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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 14 And The Ringmaster Watches From The Side

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 14 And The Ringmaster Watches From The Side

Emily stood still; it sounded like her father’s elevator was at work. Moving to the front of the house, she caught just a glimpse of a tall, it seemed, woman, before she disappeared around the line of foliage marking their yard’s boundary, and was lost from view.

Now, who could be visiting Daddy-dearest at this time of night, Emily wondered. It wasn’t like the man was social in any way. Maybe she should go up there now and barge in, demanding an audience with his greatness? No, she would wait a little longer. Let Daddy-kins lie quiet; she still needed to think over all that Chantico shared about the needles and shit. And that he sat out in that place every morning. Hmmmm, all that was interesting. And useful.

Emily headed to the kitchen as Downing came in her direction, his eyes diverted in subservience. But as he passed, Downing did something odd, he passed her a note. At first Emily wasn’t really tuned in to the situation but it occurred, suddenly to her, that this might be Downing’s way of alerting her to possible surveillance, going all CIA-mode like this. It would be just like Clown-man to be watching them. All of them.

Downing had continued on and then up the stairs to his room, clearly his purpose was the note. Emily entered the kitchen and took a bottle from the fridge, then poured some wine as Chantico came down the stairs to her. “May I get you anything?” the girl asked, coming close.

Emily pulled her in to kiss and cuddle a bit, before releasing her saying, “No, Chanty baby, you look after Mel-bel. I’m good.” The girl giggled, took something from the fridge as well and headed back upstairs. Emily realized it was almost midnight. Shit, where does the time go?

She proceeded to the library, then thought that if any room was bugged, it would be that one, and decided instead to head for the patio. At least out there she could smoke. She sipped some wine and lit a Lucky Strike, then spread Downing’s note on the glass table. It was brief but interesting, saying simply, “Ross knows about the other accounts.”

So, Emily pondered, Mr. Egg knows more than he shows. Well, maybe Mr. Humpty Dumpty will have a fall, she chuckled to herself, sipping some wine.


Ryland Ross settled into his spot in the baths. This was his only non-work activity, and he tried to get it in once a week. He was settled as usual, away from anyone else. He did not like physical contact; didn’t really like even being close to others, which was one reason he avoided elevators and buses. After the bath, he would allow his masseuse, a hefty Romanian woman named Ida, to pummel his pudgy body and that would be it; his physical contact for the week. Then it was a bracing shower and back to his work.

And with what Mr. Hawkins had him working at, he needed to stay sharp. He had never doubted his boss and benefactor, appreciating that his own wealth, and he was comfortably a millionaire, had come mostly through his dealings with Hawkins; who had been his main client for several years before becoming his exclusive one.

No, he knew where his bread was buttered and while he could retire if he chose, he liked his work, and he actually liked working for Stafford Hawkins. And he didn’t like to fail; but he really wasn’t sure what Mr. H. was up to these days. And why on earth wouldn’t he meet with his daughter? He couldn’t avoid it, not for ever. At that moment, however, the imposing figure of Ida loomed over the divider, letting him know it was his time. Ross nodded his egg-shaped noggin.


Folake had released Carman from her bonds, but not before giving her a different release, a lovely one; and now they lay together. “We should get ready for  bed,” Carman murmured.

“I know,” Folake said, quietly. They lay, gently stroking each other’s arms.

“I mean, like soon,” Carman continued.

Folake sighed, “I know. Soon.” They lay quietly still.

“You liked Candace?” Carman asked, gliding her hand down the sloping belly and over Folake’s sex.

“Hmmmm, I did. She is, delicious. Too young for you, you know that, but still lovely to enjoy.”

“You think I should not be involved with her?”

“Oh no, no. Be involved. We do not have many opportunities in life to be with someone like Candace. Or Emily, for that matter. As long as you can control your heart, know what is possible and what is not, then you can enjoy. No, I want Candace to come back. I wish to enjoy her, watching you with her, and all of that. But, I know she likes you very much, so you must be careful.”

Carman sighed. “Love wasn’t always so complicated for me. There was a time I never gave feelings a thought; just did what I wished.”

“Ummm, yes, my sweet, the freedom of youth. But time closes us in; we cannot continue like we once did. That is just life. But with age comes understanding, and acceptance, and, even, contentment.”

Carman sighed again, “Yeah, unless you’re Stafford Hawkins. I don’t believe that man can find contentment.”

Folake chuckled. “I would agree; but he is not the only one. Hmmmm? Oh, by the way, you should meet with Emily again; just to be aware of what her plans are.”

“I agree, my mistress.” They both chuckled, then Folake rose and helped Carman from the bed and they headed to the bathroom.


Tad lay on Raisha’s couch. His leased Lamborghini had gone back to the dealership so he had no wheels, even if he wanted to go somewhere.

“So whadda’ we s’posed to do with him?” Brianna asked, regarding the unshaven and dozing form.

Raisha took a long hit of hash smoke and shrugged. “Keep him here. Keep him alive. Watch him and report back to the lady. Just like they say, bide our time.”

“Hmmm, what does that, like mean? How’d you bide time?” Brianna commented, Raisha shrugged. Brianna added, “Gimme a hit of that, hey.”

“Sure,” Raisha said, coughing with the strength of the smoke as she passed the pipe over. “It’s some good shit.”

“Maybe we should wake pretty boy and let him enjoy?”

“Nah, somethin’ happened to him; don’t know, but he’s not feelin’ good. Leave the mutha’ fucka’ be.” Raisha pronounced, leaning back on the cushion.


Friday morning, Candace Eiermann waited outside Carman’s office, having gotten there as soon as the building’s doors opened. Carman smiled at her as she arrived and motioned for the girl to follow into her office. As Candace closed the door, Carman put down her briefcase and embraced her, thinking she looked amazingly attractive today. They kissed carefully, aware of their lipstick.

“Do I look okay?” Candace asked, dressed in a stylish navy pants and jacket outfit.

“You look absolutely great, kid, Too great. I’d like to take that jacket and pants combo off right now, but I’ll control myself. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, to celebrate your first day?”

Candace’s face lit up. “Oh God, that would be sick. I’m all yours. TBH.”

Carman just smiled, not sure if having someone as tempting as Candace around was such a great idea. TBH.


Ross contemplated Downing with his mild gaze. “So, what is it that you are saying again?”

Downing consulted his notes and replied in his own mild way, “It’s just that there is money in Mr. Hawkins’s dealings that goes places I can’t find. I don’t care, one way or the other, but I do need to know, um, why.” Downing had taken Emily’s advice, and looked behind things.

Seven companies were clustered under Documart’s management framework. The parent company did not need to ‘run’ these companies, and they were diverse, from phone apps to electronic mall sales, but the finances were funnelled through the single entity, with Ross, Downing and Da Costa being the final authority.

Only when Downing did an online check, just out of curiosity, he found each of the companies had a separate bank account that was not under his view. It was frustrating that he could see their existence but could not find out anything else, even what branch.

This was not the eleven rogue accounts; Downing had known of their existence and purpose for years. But these new accounts, which he could see existed but could not access, were something different.

“If Mr. Hawkins wishes to have a hundred accounts it is not my business, in the end, but I do need to at least know of them,” Downing maintained, believing that Ross had this information; he just wasn’t sharing it; yet.

Ross rubbed his nose and then his prestigious dome. He of course knew of these accounts; he did not believe his boss did anything illegal with them, he was simply a secretive and somewhat paranoid man who liked to control things. He didn’t, for example, want everything open to the shareholders of Documart to view; and with what had transpired with his daughter, you could begin to understand why.

But Downing had a point; he was the company’s senior accountant, the one who presented financial statements. Why was he in the dark? Why indeed.



“Carman, hey babe, how’s life? Whose muff you munchin’ today?” Emily replied to her caller.

Carman paused, there was a slight edge to Emily’s teasing today, but she wasn’t going to react. She smiled, hoping the sentiment would travel to the young woman. “You know I enjoy munching yours, right?”

“Yeah, if you say so. How can I help you?”

“Well, I’m calling for a date, sweets. How’s that?”

Emily chuckled, “Hey, cool, lemme’ check my calendar. What’s your plan?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Ooooh, Saturday, big time. You going to put a move on me, hmmmm?”

Carman chuckled for real this time, “You never know. I’ll ply you with some wine first, how’s that?”

“Sounds like my kinda date? You pickin’ me up?”

“Yes, how’s seven-thirty sound?”

“Sounds good to me. Which one of us will be wearin’ the strap-on?”

“Emily.” Carman laughed out loud. “You’re incorrigible.” Then, not knowing why, she added, “I might be wearing a butt plug, though.”

Emily guffawed at that. “Now you’re just messing with my mind, Car-baby, but you have given me somethin’ to think about.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“You got it.”

After ending her call, Emily carried on upstairs. She had noted Melanie out on the patio and Chantico was vacuuming on the main level. Her father had left just before Carman’s call, so the upstairs was hers.

Now she entered the third floor bathroom and opened the cupboard. She looked at the box of syringes, there were at least forty. Wearing gloves, she removed two and took them, moving quickly back down to the second floor and her room, where she hid them with her underwear. So far, so good, she thought. It was just a matter of time.


Ryland Ross went back through his list; his numbers were recent, but they showed a concerning trend; Mr. Hawkins was creating some sort of mega-fund, funnelling money from other accounts into it. What was its purpose? He checked the ‘rogue’ accounts and they seemed to have been left alone. Whatever his boss was planning, he hadn’t shared it with anyone.

How much to share with Downing? How much to prod from the man himself? Ross rubbed his nose, contemplating. 


“Uhnn; uhnn; uhnn; uhnn;” Carman was grunting rhythmically as Candace drove the dildo into her from behind. Folake was standing beside them, but tonight she was not watching idly. A more accurate description would be ‘uhnn, uhnn whack!’ as Folake brought the small wooden paddle down on Candace’s lovely, round and reddening ass every couple of thrusts.

After their dinner, in a modest restaurant a couple of blocks from the apartment, Carman had brought Candace back here. As Folake had watched, the two women stripped each other and paraded around before the dark, smiling woman, posing as she directed them. Folake then placed a leather harness around Candace’s firm, full, young breasts; they were the perfect type for this harness and Folake stood looking at them in appreciation for several moments.

She then attached a harness around the young woman’s waist and placed a seven-inch, dark brown dildo into it. This phallus also had a three inch stub that was inserted into the harness wearer’s vagina, and along with a protrusion that rubbed the wearer’s clit, this stub provided stimulation with each thrust. So both Candace and Carman were thus each aroused with the act.

Right now, as Folake paddled her ass, Candace’s eyes were closed, her mouth was open and she was in a world of her own and into a wonderful rhythm that clearly consumed her, with the steady, unconscious thrust of her hips against her partner’s ass. Slap, slap, slap, until she cried out, climaxing before Carman, who was close.

“I’m sorry,” Candace moaned, as she slumped over Carman’s back. “Oh my God. Ohhh. Mmmmm.” She mumbled, as Folake came to her assistance, slowly pulling the hard, rubber cock out of Carman and laying the lovely Candace on the carpet. Folake then positioned Carman’s pussy over Candace’s mouth. “Lick her, Candace. Bring her off,” Folake instructed, while unbuckling the harness and gently rubbing Candace’s still engorged vulva, as the girl lay and sucked her partner.

In a few moments, all was brought to a satisfying conclusion, with Candace and Carman then embracing as they lay on the floor; Folake looking on with a smile of benign appreciation, like a teacher viewing a student’s project.


Basel, Switzerland (French/Swiss border) – 2009

The wealthy American was shown into Dr. Haener’s office. The doctor, who could easily play one of those mad scientists found in sci-fi movies; mop of white hair and dark round glasses (he was even wearing a lab coat) rose from his desk to greet the man, his mild accent slightly apparent.

“Goot day, Mr. Hawkins.”

“Good day to you sir; please accept my apology, I do not shake hands.”

“Understood, thank you zir. Kindly take a zeat.”

The room had a ‘hospital’ feel; not surprising considering they were in the Haeners/During Clinic for Aging, and it was accentuated by the abundance of white. Outside was the white skimming the heights of the Alps; inside were white curtains, white carpet and white leather chairs. When Haener’s nurse/assistant returned with tea, she was dressed all in white, apart from her bright red lipstick, which stood out in the room.

“Und zo, you are interested in our project?” Haener began, removing his glasses to wipe them, a recurring gesture.

Hawkins regarded the man; he had flown several thousand miles to hear him, but he would not be rushed. “I am interested, yes. There is, of course, much skepticism with your work.”

Haener waved away the skepticism with his hand, as if it were but a fruit fly. “Everything new has its skeptics, Mr. Hawkins. You, yourself, know zis first hand. I have read of zome of your innovations, emails being sent to cell phones for example, that vere questioned at first. Ve must deal with this as… creators.”

Hawkins nodded. “Yes, sir, we must. But I deal with convenience and communication. You deal with, well, life itself. That’s far more likely to receive harsh comments and rejection.”

The good doctor nodded his head, the noble martyr at work, before saying, “Vell, to be precise, ve deal not vith life, but with the unacceptable loss of living zat ve call aging. That is not quite the zame.”

“Just so,” Hawkins replied, smiling a mirthless smile.

“But,” said the good doctor, “please join me in tea. It is Lemon Grass; we have it flown in from Tibet.”


Emily and Carman sat across from each other in the library. They had wine and the evening sun was throwing shafts of light across the plush carpet between them. Emily was wearing her usual smirk; Carman was feeling a little restrained; things had changed.

“So,” Emily began, “got that plug in there, sweets?”

Carman laughed. “Actually, no. I said that to tease you, because you’re such a tease.” She sipped her wine.

Emily nodded her head, “Would you wear one if I asked?”

“Maybe, I’d need to see it first,” she smiled.

“Ooooh, listen to the pro. What’s been happening in Carman’s life?” Emily purred. She actually didn’t know, for sure; she’d heard…things. But she knew that Carman was involved with someone; that part was easy to read. Yet, here she was. Why? “So any news on the Darth Hawkins front?”

Carman snorted, “You are a nut, Em.” She shook her head slowly. “Well, your daddy-dear has kept me busy with selling off things. I don’t think he realizes that the companies have employees that need to be sorted out. I’ve kept my assistant busy.”

“Hmmm. Is he still spooked? Watching me like a…hawk?” She smiled.

Carman returned the smile. “I can’t figure out the deal with you and him, Em. It’s a mystery. I’m not sure even he knows.” She paused, considering. “You might be interested in this. He, um, did bring a woman down to, well, punish someone. It couldn’t have been you or anyone standing in for you. The woman told me it was to be a man.” Carman paused again, looking at Emily who was clearly interested.  “But, it ended up being…me.” Carman sipped her wine, eyes down.

Emily sat up straight. “Daddy-dear brought down a pro to, uh, fucking punish someone? Who?”

“Like I said, a man.”

“Well, fuck; that doesn’t give many options. It wouldn’t be just some assistant. And she ended up punishing you? How the Hell does that work?”

Carman looked steadily across at Emily. For the first time that evening she was beginning to feel arousal. “It was a choice; accept the punishment, which was whipping with a cane, or take my severance and leave.”

“Holy Shit!” Emily exclaimed. “That’s nasty. And he had you cane-whipped? That smarts. Fuck. How’d you do?”

Carman continued to stare at Emily, her heart beating now, her breathing speeding up. “I did okay, actually. I, um, didn’t, well, mind it so much. In fact,“ she sipped some more wine, “I ended up moving in with the woman. She’s my, um, partner who you’ve wondered about.”

It was Emily’s turn to sit and stare. “Holy Fuck.” She said.

She seemed to be saying that a lot lately.


Carman took the elevator up to the fourth floor; her time with Emily had been enjoyable, and she had felt arousal when relaying her new situation, but in the end it was decided that she head home. As the elevator made its way up, she considered her feelings. Part of her, she had to admit, would have enjoyed staying with Emily; that was the part that was feeling disappointment.

But the other part of her, the larger part, simply wasn’t comfortable with that happening. It was hard enough sorting out her new feelings for Candace and her submission to Folake, without including Emily in the mix.

When Carman entered the apartment, she saw the back of a naked woman and the face of Folake, sitting with her legs spread wide; the woman’s head was clearly between her thighs. Folake opened her eyes and smiled, then motioned Carman over. She could now see that the woman was Gina the house wife. Gina’s ass was nicely reddened so she had obviously enjoyed some of Folake’s handiwork.

“Ah my dear, I wasn’t sure you would make it home, but I am delighted. Gina’s husband is away so I am using her tonight. She has agreed to be my slave for the evening, so undress and join us.” Carman did that and in a moment her head was beside Gina’s, both women kissing and licking Folake’s thighs and vagina, one of Folake’s hands on each of their heads.


Emily sat out on the patio in the darkness, her mind churning. The conversation with Carman, confession was more like it, aroused and depressed her. She would like to punish Carman, would enjoy it very much, but she knew that the woman was lost to her, at least for now.

However, she was also deep in thought over Carman’s comments about the woman who had come down to do Daddy-dearest’s naughty business; punish someone. What the Hell? And it was a man she came for; and damn it, the only man who made sense, was darling Drew.

As Emily lit her cigarette, she smiled; they hadn’t had a session with Drewsie today because of her ‘date’, and other things, saying they would have ‘some fun’ on Sunday.

Well, now it was fun with a purpose; Uncle Drew had more stories to tell.


Stafford Hawkins waited as Chantico entered his office, then came around his desk to deposit his tray of boiled eggs, dry toast and weak tea before him. “Thank you my dear,” he murmured.

In her shower, Folake bent forward slightly, allowing Gina easier access as the woman diligently cleaned her back and buttocks, before kneeling and washing between her ‘mistress’s’ thighs. “Ummm, that feels so nice, my dear,” she murmured.

Now downstairs in the house in Adams Hill, Emily Hawkins adjusted the wrist straps holding Drew Downing to the wooden ‘slave cross’; it was new and she was trying it out for the first time.

She knelt, adding two more weights to the cluster already attached by a clip to the man’s testicles. They were pulling his sack down obscenely, and Emily set them to swinging, back and forth, Downing moaning and twisting on the X-cross. She then took the candle burning beside them and held the flame under Downing’s balls. The bound, gagged and blindfolded victim immediately began to squirm and twist in his straps, like a tiger in a net, making animal noises.

“Awwww, Unca Drewsie doesn’t like having his nut sack burned by a candle. Poor Unca Drewsie,” Emily sang and Chantico, free of her tasks for Hawkins Sr., hooted with laughter.

Emily often made her laugh.

At Raisha’s apartment, Brianna wasn’t happy. “For fuck’s sake,” she fumed, “the asshole has puked all over himself.”

Raisha came to stand and look at him. “C’mon. We’ll drag him in the shower and just let it run.” And they did.

“What a useless prick,” Brianna noted.

Candace, running in Griffith Park, slowed her jog down to a walk and adjusted her iPhone, picking a quieter mix. She was trying but having a hard time not thinking about Carman. How can it be, she wondered, that someone I didn’t even know existed last month is now killing me? She started to jog again, deciding to call after she was finished. Maybe they could meet for a coffee.

Melanie closed up her book as Emily came in and grabbed a glass of orange juice. They exchanged hellos and then Emily headed back to the ‘spare room’; that wasn’t so spare anymore. Melanie went back to her book; she didn’t want to know what was happening in there.

In his large house only a few blocks from his boss, Ryland Ross stepped from the shower, towelling his head. Sometimes not having to worry about hair made life easier.

And in her little apartment, Becky Flagg, who had begun sneaking tapes and film collections out to study at home (as she knew she was being watched) saw something interesting. She would give Emily a call later to discuss; maybe they would get together.


The fortune teller was always popular at the circus; people having fun with their futures.

But for several members of Glendale, not having a fortune teller handy today was not a bad thing.

Who knows how happy many of them would have been, to look very far down the road this pleasant Sunday morning.

(End of Chapter 14)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 13 Lions & Tigers There Were, But No Wolves

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 13 Lions & Tigers There Were, But No Wolves

Downing was allowed this morning to sit on a chair like a human as he spoke with Emily. They were on the patio and Downing was headed to work, face cleaned of all the previous day’s decoration. “Gee, Drewsums, didn’t hardly recognize ya’.” Emily deadpanned and Downing just smiled. Her teasing did not affect him, but he wasn’t going to let her know. Let her have her fun, he thought.

Emily was actually dying to hear his take on what went down last night, but she put that off; she would talk with Chantico (that little devil, she smirked to herself). Right now, she needed to talk about other things. “Ok, Downing the accountant, you need to look harder. Daddy-kins has money in things that are not showing up; where are they? The cash? The companies?”

Downing shook his head. He wasn’t being evasive, he really hadn’t found anything more than what he had given her. “I have looked, Em, Miss M.” he said in his soft voice.

“You need to look harder. I need to know just what he’s got. I don’t know, look behind things. You’re the money guy. Also, if he plans to push things with Melanie and me, I need a warning.”

Downing rose, then added almost as an afterthought. “Did Melanie tell you what they talked about?”

Emily thought for a moment and realized Melanie had not told her much at all, and she had not pursued it. “She didn’t share, which is odd, but then maybe it was, like family. Weird. You don’t know anything either it seems?”

“No, Melanie hasn’t shared and it was not something um, financial I guess, as Mr. Hawkins has said nothing as well. Uh, weird, like you say.”

“Hmmmm…” Emily mused. “Thank you, Drewsie. Keep those ears open.” She paused and smirked, ”Although, you know, we’ll need a name for that other Drewsie, the one with the blonde hair?” Emily laughed out loud. Downing for his part felt a stab of arousal. He would like her to name him, and he had loved dressing as a woman; he was already fantasizing about the next time, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Yet.

After he had departed and the dedicated Chantico had brought her some tea and toast, Emily lit a cigarette and sat in contemplation: Melanie, Tad, Carman. She needed to talk with all three.

And what had Melanie and Daddy-kins discussed? Maybe nothing, but more likely something.


Carman busied herself today with responsibilities; it seemed a little easier, with Saturday slowly fading. One of their clerk/receptionists was leaving and there were interviews for the position. Carman had her main assistant Tia conduct the initial seven, narrowing the group down to two, and Carman would be interviewing them today.

She also had a buyer for the last of the eight companies Hawkins had tasked her and Ross with selling, and that would take up the afternoon.

It might stop her from thinking about tonight, when Gina and Tracey would be coming to the apartment.

Damn! She thought Focus!


Emily let Melanie settle with her coffee before she started. “Sorry about barging in last night, Mel.” She said without any ‘smirkiness’.

Melanie put her face in her hands, “Oh my God I’m so embarrassed.” Emily went and knelt in front of her aunt and took the woman’s hands, holding them apart. “Mel, look at me. Mel! MEL!”

“Don’t yell, Em.”

“Look at me.” Melanie sheepishly made eye contact, then looked away, to be brought back by Emily shaking her arms. “Look at me and listen to me. Listen!”

“Okay, okay. I’m listening.”

“You. Have. Nothing. To. Be. Ashamed. Of. Got it? Nothing. There is nothing wrong with sex…”

“But Drew…”

“Tell me what happened.” Melanie, with reluctance but responding to Emily’s special brand of encouragement, took her niece through the events of the previous night that saw Chantico bring the feminized Drew into the bedroom, with things progressing, amazingly, from there. This included Downing achieving an erection that Melanie had mounted, also amazingly.

“And how did it feel?” Emily asked gently.

Melanie sighed, “It felt great, but…”

“Did you come…?”


“Did you!?”

Melanie nodded her head, looking ashamed. “Melanie! Stop this. You made love for the first time with your husband, it was great; you had the big ‘O’ and now you’re all silly…”

“But he was dressed as a woman…”

“So what?”

