris, Nils Woodford, with some assistance from Grant Shillings, had come up with a down payment (ten thousand in American dollars) for a man prepared to kill the man now enjoying his morning coffee. The stress was clearly taking its toll on Woodford but he knew his time was running out; Doukas was heading for London.

In Scotland, Rosalind Kane was still getting the hang of semi-rural life and finally beginning to relax; although she found it hard to sleep with all the quiet, and so rose early. Today she was up with the sun, doing some poking around.

In London, Alastair Stewart would not be waking for a while, sun or no sun, after a late night with more than a few pints. Following Kane’s directions he had, a little while back, dropped off a note to one of her partners with a brief and fictional explanation slash reason for her abrupt departure; something that would at least keep her employer from bringing in the police.

Kane’s absence had been noted by others besides her staff mates. One pair of eyes in particular had noted she was not at work and took interest in the rough-looking character who had visited the shop with information concerning Kane. Stewart had now become a person of interest to Olivia Sheffield.

In New York City, around six AM Eastern time, Ms. Sheffield was up and on her cell, texting the simple message, ‘Green Light’. When her associate in Belgrade received the message, the trio sprang quietly into action.


In London, Doukas’s jet arrived at Heathrow just after noon, the familiar chimes of the Great Bell, Big Ben announcing that moment to Londoners. Doukas was met by his driver and his Rolls, a personal and favorite vehicle that Doukas kept in London exclusively for his use. It whisked him downtown and to the lower level of the Dionysus office, from which he took the private elevator up to the floor with his office, and where he was met as the elevator doors opened by the smiling and enthusiastic Elena Kasmir.

“Welcome back, sir. So good to have you in London.”

“Thank you, my dear Elena. It is good to see you.” She kissed him on both cheeks.

“All the files you requested are in your office, sir, and I can assist you if you need.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kasmir. I may call upon you, but I will begin now by myself; it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.” They were moving down the lushly carpeted dark blue hallways to the private offices; heads turning furtively to cast a glance at the infamous man. “Any directors in today?” Doukas asked innocently as they reached his door.

“Ms. Carstairs will be in this afternoon, sir, and Mr. Bard at his usual time.”

“Thank you Elena.” Doukas smiled and gently touched her cheek, “I hope to see you later.” Elena beamed up at him as he entered his office and regarded cautiously the stack of files awaiting. There was also a flash drive there by his computer, so he had a choice: old school or new. Doukas sat at his computer and started it up; he had some financial matters to look into.


“It’s Gilad,” the now well-known, warm voice answered.

“Hey there,” Amara replied. “We haven’t touched base in a bit; I’m guessing that’s ‘cause nothing’s new. Anything about your missing guy?”

Amara could hear Gilad draw deeply on his cigarette. “The answers to your questions are yes and no.” Gilad replied quietly.

“That’s it, G? C’mon, give me somethin’.”

“Well, our guy’s gone, we’re sure of that. Doubt we find even a belt buckle. And Doukas has stayed off the radar. Our guys are going to pick up his trail when he heads back to the states.”

“Still the hit out on him?”

“Yes, that is unlikely to change. A kill order is tough to come by and therefore, tough to squash. He gives you nothing? Any idea of where he’s going next?”

“Well, I know he needs to be in London, ‘cause it’s March and he goes through the books. I’m guessing he heads to the U.S. after that, but this gal friend he’s hooked up with has buggered the routine.” She laughed. “Hey, sorry about your guy. I know it happens in this business, but it’s never easy.” She sighed.

“No, you’re right. Watch your back, Am.”

“You too, Gil.”

Amara grabbed her hoody and slipped on her shoes and headed out; time to do some shopping. The ever-watchful eyes taking note.


In Philadelphia, Nicole had chatted with Dani upon arrival at the office and gotten the latest news there; “Your life is like an episode of the Fucking Young and The Useless; emphasis on ‘fucking’”, she kidded Dani. It seemed that Shannon should have moved back by now but the three of them were enjoying the arrangement, so Shannon had put her place out to rent.

“You guys kill me,” Nicole smirked, punching Dani’s arm. Dani simply shook her head, a huge grin on her face.

Heading down to her office, Nicole checked her cell and found two messages from Rachel. She smiled; the girl was a nice diversion, and Nicole didn’t like going  long stretches without a willing mouth between her thighs; and with Geneva’s move out, and involvement with Hailey still up in the air, Rachel pleasantly filled the void.

Meanwhile, at Hailey’s school, she and Brooke gave thumbs up to each other when they passed in the hall. “Tonight.” They both said; for them, time was moving slowly.

Over at Christina’s house, Geneva was being introduced to a variety of punishment instruments. Christina knew that Nicole was not big on spankings, etcetera in general, but most other dominants were. Talking with Geneva’s new owner, she didn’t sound like a big ‘whip and chains’ gal; but Christina was interested in Geneva’s response to pain just the same. Specifically today, and to the narrow bamboo cane and the heavy leather paddle Christina was currently trying out, one after the other.

And if Christina was being honest, she liked doing this, which was the main reason for the activity. She ran her tongue up the side of Geneva’s face. “What are you, bitch?”

“Uuuunngg, um, oh, ahhhh; I’m a, Uh!! (a reaction to a smack from the wooden paddle) a, ohhhh, slave. Mmmmm.”

“Yes, that is the right answer. You’re going to be a good slave for Miss Helen, yes? You’ll serve her well and you will feel soooo good. She even has a special cage for you to sleep in. It’s going to be delicious.”

“UUUhhhhnng!” Geneva cried out, in response to the bamboo cane now being brought directly down on her crotch.

“Yes, a very good slave.” Christina crooned softly, her fingers busy between Geneva’s legs.



How humans obsess over it. We have time indicators on all our devices, we are surrounded by reminders of this…idea, the idea that time is something that exists, with all our devices relentlessly monitoring the present as it creeps along, in something we call time.

Amara checked her watch, as she moved back down the street in the direction of her little place, a small bag cradled in one arm. The tallest of the watchers now checked the time on his cell phone as well. The lady watcher looked up at the clock on their kitchen wall; the house was sparsely furnished, but there was a clock. In Belgrade it was four-thirty in the afternoon.

Amara walked past her place and came back up the little laneway, entering in through the back. The shorter watcher had the binoculars up and saw the form of the woman moving through the house. He nodded at his partner, who turned to the woman, who went into the bedroom and changed. It was time.

When the woman came out, she was dressed in the uniform of a delivery driver and the three of them then proceeded out the back, carrying a large black bag. Together they removed a tarp that had been covering a van, marked in the colors of a local delivery service. They put the large bag in the back of the van and the two men climbed in; the woman went to the driver’s side; entered, put on her cap and started the vehicle.


In Philadelphia, Olivia Sheffield checked her cell; they would call, she reminded herself, unconsciously tapping her foot, a habit of hers when she was waiting.


In London, Doukas stretched; he had been at the financials longer than he had planned; it was past three-thirty. But he had found what he was looking for. It was well hidden, one needed to be both good at math and interested in spreadsheets; and to have access to several bank accounts, all password protected. Doukas matched up perfectly to those conditions.

The only person who could have covered up the almost one hundred thousand English pounds that were in fact missing (a large amount to the average Joe, a tiny portion of the Dionysus budget, and thus easily missed) was one of the directors, or Doukas himself; and he had no need for such thievery.

Doukas picked up the old style telephone on his desk and pressed two; in a moment the pleasant voice of Elena greeted him.

“Ah dear girl, please be so kind as to ring Nils Woodford; I believe you have both his numbers in Paris.”

“Yes sir, I do. I will get right on it.” And she was as good as her word, calling immediately.


The delivery van went down the street that crossed theirs and then around behind, to the yellow house. Checking, the two men got out and carried the bag. Trees and fences kept the yard secluded, and the two moved stealthily to a spot beside the back door and waited.

Meanwhile the woman had driven the van back around the front and parked it, carrying a parcel to the door. Amara, ever vigilant, answered the knock and noted the truck and the uniformed driver, opening the door enough to be able to speak. The men had heard the knock as well and the tall one inserted his tools and slipped noiselessly inside as Amara discussed why the parcel was incorrectly labelled. She had just closed the door and was turning around when the man fired; there was not much sound, as his gun was equipped with a silencer.

The bullet entered Amara’s heart; the man was too good a shot to miss from this distance. Before Amara had hit the ground, the woman in uniform had opened the door, slipped inside and caught Amara as she was falling; the tall man moved quickly to the fallen victim and fired another bullet, right beside the first.

He needn’t have bothered; Amara Manos was dead before the women had caught her.


“Mr. Woodford, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Doukas asked in a voice as smooth as satin. He had reached Woodford at his home in Paris.

Sensing danger even in the quiet tone of his caller, Woodford replied, “No, not at all, Mr. Doukas. How may I assist you?”

Doukas smiled his trademark thin smile, “One moment please,” he murmured as Elena had arrived at his door. Doukas signalled the pretty, young woman to enter and nodded at her, and she began to quickly undress. He smiled and returned to his conversation as the efficient assistant lowered her naked, light brown body; slim and soft yet still wonderfully rounded and inviting, to her knees before him.

“Yes, Mr. Woodford, I’m here at the London office as you may know, looking over the books (Woodford felt a sharp pang at this utterance) and I have noticed a couple of, anomalies I need your help with.” Doukas had murmured this sentence in his richest tenor, his hand embedded in the dark hair of Elena Kasmir, as her red mouth engulfed the hard shaft of his erection.

Kasmir had a delightful mouth, warm with heavy lips today painted a striking shade of red. She was keen and enthusiastic, her head and mouth a driving pump on her boss’s erection; rapidly moving up and down. She wanted his release; she had not enjoyed any of her other, very infrequent blowjobs to date, but she loved pleasing Doukas this way. She didn’t question why; but she wanted the warm, salty ejaculate and she worked now with purpose and vigor.

Doukas, for his part, maintained remarkable control, as he conversed with Woodford; reading off several numbers, backtracking several times, and finally pinning the man in a corner.

“So,” Doukas paused, a smile on his face, his orgasm nearing, “you can see my concern, Sir. The only explanation is that you have misappropriated funds. Nothing else works, just a moment,” Doukas covered the cell phone against his expensive wool Tyrwhitt suit.

He gripped Kasmir’s thick hair, groaning quietly as she emptied his testicles without hesitation, swallowing the fluid efficiently. Doukas chuckled softly, and holding the dark head in place, returned to his conversation. “Nils, if I may be so informal; I am calling as a courtesy; the authorities will arrive, let’s say in an hour or so, to arrest you. You need to get your affairs in order.”

Woodford sat in silence, his face pale as a sheet; the clock on the mantle of the fireplace in his office chimed the hour, but he was unaware.

“Thank you, Sir,” he murmured, ending the call.

Doukas then released the head he was holding and the lovely face beamed up at him. “Thank you, sweet Elena. You are remarkable,” he wiped her lips with his thumb, “absolutely remarkable. Where would you like to go for dinner?”

Elena blushed beneath her brown skin and smiled a broad smile. It didn’t matter to her; Doukas only took her to expensive, quality places. “Wherever, Sir.” She smiled, zipping him back up and gazing at him with reverence.


In Belgrade, the three assassins had placed Amara’s body in the large, black bag and bundled it out to the van. The tall man drove and the woman changed out of her uniform in the back. A mile from the scene they let her off; it would be the last time they would meet; they didn’t even know each other’s names. That was how Olivia Sheffield liked it.

In New York, Sheffield’s phone buzzed with the text, “Parcel delivered. Taking it home.” Sheffield smiled, a sense of relief washing over her, although nagging at the back of her mind was the thought of the discussion she would need to have with Mr. Doukas. The prospect disturbed her, for some reason.

By nine PM outside Belgrade, the van was headed west. One assassin would depart in Croatia, while the other would carry on to Austria. Amara’s body would never be discovered; dust to dust, ashes to ashes.


In Philadelphia, Brooke and Hailey burst into the house and stumbled, giggling, up the stairs. They fell on Hailey’s bed, with Hailey naturally lying on her back, and Brooke settling in on top. Brooke lowered her mouth and sucked on Hailey’s lips; Hailey spread her legs wider and moved her pelvis; Brooke ground her hips in response. After a couple of minutes of open-mouthed kissing, Brooke spoke, “So, how are we going to do this?”

Wellll,” Hailey murmured, “we could place our cells so they can video us on the bed. Then, well, action, I guess,” she laughed.

“Ummmm,” Brooke replied, covering Hailey’s mouth again. “I think we need to practise first.” They both laughed.

“We should get out of our uniforms, doncha’ think; they’re going to get all wrinkled?”

“Here, let me assist you, Ma’am,” Brooke giggled, unbuttoning Hailey’s white blouse.

Hailey stretched her arms above her head and closed her eyes, “Ummm, thank you, my queen.”

Brooke laughed.


Elena had just gone to the restroom and Doukas placed a call to Daphne. “Hey there,” her husky voice greeted him.

“Hey yourself. How is Geneva? Splendid as always I would assume?”

“Never assume, Louis. But, it is pleasant, although it would be better if a certain someone was around, but he had to zip off to London.” She chuckled; but knowing (a little) of what he was doing there, she asked more seriously. “So, how is it going, for real?”

Doukas filled her in a little, then remarked that he was just having dinner.

“Is the enchanting Elena your guest?” Daphne asked, smiling. She was not a jealous woman, especially with a girl as young as Elena. She knew Doukas well enough to know what any relationship between Elena and Doukas would be, could only be.

“Yes, that is perceptive of you, my dear. But then, you are perceptive.”

“Has she made you…happy yet, or is that for dessert?” Daphne smirked.

Doukas had to laugh at the audacity of the woman. “Now you are being very nosy, my sweet.”

She laughed softly, seductively. “I’ll take that as a yes; also because you are sounding relaxed.” She laughed again. It did not bother her if Elena provided Doukas with oral sex; he was a man with needs and she did not own him. Did not want to own him. He had been clear to her and she believed him; she was the only woman he had fucked in years, and he would not be fucking the lovely Elena.

Doukas laughed in response, and looked up as Elena rejoined him. “You should bring her here one time.” Daphne continued.

“Are you serious?” Doukas asked, mildly surprised. Neither of them had ever mentioned Daphne with another woman. “For me, or for us both?” He asked with a smile.

“Whatever you want, and you know I mean that.”

Doukas chuckled, “I’m going now, while I still can; but I’ll call later. We can discuss this further, but you know I am a happy man already, right?”