“But it’s…wrong…it’s…immoral…”



“Listen to me, my sweet aunt, there is nothing wrong with feeling good. There is nothing wrong with feeling desire. There is nothing wrong with sex. Got it? Enjoy it, for crying out loud. Damn it, what is in your head?” Melanie smiled a wistful smile, before Emily carried on. “You have found affection and pleasure with Chantico in spite of your, morals. And now, with a little spice, you have had pleasure with hubby dear. Let it go, Mel-bel.”

Melanie smiled again and she and Emily hugged. “That’s good, Mel. That’s good,” She paused. “I think you’re ready now for the midgets.”

“What!?” Melanie exclaimed, and Emily laughed.

“Just joking, Mel. Relax.” The smirk was back.

Emily also decided then to wait and ask Melanie about her meeting a little later. They’d had enough for one session.


Carman had just finished the first interview, Tia Graves assisting her, with a young, petit, Asian-American so keen she was almost vibrating.

“She has great computer skills and a pleasant voice,” Tia noted. Carman agreed, but the girl’s personality was so overwhelming everything else, including the customer, might just be, well, overwhelmed.

Tia brought in the second candidate and Carman felt an immediate tug. The girl was twenty but looked far more mature. She had silky, long, light brown hair which hung part way down her back, but because she was tall, as tall as Carman, the style suited her. What moved Carman was the pleated skirt and white blouse the girl wore; the skirt accentuated lovely, round hips and ass while the blouse could barely contain the plump, round breasts. Topping this was a lovely and innocent face with large brown eyes and full lips, tinted a tantalizing pink today.

Carman smiled and welcomed the girl, making introductions, feeling that tug again when the girl gave her a quick up and down glance with a shy smile. And as she felt this attraction, she was sure the girl did too. Focus! She reminded herself. Damn it!


Emily was about to get ready to go out; she had a meeting with Tad today, when Chantico came in to collect things and the two chatted. Emily was interested in the girl’s reaction to the previous night’s ‘high-jinks’, starting with the decision to put Downing into costume.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked you.” Chantico apologised and Emily waved that off, asking her about what went down when Downing was brought in to Melanie. Not surprising, Chantico was very positive about the encounter, and added in some stuff Melanie hadn’t mentioned, like the fact that, once Melanie got over her surprise, Downing had sex with her three different times; the final time being cowgirl style, where Melanie had her climax.

Emily laughed. “So, you plan to do it again?” Emily asked Chantico, with a smile.

The girl laughed, gave two-thumbs up and nodded her head; Emily also had to laugh at this stamp of approval. “So what are you up to now?” Emily asked; she hadn’t actually considered what the girl did all day.

“I get your father’s injection ready.”

Emily stared at the girl. “Injection for what?”

Chantico shook her head, “I don’t know, Miss M. He has like the illness of some kind. He has the injections. If his helper is here, he gets it ready; if not, I do.”

Following more questions, Chantico took Emily to the upstairs main bath and showed her the box of needles and a large but unmarked jug of solution in the cupboard. “I just prepare one and take it to him.”

“You take it to his room?”

“Oh, no, no. He sits outside, at least in the morning. On those steps by the fountain. He sits out there before he goes to the office. Well, except when he is away of course.”

Emily needed to process this new and interesting info. “So, my father has some illness, or whatever, that has him taking injections every day; sometimes provided by you, as he sits outside in that area at the back?”

“Si, correcto, um, yes. Although he has two injections each day, but you can see him, he’s there now,” Chantico stated, taking out a needle, a funnel and the large bottle then pouring a little of the solution in, testing it, then wrapping the syringe in a towel. “Come.”

Emily followed the girl to what were called the back stairs; used mostly by workers, etc. There were actually no windows for the rooms facing this back area, just these in the stairwell; two small ones that most people would not notice.

Emily stood staring out one now, at her father, sitting in the June sunlight. She saw Chantico go to him, watched in amazement as her father removed his jacket and Chantico plunged the needle quickly into a shoulder; then her father put his jacket back on and Chantico returned to the house. Just like that.

“Holy fuck.” Emily said in a whisper. “Holy fucking fuck.”


The interview with Candace Eiermann had gone well, and Tia had just taken her notes and left, leaving Carman and the girl still chatting about an activity that had come up in the discussion; swimming, of all things. Both women were very good at it. “I don’t get to it as much now, being out of school. I miss it.” Candace stated.

Without thinking why, Carman replied. “Our apartment building has a pool. You could come over some day and check it out. I just moved in and plan on doing some laps soon.”

Candace looked at Carman with her dark, chocolate eyes. You could see her breasts rising and falling, as if with excitement. Candace glanced away and then back, “Would you, um, like me to come by?” She asked.

Carman smiled, feeling even more attracted to this young, delightful woman than earlier. She moved her chair over, murmuring, ”I would like that. Interested?”

Her heart was actually racing.

Candace smiled and even chuckled, then took out her cell. “So, Ms. Da Costa, um, Carman, what is your address?”

Carman gave it to the girl and then said, “I’m putting your cell in my phone.” Both smiled and stood up; they were only a foot apart, perhaps.

Carman reached out and brought the girl in, kissing her mouth, swallowing the tongue that was quickly offered. Soon their hands were meshed in each other’s hair as they sucked on each other’s mouths, before Carman grasped the girl to her, moaning, “Oh God.”

She quickly pulled apart and then looked at the girl’s lovely, youthful face, free of any deception or guile. “You should go. This isn’t the place.”

Candace nodded and kissed Carman’s face gently, several times, then said, “When will I hear from you?”

“Tomorrow. Oh, you start your job Friday.”

Candace’s grin spread attractively across her face. “Thank you, really. I am excited to be working here. And with you.” She smiled. “I hope to hear from you, tomorrow.” She turned to go, then paused and looked back. “I have no plans for tomorrow night. A swim would be fun.” She smiled again and left; Carman stood, supporting herself with her chair.

Damn! She thought, and not for the last time. How many women do I need???


Tad didn’t look well. He was shaved and wearing a clean shirt; his hair was combed, but his eyes gave him away. “How’s it hangin’, Tad?” Emily asked, although she pretty much knew the answer.

“Good,” Tad lied, “Yeah, things are good.”

“They’ve completed the filming, I hear,” she added.

“Pretty much, at least Morris said that. They’ve got a coupl’a, like, re-shoots or whatever, but stuff looks good. Giselle says she’s been told her parts are complete and she’s been paid, so she’s happy.”

“Good news; that is good. Faster they can get the thing to cable the faster the money comes in.”

“Exactly,” Tad nodded his head, and they sat in silence for a moment. They were in a little park, kind of tucked away just off the main road into Adams Hill. No one else was around and the traffic was light. They seemed isolated, even being in the heart of Glendale.

“So,” Emily began, “speaking of money; seems we’re a, um, tad, short, excuse the pun.”

Tad rubbed his face, “Look Em, I can explain that and I’ve got it covered.”

“Really, Tad. You’ve got it covered. Don’t shit me.”

At that moment, it turned out they weren’t as isolated as imagined. Three men came out from a clump of pines. “Hey, fuck…!” Tad shouted as they grabbed him. They were all large, and the largest slammed a fist into Tad’s stomach causing his face to puff out like a cartoon balloon. Once down on his knees, a second man drove his knee into Tad’s groin, forcing him into a fetal position.

As the third man picked Tad up by the hair, Emily said, “Not his face,” and the man slammed his fist into Tad’s side, damaging a rib. They looked at the fallen body for a moment, then nodded to Emily and left as quickly as they came.

Emily knelt beside her cousin and lit a smoke, waiting as he slowly came back to reality. She gently slapped his face. “We’re short one million eight, where’s it coming from, asshole?” She blew smoke into his face.

Tad coughed, making a painful expression. “E-um, em, Jesus, Em. We’re family, what the…”

She slapped his face harder. “Cut the crap, asshole. Family shouldn’t steal from each other, hey?” She stood and placed a foot on Tad’s face. “Well, maybe they do, but then there’s Hell to pay. We’ll talk later, and remember, I told them to leave that pretty face of yours alone. That’s this time.” She flicked her cigarette away and walked off, leaving Tad to lie groaning on the grass.


“Hey Mel-bel,” Emily called. Melanie rose from a chair in the library and came to the hall.

“Em.” She said. “Did you see Tad.”

“I did.”

“And how’s he doing?”

Emily paused, “Oh, you know old Tad; full of stories, right. But, I’ll be hookin’ up with him again soon, so… Hey, anyway, heard from a little canary wondering what went down when you and Daddy-dearest had your chat. Anything to tell me?”

Melanie looked down. She could never lie to Emily, which meant at times just avoiding her. But she had nowhere to go just now. “He, um, wanted to know how I got involved in the whole shares thing.” She paused.

“Okay, I get that. You probably told him it was my idea, which it was, right?”

“Th-that’s right, he’d figured that out.”

Emily paused. She didn’t like making things hard for Melanie. Someone like Tad, that was different. He’d always been in one scam or another. “But, Mel, if he knew it was my idea, why did he need to meet with you? And at his office. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Oh, jeez, Em, I can’t lie to you.” And so Melanie rolled out the whole story about Seth, and the sex and the wild weekend and that it was filmed and now Hawkins had it.

Emily paused, considering. “So, if he made it, like public, you know…available, what would that mean, to you?” Emily asked, quietly.

Melanie sat looking sad. “People I know might see it. It’s so embarrassing. I would be called a whore; I couldn’t be involved with the club or any of those people…”

“How involved are you now?” Emily asked quietly. “I don’t want to screw up your life, Mel, I’m just trying to show you that I don’t think Daddy-kins has that much of a hold on you. You’re not a public figure; you don’t do much out there in the big world. Yeah, it might be embarrassing, but you’d have enough money to take off and live wherever you wanted. Places where nobody knew you.”

Melanie looked down. “But I don’t want to leave, Emily.”

Emily nodded; she knew that. “I know, Mel. We’ll deal with Baron Von Hawkins another way.” Emily hugged her aunt to her.


The three naked bodies, Carman, Gina and Tracey, lay huddled together on the floor, while Folake sat on the couch wearing only panties and her wide smile, sipping bourbon. It had been ninety minutes of pretty intense sex and now everyone was resting.

The evening had started with Carman doing a strip dance for the women, then having her hands cuffed behind her. She performed oral sex on each woman in turn, as the other one paddled Carman’s ass with a number of different implements, provided helpfully by Folake.

Next up, each woman in turn fucked Carman with a strap-on dildo; vaginally, and then anally. Finally Carman sucked and licked each woman to orgasm, before the two women returned the favor, working as a team on Carman’s pussy and ass. And now they lay.

Gina rolled over and crawled to Folake, sitting at her feet. “What are your husbands up to?” Folake asked, a twinkle in her eye.

Gina laughed. “The usual. Business. Although Jake will be home tonight, so I’ll need to get going.” Gina then recounted how the two women, neighbors, both thirty-three, had found themselves together a lot as their husbands travelled for work. Rather than looking for men, they ‘had some fun’ together one night and really enjoyed it.

They had been in the sex shop on the weekend looking for toys for their new hobby: friendly-neighbor, girl-on-girl sex.

“Can I tell you something, Folake?” Gina asked, looking up with her blue-green eyes.

“Of course, my dear,” Folake replied, stroking the woman’s attractive face and short, dark hair.

“I would like to be like Carman, with you.”

Folake smiled. “You would like to be my slave?”

Gina made a small grimace. “Not slave, but, um, submissive, I think. This is pretty new to me; I’m just dealing with feelings, like, but I would like to serve you, um, be used by you.” She smiled shyly, “Be spanked by you.” Folake stroked the face gently some more, as the woman asked. “Can I come back?”

Gina rubbed her face against Folake’s leg. Folake responded by pulling her panties off and directing Gina’s face between her thighs, where the woman proved to be a gentle, enthusiastic and thorough muff-muncher. “You should reconsider,” Folake, eyes closed, murmured to the woman, “you’d make a fine slave.”


Carman’s phone rang, and looking at the clock she noted the time was just past nine. This morning, following the late night, had been a rush and she had really not had a chance to say much to Folake. It was she calling now.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at work, my dear. I can call back if…”

“No, no,” Carman protested. “I can talk. I was going to call you anyway. Last night, jeez, was great, at least I thought it was. Although my um, buns, took a, er, beating.”

Folake laughed. “You were a hit my girl, and I loved watching you.”

Carman paused, then asked, “Do you want to do that a lot; mmm, watch me?”

Folake replied evenly, “Yes I do. I very much want to see you having sex with other women, especially groups of women. You are too wonderful a slave to be kept locked away. My plan for you would be to take you places and show you off. There are lots of women for you to pleasure, and for me to enjoy as I watch you.”

Carman sat, her hand squeezing between her legs, “God, Folake, you’re making it very hard for me to work.” Folake laughed loudly, as Carman continued. “I’ve, um, invited our new staff member to come by tonight.”

“You plan to have sex with her?”

“I, um, really hope so…”

There was a pause, Carman now worried she had gone too far, but Folake replied, “That is excellent. I will have to meet her, too, you understand, but make this happen my sweet. I want your face buried in pussies. That’s the plan.”

“Don’t know if I can last until tonight,” Carman purred.

“Of course you will. See you later.”

Carman groaned and ended the call, reluctantly removing her hand from her crotch. Tonight seemed a long time away. What had happened to her?? She pondered, smiling ruefully and shaking her head.


Candace came striding up the wide walkway with an athlete’s natural grace. She was dressed in tight jeans and a t-shirt, rekindling Carman’s arousal. Carman took the girl’s hand after ‘hellos’ and led her inside. As the elevator headed down one floor, the two exchanged a kiss, breaking apart as the car thumped to a stop.

They came out to an area with washrooms and change rooms. Carman led the way directly through a change room and then out to the pool area, where the two stood, looking at the Olympic-sized pool. The place was deserted but clean and inviting, but Carman did not have swimming on her mind.

Taking Candace’s hand, Carman moved to one wall, pulled Candace’s t-shirt over her head and then sat on a bench and looked at the girl, who was standing and waiting, a smile on her face. Carman reached up and unbuttoned the jeans, pulling them down to the sneakers. She rubbed her palm against the dark rug nestling below the thin fabric of Candace’s light green panties.

Candace moaned and gripped Carman’s head, grabbing two handfuls of hair, swaying slightly. Carman put her mouth onto the panties and sucked the area through the fabric, before pulling the tiny garment off in a rush and shoving her face into the inviting ‘v’ of Candace’s legs. Sucking madly for a few moments, with Candace humping her hips and groaning, Carman then turned the girl around and had her bend slightly forward.

Carman traced a path with her tongue up the left leg and thigh and then, spreading the buttocks, her tongue plunged into the dark, creased hole. Less than ten seconds later Candace shuddered and spasmed and emitted a series of ‘oh oh oh’s’ before slowly collapsing to her knees, to rest ass in the air and face, a huge grin on it, against the tile of the pool room floor, eyes closed.


Folake had left Carman tied to their bed. She had met the lovely Candace and watched as she and Carman pleasured each other in the classic sixty-nine position, Candace having her second orgasm and Carman her first. After goodbye kisses, Folake had spanked Carman for a few minutes before tying her as she was now; face up, spread-eagle; vibrating egg inserted in her vagina, butt plug in her anus and blindfolded.

Folake was on her way to a meeting. As she pulled into the driveway she texted her arrival and was told to ‘take the elevator’, just to her left. Exiting on the correct floor she walked along the wide hallway, stopping at the last door.

Stafford Hawkins had basically one side of the third floor to himself. Folake entered his office, which had another small room off to her left. To the right was a door adjoining with Hawkins’s actual bedroom and from that room, one went into his ‘collection’ room. There was one last room, sitting empty at this time, at the end of the hall.

“Ms. Alvarez,” Hawkins greeted the woman, his face today having a wolf-like look about it; lean and hungry.

“Mr. Hawkins,” Folake replied without emotion.

“So, you have found new, lodgings,” Hawkins grinned; although on him it was more like a grimace.

“Yes, but not far. I have decided to stay, as I indicated.”

“And Da Costa, is with you, I understand.”

“She is.”

Hawkins paused. “I still need to have her in, em, close contact with my daughter.”

Folake nodded. “That is understood, and she still is. Your daughter is not one to be pinned down, sir, but Ms. Da Costa remains close to her.”

“And yet, no news of any, developments. It seems very quiet; quiet concerns me.”

Folake smiled and moved closer to his desk, which was a twin to the one in his main office; large and impressive. “We believe there is no news because your daughter is just getting used to the, as we say, lay of the land. I don’t believe, until she speaks with you, that anything will occur. But you are already busy, I hear. Your money is being, consolidated.”

Hawkins’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes, Ms. Alvarez, I have plans. I have had them for a while; my daughter’s actions did not, shall we say, actually precipitate them.“ He grinned again; it was not a friendly smile.

Folake turned to leave, “Well, Da Costa is controlled as you wished. Let me know if there is anything else.”

“This, Ms. Alvarez.” Hawkins indicated something on his desk. Folake walked over and retrieved it. It was a check; a sum in five figures. “As discussed, my dear.” He said.

“Thank you,” Folake smiled, picking it up. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I’m sure you will.” Stafford Hawkins murmured. “Oh, and thank you for the last video of Da Costa and the two women. Where on earth do you come up with them?” He chuckled. “Anyway, the punishment was satisfying. I would like more of that and less of the other.”

Folake smiled again. “Good day, sir.”

(End of Chapter 13)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 12 So Look Into The Clown’s Eyes For The Truth

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 12 So Look Into The Clown’s Eyes For Truth

London, England, 1993

Folake watched carefully as Madame used one device after the other. A riding crop, a bamboo cane, a willow switch, a leather paddle, a variegated paddle, a wooden paddle, etc. She watched how Madame used her wrist, which devices had a follow-through and which were sharply stroked. What sorts of marks each left and the reactions of the recipients; she took it all in.

The ‘victims’ were a man and a woman, both in their forties, who were tied hanging on meat hooks by leather straps. The word ‘Meat’ was actually written in lipstick across their chests. Madame was amused by that.

The scene was taking place in a warehouse with cold concrete floors and an atmosphere of despair. Each individual was paying one hundred pounds for this session, which would end with at least one orgasm for each of them; but Madame was also using the session as training for her protégé, Folake.

Two hours later, after the session had ended and they were sitting with their bourbon, Madame made her points.

“It is in the eyes, and the body gestures, where the dominant one sees what works. No two submissives are the same, remember that. And we are not into slave trafficking, this is S & M, there is agreement here, so there must be understanding. Watch your partner, see what works and what does not. The eyes do not lie.”


Carman had been woken by Folake to shower together, and today the woman was very diligent about washing. She had pressed a penis-shaped soap into Carman’s anus and left it there. After drying off, Folake replaced the soap with a stubby, black, three-inch butt plug.

“My slave will leave the plug in place until I decide, understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Carman replied solemnly, although there were certainly moments when she wanted to laugh out loud at her bizarre, to her, circumstances. Today it was clear her ‘mistress’ had a plan, and Carman needed to accept this invasion of her body.

Folake then had her submissive put on a thin cotton dress, leaving its four buttons undone. The dress was short, the hem came to just an inch below the crotch, and Carman was not wearing anything under the dress. She had not asked where they were going; she was learning the protocol; a slave is told what they need to know.

Folake looked into Carman’s eyes, then smiled. She had seen what she wanted, and had her slave put on a pair of flat sandals. With her heels on, Folake was now the taller.

Waiting for them outside the apartment was a dark sedan with a driver. The two women climbed into the back and Folake gave the driver an address. As they sat side by side, Carman’s dress was lifted up above her waist and Folake had her spread her legs about eight inches apart. She stayed like that until they had reached their destination, exposed, and aware also that her nipples were straining against the thin dress and clearly visible; and every bump they progressed over reminded her of the inserted butt plug.

At one point Folake remarked, “You feel the plug, yes?”

“Yes, my, mmm, mistress,” Carman had dutifully replied, restraining a smirk.

“That is good. That reminds you that your ass is mine, yes?”


“Say it, my slave.”

A spring of pure desire surged through Carman’s body, alarming her with its intensity. “My, um, ass, belongs to you, mistress.”

“And your mouth?”

“A-and my mouth, m-mis…” Carman needed to lean back against the seat, the smirk long gone. The need to reach between her thighs was so overwhelming she had to grip her knees with both hands, her breath coming hard.

Folake laughed softly, “Thank you my sweet Carman, that says more than any words.”

They had arrived, the address of their destination being part of a commercial strip that included a restaurant and bar, some clothing stores and at the end, a sex shop, Eve’s Delight, that specialized in lesbian-based products, though not exclusively. Folake had been directed here by someone she trusted.

The driver opened the door and Folake pulled Carman’s dress back into place and they stepped out of the car and headed to the store.


“I met her,” Emily said quietly, sipping her tea. This morning it was Darjeeling.

Melanie looked up from a book (how quaint, Emily had smirked when she first saw Melanie reading an actual book). “Saw who, er, whom. Which is it? Anyway, name the woman,” Melanie laughed.

“Ivy Bennett,” Emily murmured.

Melanie put her book down on the glass patio table. “You saw, um, how? Where?”

It was Emily’s turn to chuckle. “Thought that might interest you. I flew up to San Fran. That’s where she’s lived since Count Van Hawkins sent her, um, packing. That’s the expression?”

“Oh my God. Emily how did you ever, oh, never mind. I think it’s better the less I know. But tell me, what on earth did she have to say?”

Emily supplied her aunt with a summary of the conversation and Melanie sat, in thought. “So…Sarah was having an affair. Well, is that a great surprise? Although right under Stafford’s nose was, um, risky. Unbelievable.” She shook her head, but at that moment Chantico came out, carrying bowls of chopped fruit.


As they approached the large glass front doors of the store, Folake said quietly, “Keep your eyes downcast unless instructed.” Carman simply nodded, unsure if she could speak without gagging, her throat having tightened with excitement verging on panic.

They entered and Carman was amazed at the size of the store with several isles all carrying sexual products. They headed to the right and had gone a few paces when a clerk intercepted them, brandishing a huge smile. She was perhaps five three, with her head shaved into a classic Mohawk, and dyed green. Her arms were both covered in complete tattoo sleeves and she had one eyebrow ring, one nose stud and a stud below her bottom lip. Carman thought of Emily.

“May I help you ladies?” she asked, looking them both up and down with enthusiasm. If she had licked her lips and howled, it would not have been out of place.

As Carman fixed her eyes on the ground, Folake began, much as if she had been in Walgreens looking for toothpaste. “Yes, thank you. I am looking for collars for my slave, and a few other items, but let’s start with that.”

The clerk looked at Carman with new appreciation. “Would this be for training or decorative?” She asked.

“Both, really,” Folake replied and the clerk turned and headed down an aisle, Folake and Carman following. They came to a display with dozens of collars and discussed them, Carman standing and listening, sensations coursing through her. Being discussed as an object, in public, with an absolute stranger, was incredibly arousing and Carman had to fight the increasing urge to touch herself.

“This is one of our more popular models,” the clerk took down a shiny, black, leather collar, approximately three inches wide. ”It has a heavy duty design with security,” she pressed two metal rings together, “a lock fits here, if you wish. Notice, three layers of leather. It’s a premium unit, and comes with matching ankle and wrist restraints.” She smiled and held it out for Folake; you could almost hear her add, “wanna take it for a spin?”

Folake held it and smiled. “Would you kindly attach it to my…bitch.” The clerk smiled like she had just won something. “I think we should have her naked, on top, to appreciate the collar.” Folake murmured, and the clerk’s grin grew wider as she pulled the top of Carman’s dress down over her shoulders, exposing her two small, pert breasts, with the large nipples now standing out so stiffly they resembled a couple of dark brown corks.

In a moment the clerk had fastened the collar around Carman’s neck and stepped back to admire. It was an arousing sight. “I think we should have the dress off completely and the bitch on all fours.” Carman instructed, and the enthusiastic clerk tugged the thin garment off and watched as Carman assumed the positon on hands and knees, her breathing now coming hard through flared nostrils. “I would need a matching leash.” Folake said, quietly, arousal building in her as well.