“Talk soon my love. Enjoy your…dessert.”

Doukas chuckled and signalled the server. It was time for dessert, after all.


Although it was a Thursday night, Nicole had agreed to meet Rachel for dinner. She did not need to be in to work the next day until later in the morning, so it would be fine. She also knew that Hailey and her new gal-pal were hooking up tonight and she wanted to give them time for their fun. Hailey had agreed to tell her everything later; in detail.

Nicole sat in the restaurant by the window and noticed Rachel cross the street and head her way. She pondered again how young the woman looked; and suddenly thought of Amara. When would they see each other again? Maybe she could take her holidays over in Europe; she had been doing so well with her finances, even with nothing from Doukas.

She would call Amara on the weekend and see what she thought. Just at that moment Rachel came to the table and the two women rose and kissed, unconcerned about any stares.

Rachel slid in across from Nicole and opened her purse, pulling out a toothbrush. “Just in case you want to invite me back for a drink, I’m prepared.” She laughed, Nicole joining in, just as their server joined them.

“Hi there, I’m Holly. Care to start with a drink?” They ordered and she placed menus before them, “I’ll just give you a little time.”

Both women smiled and began looking over the selections.


In Paris, Nils Woodford placed a call to Shillings. After a few introductory comments, Woodford paused. “Grant, I need to ask you something.” There was a pause on the other end now, as Shillings waiting uneasily. Woodford then gave a cell number and a name, of sorts.

“‘R’, that’s all you know him by?”

“Yes, and that is all you need.”

“But I don’t understand….”

“Grant, I, um, may need to disappear for a, um, bit. Doukas has discovered my, em, indiscretion. But, and on this I am adamant, we need to carry on with the plan, Damn the bastard, this is important. Promise me you will follow up.”

“I will Nils, old fellow, but surely…”

“Thank you Grant. You are…a decent chap and a friend. I need to get going. Contact ‘R’ tomorrow, at eleven. That’s the time.”

“Ok, Nils, but we will need to, um confer tomorrow, yes?”

There was a pause, the mantle clock ticking away the moments. “We’ll see. We’ll, um, see. Good night, Grant.”

“Good night, Nils.”

Woodford stood and moved over to where he kept his music; he was a man who remained fixed in a different time; he had never bought a CD in his life. He took an album from his collection, Vivaldi, and placed it on the turntable. He chose the selection ‘Winter’; it seemed appropriate.

As the first movement began, he took his most expensive scotch, the Balblair 1999, out of the cupboard and poured three quarters of a glass. He sat, sipped and contemplated. How did it come to this? How could a former truck driver have beaten him? Well, it wasn’t over yet; not if Shillings came through.

He started the piece over again and finished his glass; the alcohol had definitely given him a buzz, which helped. Woodford crossed back over to his desk and opened the bottom drawer, taking out a walnut case. From it he removed his Webley revolver, and held it in his hands. How did it come to this?

The music stopped and the arm of the turntable lifted, moved back and settled. Woodford checked, even though he knew the gun was fully loaded. The sad part, it came to him, was that there was really no one for him to call. None of his wives would appreciate his situation; he was estranged from his only daughter. No, there was no one.

And it had come to this. He was not a man suited to prison, or poverty, if it came to that. Unsure why, he removed a sheet of paper from his desk and scribbled down a few words.

Under the chin or the temple, he asked, laughing at the macabre choice? He chose temple, counted to three, raised the revolver and fired; the gun falling and bouncing off his knee to land on the ground as the bullet tore through his skull and exited, embedding itself in the wall.

Woodford wavered for a moment and then fell forward, crashing to the floor and then to rest, lying by his chair.

When the authorities found him, it seemed clear what had happened. The officer in charge looked at the sheet of paper, but because he could not read English, passed it to his subordinate, who could.

It turned out to be scripture: To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven

It was seven PM in Paris, and as Woodford’s body was being carried out to the ambulance, Doukas and Elena Kashmir were deciding on strawberries and fresh cream for dessert.

(End of Chapter 19)

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A Field Of Candles by LongDarkRoad Chapter 18 Our Remedies In Ourselves Do Lie

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 18 Our Remedies in Ourselves Do Lie 

“He’s in the Canaries,” the man said.

“Still?” Amara asked.

“Well, he did leave, went to England as I told you and then Greece for a short bit and then he went back to Gran Canaria.”

“And you think he has a, um, lady friend?”

“No thinking at all there, he definitely had a woman with him. Doukas has his own villa, right, and my source has seen the two out together, driving and walking. Having dinner.”

“Any name?”

“Haven’t asked, but I believe she’s a Brit.”

“Hmmmm,” Amara murmured.


“Mom,” Sophie asked, a catch in her voice, “Dad called. What’s goin’ on?”

Geneva calmed herself. She knew this moment would come the second she signed the divorce papers. She was planning to call Sophie but Peter had said he wanted to talk with her. “Well, dear, I think you’re old enough to know what’s happening. Your father and I have decided to, um, split (she hated that word) and, really, it makes sense but I know, especially for you, it is sad.” She knew she had rambled on and waited now for Sophie’s response.

“Does this have anything to do with…Nicole?” Sophie asked in a quiet voice.

Geneva paused for a moment. It concerned Nicole, or at least, Nicole was involved, but truthfully, the relationship had ended for all intents and purposes long before Nicole came into Geneva’s life, and that is what she told her daughter.

“I don’t trust her.” Sophie said, and Geneva felt a strong twinge, thinking of the other paper she had recently signed; the one that made her a slave.

She grimaced at the thought, while also realizing the arousal she felt simply thinking about it.


Nicole sat at the bar; she had downed one glass of wine fairly quickly, wanting to get the taste of the two women out of her mouth. After dressing and getting out of the building as quickly as she could, Nicole had waited impatiently for the taxi she had ordered, standing and shivering in the January cold, deciding then she needed to get somewhere warm and have a drink; or several.

Both Sheffield and Cezair had sported very hairy pussies and once she had been released, Nicole felt like she spent twenty minutes just picking disgusting hairs out of her teeth. Both women were also grinders; they mashed Nicole’s face into their groins and humped her aggressively. Nicole had washed her face in the bar restroom, but believed she still smelled of ‘pussy’.

Nicole had now started her second glass of wine, also needing to wash from her mind the sense of betrayal she felt. The fact she had no options really did not make things easier. Looking up, a woman three stools down caught her eye and smiled. Nicole looked at her, but the woman was older and Nicole felt no interest; likely another hairy pussy.

Looking around, she did notice a young woman in a booth diagonally from the bar, at that moment in an intense conversation with another girl who looked maybe a year or two older. When the second girl tossed a twenty on the table, got up and put on her coat and left without another word, Nicole gazed at the young woman. Half of her blonde head was shaved closely and she had a nose ring, but other than that she looked ‘normal’. The fact she had been served meant she was over twenty-one, but she had one of those young, almost pure, child-like and innocent faces. A little like Tatjana.

When the girl looked over at her, Nicole smiled sympathetically, she hoped, and the girl smiled nervously in return, then quickly looked away. Nicole continued her stare and the girl looked back and smiled again and Nicole rose, taking her wine with her and sliding into the booth opposite the young woman.

“Hi there,” Nicole began pleasantly, “couldn’t help but notice that….” She nodded her head in the direction of the departed friend.