“Of course,” the clerk exclaimed, quickly finding one and freeing it from its cardboard back, then attaching it to one of the rings of the collar and handing the loop to Folake, who gave it back to the clerk, saying, “Please walk her.” The clerk, grinning madly, walked Carman around on her hands and knees. “You’ll want knee pads if you do this much,” the clerk commented.

By this time, two young women, early thirties, had stopped nearby and were watching the show with interest. Carman was vaguely aware of bodies and movement, but her mind was simply becoming a blur as she could actually feel an orgasm beginning. She knew a few moments of touching would be all that was needed, but for now she focused on Folake’s voice.

“Bring the bitch here.” Folake indicated the spot directly in front of her. Every time Folake had uttered ‘bitch’, Carman had felt a pang of arousal, almost as if a finger had been stabbed into her sex.

“On your knees, legs spread,” Folake ordered and Carman rose and sat, waiting, swaying slightly. Folake turned to the clerk. “Could I ask you to put your shoe against the slave’s pussy? I think we would all like some fun.”

The grin having never left her face, the clerk pressed her sneaker into Carman’s shaved crotch, as Folake commanded. “Ok, slave, hump this woman’s shoe. I want to see you come.”

Gripping the woman’s leg, and thinking of nothing else but the joy awaiting her, Carman began grinding her pelvis against the woman’s foot. With eyes closed and mouth opened, the moans began almost immediately. The two women moved around for a better view from the front. One woman began to sneak her cell phone out for a shot, but a signal from Folake stayed her.

As she had felt, Carman was so close to climax that she had only been pumping for thirty seconds when the thing hit, shaking her and convulsing her. The world turned into nothing but light and pleasure; no noticeable sound coming from Carman’s gaping mouth. Certainly no words, her mouth unable to form them, her mind not interested in making them.

It was like a water wall of pure joy, sweeping and rolling Carman along; she had experienced excellent orgasms in her life, including recently with Emily and Folake, but this was something beyond that. It was like a wave that obliterates a beach, clearing all before it.

As Carman lay, collapsed against the laughing clerk’s leg, Folake dressed her. She paused to give and receive the cell numbers of the two women, before giving the clerk a list of items. Seven minutes and three hundred dollars spent later, Folake was leading a still-dazed Carman, wearing her new collar, out of the store and to the waiting car. Once inside, Folake covered Carman’s face with kisses and Carman moaned and ‘aahed’, wanting to climb inside the body of her mistress and to just be.

An hour later, lying naked together on Folake’s bed, they talked of the experience, Carman wanting to say precious things but Folake placing a finger against her lips. “Save those thoughts, churning up, my sweet. There will be a time.”

Carman did say, having decided earlier, “I want to show you something.” And with that she led Folake to her laptop, opened it, found the files on the bank accounts (she had now matched seven, totalling over ninety million.) “I want to talk to you about Emily and some bank accounts.” Carman said quietly, then gripped Folake in a ferocious hug.

Folake gently patted her partner. This was…interesting.


It being Saturday, it was ‘Drewsie Day’, as Emily announced it. Though, truth be told, she had tired of this a while ago; but she didn’t want Downing to become complacent. Today she had decided to do something different. It had begun by Chantico shaving Downing from the waist down. Although his pubic area was already bare, now his thighs and legs were also clean.

Chantico then applied a strap around the man’s waist that had a thin ‘noose’ attachment which fit under his groin and over his penis head. When attached and pulled back in a locked positon, Downing’s penis was pulled hard into his groin and testicles, making them sit snugly. This mattered, as Chantico next pulled some frilly woman’s panties onto the man, and they fit well with his genitals hoisted.

Next came a matching garter belt with dark nylons, then a padded bra (made for female impersonators, Emily had found it online. Imagine that? She had told Melanie, who just shook her head in disbelief). A very feminine pink dress completed the wardrobe with black, low-heeled pumps.

Once this was all satisfactory, Chantico had gone to work on Drew’s face with lipstick, eye shadow and mascara. A blonde wig over Downing’s thin hair completed the makeover. Emily and Chantico now just sat and admired. “Shit,” Emily exclaimed. “He looks pretty damn good.”

Chantico clapped her hands and said, “Oh my God, Miss M. He is better looking as a woman.” Emily nodded.

Downing smiled; he wasn’t going to tell them his cock was trying mightily to raise itself.


On Monday, as Carman sat at her desk trying to concentrate, her mind would not cooperate. On Sunday she and Folake had gone out and done things like normal people do, including having a nice dinner together. It was Saturday that would not lie still. Images from her session in the store came back over and over; Carman admitting to herself that on Saturday she had passed across a bridge, from what she was to what she might become.

She, who had once thought herself demanding and dominant, could not stop thinking of her mistress. Yes, it was that; absolutely. She took out a piece of paper and wrote. My name is Carman Da Costa and I am a slave. The jolt of desire rose within her.

She continued. My Mistress’s name is Folake. If she could, right now, she would plunge her hand between her thighs, but she was sitting in her office and that could have consequences. I belong to her. It was building. She owns me.

She couldn’t stand it; she dialed Folake’s cell, and in a moment the wonderful, warm voice replied, “Hello, Carman. Why are you calling me from work? I thought we had worked this out?”

“We had, I’m sorry. I just needed to hear your voice.”

Folake chuckled softly. “Well, are we better now?” she asked, her voice particularly musical today.

“Mmmuuunn,” Carman moaned, “No, I need to be with you.”

“Okay, my sweet one, that is good. Someday we might have that luxury, we will see. Right now you still have a job, a career, but you won’t if you keep calling home during the day. Now, you get back to work.” She laughed, “Oh, and tonight let’s finish off the rest of those bank accounts. That will give you something more to think about.”

“Absolutely Mistress, after I spend some time on my knees with you.”

Folake chuckled again, “See you tonight, sweet slave.”

The call ended and Carman sat for a moment, and then there was a knock on her door, followed by the imposing form of Ivy Prendergast entering.

“Hey there,” Carman saluted the woman; it had been a while since the two had spoken more than a few words to each other.

“Hey there, yourself. I’ve missed you.” Ivy said, leaning against the door.

Carman laughed and nodded her head. “I’m sorry. With the, um, events here, there have been demands. It should quiet down shortly.”

“And then we can resume?” Ivy asked, an odd look on her face. But then she continued, “It’s okay, Ms. Da Costa.” She smiled. “I know you’ve found someone.”

“Why do you say that, Ivy?”

“Well, your hair is different (Folake had put a bit of a curl in her hair only this morning, saying she wanted Carman to begin looking more feminine.) And, well, you are preoccupied, but not with your usual stern face. You are happier, excited. That means something personal.”

Carman sighed and nodded her head. “You got me, Ivy. Yes, I have begun, um, seeing someone. So far, so good.

But you never know, right?” She looked at the woman.

“I still want you to use me, Ms. Da Costa. I still need, your, uh, attention.” They regarded each other in silence. Carman liked Ivy; she just didn’t know if she could go back to that, after crossing her bridge.

“Please.” Ivy said, looking like she might cry. “I will do whatever you want, but I need you, Ms. Da Costa. Even if it’s just here, before I go home. Spank my ass and use me. Please.”

“Okay, Ivy. I like you, you know that. But you’re also an employee, so there’s that. But we’ll see what we can work out.” She smiled in a sympathetic way.

Ivy smiled too; ever hopeful, and did a little curtsy before nodding good-bye and going back to her desk. Carman shook her head at the entanglement of relationships she was in. Just then her cell buzzed; it was Emily. Carman just laughed; thinking she’d need an assistant just to keep her love life organized.


“There,” Carman exclaimed, “yes, that’s number nine. Oh my God, let’s cross our fingers.” Folake nodded her agreement and smiled. They had been at this forty-five minutes and now they were coming down to crunch time.

Working in silence (Folake was true to her word that she would not disturb her) Carman moved on to the next bank account; leaving the one that had troubled her to the last. It was simple; if the password hadn’t worked on that one it must work on this one; if it didn’t, something was wrong and two of the accounts would not open for them.

After entering the series of digits and letters, Carman looked at Folake before she hit enter. There was a pause that was torture, and then the box turned green, and they were in. Both cheered and then they hugged.

After the celebration, Folake took Carman’s hands and looked at her. “We need to talk about what this means. About what happens next.” She said, solemnly.

“I know,” Carman nodded. “I’ve known from the moment I heard about these.”

Folake nodded her head again, looking wise.


Glendale, California, 2001

Melanie and Drew Downing sat out in the back area, ‘the clown fountain’, was how Melanie thought of it. Several trees stuck into mulch and rock; it was not an appealing place, for some reason. But it was quiet, and she wanted just to sit with Drew.

They had been together several times, and she found him to be shy but pleasant. She’d had limited relationships with boys, her father for some reason being ferociously protective of her. She had been with only two men, one who had taken her virginity and who she had gone out with for several months before discovering her was married. The other man she had permitted to undress and fondle her, and she had provided oral sex, but they had not made love.

So far, Downing had not made any advances other than some gentle kissing, but for some reason, Stafford was pushing her to consider marriage, and tonight, it looked like the introverted accountant would make his move.


Glendale, California, 2001

The marriage was a quiet affair; not surprising. Melanie was not anxious about the wedding night and all that it implied; perhaps nervous would be more accurate.

She needn’t have worried; however, as Downing kissed his new bride tenderly several times, and then cuddled up beside her and went to sleep.

Melanie sat in the darkness for a long time, thinking. She wasn’t certain if she was relieved, concerned or confused.

It was an odd event, for sure.


Glendale, California, 2001

It was eight days after the wedding, and Drew Downing was moving his things to another bedroom; it had been a mutual decision.

After several nights of inactivity, Downing had finally given an explanation; he was a masochist and couldn’t become aroused without pain (and abuse, humiliation of some sort).

Melanie just stood and stared.


Helena, Montana; 1987

Ten-year-old Melanie Hawkins wasn’t sure what to do. She was caught in her parents’ room, as they had come home suddenly and were now clearly headed her way. Without a lot of options, for some reason she didn’t want her father seeing her fleeing the room; she wasn’t sure what he would do but she was afraid. She ducked into the closet and sat, huddled and terrified. Through one loose slat, she could see some of what was unfolding.

Her father slapping her mother and knocking her down. Picking her up and ripping her clothes off. Pinning her down on the bed with her naked ass clearly visible to Melanie. Then more slapping and then the belt.

Those images and sounds were burned into Melanie’s mind that night, with the result that any violent action panicked her.

Years later, when her new husband asked her to abuse him, she needed to fight first the sense of panic, then the impending feeling of becoming sick and finally, just the overall sense of revulsion she felt now when she looked at him.

She asked him to leave, and they would never sleep together again.


“Very good then, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Folake ended her call and looked down at the dark head between her legs; Carman working studiously for her mistress’s pleasure. Folake brought her slave’s head up.

“Yes, Mistress?” she asked.

“I just wanted you to know that was Gina, one of the two women we met Saturday. She and Tracey will be dropping by tomorrow; they were quite taken by you, my dear.”

“Thank you.” Carman murmured. Folake nodded, then guided Carman back to her work.


“I’m not sure, I’m thinking another week.”

“Ok, cool.” Raisha replied and the call ended.

Emily put her phone in her pocket and started down the hall. She was tempted to knock on her father’s door but she resisted; there would be a time for that.

As she passed Melanie’s room on the way to her own, she paused. She was sure she could hear giggling. What were Chantico and Melanie up to, hmmmm? She wondered. Quietly opening the door, she stepped in and flicked on an overhead light. The figures in the bed froze, as did Emily, who stood gazing upon the trio.

Lying side by side were Chantico, Melanie and Drew Downing, in his feminized form. Emily recovered quickly, “Oh, hey, sorry. Carry on. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” She said and quickly stepped back out. Once outside the room she needed to cover her mouth to suppress the guffaws she felt.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, she thought, scurrying down to her room. Well, Melanie deserved some fun, after the dull life she’d had, Emily reasoned; she’d talk with her in the morning, reassure her. Poor Melanie, Emily smiled, I’ve turned her world upside down. (End of Chapter 12)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 11 And The Mask May Hide Us From Ourselves

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 11 And The Mask May Hide Us From Ourselves

Ivy and Cecil Bennett.

Emily was busy at her computer searching records, but sometimes the internet can be only so helpful. It was good for Emily that people would help her. People had always been ready to help her, eager even, in her life. And now that she had resources, she didn’t need to just rely on people who wished to assist; she could hire them.

Today she was working both angles in her search for the two servants who were a big part of her early life and then disappeared so abruptly and mysteriously.

She had her pal Becky searching, but she also had an investigative firm, with professional staff, digging in. Emily closed up her laptop and got up; she needed a break; and a smoke.


Carman answered her phone to the pleasant voice of her lover and…mistress, “How are you my dear?” Folake asked.

“Good…Mistress.” Carman smiled. Saying that word made her smile for some strange reason; maybe embarrassment; maybe desire. “What is happening today? It’s decision day, correct?”

Folake paused, “Yes, but first I want to say I missed you last night. How was your time with, Emily?”

Carman related the lovely meal and the session afterwards.

“So you enjoyed the sex, my sweetness?”

Carman paused, “I did. Very much. But…”


“But it wasn’t you.”

Folake chuckled. “That makes me feel good.” She paused.

“So, yes, decisions. I am moving out of this place and I have secured a condo in Glendale, on Monterey Road, so it will be convenient, for us. If you want there to be, an us?”

Carman smiled. “What’s the address, Mistress Folake? Do you want me there tonight?”

Smiling at the impudence, Folake gave the address and confirmed that having Carman join her tonight would be perfect. “You can bring changes of clothes, my dear. You won’t need them for around the, um, ‘house’, but you will for work.” She chuckled.

“See you tonight.” Carman murmured, and the call ended.


“You know he’s, um, returned?” Melanie said, addressing Emily’s back as the girl stood, smoking and looking out over the railing of the balcony.

“Yeah. Saw him arrive. Made my heart go all crazy.”

Melanie snickered. “You are a goof.” She paused. “It’s funny, him being here or not being here is pretty much the same thing. He doesn’t do anything with us; it just means more work for Chantico at meals, ‘cause he’s so fussy.”

“He eats?” Emily deadpanned. “He doesn’t just swoop down and bite your neck?”

Melanie laughed.


Carman was doing some searching of her own. As well as working through the rogue bank accounts and the passwords (she’d been successful so far connecting four; only one glitch, where after two tries the password still didn’t match. Carman had put that one off and felt a huge sense of relief when the next one matched. So far she had seen over fifty million in assets); she had been, with the help of an associate, checking the cell numbers form Emily’s phone. One was a burner and one was, as she figured, Tad Allan’s. But one belonged to a Raisha Douak, and she was of interest.

Douak had worked in ‘the industry’, both music and film, as well as that other industry, dancing (underage) in clubs. There was no doubt that meant the sex trade. She had also been arrested once for possession and once for intent to sell, which she had plea-bargained down to a year, serving ten months in a medium security prison at age eighteen.

She had been a busy girl in her twenty-one years, and Carman now quietly assigned someone to track her down.


“I have a number for you,” the voice on the other end said to Emily.

“Just a sec,” she replied, scrambling for a writing implement. “Shoot.” After jotting down the number she thanked the caller, one of the professionals she’d hired, and ended the call, to sit and stare at the digits. It was a San Francisco area code, so she wouldn’t be just charging over there. Checking the time; three-thirty, Emily decided to give the number a try.

It was three rings before a woman’s voice, with a mild English accent, said, “’ello?”

“Ivy Bennett?” Emily asked, working to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“Yes, ‘ow may I help you? This isn’t a solicitation, is it?”

“No, no,” Emily replied quickly. “No, Mrs. Bennett, this is Emily Hawkins. You used to live here, at my house, when I was little.”

There was a pause before the voice came back, a note of caution showing. “Who is this, really? Is this some sorta’ prank?”

“No, no Mrs. Bennett, please. I am just trying to find out more about my mother. I have become part of my father’s business and can do some research on my own. I’m just looking for information.”

There was a pause again, where Emily could hear the woman’s nasally breathing, before she came back on and in a rush said, “I’m sorry dear, I can’t ‘elp you. Good day to you.” And the call ended, with Emily staring at her cell phone with wonder and annoyance.


Downing, Ross and Da Costa were gathered again in Ross’s office. Da Costa convinced again that something was up with Downing, the man looked…odd. Ever since the arrival of Emily Hawkins. Odd.

“So, Mr. H. has asked me to go over a few things with the two of you after the recent activity. We three have all had a chance to meet and talk with, em, Miss Hawkins, any thing anyone wishes to share?” Ross began.

Carman had to stifle a giggle thinking of what she could share, but she said evenly, “I have offered my opinion to Mr. Hawkins that Emily is not planning anything drastic. My opinion is that he realizes that he, well, left the barn door open himself and the horse is out…”

“Or left the door open and the fox came in.” Ross added, grinning.

“Fine. You get my point. This isn’t something that just happened, Mr. Hawkins actually set the stage. But Emily, even with her degree, doesn’t want to actually run a business, I don’t believe.”

Downing, like Da Costa, stifled his ‘mirth’ at the thought of what he could add to the conversation, curling everyone’s hair, if Ross had any hair, that is. He too spoke in even tones. “I would agree with Da Costa. This is personal; between Emily and her father. It’s almost attention seeking on, well, steroids, but I don’t believe there are any plans to change anything. I believe Emily simply expects the three of us to carry on as usual.”

Ross scratched his nose as he pondered. “Well, her arrival has certainly prompted Mr. H to action. We have sold off a number of properties and assets, as Ms. Da Costa can attest, reducing the overall number of workers employed, but it hasn’t affected Documart or its subsidiaries at all, really.”

Downing looked at Ross thoughtfully for a moment. “Any idea where the cash is going from this activity? It isn’t showing up in any of the regular places.” Ross simply raised his eyebrows while Da Costa held her breath. Nothing, however, came of the comment and in a few minutes Da Costa and Downing were on their way back to their own spaces.


Emily took her boarding pass and lined up behind everyone at Gate 89, about to board the short hop to San Francisco and beyond. If Ivy and Cecil wouldn’t chat on the phone, she would see how they liked face-to-face.


Carman parked her car and looked up at the four-storey building where Folake now lived. It was apparently a furnished three bedroom unit on the top floor; Carman would soon see.

After buzzing and the brief exchange with the pleasant voice of Folake, Carman was on her way up in the elevator. Exiting on the fourth floor, she saw the woman standing outside her unit and waving. In a moment they were embracing and Folake was leading Carman into the living room, furnished tastefully. The room was open and attractive with one wall taken up with windows affording a striking south-facing view.

Folake sat herself into a leather armchair and said, “I want you to strip slowly; I want to enjoy this.” She had a wide smile on her attractive face. Carman did as directed and took extra time, teasing with her bra and panties, but eventually she was naked.

“Kneel on the coffee table (which at this point was bare) and face away from me.” Carman did this, feeling arousal already. “Finger and play with your pussy, and your ass. Ummmm, yes, oh I like that, my sweet. Finger harder, really pump. Be a slut for me.”

As Carman complied, head down, fingers probing aggressively, Folake came and stood beside her, resting a hand on Carman’s back, before slapping her ass hard. Carman cried out, but continued to pump herself, as Folake began to systematically slap her ass and stroke her thighs.

Like clockwork, the arousal built, moment by moment, slap by slap, all the while Carman’s fingers plunged and probed, twisted and pulled until finally, her hips bucking like a rodeo horse, Carman cried out her pleasure in a long, shuddering moan. Folake then took her and brought her to the couch to lie together, while kissing her face gently and lovingly.

The mistress announced she would allow no discussion until they had eaten; she had picked up some items and had cooked a chicken.

After their meal, they took their wine and returned to the living room, sitting pressed against one another on the couch again.

“So,” Folake began, caressing Carman’s face as she spoke. “I see you brought clothes. Do you wish to stay with me?”

Carman kissed the woman’s face and throat, before replying “Yes, I do.”

“As my lover and my…slave?”

Carman pondered, “May I ask, my mistress, what does, um, slave, mean to you. What would I be expected to, ummm, do?”


London, England, 1993

“So, are you excited, my precious girl?” Mekhn Ahmad asked his new bride, Folake.

“I am, dearest. Can you, oh, tell me a little of what may happen?” She asked, looking up into his handsome face, her dark eyes bright.

Ahmad chuckled softly, “But that would spoil the fun, my special flower.”

“Plll-eeeaaase, Mekhn, I need to know, something. Anything. Who are these people? What am I, your wife? Anything else? Someone has spoken of slaves, what can that be?”

“Who has spoken of this?” Ahmad asked, becoming serious. Although all the people who would be at this ‘party’ were connected, wealthy and influential, care was always taken to be extremely discrete. The club members never discussed these events with anyone when away from the party site. Yet someone had spoken to Folake.

Unsure if she had crossed some line, Folake thought quickly and quoted a magazine article. “That is what I am thinking of; and then you were speaking with that woman on the phone yesterday, and you said ‘slave’.”

Ahmad smiled then. “Yes, these are parties where we explore, um, our instincts, shall we say. What I want from you is to be alluring and desirable. You are those things without even trying.”

Folake smiled.

But Ahmad was not being totally honest. His desires had always been a little dark, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated that Folake had not opened up to his sexual pressures. He had refrained from taking her into his scene, one that involved masters and their slaves, before he felt she could handle it. The ‘party’ they were going to was to be her first full-on look at this lifestyle.

However, once at the party, things had not gone how he had wished, but they had gone on. Folake showed quickly that she was not slave material, but the experienced dominatrix who orchestrated these affairs recognized immediately her potential.

Because Ahmad respected and trusted this woman, he listened, and allowed Folake to go under her wing and to be trained by her; she proved to be a natural, taking to the administration of pleasure and pain like the proverbial duck to water.

It had been her life ever since.


Folake settled in. “That is the question, and there is no single answer, my…special flower” she smiled, remembering. “The relationship between slave and master is varied, so it is good you ask. I, myself, have had many submissive servants and partners over the years; but, I have had only one I called slave, until now.” She looked down with affection at Carman, cuddled against her.

“For me, the relationship is extremely personal; I could not have a slave I did not care deeply for, one that I did not have great affection for.”

Both women were silent. Carman finally, with hesitation, spoke. “But, Mistress, I need to know what I would be expected to do.”

“Do you trust me, Carman?”

Carman considered but a moment. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Then that is all that is required of you, at least for now and for me. When we are together, you are mine. I can do what I wish with you, to you, and you will be obedient and submissive. Because you have a life that I do not wish you to give up, I will not interfere with that. That is really all there is to it. Trust. Respect. Caring. Submission.”

They lay quietly for several minutes, before Carman said quietly, “I would be…happy…to be your lover and your…slave.”

Folake smiled and hugged the woman closely.


Ivy Bennett opened her door cautiously and then stared as if she were regarding an apparition. Before she could react, Emily spoke, “Please, Mrs. Bennett, I will not take up much of your time or hang around and bug, um, bother you. Please just answer a couple of questions and I will leave and you will not see me again.”

The woman, now in her seventies but still looking robust and healthy, stared up defiantly for a moment, and then relented. “You’d best come in, Dearie,” She said quietly.

Once they had settled and Bennett had brewed some tea and poured it out, she seemed to relax. “And no one knows you’re ‘ere?” She asked again.

“No way, Mrs. Bennett. I told no one, not even my aunt.”

“That would be, eh, Miss Melanie?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I don’t think you actually ever met her.”

Bennett shook her head, slowly, remembering. “No, no. We wuz gone before she arrived. Never knew ’er. Things happened so fast, eh?”

“Where is Mr. Bennett?” Emily asked now, thinking of the husband.

“Oh, my poor Cec has been gone these, oh, lordy, seven years now it’d be. ‘eart attack it wuz took ‘im. Like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bennett.”

“Call me Ivy, love, and I must say, you wuz always a pretty little girl but you’ve grown to a beautiful lady, if you will. Except for the stuff on your face, o’ course.”

Emily grinned, knowing that her piercings and tattoos would be alien to the older woman. “Thank you, um, Ivy. But my question is simple. Why did you leave so suddenly?”

Ivy sat, looking like there was a great struggle going on within her. “If I tells you anything, Miss, you must promise not to let anyone know. Please.”

“I promise, Ivy. I wish you no, um, harm. Was it my father?”

She nodded her head slowly and gravely. “Wuz ‘im and that little lawyer fellow, the one with the bald ‘ead. He was the one that actually, um, arranged it all. Our payment, our move ‘ere. But it was your father’s say so. Couldn’t be any other way, could it now?”

Emily considered. “Ivy, and this is important. Do you have any idea why they made you leave?”

The woman suddenly looked old and sad, and then she began to shake gently, and tears, one by one, made their way down her wrinkled cheeks. “I know it was ‘cuz we ‘eard.”

Emily stared at the woman. “Heard, um, what, Mrs., er, Ivy?”

“Heard ‘em, we did. I said to Cec, they’s havin’ a row. An’ he says, ‘you never mind.’ But I ‘eard them. They wuz yellin’, or at least Mr. ‘awkins wuz. He had a voice I can never forget.”

Emily sat with growing excitement which she fought to contain; she didn’t want to frighten the woman. “Did you, um, happen to hear about what the, uh, fight was about?”

Ivy Bennett looked up, in a very innocent way, saying simply. “Well o’course Dearie; it was about Mr. Alex, it was. ‘Cuz they wuz in love, o’course.”


“Hello.” Carman answered. It was Friday morning and she was not expecting any business-related calls, not yet anyway. Maybe it was Folake calling to just touch base? But it wasn’t, it was one of the investigators hired to follow Douak.

The information he provided was interesting, because he had found where Douak was living and the woman’s life seemed to be very simple. It involved a man, a friend and a woman; and a fair amount of drugs.

Carman looked at the photos of the man, the friend and the woman that popped up on her cell. As the investigator explained, the woman shown did not have actual contact with Douak, which in itself was interesting. She would leave large envelopes in a P. O. box and Douak would show up every three days to pick them up.

While something about the man was familiar, it was the woman that caused Carman to sit up and shake her head in amazement.

Because the woman, and there was no doubt, was Emily Hawkins.


Emily took a long pull on her cigarette and let the smoke escape on its own, drifting off to the west. She was sitting in the back area of the house, on the small series of wood steps along one side of the banked, enclosed space. Down and to her right was the fountain with the clown. It still seemed bizarre to her, but no more bizarre than the thought her father had in a rage killed his wife; her mother.

But it really couldn’t have been a rage, Emily considered. As Ivy Bennett had explained, it was she who had found Sarah Hawkins in her bed, appearing asleep, although the half-closed eyes were alarming. From what Bennett could recall, and it was some-what of a blur, the coroner’s verdict was death by natural causes; whatever they might be. There may have been an argument but what Bennett discovered seemed completely non-violent. How had he done it?

Sarah was cremated a day later and then interred in her memorial, to rest from then until now. The explanation was never challenged; who would? Clearly Hawkins, aided by Ross, had cleaned up his mess. The loose ends, the Bennetts and Alex Vargas, had been sent or frightened, away.

Ivy said she had not talked with Vargas after the discovery of the body. He had already left for the day and simply never came back; and then they left, to start a new life in San Francisco, a hundred thousand dollars in their account to help them on their way.

How had she known about Alex and her mother, Emily had asked? Ivy had smiled then, a wistful sort of smile, then said, “Oh, but I saw them, Dearie, kissin’, you know. I was not so old to forget that sort of affection.” She had chuckled upon remembering. “They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, when they was in the same room. Me ‘usband didn’t know a thing, but men don’t, do they? But women do, don’t we?”

She had smiled up at Emily and then they had hugged; and then Emily had left, but not before Ivy had given her a photo, faded now, of Sarah. “They went through our things, they did, wouldn’t let us take anything like this, but I hid that away. I don’t know why. Just a keepsake, I guess. But I’d rather you had it dearie. Your mother was a sweet soul, she was.”

And now Emily sat and thought, here in this space her father had created out of, what? Anger? Revenge? This sterile space with a clown taking the place of a cherub. His space; not her space.

Maybe that was the point. “Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.


Carman was searching again; who was that young man in the photos? Why did he seem familiar?

On a hunch she was going through the entertainment news involving Emily and it wasn’t long before the young man popped up, in relation to the movie Emily had funded. Or Emily and her father, more precisely.

There he was; Tad Allan, her cousin. So what was going on? Carman needed to satisfy her curiosity. She called the investigator back, quizzing him. He knew of the drug use because he had broken in to the place (it wasn’t hard at all) one time when the three occupants had headed off. The drug paraphernalia was evident and it included pills, coke and even heroin.

Heroin, mused Carman. This was more serious than she had thought. She texted Emily and then called Folake, making arrangements, and now she was on her way to the house in Adams Hill.


“So Ross, any explanation that comes to your mind?” Hawkins asked his lawyer.

Ross rubbed his nose absently. “It might just be as Downing and Da Costa said, sir. It’s just between you and your daughter. It is not a business thing at all; she is getting to you through what you own, the thing that matters to you.”

“You know that, my daughter is, em, digging around in old records and such, looking apparently for information on her, mother.”

“That is interesting, sir.”

“Is there anything to find, Ross?” Hawkins asked evenly.

“There was little to start with, sir. The young man has been, gone, for several years.”

“You are certain of that?”

Ross paused, remembering. “I, um, saw the body myself sir. I didn’t tell you for the reasons I have said.”

“To keep me clear of things.”

“To keep you clear of things. But there was no doubt it was Vargas. And of course, old Cecil Bennett kicked the can a while back.”

“His wife, what was her name?”

“Ivy, sir.”

“Yes, her. What about her?”

“Gaga, as far as I know sir, at least that’s what the man I had tracking them said.”

“Well, good, Ross. But I want you to start tracking both Da Costa and Downing. Something is up, I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t think it’s just me being paranoid. See who they are meeting, if anyone.”

“Of course, sir.” Ross took out his cell and began texting right then.


Carman and Emily lay naked together on Emily’s large bed. Their time together had been, odd. Neither had experienced an orgasm, but both needed now to lie quietly, simply holding and caressing. Carman sat up, “I have something going on early tomorrow, so I need to get going.” She said quietly.

What she had going, was that Folake was taking her somewhere, but that wasn’t something she was going to share.

“I’m glad you dropped by, Carm. You should come out to the studio one day to watch a shoot. It’s interesting, as long as you don’t need to stay long. The filming is actually almost wrapped up.”

“So are you and your cousin, what’s his name again?”


“Yes, Tad, are you two sort of collaborating on this thing, or is he in charge?”

“Why are you asking that?” Emily asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just interested in this new direction your life is taking, completely away from Documart. I don’t think you really have any interest in the company do you, my sweet?” Carman smiled down at Emily, who laughed.

“You figured that out, Sherlock. But, yeah, I am kinda interested in ‘the industry’ as they say. Who knows, we’ll see how this plays out, with the money and shit. Yeah, who knows?”

They embraced and then Carman made her way out and to her vehicle, deep in thought.

Who knows? (End of Chapter 11)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 10 A Fool Awaits Your Pleasure

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 10 A Fool Awaits Your Pleasure

Carman pressed the button and waited, and in a moment Folake’s musical voice answered, “Yes?”

“I think you know who it is, my, um mistress.” Carman said quietly.

“I’m not sure there is enough respect in that voice to be allowed up.”

“I’m sorry, my goddess.” Carman smiled. “I promise to make it up to you if you allow me to enter. There, is that more respectful?” Carman could hear the soft chuckle from the mic.

“And what must you do when you come in?”

“I must strip and kneel, mistress.”

“Very good.” The buzzer announced the unlocking of the door and Carman entered. In three minutes she was, true to her word, kneeling naked on the carpet before Folake, who gently stroked her head?

“Have you used the toilet recently?”

Carman paused, feeling odd that this was happening and she was part of it. “No, I have waited, to be here.” She answered truthfully, acutely aware she had chosen not to urinate before leaving Emily.

“Excellent. Come.” In a moment Carman was seated and urinating as Folake watched, before squatting herself and urinating again on Carman. When she had finished she brought Carman to her knees in front of her. “I wish you to clean me.” Folake said, quietly, but authoritatively. Carman leaned up, and with the pungent odor of urine in her nostrils, began to lick the woman.

Folake let Carman’s hungry mouth explore for several minutes before lifting the woman to her feet and taking her back to the bed, where they assumed a sixty-nine position, Folake on top. It wasn’t long before both women shuddered and lay with their faces between each other’s thighs.

After a rest, Folake took Carman into the washroom again and pointed to a glass; “I have provided my slave with a toothbrush; just for you.” She kissed her and they laughed and brushed their teeth together like schoolgirls.


The clock read two-thirty. Carman lay, unable to get to sleep. Beside her the sounds of gentle breathing told her that, unlike herself, Folake was slumbering peacefully. Carman’s mind was in turmoil, first with all that had happened to her, this relationship she had wandered into, but also with all that Emily had related to her.

Could Stafford Hawkins have ended his wife’s life? On the surface it was preposterous; but on exploring it only a little further, it became more likely. Hawkins was a ruthless, self-centered man who felt no remorse at removing anything in his path. If, as Emily proposed, he had discovered his wife was unfaithful and about to leave him, killing her was not unthinkable.

Carman had known when she came to his employment that Hawkins was cold and demanding, and he had been that and more. It was he, after all, who had placed Carman in this position of subservience, almost for sport. Did he know how she would respond? He couldn’t have; that would require him to consider her, which he would not do. He only considered actions and outcomes.

However, the most surprised person in all of this remained Carman herself.


San Antonio, Texas, St. Rose Middle School, 2000

Carman Da Costa, thirteen, was undressing in the change room beside the gym. Since her growth spurt just before summer, which saw her stretch from five-four to five- nine in four months, she was obsessively aware of her slender, developing body with its dark, dense, weed-like pubic patch and tiny breasts, topped with huge areolas and nipples. She was horrified at having other girls see her and so planned things so she had the change room as vacant as possible.

Suddenly, however, as she was standing completely naked, Lora-lee Summers, a classmate, entered and took up a position directly opposite her, smiling and undressing quickly. Lori-lee was also tall-ish (not as tall as Carman) and slender as well, but with light brown hair to Carman’s dark, almost black, pubic cover and with more developed breasts; which Carman could not help noticing, as the nipples were standing out and pointing directly at her.

Almost like a dream, Lora-lee came around the bench and stood right in front of a stunned Carman, inches away in fact, before leaning in and kissing the startled girl on the mouth. It was Carman’s first true kiss, and the two girls held it, Carman marvelling at how it made her feel. “I like you.” Lora-lee whispered. Three little words, that literally made Carman’s heart skip.

Then Lora-lee dropped to her knees and began sucking directly on Carman’s clit through the tangle of hair. Without even considering, Carman simply gripped the head, with its sleek, long brunette hair, and held on.

In a few minutes, Carman Da Costa had her first, real, albeit brief, orgasm. She would never forget that feeling.


Emily sat, studying the last photo Becky had sent her; it was dated four days after her mother’s death and it showed Stafford Hawkins leaving a Los Angeles cemetery; Emily noted the name; she would pay the place a visit.

Hmmmm, she thought, four days. The old bastard didn’t let any grass grow under his freakin’ feet.


Carman was kneeling in the shower as Folake urinated on her. The warm stream hit her breasts and then her belly. When only drops remained, the dark woman brought Carman’s face, her hands tied behind her, into her crotch and Carman, amazing herself, lapped furiously at the dark, meaty folds of Folake’s sex. Turning the water on, Folake humped Carman’s face, slowly and sensuously, with the warm water driving down upon them both.

After several minutes, Folake had Carman stand and then she washed her, from her face down to her feet and every inch in between, before pushing her against the shower wall and fingering her until Carman’s knees buckled and she cried out in a long and intense orgasm, collapsing finally onto Folake’s slim but muscular frame.

Back on the bed, after untying her, Folake kissed Carman again everywhere, ending with the two women locked in an embrace and just laying, smiles on their faces.

A while later still, as Folake sat in her silk robe and Carman knelt naked on the floor, the door chime indicated breakfast, with the same enthusiastic young blonde girl as before; named Meadow they had discovered; entering and pushing her cart. She smiled at Carman and readily accepted Folake’s invitation.

Minutes later, wearing a strap-on with a large black penis inserted, Meadow was fucking Carman dog-style as Folake looked on, enjoying the show with her scrambled eggs and black coffee.


Emily pulled into the winding drive of the Natural Grace Crematorium and Cemetery just as her cell phone buzzed; it was a message from Carman, asking if they could have dinner together Monday night. With a smile Emily replied ‘Absolutely. Look after the details and let me know. Hugs and Kisses’. She looked at that last bit for a moment but then pressed send, climbing out of her car and heading for the main office.


Paris, France 1992

Folake Alvarez, tall and alluring in her black dress and mini-afro, stood against the bar. Just seventeen, she was allowed to drink but it still wasn’t something she was used to. She had only been in France a year; much remained new and different from her native Nigeria.

The event was a reception of some kind. Some large, international company was hosting some Middle Eastern high rollers, and pretty girls were needed. A friend, currently standing beside a distinguished looking white gentleman, who at that moment had his hand half way up her leg, had arranged for Folake’s participation.

As she stood and watched, a tall, Arabian man approached her and, saying nothing, handed her a glass of champagne; then smiled. Like Folake, he had a brilliant set of teeth.

“Mekhn Ahmad”, he said, extending a hand. Folake smiled and accepted the hand. Ahmad was one of the executives of the large, international company; water filtration systems of some sort, it turned out. He was nine years Folake’s senior, wealthy, educated and worldly.

Six months later they were married; and three months after that they had moved to London.

It was in London that Ahmad introduced Folake to the world of bondage, discipline and group sex, thinking she would make a lovely slave. He was very wrong. What she was, and would become, was one of the most sought after dominants in the city. When Ahmad died six years later, leaving a small fortune behind for her, Folake was able to live the life of her choosing. And she chose S & M.


“Uunng!” Carman cried, as the leather strap came down across her buttocks. She ground her pelvis into the vibrator that was attached around her waist, sitting directly on her clitoris area.

“Aaahhnng.” another stroke. “Ooohhh,” she moaned, grinding her hips.

“UUUnnh!” with a final slap, Folake turned the vibrator up two notches and flipped Carman over on her back. She pulled the heavy clips off the woman’s nipples then sucked them, one after the other, with her warm mouth as the blood flowed back with sweet pain and pleasure.

Shoving three fingers into Carman’s slippery pussy, Folake aggressively pushed her hand in and out while sucking on the now painfully erect nipples. Carman shuddered, legs spasmed, then she opened her mouth to laugh and moan at the same time, finally lying still, muttering. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God”, over and over again.

Later as they sat huddled together, Folake asked, “You are finding this all…confusing?”

Carman laughed softly. “Try bewildering. Try mind blowing.”

Folake chuckled in turn. “But still you stay.”

Carman sat up and looked at her partner. “That doesn’t mean I’m not scared silly.”

“Are you, scared?” Folake asked, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Terrified.” Carman said, quietly.

“Of what?” Folake smiled.

“That you’ll leave, and I’ll be lost. That you’ll stay, and I’ll be consumed. I have never felt this…”

“Not with Emily?”

Carman paused. She liked Emily. A lot. She loved having sex with her. A lot. But this relationship with Folake was very different. She felt no inclination, none what-so-ever, to submit to Emily, even though the girl was a demanding lover. She had never felt a need to submit to anyone, so far, in her life. And yet this situation with her ‘mistress’ was so, easy. So, natural, So, fulfilling. She tried to explain this to Folake.

“So, do you want me to go or to stay?” The woman asked Carman.

“When are you done with Hawkins?” Carman dodged.

“Tomorrow’s my last, official, day. But you didn’t answer my question.” Folake smiled.

Carman looked hard at the older woman’s dark, attractive, compelling face before her. What did she want? “I want you to stay.” She said simply.

“And if I stay, what will you do? What do you want with, us?”

“I, um, want us to continue.”

“If I get my own place, would you come to live with me?”

Carman sat in silence, considering. “Are you asking me that to see what I’ll say or do you, really, um, want me?” Carman’s heart was racing; this was crazy.

Folake looked down for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were bright, “I want you to be mine, Carman. To belong to me as my lover and my slave. To give yourself to me. To be…” she paused. “No, too soon for that.”

Carman looked on, mind racing, heart racing, fighting to control her breathing. A rush of things came to her mind to say, but that would be blurting out, and that was not her manner. “At some point, does the ‘love’ word’ come out?” She asked quietly.

Folake shook her head. “Not yet. There is so far for us to go before that word emerges.” She smiled. “Only fools speak of love before commitment.” She murmured.

“But aren’t we all fools?” Carman asked, smiling. She had thought of clowns, but said fools. Why clowns? Oh yes, Emily’s information about Hawkins’s room full of clowns. A clown gathering. Carman chuckled to herself thinking this, then leaned in and kissed Folake softly, tenderly, inhaling the woman’s scent.


Emily stood by the memorial in an area shaded by mature trees, Mimosa and Redbud among the pine; the well-manicured lawns gave the setting a cared-for look. At least her father had done one thing right, choosing a tranquil setting for her mother’s resting place. She looked down at the small, reddish marble plaque embedded in the ground. Sarah Denise Hawkins (nee Donnelly) beloved wife of Stafford and devoted mother of Emily.

On either side of the plaque was a concrete square embedded in the ground. The right container held a colorful vase (the top sat above the ground) which undoubtedly held Sarah’s ashes. The square to the left sat empty.

‘Mother of Emily’. As she stood, a feeling of intense longing seeped through Emily’s body and she was surprised to find tears slipping down her face. Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him totally.


Tad was at least looking presentable. His hair was washed and combed; he was clean shaven; he had on a clean shirt and his slacks were pressed. When he had it together, he still looked pretty good. The production crew welcomed him to the set; they only knew him as one of the people putting this together, so Tad was treated with respect.

He sat back out of the way and watched the goings-on.  What many people don’t know, was that the actual shoots could be tedious…and work; not a lot of glamor here. After a while the need within him made itself known, a little at first and Tad was able to ignore it; but he knew the deal. Within an hour it had grown and he headed out, back to Raisha’s.

At least he had put in an appearance.


Carman looked across the table at Emily and had to smile. Both women had ‘dressed up’ a little tonight, and Emily was one of those that when she did she looked spectacular. Carman looked really good too, in a stunning red dress that set off her dark hair, eyes and caramel skin.

People eating at the Rustic Canyon Wine Bar & Kitchen (they were in Santa Monica) at tables near this couple found themselves staring at them, intentionally or not. Although it was early June and pleasant, they had decided to dine inside.

At one point a pretty brunette, late thirties, strolled over to their table and excused herself, then inquired if she was addressing Emily Hawkins.

Most people in life would find this interesting, alarming, humbling even. For Emily, it was just another day and she smiled at the woman and thanked her for dropping by. A short while later, the server dropped off a note from the woman, with her name, email and cell number.

“You have a fan.” Carman commented, smiling.

Emily regarded the note for a moment, took a piece of paper out of her bag and jotted something down on it, then signalled the server, who came and in turn dropped this note back off to the brunette.

“What was that all about?” Carman asked with interest.

Emily smirked. “Why not have some fun, heh? I mentioned that I always spank my lovers.” She laughed, but just then the server returned with the note. Emily opened it and smiled, then smiled at the woman who was sitting and grinning at her from across the restaurant.

“Ok, what’d she say?” Carman asked.

Emily smiled, “She just wrote one word; ‘please’.”

After this interlude, the two women settled into wine (a lovely Reverdito, red), appetizers of fresh, crusty bread with beet hummus, then a selection of mangoes and passion fruit. Shishitos, roasted pepper and chimichurri over bar-b-cued chicken breasts filled them up, before they concluded with green tea for Emily and specialty dark roast coffee for Carman. It was indeed wonderful.

“I am stuffed,” Emily groaned from the passenger seat of Carman’s Lexus, then continued. “You are coming in when we get to my place, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Carman smiled. “I have been thinking about you all day; and that’s the truth.” And it was, although not necessarily as Emily might have guessed. “But I do need to be at work tomorrow.”

“It’s not too late, sweet buns. Let’s not mess around with anything; my dessert will be your pussy.”

Carman laughed out loud. “Hey, tell me what you’re really thinking. You’re like the sphinx, completely inscrutable.”

Emily sat quietly for a minute. “I’m not sure what all that means, but I’ll take it for a ‘yes’, to the getting down to business.”


For the second night in a row, Carman lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her mind running amok. Beside her, a lovely woman lay breathing deeply in sleep.

The sex with Emily had been engrossing and fulfilling, with Carman having a very lovely series of small orgasms that left her smiling. They were quite different from some of the explosive ones Folake had coaxed out of her, but maybe that was to be expected. It had also put her mind at ease that she could still respond to sex without all that Folake was laying on; that had troubled her. What if she couldn’t simply respond to Emily.

Well she could, and she did.

For her part, Carman was able to produce a vigorous climax in Emily, who shoved her face into her pillow to lessen her cries.

And now Carman lay, considering, debating, wondering and reflecting. Her tightrope act was beginning to take its toll. Keeping track of what she told whom and what she was supposed to know and not know, to always be concerned with slipping up was weighing on her.

And if she slipped up, there would be a fall.


Carman awoke to Emily sliding out of the bed. When she heard the shower running, she sat up and looked at the clock; five forty-five. She got up and went to Emily’s laptop, but before turning it on she lifted it up on a hunch and was correct; under the device, written on a piece of paper, were eleven passwords; no doubt for the off record bank accounts of Hawkins. She took a photo of these with her phone.

Several weeks back, included in a stack of documents she had received from Hawkins himself, was a sheet she should not have received. She realized instantly that it concerned Cayman Island banks, so she removed the sheet and stashed it away for a later time. That time had come, as she was sure the passwords would be for those accounts. She would find out soon, but in her gut that was the feeling. It made sense.

Creeping quietly around, Carman next located Emily’s cell phone and opened it (luckily the girl used no password on it) and browsed the call history. There were four numbers on there that didn’t have names or that Carman didn’t recognize; one was likely cousin Tad’s, but she wrote all the numbers down for her reference.

Hearing the shower water stop, Carman closed up the phone, got dressed in her last night fancies, and went downstairs to wait. In fifteen minutes, Emily, wearing only a thin robe, joined her. They were standing and saying goodbye when they noticed a car pull up outside.

“Holy fuck, it’s the Daddy-kins,” Emily announced.

“Will he be coming through here?” Carman asked with alarm?”

“Naw,” Emily replied, “Relax. There’s an elevator that he uses that goes right up to his room. It’s just outside there, by the kitchen patio.” As they stood listening, they heard the elevator launch into operation.

“Well fuck.” Emily said again. “The great man returns.”


After spending a couple of hours on company business, Carman finally had a break where she could follow up on the information obtained at Emily’s. Starting with the bank accounts, she retrieved the hidden sheet, pulled up one account and began to type in the password when she paused. There was no guarantee the list was in the same order as the passwords.

She retyped the bank accounts to see if there was a pattern, then she looked at the passwords looking for a pattern there. Playing a hunch, she spent about ten minutes pulling up each account and looking for any reference dates, and she was able to locate the first account opened. She went to that account and tried the first password.

To her great relief, such that she needed to control herself from jumping up and shouting, the account opened. She sat staring at her screen and the page that showed a bank balance of eleven million dollars.



Emily was also playing a hunch, as she was driving back to the senior’s complex of Mrs. Vargas. There was something that she should have thought to ask her, but had not brought up, likely because of the excitement caused by the information she had been given.