The girl smiled and looked down, and sipped her drink, which Nicole regarded, as it looked like she was having a hot drink. “You’re drinking tea?” Nicole asked.

The girl smiled, showing braces (Nicole feeling a definite rush). “It’s Chai Love You tea, you know, green tea and rum.” She sipped some more.

Nicole glanced under the table and noticed, despite the weather, the girl had on a thin skirt with knee high white socks. Fucking Christ, Nicole thought, white knee highs. Without deliberating too much, and feeling the need to do something, Nicole extended her black boot and ran the toe up the side of the girl’s leg. “I’m Nicole.” She said as she did this, with her most disarming smile.

“Rachel,” the girl said quietly, looking alarmed in spite of the smile, but not moving or closing her legs. Nicole applied pressure and Rachel opened her legs farther.

“What was the disagreement about, if you don’t mind me asking? You can tell me to fuck off, I would understand. I’m kinda’ nosey.” Nicole laughed, and Rachel brought her legs together and squeezed Nicole’s foot, before spreading them again.

“Well, she’s my, um, girlfriend, or she was, but she’s pissed ‘cuz I was hangin’ with another chick tonight. It was no big deal but now she’s salty, like, fuck; she’s a real princess you know and, well, you know….” Rachel sipped some more ‘tea’, letting Nicole figure out the ways of princesses. Being one herself, Nicole

‘knew’ completely.

“Finish your drink and let’s go check out some other places; this bar’s dead.”

Rachel looked up with big, blue eyes, smiling uncertainly, colored braces showing, before saying quietly, “Okay.”


Hailey took a glass out of the cupboard and then poured some orange juice, taking her time. Her thin night clothes clung to her sleek, round body, the nipples of her lovely breasts clearly visible; Nicole noticed everything, but today she was relaxed enough, and hung over just enough, to ignore her instincts.

“Who was that girl last night?” Hailey asked.

Nicole could have bluffed with ‘what girl’ but what would be the point? “A friend,” she said.

“She, uh, seemed pretty young.” Hailey said, a small smile on her face as she put the juice back in the fridge.

“Yeah?” Nicole also smiled, remembering Rachel’s braces and her lips against her vagina.

Hailey impulsively dropped to her knees beside Nicole’s chair. “Why don’t you just have me, if you like them young?” She implored.

Nicole reached out to stroke the blonde hair, “Hailey, we’ve been through this already….”

“But, I’ve been eighteen for a while now,” Hailey argued.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Nicole looked at the girl, trying to come up with a way to explain her feelings. “I would explain it to you if I could, because it’s not about, um, desire. I was, uh, involved with Sophie, right.”

“Yeah, that was great, hmmmm?” Hailey smirked.

Nicole regarded her; she was too sharp for her own good. “What d’you mean there, nosey-pants?”

Nicole looked down, “Well, Sophie wasn’t into it,” she said quietly.

Part of Nicole wanted to carry this on, but she forced that away; the less said about Sophie, the better.

“Is it ‘cause I’m not pretty enough?” Hailey murmured.

“Oh Christ.” Nicole laughed, “You really don’t get it. You are beautiful. Fuck, I would like, um, oh, forget it.” Nicole pressed a hand against her temple. “Why aren’t you seeing anyone?”

Hailey pondered that as she sat gazing up at Nicole; thinking she liked this perspective. Since the thing with Alexis had ended she had just, drifted. She was doing well at school, which she had thrown herself into and now she really needed to make a decision about college, but everything else just died off; she had zero social life.

“I, um, dunno, nothing’s come up. It’s not like I’m, uh, hiding or anything….”

Nicole looked again at the girl; she was like a flower, budding out into something astonishing; and she would love, the predator part of her, to enjoy every inch of this young body, like she had with Rachel. But, this was different, for some reason.

“Why don’t you ask someone out; take the initiative, bring someone home?” She suggested.

Hailey looked away and then back up. There had been a couple of girls (being at an all-girl school made meeting guys more of a challenge) who Hailey had sort of checked out, but that was as far as it had gone. Maybe she should try harder…”

But in the end, she’d prefer to just be Nicole’s toy.


Peter van der Strom looked down at the document; it seemed so impersonal, so emotionless, these pieces of paper announcing the end of a twenty-five year relationship. He wasn’t regretting anything; it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t like he thought he could have

salvaged his marriage; what was the point, really?

But it still seemed cold and lacking anything, well, human. The marriage had been very human with the ceremony and the friends and the celebration. Then all the years together and their lovely daughter, watching her grow, building a life. Now this? This was just a door closing on an empty room.

As he was brooding so, Ronald came to the door. “Ah, here you are, pondering in silence. Well, we can’t have that, can we? My friend Joel will be here soon and he’s dying to see the outfit I got you, so let’s go, chop chop, as they say, tally ho and all that….”

Smiling a self-conscious smile, Peter stood and went off to get dressed, his erection already growing at the thought. This was, after all, his new life, a life he had fantasized about forever; he needed to let the past go. Sometimes doors needed closing, even on empty rooms.


Hailey had been thinking about Nicole’s comments. She asked herself why she hadn’t tried to hook up with anyone since Alexis. She couldn’t come up with a reason. It wasn’t like she was distraught or hiding away; she had missed Alexis, or more correctly, what she and Alexis did; but that sense of loss had passed after a few days and she hardly ever thought of her old ‘girlfriend’. So, what was the problem? Being at an all-girl school, she pondered, it should not be difficult to meet chicks.

But Hailey had always been reserved and self-conscious. She did not take notice of the eyes that followed her; she unconsciously brushed off the attention. What she did think about was the possible shame of rejection.

What if she came on to a girl and the girl ran away in horror? Hailey fussed over that scenario every time she noticed a girl. With the final year of her school life coming soon to an end, she really (really) didn’t want to mess things up.

But she did miss companionship and the intimacy she had shared with Alexis. Today, she was determined she would try harder to meet someone; and she actually already had someone in mind.


The house was sold, the papers signed and delivered and now today Geneva was at the next step in her new life. Christina had come for her and taken her to this little tattoo parlor. The owner / artist was a friend of Christina’s and familiar with the slave tattoo system.

It had been a little unpleasant but now it was over and Geneva had a small black line of letters and digits on the side of her left breast. You needed to look closely to see what it said; from the distance it looked like a mole or something. They were now on their way back to Nicole’s; Geneva’s breast would be allowed to heal completely and then she would be going to a woman who lived not far from Nicole, in the very same upscale community in fact; a wealthy divorced woman who now wanted to explore her fantasy of owning a female slave.

The woman had seen the photos of Geneva and was very happy with the possibilities. Eighty-five hundred dollars might seem steep to some, but to this woman, it was a bargain for a human ‘toy’. It would happen in two weeks and she couldn’t wait.

In a couple of days, Geneva would move to Christina’s house for training.


“Very good, sir.” Olivia Sheffield said and turned off her phone. It occurred to her she had not actually seen Mr. Doukas in person for weeks; they communicated lately entirely by phone or email. Things were different.

It wasn’t like she was sitting around on her hands waiting for directions, as it were; but she just felt ‘out of the loop’. She knew Doukas was involved with someone; it hadn’t taken Sheffield long, with her legion of operatives, to get all the details on Mr. Doukas’s new ‘friend’. She did so of course with the utmost discretion; there was no way she would knowingly upset her boss.