As usual when one is impatient, the drive seemed to take forever, and then Mrs. Vargas seemed to take forever to get down to the lobby, but at least she remembered Emily and greeted her warmly. The two sat on a wicker couch with the sun streaming down on them from a skylight.

Emily’s question was, had Alex ever sent Mrs. Vargas any photos when he was employed as a gardener. To her disappointment, Mrs. Vargas said ‘no’. The two chatted for a moment or two, and then Emily got up to leave.

As she started off, Mrs. Vargas’s voice stayed her. “But you could maybe check his stuff. He left a duffel bag, ‘cause he was travelin’ light. Course he never came back for it,” she murmured.

Her heart pounding, Emily asked, “So where could I find this bag. Is it still around?”

“Course it is, dearie. It’s in my storage locker.”

“Can I get to that locker; would you give me the address?”

The woman looked at her vaguely for a moment before saying, “Well, that’s easy, ‘cuz it’s right here. The storage lockers are in the auxiliary building.”

Several minutes later, Emily was carefully rummaging through the large bag, before finding an envelope that contained pages of ‘stuff’ and some letters; plus some documents. And several photos.

She sorted through the pictures and then stared transfixed at one, taken clearly at Christmas, that showed a man and woman in their fifties, most likely, with a shorter, Latino woman, undoubtedly Mrs. Pena, and finally a smiling Alex Vargas. On the back someone had printed Christmas staff ’96 and then names. The names that Emily wanted were staring at her; Ivy and Cecil Bennett.



“How long we gotta’ baby-sit this douche?” Brianna complained, looking at the sleeping Tad.

“Hey, I thought you said he was cute.”

“He was. He is. But this is all he does all day. Fuck.”

“Well, the lady said for a while and we’re getting’ paid plus we got booze and drugs, so shut the fuck up will ya’?” Raisha replied.

“I’m going for a walk,” Brianna said, getting up.

“Hey, go grab some eats. Maybe some sodas.”

“Sure. Got some dead presidents in your jeans, bitch?”

Raisha laughed and tossed Brianna a bill. Brianna looked at it, “A Benjamin!” she exclaimed.

“Who’s ‘da bitch now, bitch?” Raisha countered.

To which Brianna replied,


(End of Chapter 10)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 9 Let’s Hear It For The Lady With The Spinning Plates

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 09

Let’s Hear It For The Lady With The Spinning Plates

Friday morning, and Carman Da Costa was to meet Hawkins in his office; she knew he was interested in her trip to the Times. But first she had been directed to come to room eighteen-twelve, one floor below the Documart offices. She had an idea what this was about, but she wasn’t certain until the door opened and the dark brown face of Folake (Fo-laké) Alvarez appeared, greeting her with that attractive accent, “Ah, Ms. Da Costa, do come in.”

They entered the spacious and tastefully decorated suite; the first time Carman had been in one. There were three suites on this floor, side by side; Hawkins was living in the third one, although he had mentioned to Ross that he would be going home soon.

Alvarez sat on a wooden dining chair with a straight back; she was wearing a tailored outfit that accentuated her slim frame.

“So, Ms. Alvarez, I am not sure why we are to meet.” Carman stood and regarded the woman.

Alvarez smiled and her teeth were a brilliant white against the dark skin, “I believe you do know, Ms. Da Costa. Mr. Hawkins needs, um, assurances, and I am the check-up doctor.” She smiled that brilliant smile again.

Carman felt a growing alarm, not liking the sound of this. “Mr. Hawkins has not mentioned anything to me.”

At that moment, Alvarez called a number on her cell, listened for the response and handed the device to Carman. When she answered, it was Hawkins on the other end. After their brief conversation, she handed the cell back to Alvarez and waited. “What do you have to say to me, Ms. Da Costa,” the woman purred.

For a moment, a wild moment certainly, Carman pondered giving up her one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollar a year job, with share benefits, and telling Hawkins and his bitch here to go fuck themselves. But that passed. A little humiliation was not too much to bear; she needed to stay focused on her big picture.

“I will cooperate with you, Ms. Alvarez.”

“You will do what I say?”

Pause. “I will do, what you say.”

“You deserve punishment?”

Carman swallowed hard, but looked the woman in the face. Fuck her. “I, deserve punishment.”

“Undress and get on your knees. That is the way it will be anytime we have, a session. I will not need to tell you again, are we clear?”

“Yes,” Carman murmured as she undressed and in a moment was on her knees. Alvarez had her crawl to her and rub her face against her shoes. Then Alvarez tied Carman’s hands behind her, placed tape over her mouth, and paddled her ass until Carman was squirming and tears were oozing from her eyes, despite her best efforts to hold them back.

After the spanking, and still on her knees, Carman felt the woman’s mouth on her pussy, sucking and licking, and in a moment the woman’s slender fingers began stoking and probing. And so it went, Alvarez being very skillful and Carman being very aroused, so the orgasm was not a surprise; perhaps the intensity was.

Alvarez, still clothed, removed the tape and undid the rope, then brought the naked Carman to the couch and sat with her in silence for several minutes.

When Alvarez kissed her, Carman responded, in spite of her resentment. The kissing became passionate, and in a few minutes Alvarez was naked and Carman was grinding her pelvis against the woman’s dense, trimmed pubic patch. Alvarez’s orgasm was not unexpected, but Carman was greatly surprised by her second one, and the feeling of intense peace that settled over her afterwards. The two women lay together for several minutes before Alvarez, speaking in a hushed voice, asked Carman to join her for dinner tonight. Whatever emotions she had felt before ‘the session’ had been replaced; Carman unclear why, but she accepted Alvarez’s proposal.

As Carman opened the door to leave, Alvarez said, “I’ll send the car for eight.”

Carman allowed herself a small smile, “See you then.”


Emily’s heart was pounding. She was usually very laid back and unruffled; not much could really fuss her, but this was. She was parked out front of a senior’s residence and inside was a Magdalene Vargas. How she had come across this was a bit of luck, although she had been searching now for months. It seemed, likely; really likely, that this Vargas was the mother to Alex.

As she walked up the sidewalk Emily felt like she might simply explode. Please, please, she prayed to herself. Please.


Da Costa stood and waited behind her line, although she no longer was required to wear the mask. Hawkins finished what he was doing and spoke. “So, you learned something yesterday?”

Carman paused, sorting out her information. “Yes, your daughter is trying to find out about her mother, sir.”

“Hmmmm.” Hawkins pondered. That really wasn’t surprising. Hawkins acknowledged that he was a pitiful father. He had no delusions. And he had told his daughter nothing about her mother. He had thought of it, now and then, but had taken the easy way out and avoided it. “Did she, find anything?”

“I believe she found a picture taken at your wedding, sir.”

Hawkins pondered this. “Thank you, Ms. Da Costa. Keep looking and listening.”

“Very good, sir.”

As she turned to leave, Hawkins continued. “Ms. Alvarez has informed me of your, cooperation. I value that, Ms. Da Costa. Your role here is safe. I have in fact drawn up another one year contract for you, with increased salary and bonuses of course, as a sign of my appreciation. Just keep up the, dedication.”

“Yes, sir,” Da Costa murmured and left. She went to the executive washroom and washed her face with cold water for several minutes. This was madness.


Emily was standing, lost in thought, when Melanie came up to her quietly. “Do you want to see them?” she asked.

“What?” Emily responded, shaken from her reverie.

“The clowns?”

In a few minutes, the two women, Melanie with Chantico’s set of keys, including the keys for Stafford’s rooms (why hadn’t she thought of that before?) were heading up to the third floor.

“He kept them in the room beside his. Although it’s been ten years anyway. He just showed me them that once, and then seemed to regret it. He never showed me them again.”

They entered the room and switched on the light. It was a good-sized room, probably intended as a bedroom, but now was simply a room to house Hawkins’s collection. And it was quite a collection. Melanie and Emily stood staring at six large wooden and glass cabinets, each containing several shelves, each shelf holding a number of clowns. There were also larger clowns simply standing on the carpet on little bases or on their big shoes. There were ceramic, glass, wood, metal, papier Maché, and marble clowns; in all sizes. Some were basic circus clowns, some were the jester, joker or Harlequin type; some were just odd configurations. There were hundreds. There were also pictures, paintings and posters on the walls.

“Holy shit,” Emily muttered and Melanie simply nodded her head.


Their dinner had been lovely. Expensive restaurant (Carman paid), the appetizers, entrées and desserts were perfect. The wine was exceptional (this paid by Alvarez) and now they were seated on the leather seats of a Documart limo, heading back to the office and the condo.

As they drove, Alvarez slid her gloved hand up Carman’s leg. Carman had dressed, reluctantly at first, then deciding ‘okay’, as Alvarez had directed her, so she was wearing crotch-less panty hose and nothing else. When Alvarez’s hand found the shaved labia and began stroking them, Carman closed her eyes and leaned against the woman.

“You like that, in spite of yourself, don’t you?” Alvarez murmured.

Carman moaned slightly and placed her hand over the gloved one, pressing. Alvarez removed her hand and gripped Carman’s face, turning it to her. “Open your mouth.” Carman hesitated for a moment, fighting her natural instincts, then gave in and opened. “Put out your tongue.” When Carman complied, Alvarez spat on the tongue and then closed Carman’s mouth.

After a moment, she removed her left glove and pushed two fingers into Carman’s mouth and had her suck them, before licking the side of her face. “I want you to come back to my place.” She whispered, returning her hand to Carman’s crotch and squeezing, probing, pulling.

“Y-you can just order me to.” Carman moaned, beginning to hump the fingers that had now entered her.

“No, I want you to come by choice.” Alvarez whispered again, just as the large car slid to the curb. The driver got out and opened the rear door. Alvarez swung her long legs out and alighted, followed in a moment by Carman. Linking arms, the two women headed for the

building’s entrance.


Emily sat in the little library, going over her conversation with Mrs. Vargas. Yes, the woman had had a son, Alex. Yes, he was a gardener who had worked for a wealthy man and his wife years ago. Hawkins? Yes, the name rang a bell. One day he had suddenly shown up at her house, clearly upset, gathered a meagre supply of clothes and things, whatever he could stuff into a suitcase, and then he was gone.

Mrs. Vargas got a postcard from him from Mexico three months later. At Christmas, a card would arrive, for many years, and then five years ago that ended. She had not heard from him since.

Had Alex ever mentioned a Sarah?

Yes, he had spoken of her with affection. “He loved her, I know that.” Mrs. Vargas said. “As much as he loved his roses. Maybe more.”

Damn, thought Emily. This was too incredible. She called Carman’s cell, but just got her message.



Carman’s and Alvarez’s round buttocks were slapping together rhythmically, as they shared a two-headed dildo, back to back. Both women were pumping, in sync; both were moaning. In was a bit of a race to see who could finish first.

Then Alvarez cried out, slamming her buttocks hard into her partner’s. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Carman. Oh, oh, ohhhhh! Mmmmmm.” Alvarez had collapsed on the bed and Carman pulled the dildo out and lay against the woman. As Alvarez opened her eyes and watched, Carman licked the dildo off and then they shared a long, deep, probing kiss. “I will give you your pleasure, love.” Alvarez whispered.

“It’s okay, Folake, I’ve already had two today. I enjoyed giving you pleasure.” Carman murmured, face pressed against the other’s throat.

“Come,” Folake said, pulling Carman to her feet and leading her to the bathroom, before plunking her on the toilet. “You need to go, I know it, and I want to watch.”

Carman had never been into the ‘toilet’ scene, with anyone. It hadn’t interested her and had basically grossed her out. However, right now she was strangely relaxed, sitting legs spread with Folake directly in front of her, as she began to urinate. Folake watched the stream, and when it began to slow, she straddled Carman and began to urinate herself, directing her stream directly onto Carman’s clit area.

Carman closed her eyes, as this warm flow felt very nice. It aroused her, she didn’t question why, she was just floating along. “Open your eyes,” Folake said quietly and when Carman did, she was handed two squares of toilet paper. “Clean me.” was the instruction, and Carman did, taking time and care to wipe Folake thoroughly.

“Now lick me,” Folake squatted slightly and Carman pushed her face into the thick, shaved hair of the woman’s crotch, licking and sucking aggressively. In a few moments, Folake shuddered again. Straightening up, she smiled down at Carman saying, “I really do owe you one, now. Come on.”

And they headed back to the King-sized bed.


“C’mon, Tad, just get doin’. Fuck.” Brianna complained.

Raisha laughed, “This dude’s the slowest junkie in the west.” They both laughed. Tad meanwhile sat with the needle, lying across the palm of his hand. The pull was too hard to resist.

In a few minutes, Raisha snuck over to the hallway in the little apartment and texted a message, “He just shot up,” then returned to the two. Brianna was busy sucking Tad’s cock, so Raisha slid between the girl’s legs. It looked like they were in for the night.


“Why does he have them?” Emily asked Melanie, as they sat in the darkening front room. “I could ask why he has so, freakin’ many, but, no, just why does he have them at all.”

Melanie shook her head. She could remember nothing about clowns from their childhood, although her siblings were so much older than her she hadn’t really had much to do with them.

“Was, like the circus, a big thing? What the Hell?” Emily continued.

“No, nothing like that. Our father never took us anywhere; talking with Georgia, that was true all along; he wasn’t that kind of a father. And I know he was very hard on Stafford; there wasn’t any fun and games at our house. Sure as the devil, no clowns.” Melanie closed her eyes in thought and then they popped open as she said, “Wait. Oh my God, I’m remembering. My mother had two ceramic clowns, but they were kept on a table in the hallway. And she had a painting, that guy with the triangles…”

“Harlequin.” Emily added.

“Yes.” Melanie exclaimed, then looked at Emily. “How’d you know that?”

“I know some shit, Mel-bel. Go on. What about the painting?”

“Well, this is strange, and stranger still that I remember it. One day I was playing with friends and hurt myself and went home. My mom was in her room and above her bed was the Harlequin painting.”


“Well, that wasn’t where it was all the time. It was usually in the hall. I remember my father yelling about it one time. He thought it was stupid. He only liked, you know, landscapes or cowboys. So my mom must have taken it to her room when he wasn’t there, and moved it back. Strange, hey?”

Yes, Emily considered, strange. But it was all very strange.


“I want you to stay.”

“As your, submissive, or as your, partner?” Carman murmured.

“Is there a difference?” Folake asked, gently.

Carman needed to consider this. She was not a submissive, at least had never gravitated to that role. She had been the dominant in a relationship many times. Yet, somehow, Alvarez was getting to her, arousing her, bringing her forward. She would stay one way or the other.

“I will stay, and I’ll let you decide how it works out,” she crooned, “but I do need to see Emily tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. That gives us time. The only problem is we both have long legs; we could end up like a couple of pretzels.” Folake said and Carman chuckled.


Raisha came in quietly, then noticed that Tad was passed out on the couch. She held up an envelope and two pouches of powder; coke and H, and smiled; Brianna nodded at her. Raisha wasn’t sure how long this was going to go on, but as long as they were getting money, booze and dope, it was all good.


Saturday morning and it was time for another session for Downing. “He’s been getting off light.” Emily remarked to Melanie who just shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t take part, so she just ignored it.

Twenty minutes later, Downing was hanging by his wrists; mouth taped, eyes blindfolded. His ankles were strapped together and attached to weights, so he couldn’t move them. A cord had been tied around his penis and then to a hook across the room, and the cord was now taut, stretching his member out uncomfortably.

His testicles were bound as usual, but today heavier weights were added and the sacks were stretched down outrageously. Chantico was carefully dripping hot wax onto Downing’s ‘junk’. Downing was squirming and moaning as well as he could, gagged and held in place.

Emily was planning on torturing the man for twenty minutes or so, and then quizzing him about the other money of her father’s, with a promise of no more abuse and a reward if he was helpful.

As she watched, a text message from Carman popped up, saying she would be coming by around noon. Emily smiled and then returned to her work.


Carman put away her cell after messaging Emily. She and Folake had just finished breakfast and were having coffee. The suites had an arrangement with a local caterer, in the same building, so it was a lot like living in a hotel and ordering room service.

The young woman who brought the food; slim, white, blonde and bubbly; had had a bit of an experience, as she came in and saw Carman kneeling naked on the carpet. The girl tried very hard to pretend that nothing was amiss, while desperately avoiding looking at the woman on the floor; however, Folake would have none of that.

The girl would receive her generous tip only by spanking the slave, which she did with the small wooden paddle given her. Carman thanked the girl before she left and then looked at Folake with a furrowed brow, causing the woman to laugh out loud. “I’ll bet if I checked you, Slave, I would find you very wet, so don’t give me that. Come up here and let’s enjoy this; look, scrambled eggs, fruit, cheese, muffins…”

“When may I get dressed, oh slave master?”

“Slave Mistress, please, and you’ll get dressed when I say.” The two women ate for a few minutes in silence, before Folake poured some coffee and Carman sent her text.

“So, I know this troubles you, Carman. Being my submissive, but one can’t deny one’s feelings. You are essentially a dominant woman and your relationships so far have been so. But with me, it is different. That doesn’t change what you are; it just shows that you are complex.”

Carman looked across the small table. “But what happens when you leave?” 

Folake smiled. “Who says I’m going to leave?”


Glendale, California, 2001

“You have not developed any, shall we say, relationships yet, have you sister?” Stafford Hawkins asked his sister Melanie.

“Well, um I’ve been pretty busy looking after Emily and helping Mrs. Pena. No, I don’t really have any friends and certainly no, um, boyfriends. Why are you asking?”

Hawkins arranged the salt and pepper shakers so they were centered better. “Well, it’s just that there is a young man in my office I would like you to meet. And I would hope that you would make an effort to be pleasant. One never knows.”

Oh great, thought Melanie, my brother has some nerdy goof he’s going to drag around. This is weird.

But the fellow wasn’t actually all that nerdy, although he was good at math. He was a little shy but still pleasant and Melanie had enjoyed her time with Drew Downing. They planned a second ‘date’ that very evening.


Downing was jerking and grimacing, silently for the most part, although one could still hear his muffled noises, as he hung from his hook. Chantico was peeling off the wax from his body and pulling away the clips, then slapping the various parts back to life as Downing writhed. At last she released his testicles and penis, smiling as she did this.

“Penises are silly,” she said to Emily.

“Tell me about it kid, that’s why I prefer eating you. Ok, take his tape off.” Chantico pulled the tape from Downing’s mouth and he groaned loudly once free.

“Hey, Drewsie, how’d that go? Like some more?”

“Ung, no, p-please, Miss M, no. Wh-what do you want?”

“Would you like to lick my shoes, Drew-sums?”

“Unngg. Yes, yes please. Oh. Ummmm. Yes, I’ll lick your sh-shoes.”

Emily chuckled. “Sorry, droopy Drew, no do. But we will jerk your little friend there, if you are a good Drewsie. Now, tell me. Where else does Daddy-dearest keep his money. It isn’t all in those accounts you gave me, unless he’s lost a ton, which I doubt.”

Downing twisted a couple of times before he began. “H-he has some other holdings; under the name SouthCal Ent. And he has some money; in offshore accounts; but I don’t know how much. I really don’t. He doesn’t let me get a-anywhere near that other stuff.”

“Would Ross know?”

Downing twisted slightly again on his hook, his blindfold still on. “He m-might, but I think your f-father has other lawyers do work on, um, off the books kind of deals, like.”

“And Ms. Da Costa would not know much?”

“No,” Drew replied quickly, “she has n-nothing to do with the financials. Although she m-might have a record of employees and not realize what it’s for, exactly, but I think Carman w-would see stuff that wasn’t adding up.”

“Did you know my mother, Drewsie?”

The man hung silently. “Why are you asking me…”

Emily slapped Downing across his balls with a flyswatter. “No questions, Unca Droopy. Did you know my mother, yes or no? It’s a simple fucking question.” Chantico looked with alarm at her mistress; she had not seen this anger before, although she had witnessed the smashed cup.

“I met your mother tw-twice, Em-Emily. Briefly. When I came by to drop off accounts or whatever. But I didn’t actually know her.”

“Did my father ever talk to you about her, her death or after she died?”

“No, Em…, Miss M, your father never once talked to me about your mother. N-never.”

Emily looked at him, then at Chantico. “Okay, sweet one, make Drewsie feel good.”

Chantico leaned up and engulfed Downing’s limp penis in her mouth and began to work it. Within moments it had come to life.

She really was good.


“Em.” Carman said, clasping the girl to her.

“Carman, jeez it seems like, I dunno, a long time.”

“We’ve both been busy, my love,” Carman said, looking down with affection at the girl with the perennial smirk on her face.

“C’mon, out to the patio.” Soon they were settled with glasses of wine. “So whaddya’ been up to, Carm?” Emily asked.

“Doing stuff for your father; he’s in response mode now, circling the wagons I’d say. You’ve spooked him, good, Emily.” Carman smiled. “But really, sometimes I just feel like that woman in the circus I saw on television, spinning plates on sticks, dashing from one to the other to keep them going.”

Emily laughed. “Circling the wagons, hey. So that makes us what, the Indians? Or is it the natives?” Emily laughed. “Well, Daddy-kins better watch out for the huntin’ party.” Emily then did some ‘Whoo whoos’ and brandished an imaginary tomahawk. They both sipped some wine and Emily ventured, “When you’re, um, spinning your plates, do you deal with any of his other companies? I have found out he has stuff not listed under his name.”

Carman paused and considered. “He has other investments, I know that, but my job is the management of the Documart office and staff. Ross might have some say in that other stuff, in a general way, perhaps, but your father is a secretive man, Emily. He only tells you what he wants you to know.”

“Or nothing.” Emily laughed.

Carman chuckled too. “And what have you been doing; any more research?” Carman asked innocently.

Emily hesitated; telling Carman certain information could put her in a difficult position; on the other hand, having only Melanie to share things with was hard.

She took a moment to light a cigarette, then took a breath and began. “Ok, here’s some heavy shit for you. My mother was having an affair and planning to run away with the gardener and my father killed her; or had her killed. He then had the body cremated and tore out her rose bush garden, replacing it with his gift to clowns. There, how’s that?” Emily sat, looking flushed.

Carman simply sat silently; stunned.

(End of Chapter 09)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 8 The Jokes Clowns Play On Each Other

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 08 The Jokes Clowns Play On Each Other

“So what do you think this means?” Melanie asked, as she and Emily sat once again on the patio. Although it was only nine o’clock, Emily had already been up and busy; first, getting Becky back to her place to change and then taking her to work. And now back home, sitting with her ‘notes’.

She had just shared some of the info, the news photos, with Melanie. They showed the wedding and the roses.

“Well, it is cool seeing pictures of my mother. Remember, I have nothing of her but my memories, and that’s as a five-year-old. I really don’t know what is a true memory and what is just hope.”

Melanie looked with sympathy at her niece. It had always bothered her that Stafford had been so weird with photos or the public in general. They had no photographs taken at their private wedding ceremony; the picture Emily had was by a reporter who snapped a shot and happened to include both Stafford, Sarah and two unidentified persons; plus part of someone’s arm.

“Yes, Em, that is cool and I’m glad. I never knew your mother either; none of us were invited to the ceremony, we were just informed afterwards. But what about this other photo?”

Emily looked hard at her aunt. It was probably time to share a little more. She carefully removed the scrap of letter from her pocket, explaining to Melanie its discovery. “So, what we have is a photo showing that there was a garden and a gardener, and that both were gone after my mother’s death, and like with no record. Now we have this, a mystery.”

Melanie now looked hard back at her niece. “But why are you doing this, Em? What are you looking for, hoping for? All this, you know, dredging up of the past, what’s the point?”

Emily lit a Lucky Strike and considered. “Let’s say something, like, happens and for some reason it bothers you…”

“Like what?” Melanie interjected.

“Hold on, kid. This is an, um, example sort of. I’m trying to explain what I’m feeling, ‘cuz that’s where this all starts for me. Okay?” Melanie nodded her head, although keeping silent was hard for her with this, for some reason.

“Okay, so as a little kid, I sneak into my mother’s closed off room, where no one is supposed to go, and I find a scrap of paper under my mother’s bed. It is connected to her; that is what I feel. And, like, why else would it be there? It’s not imaginary. There were only a few people that went into her room. So, the feeling it gives me is that something is happening that is a secret. Now that is speculation, I get that.”

Melanie nodded again, but could now see where this might be headed, and wanted to know more; so she continued to remain silent.

“Now, this seems like a love letter. It says, ‘All my love’, it doesn’t say something general. This was a letter from ‘Alex’ to someone. So, don’t you get it, it has to be to my mother. What else makes sense?” Melanie sat in silence, just staring. “But who could this ‘Alex’ be; you hadn’t heard of him? But now, here we have a picture of my mother with an Alex. They are both young; even in this photo you can see he is good looking. He says ‘in two days’; but there is no date, so that part is still, em, screwed up a little.”

Both women sat in silence. Melanie spoke slowly, like she was just putting the words, like jig-saw pieces, together into ideas as she said them. “So you are suggesting your mother and this Alex were, what, having an affair? And then, well, what?”

Emily butted out her cigarette and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t think you need to be Sherlock Holmes here, Mel-bel; my mother died suddenly and right away this rose garden is destroyed and replaced with that, um, anti-whatever…”


“Yeah, antiseptic thing that’s out there now.”

“It can be nice to sit out there in the evening,” Melanie offered quietly.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s stone and mulch and angel statues…”

“It’s a clown.”

“What is?”

“The fountain out there; the figure that the water is shooting out of isn’t an angel, it’s a clown; his out-spread arms look sort of like wings until you get closer. Go look, you’ll see.”

“Weird,” Emily muttered, pausing. “My point is that what is out there now is very little living stuff. This photo shows at least fifteen rose bushes with roses on them, for Christ’s sake…”


“Yeah, yeah, sorry. It’s just that this garden is not, you know, my father, but what is out there now is. Cold, maybe attractive in a hard way, but what my mother had is gone. Now, does Daddy-dearest seem like the sentimental kind of guy that couldn’t stand to look at his beloved wife’s garden?”

Melanie slowly shook her head. “Right.” Emily agreed. “He replaced it. No one else would. And there is no record of this man, Alex. And…” Emily thumped her index finger on the table in emphasis, “there is no record of my mother.”

“What does that mean, no record?” Melanie asked, unsure how anyone did not have a record of some kind.

“I looked, Mel, I looked on my own and got nowhere, so I hired a company; they are experienced and pros and shit and they looked, two of them for a whole week, scoured the internet and used tricks to get into public records and secret places I couldn’t access, but still nothing.”

“By nothing you mean…”

“Nothing. No birth record; no drivers licence; no graduation information. Who has nothing Mel?”

“And so you think…”

“I think it was erased, by someone who has the wealth and connections to make someone’s digital history; their existence; disappear.”

“But I don’t see…”

“Fuck Mel! Who but my fucking father has the fucking power?! WHO?!” Emily swiped a coffee cup off the table and it crashed on the patio as she stormed back inside.

Chantico came running to find Melanie crying quietly; and the mess. “I’m okay, Chantico,” Melanie answered, “Just please take care of this.” Melanie said and went inside in pursuit of Emily. She found her, standing and looking out the front windows, her breast rising and falling with emotion.

“But Emily, that is an incredible thing to say. You’re accusing your father of…”

“Killing my mother,” Emily said, still staring out the window.

“But that’s…outrageous…I…”

Emily sighed deeply and shook her shoulders. “Melanie, I’m not saying this is easy to wrap your head around. I’ve been struggling for months; that’s why I set this thing in motion. Once I had the money from the trusts, I knew I could start trying to find answers. I sure as Hell didn’t start with the idea my mother was murdered, but everything points to something, underhanded. That’s it.”

“But…” Melanie however didn’t get a chance to finish this, because the doorbell chimed. Since she was closest, Emily answered it, and was surprised to see Carman standing there. “Hey, what’s up? We weren’t getting together, were we?”

Carman chuckled and entered. “No, calm yourself. You have not missed something. I’m actually here on behalf of my boss; you may know him, to see your aunt?” She smirked.


“You have several aunts stashed here?” Carman asked with another smirk and Emily had to laugh, the anger leaving her body, and she smiled up at her friend.

“I have only the one aunt here, and she’s just in this room. Melanie, Carman Da Costa is here to see you.”

Melanie came around a corner and stood looking at the woman with a puzzled expression. Carman spoke, “May we speak somewhere, Ms. Downing?”

Emily gave Carman a look as she passed her, following Melanie, but Carman did not look back at her. The two women proceeded to the oddly named library and stood in the middle; Carman observant and Melanie cautious. Carman spoke again, “Your, brother, wishes to meet with you. He would like me to drive you to our office, so there is no inconvenience to you.”

“Now?” Melanie asked, puzzled still.

“Yes, if we can. You certainly look fine for the situation. It’s just a chat between brother and sister. There will be no crowds.”

“But, I don’t know…” Melanie said, quietly.

Carman then handed the woman an envelope. “Mr. Hawkins said to give you this if you were uncertain.”

Melanie opened the envelope and looked at the piece of paper inside. It contained a single word, ‘Seth’. Melanie blanched and said quietly. “Fine, I’ll get my jacket.”

“It is warm out,” Carman noted, pleasantly.

“I’ll still get my jacket,” Melanie repeated, retrieving a blazer from the hall wardrobe.

“What’s up, Mel-bel?” Emily asked.

“We’re going to see your father,” Carman said quietly, looking at Emily with an expressionless face.

“Why?” Emily asked.

“You know he doesn’t tell me those things, Em.” Carman said, with a touch of weariness, casting a quick glance at Emily as she went by her again, this time with Melanie following. They went out, down the stairs, and entered the sedan through the rear door; there was a driver in the front. The ride to the office, fifteen minutes, was subdued. Carman attempted some small talk but Melanie was brusque. Her mind was on, among other things, Seth. Seth Griffin.


Glendale, California, 2008

Mrs. Pena came to Melanie, as she was reading on the patio. “Mrs. Downing, the plumber is here.”

Why wasn’t she told anything? Melanie considered as she went to see what this was about. It would turn out that her brother had decided that four sinks needed replacement, and so hired a company, but as was his manner did not tell his sister.

The company had sent one man, Seth Griffin, Melanie would quickly find out, and he was something. Young, tall, slim, athletic and very good looking. Not what you might expect from a plumber.

Oh, and he was also black.

He ended up needing four days to do the work, and by the third day he and Melanie were having vigorous, satisfying sex. Melanie was thirty-one to Seth’s twenty-six, and he seemed to enjoy an ‘older woman’ while Melanie could not get enough of his hard-pounding body. She had orgasms; multiple orgasms, and had to work to keep the smile off her face and the desire from her voice when she spoke of him.

After the job was complete, she and Seth would meet in various places and continue their enthusiastic love-making. And it wasn’t that Seth had some massive porno dick; he sported a seven-and-a-half inch unit, but it came with a muscled body that worked relentlessly until Melanie climaxed.

Then came a weekend, approximately three months into their affair, when Drew went off to a conference with Hawkins in Chicago, and Melanie went off with Seth to a little place in Santa Clarita that a friend owned. It was to be a weekend of sex, and it completely was. Only Seth had not mentioned that he had invited two friends to join them. After Melanie had gotten over the shock and initial awkwardness, it ended up being two nights and two days of almost non-stop drinking and fucking.

Melanie had the men solo, in duos and sometimes all three at once. Melanie joked (to herself) that she walked ‘like a cowboy’ for a week after, but the weekend had also featured her first anal sex and the first time she had allowed someone to come in her mouth. Both things happened several times, as Melanie was not allowed to wear clothes until Sunday evening when they drove back to Glendale; she was the men’s sex toy and they used her.

And she had loved it.

And then Seth had just stopped seeing her. She was unable to contact him and unable to find out why. It was as if he had vanished. Melanie suffered from this, falling into a despondency that included drinking, and it was several months before she pulled herself out, coinciding with one of Emily’s returns.

It would be five years before she had sex again, with another person, at least.

And now today, out of the blue, her brother’s assistant hands her a note with Seth’s name on it, as she was summoned to meet with Stafford. She rode along beside the woman (who she couldn’t blame personally for anything) deep in thought. What was this all about?


Raisha went to the postal box as directed, opened it and took out the envelope. Inside were five hundred dollars and two small packets: one of coke and one of heroin. Raisha looked around, with the feeling that she was being watched, before closing up the box and heading out. She needed to see if Tad had gotten his ass out of bed; it was ten-thirty already.


Emily pulled her car into the parking lot of Archer Films International, a small to medium budget level company and the one that would be handling their production. Emily needed to meet with the executive producer and make sure he understood who was calling the shots. Tad Allan was involved, but not in charge. Emily was planning to make this point and to make it very clearly.

And she had a way of making things…clear.


Melanie was shown into her brother’s office by Carman who left and closed the door. She was not asked to wear a mask and when she approached Hawkins’s desk, he turned to face her. He was much as she remembered (how long had it been?) perhaps a touch thinner.

“Thank you, sister, for coming in.” Hawkins said, softly.

“I didn’t really have much choice, Stafford,” she replied, brusquely.  

Stafford chuckled darkly. “There is always choice, dear sister.”

Melanie took out her note, “So, what is this about Seth Griffin?” she asked.

“Patience, sister. Let’s start with why I have asked you here. Remember, that was the first thing. Because you were hesitant, I needed to, oh, spice things up I guess.”

Melanie began to develop a sense of apprehension. Her brother had a manner about him which was foul, disturbing. His eyes were half-closed and he was menacing. “Fine, ask me what you wish then, brother.” She emphasized this last word and Hawkins chuckled again.

“I wish to speak of your shares in my, um, our, company. I want to know I have your support in any actions going forward.”

Melanie looked at him. She wasn’t really interested in business and shares and votes; she was helping Emily. Supporting Hawkins was not the plan. “I don’t see how I can guarantee that, Stafford. That sounds like a kind of blank check. I would need to know what you were planning, doing, before I could support you.”

“Hmmmm, then let me ask you. Why have you and, my daughter, taken this action?”

Melanie was a little taken back by this, but decided on the spot to be truthful. “Emily, um, we were concerned with some of your decisions; some of the companies you were buying into. And then there was the fact you do not communicate with us; we really had no idea who was involved, advising you, like that. We needed to start a dialogue.”

Hawkins sat quietly. Whether that was the answer he expected or not, he did not reveal. “Well, now about your friend, Seth. I want you to see something, and then I believe your path will be clear.” A wide-screen television to Melanie’s right came on and in a moment a video began playing. To Melanie’s horror, the video was clearly from the weekend she had had with the three men, years ago.

“Shut this off,” she cried with alarm.

Hawkins simply laughed and said, “I have seen it several times, beginning the day I bought it from your gentleman friend. Or, to be more precise, after I had paid him for making it. He then did  what had been agreed to and left town, never contacting you again. So I have watched it a few times since then. I must say, I am amazed by your flexibility and agility; my, my. I would not have thought you were that, um, athletic, but you got yourself into some incredible positions.” He chuckled again.

Hawkins now scooted his chair forward a couple of feet and spoke

to Melanie while gesturing at the screen. She sat with tears dripping down her cheeks. “I mean, look at that stretch, where all three men are using your whore’s body. My God, look how your leg is bent. Jimminy, sister, that’s amazing.” After a few more minutes of this, Hawkins turned the device off and waited for his sister to collect herself.

Finally Melanie spoke in a subdued voice, “So what is your plan, Stafford.”

Hawkins sat with a smug smile on his thin, serpentine face. “My plan is that you will support me and I will keep your, um, activities away from the world. I imagine there are a number of folks at the Golf & Country Club that would pay to see this movie.” He grinned.

“And you will not release this, or whatever is done, if I support you?”

“That is what I am saying. Tit for tat.” He leered, saying quietly, “Or I guess, two tits in your case.”

Melanie stood up; she needed to get out; she needed some air. “Fine, I will support you. There, is that it?”

“That is all. My assistant will see you get home.” And with that, Hawkins turned his chair and his back to Melanie, and began doing something with his computer. Melanie stood for a moment looking on with disgust, before heading to the door and out. Carman was waiting for her.

“The car is outside, Ms. Downing. Is there anything you need?” She asked, courteously.

“Why should you care?” Melanie snapped, then added, “I’m sorry it’s not your fault. Good-day.”

“Good-day, Ms. Downing,” Carman spoke quietly, unsure of what had happened in the office, but it was clear nothing pleasant.

As Melanie began to walk away, she turned and looked at Carman, “How do you work for him?” she asked, simply. Carman just smiled a little; what was there to say? With that, Melanie continued on her way, Carman standing and looking thoughtfully after her.


Emily was back at home after her meeting; it had gone well.

Giselle, the woman Tad had suggested to the producers, looked to be a great choice. Now the casting department was just about done with all the most important roles, and the production crew had picked several sites; filming would start in probably ten days.

And the executive producer was aware of who the money was coming from, and nothing would be approved without going through Emily first. She smiled at the thought, as this man had also suggested that Emily consider films. Maybe someday; for now she had other plans.

At that moment, she was working intensely at her computer; searching for ‘Vargas’, hoping to perhaps find a relation, (a mother?!) to Alex, and she had not heard Melanie come in. She only noticed her aunt sitting on the patio, looking deep in thought, when she came out to find Chantico and have her make some tea and lunch.

After a brief exchange with the girl, Emily went out and greeted Melanie. “Hey there, you look serious. How’d it go with Daddy-kins?” She asked.

Melanie looked up and she was solemn, “You know, Em. Forget what I said about your father and your accusations. I honestly don’t know what that man could be capable of.”


Carman and Emily were lying quietly, side by side, on Emily’s bed. They had enjoyed a spirited love session, both women seeming to need this release seriously, driven by some inner demand.

Carman was now stroking Emily’s arm as the girl nestled into her. “What happened with my aunt and my father?” Emily asked in a hushed voice.

Carman lay quietly for a moment. “I have no idea. He didn’t tell me why he wanted to see her, and I did not accompany her home. She said nothing to you?”

“Ummmm, not directly. She said he quizzed her about our plans and that he was probing as to who she would support or why. She was certainly pondering things after their talk.”

“Yes, I think that is the deal. You have taken him by surprise and he is on the defensive. But he knows he needs to face you.”

Emily snorted, “I bet he stalls that for as long as he can.”

Carman considered for a moment, then asked, “He asked me, and possibly Melanie, why you were going through files at the L.A. Times. He obviously is having you watched or something.”

Emily paused, considering this. “Did he ask you to check that out?”

“Of course.”

Emily snorted again. “Tell him I’m looking up my family history, where I can, as he hasn’t given me anything. Tell him, for example, I saw my grandfather’s obituary. And have now asked Melanie about my other aunt and uncle. There.”

“So what are you doing, using their computers or something?” Carman asked, in as innocent a voice as she could muster.

“Nah, an archivist, Becky something-or-other, has actually let me go through old microfilm. It’s kind of been fun; also kinda boring.”

“Hmmm.” Carman said, making note.


With a grunt, Tad slammed his hips into Rasha’s round ass, and then collapsed on her, Brianna making comments as she lay beside them on the bed. Rasha extricated herself from Tad’s member and slid over, grabbing Brianna’s head and forcing it between her legs. “C’mon, Brie, Tad left me on the edge. That’s it, ooooh, yeah, baby, baby, baby. Fuck, yeah, yeah. AAAAaaaahhhhhnnnngg.”

Brianna got to her knees and looked around. “Any of that coke left?”

“Naw,” Rasha mumbled, “Tad-boy snorted the whole shit load. But there is the other shit.”

Brianna looked at the other packet. “That’s Capital H, man, sorry, no way. Not gonna happen.”

Rasha chuckled. “Leave it for Tad. I think that’s the way it’s s’posed to go, anyway.”

The two girls eyed each other, then looked at Tad, who was now sleeping. Brianna smiled.


Carman Da Costa waited in Matthew Kroening’s office at the L.A. Times. Kroening was Becky the archivist’s direct supervisor, and had been notified by his boss to cooperate fully with the assistant to Stafford Hawkins. “This is what Ms. Hawkins was searching through.” Kroening gave Da Costa a list, “If there is anything else?”

“No, thank you Mr. Kroening. You have been most helpful.” Da Costa took the list and left, going across the street to a coffee shop where she sat and pondered what this meant. Emily had told the truth about her research, but only partly. It was clear that her search was focused on one person; her mother.


“What are you doing out here?” Melanie called. It was early morning and Emily was in the back; in the area that had once been the home of her mother’s roses. It was possibly forty feet deep by fifty feet wide and was now mostly stone, concrete, landscaping rock and mulch. Seven trees were placed here and there in the mulch that rose as an embankment, beside some stairs, up to a trellis topped fence that enclosed the whole space, with the large, marble, clown fountain dominating that space.

Emily was standing and staring at the fountain, with its centre spout, as Melanie had said; a circus clown with outstretched arms. “I’m here, Mel-bel. Looking at this…fountain.”

Melanie came and stood beside her niece. “He has dozens of them, you know, in glass cases.”

“Dozens of what?” Emily asked, watching the water shoot from the figure’s mouth.

“Clowns.” She said.

(End of Chapter 08)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 7 A Fool Uses Folly Like A Stalking Horse

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 07 A Fool Uses Folly Like A Stalking Horse

Emily sat at her laptop and methodically went through the list of bank accounts provided by Downing. With each account she tried the password and then exited. When she had gone through them all she sat with a grin on her face. She could change all the passwords and effectively shut her father out of his money.

An idea struck her and she went back into each account. It took several minutes but in the end she had counted up all the balances: one hundred and four million. That was a lot of money; but, there should be more.

She did some calculating. Documart had issued four million shares in total; they were trading today at just over twenty-two dollars U.S. The shares were very consistent, but had risen a little over the last few weeks because of Emily/Melanie’s purchases.

No matter how she added things, she could not get past two hundred million. Her father had either lost a lot of assets or he had hidden money elsewhere.

It looked like another session with Downing was needed.


“Why are you wondering about back then, so long ago?” Melanie responded. Emily had just asked her a question about the time of her arrival at the house, and Melanie needed to think. “Ok, there was only Chantico’s mother, and we all called her Mrs. Pena. Hmmm.”

“There was no, like butler or um,” Emily looked at some notes, “manservant? What about a gardener?”

“There was no butler, I would remember that. There was a cleaning service, because Mrs. Pena didn’t do that, not like Chantico does now. There wouldn’t have been a gardener, because they were digging up the back and putting in all what’s there now; very little, um, organic, uh, stuff, right? I can’t even remember what the back looked like before, and of course the front is rock and driveway and the two trees in mulch and rocks. Not much need for a gardener.”

“And so there was no one named, Alex?”

Melanie looked at her niece, “Alex? Not to my knowledge. Where are you getting this from, kiddo?”

Emily smiled, “Don’t worry, Mel-bel; just ideas.” Later, in her room, Emily took out the old scrap of paper; to her mind, it was clearly part of a letter. She had kept it for years; seventeen years, in fact. And she remembered a man and a woman connected to that time, long passed. Although, what was memory and what was imagination? In fact, if she didn’t have this faded scrap, she would doubt her memories.

But here it was and there they were. A torn piece pf paper with the writing saying, “only two more days.” And then “All My Love, Alex.” Not something to get worked up about it, except that she had found it in her mother’s bedroom, up on the third floor.

She had snuck into that room, closed off after her mother’s death; a five year-old away from her keepers for a moment, until she was missed and they come looking for her. A man and a woman. She had, why she didn’t know, crawled under her mother’s bed to hide from the seekers, and there she had found the little scrap. And she had kept it.

When the woman had finally found her, sitting on her mother’s bed, the piece of paper was in her pants pocket. And Emily had kept it, all these years, everywhere she went; every school, that scrap was with her. So who was the man and woman that Melanie didn’t remember? And who was Alex?

Years had come and gone when she didn’t think on this, even as the slip of torn paper lay with her ‘keepsakes’, but she was thinking on it now; a secret she had shared with no one.


Tad rolled over, landing on the girl lying to his left. A Latino girl, possibly twenty. Marsha? Marla? She was still sleeping, so he didn’t ask her. Sitting up, he looked to his right. This girl was white, younger even than the other, and she was awake. “Hi there, Mr. Allan.”

“Mr. Allan? Please, my head can’t handle that. Tad, please.” He lay for a second trying to reconstruct the previous night. “Um, what’s your name again?” He asked quietly; his own voice disturbing him.

“Brianna; ‘member, we met at the hiring open house. I filled out the form for artist, um, support, I guess. Hair and make-up and stuff. And then there was some,  like, refreshments.”

It was beginning to come back. The party, meeting these girls; the other girl was…Raisha; they’d been drinking shooters and then they came back here.

“This your place?” Tad asked Brianna, who shook her head and nodded at the sleeping girl. Tad then noticed the crack pipe sitting on the coffee table. “Who owns this?” he asked, picking it up with disgust.

“That’s hers too.” Brianna said. More was now coming back to a now-concerned Tad.

“We all did, crack?” He asked again, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Brianna chuckled, “I’ll say. Fuck. We were all pretty wasted.” Tad lowered his head to his hands, thinking, fuck, fuck, fuck! It had been over a year that he had been clean. Suddenly he gets some money, it’s party time and he loses it. He just sat, feeling numb.


The internet had been of a little (very little) help to Emily in searching back to the time her mother died. Now she had decided to go ‘old school’, after getting permission to go through some old files, including news articles and photos on film, at the L.A. Times. That’s where she was now, standing and waiting for ‘Becky’.

In a moment Emily was met at reception by the perky woman, early twenties, maybe five-four in her heels, but someone who knew Emily on sight. Excited and chattering non-stop, she took her guest to a window-less room one floor below main and left her with a row of steel filing cabinets. Old school indeed.

“Have fun. There’s a phone there that connects to reception if you need me, or anything. See you.” She grasped Emily’s arm in a friendly gesture and turned to leave. “I’d love hearing about Jordan Barclay.” She bubbled, a huge grin on her face, and then she was gone.

Emily looked around. Well, here she was, crazy or not. Maybe she would find something, maybe not; the only problem was, she didn’t know quite what she was looking for.


Stafford Hawkins sat in his office, waiting. Drew Downing was to report to him this morning at eleven and it was five to.

Hawkins was just waiting and thinking and his mind happened to wander back to a very interesting day.

Burbank, California; 1998

“Stafford! Hey my man, how’z it going. Long time no see.” Emmett Chandler greeted the tall, slim man with the almost white hair who had been an investor for him several years back, but who he had not seen in a while. “What brings ya’ here? And how the Hell did you find me; this is an exclusive club?” Emmett had a look on his face.

Stafford, who thought he would be much more self-conscious and bothered by this moment, felt okay. He was going to talk about something personal; talking like this was not his thing, but for some reason he was relaxed. “We have mutual friends, that apparently have common interests.” He smiled, looking slightly reptilian.

Emmett arched his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“Margaret Frieland?” Stafford said.

“Maggie, you don’t say. Yeah, we are definitely acquainted.” Emmett chuckled, looking like a typical west coast drug dealer, which was odd in that Chandler had never dealt in drugs at all; it was always women and now this, an exclusive S & M club that catered to a high-end clientele.

“You know, you usually have to be vetted by me, personally, to get in.” Emmett winked; Stafford smiled and sipped his club soda. “So, I gotta’ ask, what’s yer pleasure, and I gotta’ say, I’m mucho surprised to see ya’ in here, Stafford ol’ buddy.” Emmett had a huge grin on his face, because Stafford Hawkins was truly the last person he expected to see at this club.

They were sitting in the lounge area of the facility, and it looked pretty much like any lounge. All the ‘action’ was in the rooms behind the door and upstairs.