Thinking of that, she took out the folder labelled ‘AM’. It had been ten days now since her interrogation of Martin and she knew action was needed; but she would not be rushed; this too required discretion.

As well, Amara Manos had been dispatched by Doukas to a series of visits along the European/Russian border, involving both arms and girls. She had only returned to Belgrade yesterday. The two men Sheffield had in place in Belgrade had been sent off on other business while Manos was away but they would be back in place tonight.

Sheffield was ready to take the next step; her only hesitation was thinking of Doukas’s reaction. She mulled over at length about conferring with him, but had reached the decision that action and an apology was better than permission. She would put the wheels in motion soon.


Rosalind Kane was certain this time. She had been so extra careful, and as she left for lunch she nodded cheerfully to Madelaine at the front desk; no hint that she would never return.

Her last contact with Alastair’s associate ended with Kane just giving the man all the remaining money with his promise to ‘get the job done’; and that was that; great if it worked. If the money was just gone Kane really didn’t care.

For now, ‘Plan B’ was starting. And it would end with Kane in a little rural cottage outside Dunoon. She had carefully and quietly over the last six weeks (through Alastair’s guy, so that wasn’t a total loss) had a new passport and other official papers created in the name of Mary-Anne Jeffries; it had cost another thirty thousand pounds, but to Kane it was a small price.

She had all her money, and it was still substantial,

deposited in various places and she would have access to it from any major city, like Edinburgh.

Hopefully the man would be successful in taking Doukas out and none of this would matter. Whatever; her new life would be starting this afternoon.


The two Serbs were now back at it, watching; waiting. Amara did not go out often, so it was tedious; but the money they made balanced that, and only one guy had to keep watch for the most part, so the second could do other things.

The taller of the two was at present reading the most recent message from Sheffield, and he passed it along to his partner. They were to enter the little bungalow the next time the woman left and make sure it was easy to do and that there were no obstacles.

Amara did not have a heavily guarded home; she did not want to attract attention with a lot of security. She personally felt no threats; she kept a low profile and was essentially a gun for hire, even if it was exclusively for Doukas. It was not her business. There was more actual danger to Amara when out on assignments.


Nils Woodford sat on a hard park bench, trying to look ‘normal’, but having a hard time with that. He was a man much suited to country estates, board rooms and cocktail parties, not clandestine meetings in lonely, out of the way places.

But when one is meeting an assassin, what is one to do?


Olivia Sheffield stood waiting for the door to open; when it did, Marie Prescott greeted her cordially. Sheffield was now in New York and looked to be here for a while, at least that was the impression she had gotten from Doukas. For now she was just checking in on Tatjana, the ‘project’ as Sheffield thought of her.

They still had no plans for her, and had not used her in any manner; yet Doukas seemed fine with just keeping her, like a ward of sorts.

Prescott invited Sheffield into the apartment and took her coat, Sheffield placing her ever-present briefcase by the door. Tatjana came in and stood smiling up at the women.

“Hey Tat, you remember Mrs. Sheffield?”

Tatjana extended a hand and smiled, “Yes.” She said simply.

“Come this way, Ms. Sheffield. We can talk in my office.” The two women continued down the hall and turned into the first room on the right. Tatjana stood watching them with interest. When they had disappeared into the room, she moved silently to the open door and stood for a moment listening. She smiled and returned to the living room and then eyed Sheffield’s expensive briefcase.

Then she did a curious thing. She brought her ever-present I-pad up and looked through it, like one would a camera. She was focused on Sheffield’s briefcase. She pressed the side button and then smiled.

One would have thought she had just taken a picture of the briefcase, if one had been present. An odd thing, surely.

Tatjana then went back to her room and sat on the floor, the ever-present smile on her face.


Gilad sat with the man known only as ’Z’; he had been brought here with a hood over his head, which had just been removed.

“Welcome, my friend, sorry about the secrecy.” Z murmured, albeit in Hebrew.

Gilad said he understood; was there anything new?

“Yes, there is, at least regarding our…friend, Louis Doukas.”

Gilad nodded his understanding.

“We have agreed that the best place for a hit on him is when he is in America.” Gilad’s eyebrows rose. “We have targeted some men in New York and Philadelphia that fit the profile; they are either Saudis or from Tunisia, and will be decoys or scapegoats.”

“America, that is intriguing.” Gilad said. “I would have thought Eastern Europe.”

“That’s the back-up plan.”

At that moment an assistant entered with two cups of espresso, and the conversation was paused.


The tall Serb inserted the second metal tool into the lock, and the click told him it was open. Carefully, soundlessly, he entered, quickly placing two soft sacks over his shoes. He took the small kitchen space in three strides, noted the hallway, the front door and then left, retracing his steps out and locking the door with his two metal probes.

He moved quickly down the laneway and then across the narrow street and around, coming back to the surveillance house by the back door.

When he entered he found his shorter companion in the front room; they had been joined by a woman in her fifties: medium height, olive complexion, dark hair just greying. She had a mild look about her, and anyone who passed her on the street would take her for just another woman, possibly someone’s grandmother. No one would guess she was a trained killer; that was one reason she was so successful.


In Geneva, Louis Doukas was enjoying life as he always did; more so now that he had Daphne in his. They were at her home; in a few days, at the end of the month, he would continue on to England; she would join him there for a while, as the plan was for him to be in London for a few weeks. Tonight however they were doing what they enjoyed; sharing a lovely meal, having good wine, then sitting with coffee and discussion, Doukas blithely unaware of the angry forces stirring around him.

Unaware of how he had been targeted; how, even as he sat sipping the dark, rich coffee he favored, plans were being shared in several places, all with the same goal; his death.


Hailey watched Brooke head down the hallway to the computer lab. The girl was an odd choice for the tall and blonde Hailey; Brooke being short and dark, but Hailey had not rushed this decision, she had been very systematic and observant for the last while, and Brooke was her choice.

The girl was a popular and intimidating person. She was on all the main clubs, including council, and she was known as a girl one didn’t cross. But Hailey believed she had seen Brooke casting glances her way several times; the girl hung out with a group but Hailey had discretely checked, and no one knew of any male ‘complications’.

Hailey followed the girl into the lab, sitting one computer over from her. This was not random; Hailey was one of the more advanced computer ‘nerds’ in the school, but because she was also a gifted athlete, no one considered her a true ‘nerd’. On the other hand, computer science was the subject that gave Brooke the most trouble.

The hour together unfolded as Hailey had hoped; she had been able to assist Brooke and Brooke had been happy to get to know a student many people admired, even if the girl herself did not appreciate that. Hailey was astounded when Brooke accepted her offer to hang together after school, and when they ended up back at her house she felt like pinching herself; was this actually happening?

They were now sitting side by side and regarding

Hailey’s laptop, checking out some social media. Hailey decided now was the time to try something.

“You check out porn much, Brooke?” Hailey offered in her most innocent voice.

Brooke laughed, “Yeah, when I can. Shit, who doesn’t. You?”

“Every day,” Hailey replied, finding a ‘gang bang’ site. The two girls then watched a couple of videos of a lone girl being fucked by several men in turn, before Hailey found an all-girl gang-bang site.

The only issue that Hailey had with these sites was that the girls all looked like ‘porn stars’, over-stuffed breasts, heavy make-up. Even on the lesbian-friendly sites it was like the women were all part of a male fantasy. And was this what men fantasized about? Women like this? Hailey wanted to see some girls that looked ‘normal’, the kind you would see at the gym or in a mall. Or at her school.

Hailey and Brooke were watching an ‘ambush’ video, a group of women grabbing someone and abusing and raping her for retaliation or whatever. “What do you think of these women, Brooke?” Hailey asked. She had noticed Brooke’s hand rubbing her own thigh in a nonchalant manner, inching closer to her crotch.

“Um, whaddya’ mean?”

“Well, I think they sorta look like sluts.”

“Yeah, well they are in a porn video, Hails.” Brooke snorted.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you wanna see, like, some regular girls doing this?”

“Would you?” Brooke asked.

Hailey turned to look right into Brooke’s eyes, “Yes. I would. A lot.” She said.

Brooke smiled.


It was Monday, with February just about done. Hailey and Brooke were meeting for the first time since their ‘porn discussion’ day. Brooke had a family function on the weekend so that was that, but now they sat in a coffee shop, corner booth, both with grins on their faces.

“Fuck, Hails, I couldn’t get our talk outta my head all weekend. I’d be sittin’ there with cousins and shit and they’d go ‘Brooke, you listenin’?’ and I’d be like. ‘Whaaa?’, she laughed.

“Yeah, I get it, B. So give me your, um, ideas.”

“Well, this is hard ‘cuz, you know, nobody likes to talk about shit, right?”

“Right. But you an’ me gotta talk some shit,“ they laughed.

Brooke then smiled a little smile, “So, I’m guessing you’ve gone down on a chick?”

“Yep. You?”

Brooke chuckled, nodding her dark head. “Yep. Soooo, I was thinkin’, we make a video of ourselves, like, for ourselves. An’ since it’s just the two of us in there, welllll, there’s no danger or anything, check?”

Hailey smiled. “Check.”

They raised their lattes to each other.

(End of Chapter 18)

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A Field Of Candles By LongDarkRoad Chapter 17 Time Shall Unfold What Plighted Cunning Hides

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 17  

Time Shall Unfold What Plighted Cunning Hides

Geneva was kneeling naked on the floor. Nicole and Christina sat at the table, drinking wine. Both had taken turns spanking the kneeling woman, Christina with more vigor than Nicole, who still did not really like this particular aspect of domination. But in the end Geneva’s ass was well reddened and she now waited obediently.

Christina had brought over a basic slave contract and she had just gone through it with Nicole who was now signing it. Nicole took the contract and a pen and placed them on the floor beside Geneva. “Sign on the bottom, my slave.”

“Y-yes, Miss N.” Geneva murmured, before adding her name on the indicated line. Nicole then took the paper and placed it before Christina to be witnessed.

After completing this task, Christina stood and walked over, standing behind Geneva. “Place your face on the floor and raise your hips.” Christina commanded and Geneva did as instructed. Christina then rubbed her shoe aggressively against Geneva’s shaved pussy, eliciting moans. “Ooooh, this bitch loves that, Miss N.” Christina remarked with a smile. “Stand slave and put your hands behind you.”

When Geneva had done this and was standing, trembling slightly, Christina stood beside her and asked quietly, “You know your owner is going to have you marked with a tattoo?” she purred.

“Yes, M-miss. I know that.” Geneva said, breathing hard.

“And you accept and agree to that?”

“Ye-yes, yes I do. I will be Miss N.’s p-property.” Geneva added in a quiet voice.

“Very good,” Christina said, running a finger down

Geneva’s face. “Very good indeed.”


”Hey,” the shorter of the two men called, although it wouldn’t have been in English, as both men were Serbs, “She’s coming.” The second man peered cautiously out the window and watched the tall, hooded figure come down the street.

The two had been watching the little yellow bungalow on Eighth Street in Belgrade for five days. So far there had been two sightings of a tall woman entering the house, but they had not been able to get a photo of her face. The second man readied his camera and then started taking shots. Tenth shot in, the woman lowered her hood and looked around quickly before entering.

The man rolled though the sixteen shots his camera had taken and smiled. There it was, at last, a shot of the woman’s face. He sent the series of shots off to his boss, Olivia Sheffield, and awaited her instructions.

Across the street, in the little bungalow, Amara Manos slouched into a chair and called Nicole’s number. It was Saturday and she would be home; they had arranged it.

“Amara.” Nicole’s voice came into her ear and Amara smiled.

“Hey there you, it’s been only two weeks since our last call, so I’m improving, yes?”

Nicole laughed. “Yeah, you’re improving in some areas; now if you could just get the whole sex thing worked out…”

They laughed.


Powell and Doukas sat in the early evening on their patio by their pool. Although it was late January the weather on Gran Canaria and Las Palmas was mild enough that all they needed was a sweater for her and a jacket for him.

As they sat, waiting for their coffee and dessert, finishing their Ouzo, their talk again was relaxed and engaging. As a treat, Doukas had brought in a chef for tonight to prepare a traditional Greek meal. They had started with salad (Greek!) of course before dining on a flavorful and filling Moussaka.

A server now brought the conclusion to their meal. Daphne sampled hers and asked, “Ummm, this is wonderful. What is it?”

“Galaktoboureko,” Doukas answered.

“What?” Daphne said; “Ok, ok, that’s good.” She added, as it looked like Doukas would explain. “I’ll take your word for what it’s called; but what is it?”

Doukas laughed, “Custard.” He grinned.

“Ahhh, it is lovely. Mmmm, and the coffee is excellent, as usual.”

“We Greeks take our coffee seriously, my dear,” Doukas murmured, drinking his. The chef had been warned that the coffee needed to be the best; or else. He wasn’t interested in finding out what the ‘or else’ was, Doukas’s reputation preceding the man, so the coffee was the best.

“You like your food, Louis.” Daphne smiled at him across the small glass table.

Doukas accepted another glass of Ouzo and sat for a moment in thought. “You know, when I was thirteen I was on my own. I lived, literally, on the streets for years. I came to appreciate a roof over my head when I could find one. I learned what time certain restaurants threw out left over food; that was how I survived.” He sipped his drink, Daphne watching silently.

“After I began to make money, I dreamed of a house; I dreamed of eating in nice restaurants. When I became wealthy, I began buying houses. I have them all over, as you know. But I also appreciate good food. Very much. I appreciate every meal.” He smiled at her.

“You can’t really appreciate something if you’ve never

gone without, right?” She said quietly.

“That’s exactly it.” Doukas said, raising his glass in salute. “Although some meals are much better because of the company.”

They laughed.


“Hey,” Dani exclaimed, poking her head into Nicole’s little office, “this just came for you.” She dropped an envelope, addressed, ‘N. Martin’, onto Nicole’s desk. There was no return address.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Nicole said, before adding, “So, how was your weekend, nudge, nudge, wink, wink?”

Dani laughed, “I think we’re starting to get used to the arrangement. I probably spent only an hour with my face between Shannon’s thighs, and Luke screwed her once, so, yeah, things are starting to slow down.”

Nicole threw a balled up piece of paper at her assistant, “Get out, you’re making me horny and it’s not fair.”

They both laughed.