Stafford cleared his throat and launched into it, “I enjoy seeing young women, well girls, really, but there are laws, being punished. That’s my thing, and all I do is watch, I do not, um, participate.”

Emmett nodded his head. “Ok. That’s not too crazy, by our standards, Stafford. We get some, uh, pretty wild requests.” He chuckled. Stafford had just divulged something that no one else knew about him, certainly not Sarah, who would be unable to wrap her head around his desires; because, to her, he had none.

Emmett pondered for a moment and then looked like he just had an idea. Because it had been Hawkins who had come through with cash, six years ago, that literally saved ‘his ass’; and he had thanked the man back then, but, really had not thanked him nearly enough. “Hey, Stafford, come with me. I wanna show ya’ something.”

They got up and Stafford followed Chandler out a door guarded by security, down a hallway, through another door and up some stairs to a room Chandler unlocked. When they entered, Hawkins, who had been involved in computer systems and applications for several years, stood looking in amazement at a room filled with television screens; a very sophisticated operation. “Ain’t this somethin’?” Chandler asked, and Hawkins had to agree.

In the room was a single individual who monitored the proceedings. “What exactly is this?” Hawkins asked, looking at the banks of screens, when suddenly on one a man appeared with two girls. “Do they know about the cameras?” Hawkins asked in amazement.

Chandler laughed. “No way, man. We’ve got four in each room; we watch and record everything.” Hawkins now noted the four views of the man and the two girls who were getting naked quickly. The girls then handcuffed the man, a distinguished looking mid-fifties gentleman, to the bed and blindfolded him.

“He’s the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company,” Chandler noted, as the girls began to abuse his genitals. Hawkins simply stared, shaking his head. Then his attention was drawn by action on a nearby screen and as Hawkins turned to watch this new scene, he froze. The young man coming in behind a tall, attractive middle-aged woman wearing black, including high black leather boots, was someone Hawkins knew.

“Oh my God,” Hawkins whispered quietly as the young man undressed and got on his knees. It was the assistant to his main accountant; Downing. “Drew Downing”, Hawkins whispered to himself, watching as the woman began to gently kick Downing in his testicles. “Could I buy this recording from you; digital I’m guessing.”

“Yeah, it is, but I can’t really sell…”

“Just this one room. I’ll give you fifty thousand.”

Chandler looked up at Hawkins, “Fifty G’s? You’re joking?”

Hawkins took his check book out of his jacket pocket. “No, I’m not, Chandler. Let’s take care of this business, and then we can talk of the other.

Chandler whistled. “Holy jeez, man. This guy must be somethin’ special.”

Hawkins simply smiled.


Downing entered, put on the mask and stood where directed.

“Ah, Downing, my dear…brother-in-law, always good to see you.” Hawkins smirked.

Downing was never sure how to respond to his boss when he was like this; he normally just rolled with it.

“Good morning, sir. Anything you need to see me for?”

“Nothing further from my sister? Any news of any…plans?”

Downing hesitated for a moment, then replied, “I think the whole shares thing is really Emily’s idea, sir. Melanie has looked after her for so long I think she just goes along. I do not believe Melanie has any personal interest in running this company, or any company. Or anything.”

“I see your point, Downing. Has, my daughter, given any hint of her plans; do you think she wants to, well, run anything.”

“I believe she does, sir. It may seem strange, given her, um, behavior in the past, but she takes to business easily.”

Yes, Hawkins thought, she does. “Have they said anything to you about, me?”

“No, sir. I don’t believe they have any intention of changing your role. But I do know Emily wishes to see you, talk with you, face-to-face.”

“She has said that?”

“Yes, she has asked me to give you that message.”

“That’s fine, Downing. Thank you. I will discuss things with you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After Downing left, Hawkins sat in thought for a few minutes, then made a call. Moments later he contacted Prendergast. “Yes, sir?”

“Ms. Prendergast, is Ms. Da Costa available?”

“I believe she is, sir, let me track her.”

“Thank you Ms. Prendergast; just send her to my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Three minutes later the door opened and Carman Da Costa entered, and with mask in place stood in attendance. “You called for me, Mr. Hawkins?”

Hawkins regarded the woman’s reflection for a moment; “You may remove the mask today, Ms. Da Costa.” The woman hesitated briefly, then removed the cover and placed it on the side shelf, returning to her spot. She wanted to ask why the change but knew there was no point; Hawkins would tell her what she needed to know.

“Has my daughter discussed my, position, with you?”

“Not directly, sir. She has simply stated that things with the main company are to remain in place; no changes with anyone in management. I believe that includes yourself, sir.”

“Any opinion on why that is so, Ms. Da Costa?”

Carman hesitated briefly, “I believe your daughter is good with the management as is, and wishes to learn more, before making any, well, major decisions. Obviously, replacing the CEO is a major decision.”

“Quite so. Quite so, Ms. Da Costa.” Hawkins paused, as if considering his next move. “How often are the two of you together, intimately, I mean?”

Carman wanted to laugh out loud at the outrageousness of this question, but she knew her agreement with Hawkins allowed him this freedom.”

“Infrequently, sir, at this point. We have both been busy. We certainly intend to see each other again soon.”

“Do you have any idea why my daughter would be contacting the Los Angeles Times?”

Carman stood wondering herself, but this was not hard

to answer. “I have absolutely no idea why, sir?”

“I want you to find out.”

“Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”

Hawkins paused for a moment, as if he were waiting, when suddenly his intercom buzzed. “Yes, Ms. Prendergast.”

“You have a visitor, sir. Should I have her wait here.”

“Yes, Ms. Prendergast. Hold on a moment.” Hawkins clicked off that machine and looked at the reflection of Da Costa. “I want you to undress, Ms. Da Costa.”

The woman stood frozen, as if regarding a dangerous path before her.  Her mind working furiously, Da Costa concluded that this was likely a test of some sort. Being naked had never bothered Da Costa; she had visited numerous nude beaches in her travels. She had a lovely body and did not mind displaying it. Doing so for her unpleasant boss was another matter, however. Deciding quickly, she disrobed and stood naked and feeling strangely vulnerable, awaiting the next instruction.

“Very good, Ms. Da Costa. Come over here to my right. There is a star on the carpet. Stand on it facing away from me.” When Da Costa had done this and was standing straight, her long, muscled legs and round hips displayed to Hawkins, he clicked on his intercom. “Have Ms. Alvarez enter.”

Carman sucked in her breath in silence upon hearing a stranger would join them. The woman who entered was lean and very attractive, thick curly dark hair cut short; early forties and dark skinned; she was in fact Nigerian.

One floor below them were three condo units, including the one Hawkins had been living in since Emily’s arrival. For the last few days, Ms. Alvarez, a professional dominant, had been staying in another.

Hawkins had been planning to use her, likely today, with Drew Downing, but had changed his mind. He would use her instead with Da Costa. It was time to gauge her allegiance.

“Have you brought what I asked, Ms. Alvarez?” Hawkins asked quietly.

“I have, Mr. Hawkins,” she replied, with a hint still of an accent, if one listened.

“This naked woman, Ms. Da Costa, is my assistant. Please stand behind her. You need to be naked as well.” In a moment the two women, Alvarez slightly shorter than Da Costa and a darker brown to her caramel, were standing one behind the other. “Kneel, Ms. Da Costa.”

Carman hesitated for a moment, not sure what she had gotten into, but she was this far along, so turning back seemed pointless, so she knelt.

Hawkins had turned his chair slightly so he had a view of both the kneeling Da Costa and the waiting Alvarez. “Arch your back more, Ms. Da Costa.” Hawkins instructed in an even voice. If he was aroused by this display, his voice did not betray him.

“What do you think, Ms. Alvarez.” In response to this, the dark woman reached down and caressed Da Costa’s flanks and buttocks, softly and lovingly. Carman felt desire immediately and worked to suppress the moans she felt. She wanted this woman to enter her, even with the ominous figure sitting and watching.

“This is lovely and she is ready, sir.” Ms. Alvarez said softly.

“Ms. Da Costa, I am intending to have Ms. Alvarez strike you with her cane. It will sting and leave a very thin welt, but nothing more. You can accept this or you may dress and leave. However, if you leave, then you leave completely. I will pay you to the end of this month as severance. What do you wish to do?”

Carman swallowed hard. She was always the one who was on the other end of the whip (or in her case, a hand or a paddle; she didn’t like whips); this was not her desire. While she was pondering, Alvarez had slid a delicate hand up to caress the now engorged lips of Da Costa’s vulva. Working hard to suppress her moans, Carman arched her back more as Alvarez slipped a finger in and gently probed.

It was all Carman could do not to cry out. She bit her lip and then murmured, “I will accept this, sir.”

Alvarez removed her finger and knelt beside Carman, murmuring “I will give you release after the cane, my sweet.”

Hawkins spoke quietly, almost hushed. “Fine, Ms. Da Costa. Simply repeat, please punish me, Stafford.”

Da Costa almost choked on the combined swell of emotion and disgust that rose in her throat; she needed to swallow hard again, more than once, before saying, “Please p-punish me, ummmm, Stafford.”

“Begin Ms. Alvarez. Give her five strokes and then do what you wish to her.”


Tad was lying on the shabby couch in Raisha’s place; he hadn’t bothered to get up or go home. The girls had gone out for burgers and now were out for some booze. Tad simply lay, feeling overwhelming sorry for himself. Why does this shit happen to me? He lamented, but at that moment, the girls arrived.

“You awake, Tad boy?” Brianna called.

“Yeah, is Mr. Allan doin’ any hiring today?” Raisha sang. They both laughed.

“Hey, he already hired us.” Brianna pointed out. “Ok, you know what Tad likes,” she said, and her and Raisha began making out. When they were naked, they joined Tad on the couch, although he just lay there. Raisha picked up the bottle of Southern Comfort and cracked it while Brianna lay a line of white powder on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” Tad exclaimed, looking over.

“Oh really,” Brianna laughed, “like you’ve never seen coke.” The girls laughed again.

“Get rid of it,” Tad moaned and hid his face.

“Hey, we bought this shit with the money you gave us last night. We ain’t gettin’ rid of it, ‘cept up our noses.” Raisha proclaimed, snorting the line, before laying down another that Brianna hit.

“C’mon, loser, Tad the man. Your line’s up, baby.” Brianna said, putting down more powder.

Tad lay for a moment in debate within himself. “What the Hell,” he said, “I’ve already done crack for fuck’s sake.” The girls cheered him with shots of Southern Comfort.


Emily paused and stared at the photo that had come up on the little viewing machine. It was almost four o’clock, and apart from a bathroom break, she had sat and sorted through material all day. There had been some success. She had found a photo of her mother and father’s wedding: Sarah Donnelly to Stafford Hawkins, the caption proclaimed, and Emily had stared at a young woman who did resemble her, except with slightly darker hair.

She had found articles detailing her father’s rise to fortune. She had even found her grandfather’s obituary notice. But the photo she was staring at now transfixed her. Just then the door opened and perky Becky came bustling in and a rapid exchange took place.

It was almost time; could Emily get a copy of this; uh, but that was breaking the rules; maybe she and Becky could discuss that over dinner and hear stories of Jordan and the others; uh, ok, maybe. Yeah, sure.

So now Emily was striding to the parkade, Becky almost running to keep up, and in her possession was a photo showing the then Sarah Hawkins and her prize roses; a photo clearly taken in the back yard of their home, an area completely transformed since, with all the roses removed, just after Sarah Hawkins’s death.

Of great interest to Emily was that in the photo with Sarah was the family gardener, proudly describing their winning ‘Harlequin Rose’, so named due to its distinctive diamond-shaped shading on the leaves.

The gardener’s name was Alex. Alex Vargas.

Holy. Fuck. Was all Emily could think.


Emily shuddered and cried out, stifling her voice with her fist. She then lay, smiling, feeling wonderful.

“How was that?” Becky asked, looking up, her smiling face glistening.

Emily just lay still and murmured, “You can’t tell from down there?”

Becky slid up and lay against her new friend. “I just like to be sure. I really want to please you, Miss Emily.” She paused while Emily lay. “Are you going to fuck me again?”

Emily turned and covered the woman’s mouth with her own, sucking for a moment. She released her hold and looked at the bright-eyed woman, “Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much, kiddo?” Emily smiled.

Becky nodded her head up and down. Enthusiastically.

“I thought so. Now, just lay, like quiet and relaxed. Like me, see?” Becky nodded her head and the two young women lay against one another on top of the sheets.

Emily was actually feeling drowsy and slipping into sleep when Becky whispered. “Do you need anything, Miss Emily.”

Emily looked at the smiling face and considered. “Yes, please see if you can find my panties, on the floor.”

In a moment Becky emerged, head popping up like a diver under water. “Found ‘em.” She chirped.

“Good, come up here.” Emily directed, making the girl open her mouth as she stuffed in the undies. “There, now that should do the trick.”


(End of Chapter 07)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 6 As Jokers Come In Varied Design

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 6 As Jokers Come In Varied Design

Tad Allan pushed his big machine over sixty-five; it was so hard to hold it back. And tonight he was feeling especially good and wanted to fly.

He couldn’t believe his relatives had come through; his mom had been convinced that it was a hopeless cause. And now here he was hiring directors and casting officers. And right now he was on his way to talk with the woman he wanted for the main female role: Giselle St. Martin; a sensuous twenty-six year-old redhead who he had met a few years back, and who had just completed her third film, albeit not in the leading role or even a leading role.

But Tad felt she was the one and he hoped to have her under contract before the weekend was over. He turned south now and headed for Sunset Blvd. and ‘The Boulevard Club’; Giselle had recommended it.


Before heading out for dinner with Carman, Emily checked in on Downing, who was kneeling on the carpet when she entered his room. As instructed, he wore only a T-shirt. Emily had him report from his knees, so she heard about the nine million for Georgia and Tad Allan, which of course she already knew of. She knew of the pending sale of one company, what Carman was looking after. And, as with Carman’s comments, her father did not seem to have any great plans to shut down or take off.

“Fine, slave,” she commented as he licked her expensive Wascal dress shoes. “I will see you tomorrow, but Chantico will check on you later.” She turned and walked out and because of Downing’s position, she had not noticed his erection. Downing fondled it now, while remaining on his knees.


“Giselle,” Tad exclaimed as the tall redhead made her way through the crowded bar.

“Tad,“ she exclaimed in return, making it to his table. They embraced briefly and he looked at her. “Fuck, you’re hotter than ever.”

She smiled up at him, “And you still look like you should be in a toothpaste commercial. I should have my shades on, dude.” They laughed.

“I’ve ordered Margaritas,” Tad said as they settled, the frosty drinks before them.

“Mmmmm, excellent, ‘Tadkins’. Remember I used to call you that?”

“I do,” Tad grimaced, “and I remember calling you some things as well.” Giselle put her head back and laughed. They then toasted each other and drank.

“Hey, that’s great. So, what’s the deal? You sounded excited on the phone.” Giselle began.

“I’m always excited when I talk to you, Hot Lips.”

“Hey, you said you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”

“Ok, then what’s with the Tadkins?”

“Ok. Ok. Truce. Names will be put away. Down to business. Over to you, Tad.” She smiled, showing she had toothpaste-commercial-worthy chompers as well.

“Well, we’ve sent a script to Marty….”

“When?” Giselle interrupted.

“Earlier this afternoon.”

“Shit,” she exclaimed, “that’s why Marty has left me four messages I’ve ignored.” She pulled her cell and stood up, walking back and forth and gesturing with her hands as she spoke. When she ended the call, she sat down with a look of excitement on her face.

“A movie, Jesus, Tad, what the Hell? Marty says the script is great. He’s happy with the numbers you threw at him and says we should sign the fucking contract.


Tad raised his glass, “To you; you’re the first one I thought of to play Anne-Marie. You’ll kill it.”

“So, man, this makes me pretty grateful, Tad Allan. Right out of the blue and after three years you come around and bring an offer. Again wow, and thanks.”

Tad smiled at the attractive woman, one of the few who had managed to resist his charms over the years. Try as he could, and he had tried, he had not been able to get her in bed. “So, Giselle, just how grateful are we talking here?” he asked with a smirk.

She smiled back with a look in her eye, “Oh, pretty grateful, Tad. This could really set me up; and the money is very good. So, yeah, quite grateful.” She waited.

Tad’s smile had not left his face. He continued, “So, on a scale from hand job to full anal, what are we talking here, grateful-wise?”

Giselle laughed, “Oh my, my, Tad my lad, you are persistent, if nothing else. But now you’ve got aces, rather than the usual jokers you hold.”

Tad laughed out loud at the reference. The two of them used to play a lot of cards; Giselle was amazingly good at Texas Hold ‘Em, which was their game of choice. She had, as Tad noted, ‘kicked his ass’ on more than one occasion.

Looking back, his time with Giselle and the gambling was the beginning of the series of financial losses that he (and his mother) were dealing with now. “Yeah, it’s nice to be sitting with the hammer.”

A while later they were speeding to Burbank and Marty Summers’s office to sign the contract. As they rolled along, Giselle leaned over and massaged Tad’s groin for a moment, before unzipping his slacks and pulling out his stiffening member.

“You ‘hooded boys’ are a problem.” Giselle commented as she folded back the foreskin on Tad’s cock and began sucking him. At the start Tad had no problem watching the road and enjoying the service, but as Giselle got into it, her lovely red-tinged mouth suctioning his throbbing cock-head while her slender, delicate red-tipped hands stroked his shaft methodically, he found it more and more difficult to concentrate.

Finally, with a quick glance back, Tad directed his vehicle to the side of the road, and not a minute too soon as moments later he cried out his climax, Giselle’s warm mouth consuming his whole load.

Tad rested his head back and laughed softly, “Oh fuck, Giselle. Ummmmm. Ah, Christ that was something…”

Giselle had already flipped the sun visor down and had the mirror open, reapplying her lipstick. “And,” she noted with a smile, “not a drop on your nice leather seats.”

Tad laughed out loud and put the car in drive, quickly joining the traffic and heading to his meeting with Giselle’s agent.

There was no doubt that he would sign this contract.


“I’ve arrived; I’m downstairs. Do I need to check in?” Georgia texted her message to Carman as she stood in the Casino Del Sol lobby, feeling more excited than she could remember.

“No. Just come on up. Room 512.” Carman texted back.

Carman was waiting with the door open as Georgia came down the hall. When she entered, Carman took her case and dragged it to the side, then turned back to her. “Welcome, welcome.” She said, embracing the older woman and hugging her. Georgia embraced back and they stood like this for several seconds, before Carman broke free and planted a long kiss on Georgia’s mouth, before saying. “Come and see, we have a great view of the pool.”

“Oh, my God, that’s nice,” Georgia exclaimed, looking down. Carman had come to stand behind her and she was now gently kissing Georgia’s neck while unbuttoning her blouse. Georgia chuckled, “You’re not wasting any time, love.”

“We don’t have much, so no, I’m not wasting a moment.” Georgia sighed deeply as Carman slipped off her bra and gripped her nipples, still kissing her neck and now her shoulders.

“Ummmmm,” Georgia moaned, and then Carman gently pushed her down on one of the king-sized beds.


Emily had decided to make use of the modest-sized room on the main floor and across from the kitchen. Originally intended as some sort of informal dining room, it had sat empty all these years. It hadn’t taken much to meet Emily’s current requirements; she had had three large hooks installed in the ceiling beams and a heavy (padded) table built there on site. The hooks and the table could both be used to tie individuals up or down, for punishment (theirs) and pleasure (their mistresses).

Today was the first day Emily had a chance to try things out; with Carman away, the Documart situation status quo and it being Saturday. Right now, wearing only a bra and a strap on dildo, Emily was circling Downing, who was suspended from one of the hooks. He was blindfolded, banded on his testicles, ankles strapped down and with a fat plug stuffed into his anus.

Emily had just spent ten minutes paddling him with both a wooden and a leather paddle; she didn’t really get off on paddling men; she much preferred the round asses of women. And it wasn’t all punishment for Downing, however, as Chantico, naked (even if he could not enjoy the vision) and on her knees, sucking and stroking him. As Melanie had noted, she was very good at this.

Downing had been moaning for a while now, his erection standing like a post. Emily touched Chantico’s shoulder and the woman paused. “Ok, Troy-boy, would you like us to remove the band around your balls?”

“Ohhhh, Gawwwd, Miss M, please, please.” Chantico smiled up at Emily in response to the whimpering, and she made a little ‘cry-baby’ face, with both women giggling quietly. Emily cradled Downing’s now shaved and jam-packed testicles, causing more and louder moaning. “Ooooh, Troy-boy likes his widdleballsies’ wubbed, ummmmm.” Emily bent down and blew gently on them, causing Downing to twist on his hook.

“Ok, pussy-boy, we will undo your Charlies and Chantico’s lovely mouth will bring you relief, would you like that?”

Downing’s groan filled the room. It was really a ‘yes’ but what came out was just, desire. “All you need to do, Drewsie, is tell me the account numbers where Daddy-Dearest has his dough stashed. I’m not going to walk off with anything (yet, she thought), I just need to know. So, what’s it going to be?”

In answer to his garbled response, Emily laughed and told him she had his laptop right there with them. He had already relinquished his password, so the computer was on and ready.

After a few moments of internal struggle, Downing directed Emily to a file within a file, and there she found the eleven bank accounts and the passwords that would open them. She nodded to Chantico who began her work on Downing, after undoing the band. It wasn’t long at all before his ejaculate was arching a path out and away, before falling to the carpet.

Downing then hung from the hook like a slab of beef as Emily and Chantico shared a celebratory kiss.

“Make sure the slave cleans that up,” Emily murmured.


Georgia smiled across the table at Carman. They were in the Sunflower Café and had just finished breakfast. “My word, I can’t believe how the time has flown. What time is your flight?”

“Two. We check out at twelve and then I’ll head right to the airport, and you’ll drive home.”

Georgia smiled a whimsical smile, “Well, it’s only a couple of hours back to Phoenix, but it’ll seem longer because I’ll be thinking of you.”

Carman looked thoughtfully at the woman; she liked her, quite a bit really. She would not have guessed at any interest in someone Georgia’s age, especially with what was happening with Emily. But she had enjoyed her time with the woman and, if there was a chance, would get together with her again. “I suppose there’s no way you’d leave Phoenix?” she asked quietly.

Georgia sipped some coffee. “It would be hard.” She chuckled, “If someone had suggested ten days ago that I might consider leaving my home, I would have called them crazy; but that was before I met you.” She looked at Carman and Carman recognized the look, and was okay with what it meant.

One should never disregard love. Or desire.


Emily sat on one of the leather chairs outside Ryland Ross’s office. Ms. Prendergast had asked her if she wanted anything and apologised for the wait; Mr. Ross would be right with her. After a minute, the small man, looking dapper in a three-piece-suit, hustled out. Emily looked at him and bit her tongue; she had never seen a man with a true egg-shaped head before, yet there was one before her now.

“My apologies, Ms. Hawkins, you are a few minutes early. Please come in.” He said solicitously, and led the way into his space. “I believe Ivy has asked if you’d like any refreshment? You are good?” He looked up into the exquisite face of his boss’s only daughter.

“Thank you, Mr. Ross. I am fine.” Emily replied pleasantly and took a seat opposite the man’s desk. Ross for his part pulled his chair around so the two would be closer.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I know your uncle and

Ms. Da Costa were able to visit with you at home, but it is difficult for me to get away, so I thank you.” He beamed at her.

“That’s cool, Mr. Ross, ‘cuz you don’t actually work for my aunt and me, right?”

Ross nodded his head gently. “Technically we are on retainer to your father, but we are contracted out to Documart, at least we have been. I guess the first order of business is if you wish to maintain that agreement?”

“What would my, like, options be?” she asked evenly.

Ross scratched his nose thoughtfully. “Wellll, you are free to hire the lawyers of your choosing.”

“And what would happen to you?” She forced down a smile.