Following the information in the letter she had received, Nicole had left work, driven home, dropped off her vehicle and taken a cab to where she was now. She looked out at the row of mostly warehouses and depressing looking brick buildings with some commercial shops, but there was little traffic and only the occasional person or two on the street.

When Nicole went to pay the driver he said it was already looked after and drove off. He seemed happy to be moving on; Nicole looked around her with unease and found the address on the letter. Just then her cell buzzed and she fumbled with the device a little getting it out of her coat pocket while wearing gloves.

“Yes,” she finally said into the device.

“Where are you?” Sheffield’s brusque manner greeted

her. It was the odious woman herself who had sent the missive earlier.

“I’m here, near the building. Wait, I think it is right in front of me.” She began walking toward a three-storey red brick building.

“Ok,” The phone went dead.

Nicole approached the front glass doors, opening them with caution. “Hello?” she said, but no answer came. She stepped inside and heard footsteps, the unmistakeable clack of high heels on concrete coming toward her, but from the briskness of the tap she didn’t believe it was Sheffield.

It wasn’t, although when the woman came into view she was similar to Sheffield; large. This woman though was not as heavy, although she did have large breasts. She was also black, or brown at any rate. Like Sheffield she was all business and said in greeting, “Ms. Martin. Follow me.” and turned, heading back up the corridor she had just come down, her hips rolling beneath her tight black dress. Nicole followed along, a feeling of dread within her.

“Damn,” she murmured.


Doukas and Powell went inside, the darkness now settling around them. Their villa was placed high on a piece of land that itself rose in elevation, and so had a wonderful view. The building’s architect had used this rise in design, and the living room of the villa had floor to ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the ocean, although at this moment it was a dark, quietly moving mass.

With the inside lights dimmed, the two sat, drinking more coffee, chatting. Doukas was not usually a loquacious man, but Daphne Powell had that ability of getting men to open up. She was a listener; she was not pretending to be one, and she genuinely enjoyed hearing Louis Doukas talk.

“So what was your first smuggling operation, Louis, How

did Dionysus come about?”

Doukas looked at her with affection. “I don’t know if there is time for all that, my dear,” He replied, but she was persistent and he began.

“Well, let’s see; it was a series of events, really, that happened.” He rubbed his prominent nose for a moment in thought. “When I left home, with very little, I did have one or two things belonging to my mother which I took, I guess, for sentimental reasons. It was years before I really bothered with them, hiding them in various places as I scrounged around. One was a letter to my mother from her sister in Athens.

At age eighteen I decided, without much thought, to travel to my home town and see if I could find my relatives. I did, my aunt and uncle greeting me warmly and with astonishment, believing me long dead of course.”

Doukas chuckled here. “My uncle was a bit of a crook it turned out and he had a good friend, a man named Gabriel Kantos, who gave me my first job, driving one of his trucks. Kantos, it turned out, was a slightly larger crook than my uncle.”

Doukas chuckled again over this. “Anyway, my dear, my past must be very boring to you; it is wonderful how you can listen.”

Powell laid a delicate hand on Doukas’s arm. “I’m listening because I’m interested. Now, how did this Kantos person evolve into Dionysus, or did he? You can’t stop here for heaven’s sakes.”

Doukas chuckled some more. He was actually enjoying this. “Fine, fine, here you go. Both my uncle and Kantos had real jobs; Kantos had a couple of trucks, and a boat and did hauling, at least that was the way it looked. In reality, Kantos was actually a smuggler; he could be hired to bring in just about anything for money; he had no scruples. I drove a truck for him and before long was doing everything.” He paused here to sip some coffee.

“Ok,” Daphne noted, “at least we now have trucks and a boat; that’s a connection to Dionysus.” She smiled.

“Yes, yes it is. But more than that, both my uncle and Kantos were kind of models for me; men who had one job but a more lucrative line as a side issue. I liked that, actually. Ok, let me speed things up with a couple of highlights.”

“Fine,” Daphne said, “But I’m finding this very interesting, so continue.”

Doukas sighed and took a breath. “When I was twenty-one my uncle up and died; heart attack; Boom! Here one day and then gone. My, um, grieving aunt took up with another man in jig time; I’m pretty sure it was already happening before, but she moved away to Italy a month after the death. I was sort of at loose ends, and had begun arguing with Kantos about many things. He was, to me, the kind of man that cannot see the forest for the trees.”

“But you could, my dear. And I mean that sincerely.” Daphne smiled.

“Well, the trees for me were drugs. Kantos was taking risks bringing in stuff that would fetch maybe five thousand American dollars on the street, while right next to him on the same stretch of beach, a shipment of drugs was coming in with a street value of two hundred thousand. He couldn’t get it; he didn’t want to understand it. We argued and it got quite nasty; he threatened to have me run out of town.”

They sat in silence for a moment, this story now up in the air. “And what did you do, for heaven’s sakes? Did he run you out of town?” Daphne prodded.

Doukas gazed out at the ocean. “No, no he didn’t. I didn’t give him the chance. I shot the son-of-a-bitch, dumped his body in the sea and took over his business. So, there. I guess you can say I was a self-starter.” He smiled a rueful sort of smile at her.

After a moment, Daphne spoke softly, “Oh my, my, my, but you are something, Louis. I believe your story. I do. All of it, even the bad parts. It’s a terrible story, when you think of it, yet I still like you just the same. Oh dear.”

She laughed, softly as well.


Nicole followed the rolling hips down a dingy corridor until they turned a corner and stopped in front of a large, uniformed man holding a rifle, his face partly covered. He looked nasty and threatening. The woman opened the door with a modern key card and they entered. This room was small, like a parlor. The woman turned and with a dour face said, “Remove your clothes.”

Nicole stared and stood unmoving. The woman rolled her eyes and gripped Nicole’s collar, “That man outside would be more than happy to come in and remove them for you, but I’m not sure he would stop with just your clothes, got it. Now get ‘em off or I call him in.” 

Was everyone connected with Doukas stupid assholes? Nicole pondered, then remembered Amara and realized no, but still…. In a few moments, trembling with cold, shame and anger, Nicole handed over her black thong. The woman took everything in the same dour manner, efficiently folding the clothes and stuffing them into a clear bag.

“This way,” she said when Nicole was naked, although she needn’t have bothered, as there was one door out to the hall and this other door leading into another room. Nicole followed her again, her feet cold on the bare concrete. In this second room, about twice the size of the first, the floor was still bare. In it there was a long narrow table with some electronic equipment on it, a large, very sturdy wooden chair, ominously bolted to the floor, a cot against one wall, an old school metal filing cabinet and a desk.

In front of the desk stood Olivia Sheffield. She had a small smile on her broad face.


When the document arrived, Peter van der Strom was not surprised; he had been expecting it, in fact. He knew his marriage was basically over, at least emotionally, years ago. Now that Sophie was off at college and he was essentially settled in London, divorce made sense, although he did feel a twinge of sadness.

As he was reading, Ronald came into the sitting area of their flat. Peter showed him the document and Ronald nodded, “Not a surprise, eh old chap.” Ronald laid on the cockney accent as a ’bit of a lark’ to lighten the mood; he knew Peter found it amusing.

“No, it’s not. Still, I’m feeling a little sentimental.”

“Understood,” Ronald said, sitting beside Peter and putting an arm around his shoulders. It was an odd relationship in that Peter was older and taller, but Ronald was the dominant one. “So,” Ronald murmured, “I believe you were going to make me breakfast, right?”

“Oh, yes, so sorry, got distracted.” Peter stood and smoothed his smock, before heading out to their little galley kitchen.

“I like that dress on you.” Ronald called, as Peter’s lanky frame moved out the door. He turned and smiled a self-deprecating smile, reddening a little as he always did when Ronald complimented him.

Ronald laughed.


Sheffield looked on with that same annoying bemused smile as the other woman, obviously her helper, fastened Nicole in the heavy chair. Her wrists and ankles were restrained with thick straps; a strap went around her waist and two straps went around her thighs; finally a strap went around her neck; Nicole was immobilized.

When this was all completed, the woman attached and inserted electro receptors, pads and tube; two pads on Nicole’s nipples, one above her heart, one on her throat, and two on her temples. The woman inserted the short tube into Nicole’s vagina, with Nicole protesting to no avail. When everything was attached, the woman went behind the table and fired up the equipment which looked to be several monitors of various sorts, a computer and some other devices.

Sheffield came to stand in front of Nicole, looking down at her with scorn. In her hand she carried a clipboard.

“Is this really necessary?” Nicole spat at the woman.

Sheffield stood quietly for a moment, then lashed out with a backhand that caught Nicole full on the side of her face. Sheffield then gripped Nicole’s face with an amazingly strong grasp that hurt, “Shut up, whore. You talk when you are asked.”

Nicole could taste the blood in her mouth and she struggled to keep her fear and rage under control.

Sheffield leaned back against the desk. “Now, Ms. Martin; I am going to ask you some questions, and you have both a carrot and a stick when it comes to the answers. First off, we have you hooked up to record your vitals, telling us if you are lying. Ms. Cezair here is an expert with this. However, more importantly, I already know the answers to most of these questions; but you don’t know which ones. If you give me a wrong answer, this will happen.”

She nodded her head and a jolt went through Nicole. It stunned her and was quite surprisingly painful. Nicole screamed, then struggled to find her breath; there was a ringing in her ears.

“That was a four, Slut; the dial goes to ten; unfortunately, if we left you on ten for more than thirty seconds, you would die. We don’t want that to happen, do we?” She smiled a malevolent smile.

Nicole shook her head; fear had now gripped her. Sheffield wasn’t just a bitch; she was a crazy bitch.

Sheffield then came and waved a piece of paper in front of Nicole’s face. It was a check. “But, Ms. Martin, even for a slut like you, we have a carrot. See, here is a check made out to cash for twenty-five thousand. Along with this check you will have our promise that our business with you is over. Finished. You will be free of us and clear of your debts. A very good deal all round, for you. All you need to do is tell the truth. Do you understand?”

Nicole nodded her head. She didn’t know really if she could trust this bitch, but Doukas had made the point that he wasn’t a liar; and for some reason Nicole believed that. “Ok, let’s begin.” Sheffield said. “First, are you a lesbian?”

Nicole snorted, “You know that.” she spat out, then considered. She didn’t want another jolt and she didn’t want to be hit. “Yes, I am a lesbian.”

Sheffield smiled a thin smile reminiscent of Doukas. “Quite so; we of course know you love to eat pussy. Now, did you and Amara Manos have an affair?”

So, Nicole thought, this is really about Amara, “Yes, we did.”

Sheffield moved to the door and exited. In a moment she returned with a cup of tea. “Ava, would you like anything?”

“Thank you Ms. Sheffield, I am fine. Both those answers showed as true, by the way.”

Sheffield nodded, then continued. “Have you been in contact with Manos in the last few weeks, by phone or in person?”

Nicole did not see the harm in answering this; after all it was Doukas who had given Amara leave to ‘use’ Nicole. “Yes, both. I have spoken with her several times since our ‘trip’, and she came to visit me once.”

“Has Manos ever spoken to you about her, em, assignments for Mr. Doukas?”

Nicole pondered, then replied, “All she has ever told me, once or twice, was where she was. She has never told me what she was doing; she said it could put me in danger.” Sheffield looked over at Cezair, who nodded.

“Has she ever spoken about doing work for others?”

Nicole stared at Sheffield. “I, uh, honestly don’t know. She doesn’t ever tell me details at all. I assume she only works for Doukas; she has never, never mentioned anyone else.”

“When the two of you last spoke via phone, did she say where she was?”

“Um, once she was in Romania, and she told me that. The last time she said she would be out-of-touch. Mostly I got the feeling that she was just at her home; I think that’s Belgrade; I, um, I’m not sure how I know that, but that’s what comes to mind.”

Sheffield regarded the woman; she was answering easily without any thought, not the sign of a liar. “What gave you the impression she was at home?”

“Hmmm,” Nicole considered this. “Well, she was smoking weed; one time I think she had been in the shower. I don’t know, the chatter just seemed like someone sitting around their house. There were never any other, like noises. It never sounded out of doors. Maybe I just assumed….”

Sheffield paused to drink some tea. “Has Amara ever confided her feelings to you, positive or negative, toward Mr. Doukas?”

Nicole hesitated for just a moment before saying, “She didn’t, um, like him.”

“She said that?”

“Not in, so many words. There was a history there, you know, um, between them; from way back. Doukas had harmed her in some way and, well, she had never totally forgiven him.”

“Did she ever confide in you any plans she may have had for…revenge?”

Nicole’s heart beat hard; this was a difficult question; she didn’t want to betray Amara but she was in a bad situation. If she lied, Sheffield would very likely know, she would be punished, or worse, and the

truth would be known anyway.

“I’m waiting, Ms. Martin.”

“Um, she said simply that Doukas had told her once that they were even, but she didn’t feel that way. Ummm, that they were…even. But she did not elaborate, you have to believe me. There was no specifics; just the emotion.”

This was actually very interesting to Sheffield. She knew the relationship with Amara preceded her own relationship with Doukas, and that had always bothered her. The fact that he had never given her details about what had happened with them, also bothered her. Now it was coming clearer.

Amara appeared to be shielding Martin, which made sense, so she would not let her in on anything remotely dangerous. But Martin had told her enough as it was.

For as they were doing the interrogation, Cezair was also running Nicole’s phone through a diagnostic device, mapping the locations of all her calls, in and out. Sheffield now wandered over and looked at the results. Cezair indicating that several calls had bounced off the same cell tower in Belgrade as the ones made to Tel Aviv.

That was it, as far as Sheffield was concerned. It was too much of a coincidence. Whether Amara had assisted the Mossad or not, she had been in touch secretly. That was treason.

Sheffield wandered back to Nicole, Cezair joining her. They released all the bonds and then fastened Nicole’s wrists behind her. After this was accomplished, Nicole was lifted off the chair and Sheffield sat down in her place, lifting her skirt and revealing she was wearing no under garments. Nicole was now on her knees staring at an extremely heavy dark brown pubic bush. For the first time Cezair cracked a smile and Sheffield let out a guffaw.

“We can’t miss out on the chance to have a real, live lesbian work on us, can we Ms. Martin?” She smirked.  “Service me and then Ava and you are done for the day. Be enthusiastic, because both Ms. Cezair and I enjoy laying on the paddle. She nodded in the direction of an implement hanging on one wall.

With everything that was happening Nicole had not noticed it. Both women laughed as Sheffield pulled Nicole’s face to her belly. (End of Chapter 17