Ross grimaced. “We would, well, move out, Ms. Hawkins.”

Emily paused, then asked. “What do you want to do, Mr. Ross?” She smiled a brilliant smile.

Ross looked at her; she was more intelligent than he had imagined, having only seen her in tabloid type news. “I would like to continue working for Documart. We have an understanding of the current situation, and of course, the main business of the company is legal advice by way of our forms. I believe we have done a good service for a company that has grown and prospered over the last few years.” He folded his hands over his slight paunch.

Emily regarded him without rancor; she had no reason to dislike him or his assistants, just because they worked for her father. After all, Carman worked for her father. “You have no issue working for me, after what has, happened?”

“We work for Documart, Ms. Hawkins, and what has happened is business. For now your father remains as CEO. If that were to change then I would reassess my position. For now, I am fine carrying on. I hold no grudge, if that is what you are wondering. I’ve served your father for many years and have seen you grow from a child to a young woman. I truly bear you no ill will. I want you to believe that.”

Ross seemed genuine, although, as a lawyer, he was used to presenting his side of a case. Still, Emily had no reason to get rid of him, not right now at least. She would wait and see.

“You are assisting my father is selling some of his other assets?”

“Yes, that is true, but I work for, um, you, by the case, not the hour. We are now keeping two sets of transactions; your uncle can verify this. The work I do for your father, separate from Documart, is paid for by him. We are keeping close watch.” He beamed again; keeping close watch was obviously important to him.

Emily stood. “Great. I appreciate you making time to see me.” They shook hands formally and Emily turned to go.

“It was very nice seeing you again, Ms. Hawkins. It has been many years. I can’t imagine…that it was always easy to be away.” Ross said quietly.

She turned and looked at the man who again appeared genuine. “Thank you for that.” She paused. “Did you know my mother, Mr. Ross?”

For a moment the placid demeanor broke, barely, and then like a mask returned. “Yes, I knew her. She was a lovely woman. You remind me of her, although you are taller.” They stood for a moment just regarding each other, then Emily smiled, turned and walked out into the reception area. Carman was not in sight and Emily didn’t wish to bring attention by asking for her. She looked around; this was all hers. But, in reality, it would never truly be hers.

That’s ok, she thought. But soon I will be coming back and I will talk to my father; just the two of us.

In his office, Ryland J. Ross tapped his fingers on his desk; he was remembering and considering. Emily Hawkins was no one’s fool.


“So, how did it go; I mean, you did meet with that lawyer?” Melanie asked, as she and Emily were on the patio again, enjoying the day before it became too hot.

“Yes, I did.” Emily had her eyes closed and was smoking, meaning Melanie was sitting a little farther away than usual.

“Well? Anything dearie?” Melanie persisted and Emily chuckled, then opened her eyes.

“Why didn’t you just come with me, silly, if you wanted to meet him?”

Melanie dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t need to meet him, what’s his name?”

“Ryland J. Ross,” Emily murmured, taking a last long drag and stubbing out her cigarette.

“Well, well,” Melanie smirked, “Ryland J. Of course, I remember the name. He was actually around a fair amount when I first came here. An odd looking man…”

“An egg.”

“A what?”

“He looks like an egg. At least his head does. He is an egg with legs, I guess.” Emily chuckled.

“So what did you talk about. And I really didn’t need to be there. You’re the spy girl. So tell me, anything?”

Emily sat up. “He’s a lawyer. He works for Daddy-kins, so put that together and you don’t get much. He and his staff still work for us, well, Documart, which is you and me and the Father. I don’t see the point in getting rid of him right now. But really, it was just, as they say, business.” They sat for a moment in thought. “I did ask him, about my mother.”

Melanie looked with interest at her niece. “And?”

Emily pondered. There was something in Ross’s reaction that, interested her. Perhaps it was just memory. “What’s the guy called who hangs around with the King; keeps things happy or merry or whatever?”

“A jester, why?”

“Yeah, that is what I was thinking. Ross is kinda’ Daddy-dear’s jester. Distracts you. Keeps you occupied. In the background the king is plotting away.”

Melanie laughed. “Sounds like a soap opera.”

“Hmmmm,” Emily commented, but at that moment Chantico arrived to tidy up the dishes from their meal, pausing for a moment as Emily’s hand slid up under the light dress she was wearing. Chantico closed her eyes as her mistress’s fingers probed. Emily then stood up, “Excuse me auntie dear, but I do need to borrow this girl,” and laughing, she and Chantico went inside.


“So, how did it go with my…daughter?” Hawkins asked, as he and Ross were in his office; Hawkins as usual facing his monitors, Ross sitting in a chair in front of the desk.

Ross smiled at the back of Hawkins’s head. “She plays her cards close to her vest; family trait I think. She hasn’t decided what to do with me but is intelligent enough to know it’s better to keep me on, for now. I have no intention of doing anything against the company, sir. I want you to know that.”

Hawkins paused for a moment. “I understand and would never expect, sabotage, of any sort my old friend. We will work through this. I don’t see this alliance of my sister and my daughter lasting for ever. I’ve waited things out before. I am a patient man, as you know, Ross.”

Ross nodded his unique head, as Hawkins began again. “But I am interested in what you thought, of her. Any hint of why she is doing, any of this.”

Why do people, especially women, do things? Ross asked himself. The female of the species had always been a mystery to Ross. He had little contact with women beyond his professional duties. Male bath houses were Ross’s one and only pleasure, and he was always highly discreet. Ross was aware of Hawkins own ‘pursuits’ and it had always bothered him. It made his boss vulnerable; Ross himself was far more careful. But as for women…

“Young women aren’t really my, um, strength, sir. Understanding them, that is.”

Hawkins chuckled. No, Ross would not provide much when it came to his daughter. It would be up to Da Costa to do that.


“So everything is looking good, dear?” Georgia Allan asked her son.

“Great, mom, really. Can’t believe it.” Tad enthused.

“I suppose you want to say ‘I told you so’?”

“No, no mom, really. It made sense. This…doesn’t make sense. This was a Hail Mary pass; the only thing we had left. So no, I’m not gonna say anything except thanks. Or, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Tad laughed.

Georgia responded with a chuckle herself. It had worked out, so far. “Now, I feel obliged to add that we need to be careful. I’ve already used the two million to set things right here, so we need to budget.”

“I know mom; I promise to stay on top of things, I really do. I will report to you weekly.”

“Thanks dear. And you’re, um, good with everything; you know?” Georgia added.

“I’m clean, mom, I told ya’. I’m good.” Tad paused. “I still can’t figure out how we, you really, pulled this off.”

Georgia sat with a small smile on her face.


“So, anything I should know about?” Hawkins asked, sitting in his usual spot.

Carman Da Costa stood where obliged, mask on. “Your daughter has not gone into any more detail. I know she has now met us all. They are secure with their shares; I think they are just waiting, on you, sir. You are the, um, wild card.”

“A joker, Ms. Da Costa?”

She smiled, “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“But my daughter…trusts you?”

Carman stood quietly for a moment. “Yes, sir, she trusts me.”

“Are you surprised at how, things have developed between you two?” Hawkins asked, quietly.

Carman Da Costa was now the tightrope walker; she needed to be very careful. At either end of the stretched rope sat a Hawkins. “Well, we knew of her, sexual activities, sir, if I may. I am a little surprised by her affection for me, things are not purely physical. But, she also has a history of short relationships, so who knows.”

“Then you need to, as they say, make hay while the sun shines, Ms. Da Costa.” Hawkins said, again quietly, observing the woman’s reflection on his nearest monitor. In this instance, the actual surgical mask she wore, on his behalf, proved a barrier. He thought to himself that the next time she was in he would not have her wear it. It really wasn’t necessary; just a game he liked to play. “Thank you, Ms. Da Costa.”

“Good day, sir,” Da Costa murmured and turned to leave. As she did so, Hawkins voice stayed her.

“Remember Ms. Da Costa, I can still cut your strings. A puppet without strings is, just a pile of wood.”

“Understood, sir,” she said, and left.

Hawkins sat with a smile on his face. He reached into his nearest file drawer and took out the photos of Georgia. As he went through them, his smile grew wider. He pressed a button and waited, and in a few moments his door opened and Winters came in, donning a mask. The young man stood behind the line and waited.

“Winters. Anything further on the, um, task, I gave you?”

“Yes sir,” Winters spoke with some excitement in his voice. “I was just waiting for your meeting to finish. I have found someone, as you described.”


“Yes, sir. She meets all your criteria.”

“And she is good with, my, em, expectations.”

“Yes, sir, for the fee offered she is good with what you asked.”

“Very good, my lad. You are efficient. Very efficient. Have her at the condo tonight at eight-thirty.”

“Very good, sir.”

(End of Chapter 06)

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A Gathering of Clowns by LongDarkRoad Chapter 5 The Astute Servant; The Master’s Plans

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 05 The Astute Servant; The Master’s Plans

“AAAAaaaahhhhh”, Da Costa cried out into the throw pillow, effectively muffling her pleasure. Emily waited for the contractions to subside, then she kissed the neck and shoulders of the woman, but left the dildo inside her. “Had enough?” she whispered into the dark mass of hair.

Da Costa chuckled and pressed her buttocks against Emily’s groin, “Well, I think that was number three, which is just crazy,” she murmured and wrapped Emily’s arms around her, placing her partner’s hands on her breasts. From where she was lying, Da Costa could see the ornate clock on the mantle. It had been chiming the hour and half hour, but the two women had paid no attention, too involved with their own ferocious passion.

“Oh God, is it really two-thirty?” She asked in amazement.

Emily snorted, “We’ve been busy,” she slowly withdrew her phallus from Da Costa’s pussy, then unbuckled her harness. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

Da Costa rolled over. “As lovely as that would be, I need to go, but,” she lifted up and kissed Emily’s mouth, “how about we have dinner, I guess it would be tonight, now.”

Emily smiled, “That would be very cool. Any place come to mind?”

“Let me think, and I’ll text you later. How does me picking you up at seven-thirty sound?”

“That sounds cool as well, although I’d rather just curl up with you now.”

Carman sat up, and shook her head with a little smile on her face. “It would be so easy, Miss Gorgeous, but I hope there will be another time?” She arched one eyebrow, then began picking up clothes.

Ten minutes later they were standing by the massive front doors. “So, see you in a few hours. Get some sleep.” Da Costa murmured, leaning down to kiss Emily; she had her heels on now so was that much taller than the girl.

Fer shure, and I’ll wait for your message. This was so good. I’m looking forward to us, um, working together.”

“The only problem,” Da Costa winked, “is deciding who is working under whom, hmmmm?”

They both chuckled.


Being Saturday mid-morning, Stafford Hawkins wondered if his sister Georgia would be around. He had word from Da Costa that the project with nephew Tad was worthwhile, and he was prepared to split the proposed nine million with his daughter, if his conditions were met. And they were specific and very personal, from his past, their past, really, and only Georgia could make the call. Hawkins was quite sure she would, now that he had done his research.

Ever helpful assistant Winters was with him today and tasked with trying to connect with the sister in Arizona. It did not prove difficult as she was at home.

“Stafford, thank you for the call. Have you managed to meet with Tad?” She asked pleasantly.

“Good day, Georgia. Daughter Emily met with your son and took his project to someone she, um, trusts and has given it a green light as they say; we two will work together, but I am prepared to ensure the finances on this.”

Georgia’s sigh of relief could be heard over the phone. Truth was, she was in debt severely due to Tad’s ambitious undertakings and her inability to say no to him. However, all signs pointed to this being something that could work, artistically and financially, but they had run out of options; that was the only thing that had forced her to contact her estranged and complicated younger sibling. “Thank you Stafford, this means so much to us.”

Stafford actually chuckled quietly, a rarity for him. “Just so. However, before you celebrate, sister, my offer does come with one condition, and it involves you, directly.”

Georgia paused; Stafford always was unpredictable. “What is the, um, condition, Stafford?” she asked quietly.

Hawkins could not keep the smile off his face. “You remember when we were younger and you used to parade around in your, eh, underthings?”

Georgia froze; this was not the direction she thought the conversation would head; this was out of the blue. Of course she remembered those days; she had delighted in tormenting her brother; she knew exactly how her teasing affected him. It was, concerning, that he was remembering those times, now. “Um, how do you mean, Stafford?”

Stafford actually chuckled a second time. “Oh come now, sister. Let’s not play games. Of course you remember what you did; obviously I remember too. My condition is that I wish to have some pictures of you today, doing the same thing, but with the ending of my choosing, not yours.”

Georgia stifled a gasp and then sat is stunned silence. This was too bizarre to consider. “I really don’t see how I can agree to this…”

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Hawkins said quietly, and then the line went dead.

Georgia sat there, staring in disbelief at her telephone. Suddenly tears started dribbling down her cheeks. This couldn’t happen. She had managed to keep her financial manoeuvrings secret from husband Don for months now, but with a full financial audit looming the game would be up. She needed at least two million of this money, right now, and Tad had agreed.

With shaking hands she called her brother back. Winters answered and asked her to hold. What if he went into a snit and refused to talk to her? How far was she willing to go? His distinctive (how she disliked it, Georgia pondered) voice came back on. “Yes, sister?” he asked, with what she thought was a bit of a sneer.

“So what exactly do you want to do?” she asked, her tone flat.

“Let’s be clear; this will be our final conversation. There is no negotiation and no arguing, understood?”

With anger rising, but also panic, Georgia replied quietly, “I understand the, expectation. Please tell me what you want to do.”

On the end of the line Stafford Hawkins was smiling broadly; he had waited a long, long time for this. “I will have my assistant, a woman, go to your home; she will arrive Monday afternoon so you can make sure your husband is out of the way. She will take photos of you with my cell phone, it produces excellent pictures. They will be of you in your undergarments and then without anything.

You will pose however you are told to. You will be cooperative and when she is satisfied she will text me and I will arrange for the money to go to your account. I’m assuming you have need for some of the funds now (how could he know?). Are we clear?”

Georgia sat silently; frozen. What was there to do? She controlled her voice; there was no way she wanted the little bastard (as she thought of him, although he was certainly taller than her now) to know she was crying. “So, I will be…n-naked?” her voice was almost a whisper.

Stafford chuckled again; this was some kind of record for him. “You always were sharp, sister.”


“So, can we talk?” Melanie asked, as Emily was just heading up the stairs.

“Sure, Mel-owishus, be back down in a sec.”

In a few minutes the two women were again seated on the

patio outside the kitchen. Chantico brought out a pot of tea, giving both women a kiss on the cheek. As Melanie poured, Emily asked, “Ok, what’s up?”

“Well,” Melanie said, stirring her cup, “I think we should talk about our two, um, servants.”

“Ok, like how?” Emily sipped her green tea.

“Well, do you have any sort of, I don’t know, a plan for Chantico. I think she needs to know and I would like to know.”

Emily looked thoughtfully at her aunt. She didn’t really have a plan. When it came to sexual stuff she never did. “You like her, don’t you?”

Melanie considered being evasive for a moment but then thought ‘why?’ “Yes, I do. I mean. I’ve always, you know, liked her. But you’re talking about the, em, sex and yes, I am really enjoying being with her. She is so …loving, she makes me feel so good, like the song says. Really.”

“Why don’t you just have her with you. I’m serious.” Emily added, as Melanie looked uncertain. “You’ll share her, if I ever have an itch for her. No shit, pardon me, but I am blown away that you two are, like, in-sync. You’ve been a hermit or whatever for too long.”

“I think you’re thinking of monks; the guys in monasteries who don’t have sex. Supposedly.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Those dudes. How long has it been since you had sex that made you feel satisfied, hmmmm?” Melanie didn’t answer. Forever didn’t sound good, even if true. “I had no clue how Chantico would react, but she’s like the fuckin’ fish, sorry, in the water.”

“Ducks,” Melanie said.


“I think it’s ducks to water.”

“Whatever. So are you cool?”

“I’m cool.”

“That’s cool.”

“Um, cool.”


The other part of the discussion involved Downing. Emily had already decided; she liked abusing him, but that didn’t need to be every day; in fact, that would get boring real quick. She just needed to have him under control and for him to sense that. So he had agreed that he would be able to sleep in his room, but in the dog bed, and that was until his mistress deemed him worthy.

When he got home from work he was to change into a T-shirt with nothing else and stay in his room until or unless summoned. Most of his abuse would happen on the weekend. Downing kept secret the fact that he wasn’t minding the abuse at all, especially when Chantico masturbated him. He had always enjoyed pain, which was why he and Melanie were not compatible, and why he had always needed to seek his companionship elsewhere and in secret. The only person who knew of his desires was, of all people, his father-in-law.


Georgia jumped, literally, when the doorbell chimed. She had been both dreading and wanting this, finished, all morning. She had picked up the phone no less than three times to tell Stafford to jump in the lake, or words to that effect; but of course hadn’t done anything, but wait. And fret. She needed to get through this and move on and now it seemed like her brother’s henchman, or woman in this case, was here.

Heart pounding and palms sweating, Georgia made her way to the front door. Don was out on a client golf affair and would not be back until dinner time, so she had the afternoon clear.

She opened the door and saw a woman much like herself, albeit much younger. Tall, dark and slim, Carman Da Costa smiled and said, “Georgia Allan? I am here on behalf of your brother.”

Georgia wasn’t sure what she expected; someone nastier perhaps. “Yes, please come in.” Georgia led the way down a hallway and Da Costa appraised her; a slim, athletic woman, for someone in her fifties, with hair much different than her brother’s; thick and dark, done in a short and attractive style. Like Da Costa, the woman leading her had smallish breasts but long legs leading up to round hips. Da Costa had been afraid of someone fat, for whatever reason.

They entered a pleasant sitting room furnished comfortably in a quiet and expensive taste. “May I offer you something?” Georgia asked once they were settled.

“No, no thank you. I am fine. I would like to get started, as I am sure this is something you wish to be done with.” She smiled sympathetically. Da Costa might be efficient and blunt, even brusque, but she wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t sure what his sister had done to provoke Hawkins’s wrath, but it was something, and now she would be humiliated. Da Costa felt no pleasure in being the agent of this punishment.

She took out Hawkins’s cell phone. “So, I know you and, um, your brother, have discussed what will happen?” Georgia nodded. “Good. I have a set of instructions and I will simply follow them. This is not any choice by me, you understand, it is what Mr. Hawkins has put down.” Georgia nodded again. “Please stand,” Da Costa said and Georgia stood; and so it began.

Da Costa did compliment Georgia Allan, and meant it sincerely, that she had certainly taken care of her body. It was slim, trim and still well-muscled. Da Costa remarked to herself she hoped she looked like this in her middle age.

The series of photos began with Georgia clothed, and then progressed with her gradually removing specific articles until finally, after twenty minutes, they came to this. “Okay, Georgia, we’re almost done. Please stay on your knees, just like that, but put your face right down on the carpet.” Da Costa snapped that pose. “Okay. The final shot. Please, um, reach back and spread, uh…” With trembling hands, Georgia spread her buttocks and Da Costa took the final shot.

“Thank you, Georgia. You may get dressed.” Da Costa said quietly. However, the woman simply stayed in her kneeling position; Da Costa then realized the woman was weeping. Going to her, Da Costa knelt and helped the woman to a kneeling positon, then hugged her close, allowing her tears and disgrace to subside.

She kissed the woman on her face, gently, lovingly, and then on her lips, slipping a hand between the woman’s thighs and finding the natural and untrimmed pubic patch, before gently inserting a finger into the woman’s sex. Da Costa lay the woman down, now fingering her steadily and more aggressively as she also fondled the substantial clitoris; all the while kissing and talking softly.

In a few moments, with a series of contractions, Georgia cried out, her legs then going into spasms for several seconds.

As her orgasm subsided, Georgia clung to Da Costa as a drowning woman might cling to a buoy. Da Costa gently closed the woman’s eyes and gathered up her clothes, letting her lay quietly. She then began dressing her gently and efficiently. When the woman was fully clothed, Da Costa helped her to the couch and they sat together. Georgia hugged Da Costa, whispering “Thank you,” against the side of her face.

Da Costa leaned back and looked at her. “I am sorry. I really am.” And she was. She kissed Georgia affectionately several more times, with the older woman responding, even touching her face softly. “I will go now. The money will be transferred to you in a little while,” Da Costa said with a small smile.

When they got to the door, they paused and looked at each other. Georgia spoke. “I have never kissed another woman.” She smiled. “It was, lovely really. You are lovely.” Da Costa reached out and squeezed the woman’s arm, and Georgia continued. “I, um, wish I could see you again, but I’m sure that’s not possible.”

As it turned out, Da Costa would be in Tucson on Saturday for two days. “You could drive up and stay with me.” she said, with a smile.

“You would be okay with that?” Georgia looked on in amazement.

“I would love to see you again. I really would. Give me your cell number and I will text you the details. Could you get away?”

“Absolutely, my dear. I will be up there with bells on, as they say.”

They hugged one last time and Da Costa went out. Once in her car she sent one set of the photos to Hawkins and one to Emily. She then deleted the info of this last message, inserting a device in the phone that removed any digital residue of the transfer. She certainly didn’t want Hawkins to know of the second set; but it was a good way to prove to Emily whose side she was on.

After their dinner and time together Saturday, following the night of love-making Friday, Carman Da Costa knew who she wanted to align herself with.

She hadn’t planned on becoming a Harlequin; some things simply happen.


In his office, Stafford Hawkins sat, looking at the photos. Da Costa had followed his instructions precisely, which was her manner. Such memories came bubbling up in him; Hawkins spent little time ever in thinking back, but this was too persistent, too encompassing.

He called Winters in; the young man donned a mask and stood as directed, thinking it odd that in here he was required to wear this mask but at the condo neither he, nor Hwang nor…anyone else, wore one.

Odd. But that was not his concern. “Yes, sir.” He stated and stood awaiting. Although Hawkins did not turn, he could always see the people reflected in his computer screen. ‘Like Plato’s shadows on the cave wall’, he would muse to himself; his own personal joke. He would sometimes, in his wilder moments, imagine having the staff awaiting on him like this wear jester’s hats. It was how he imagined them.

“Winters, find two, uh, companions, for me for this evening. Both need to be dark-haired and of course slim. Have them there for eight.”

“Will do, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“No, just what I have advised before. That is all, Winters.”

“Very good, sir.” The young man turned and left. Hawkins’s ‘advisement’ had been girls that were unshaven; but that was hard to find these days. Everyone had tattoos and piercings, and almost all at least trimmed their pubic bush. Winters had spoken with a woman a while back who said, for an increased fee of course, she would try to accommodate the request. Winters was already calling her as he headed back to his office.


Georgia Allan sat staring at her computer screen. There it was; or, rather, there they were. Three deposits for three million each. She had already called her bank manager and would need to go in, in person, to complete transactions this large. Oh my God, she said to herself. And all it had cost her was her dignity.

But, she had met that lovely Carman woman, who had already texted her. Georgia felt a surge of excitement, something she hadn’t felt in years, pass through her at the thought of meeting the woman again. Kissing her, touching her and being touched. She slipped a hand down inside her jogging pants and closed her eyes. It was just like the old days. The old, old days, she smiled. The jokes on you, Stafford, she thought, gently fondling her clitoris.


“Thank you, Ms. Da Costa, you have done very well.”

“You’re welcome, sir. It went as planned.” They were in Hawkins’s office. It was Tuesday and Da Costa’s first meeting with the man since her quick trip east and her meeting with Emily.

“How, may I ask, um, was my sister?”

Da Costa wasn’t certain what this meant, but she answered directly. “She was shy but cooperative and glad when it was over, sir.” She stated.

Hawkins smiled. “And what of the meeting with my daughter.”

Da Costa worked now to keep her tone even; she certainly did not want to reveal any emotions here. “She, and Mrs. Downing, are both interested in things keeping on as they are. You as CEO, the management team as it is. Nothing radical for changes.”

“Hmmmm,” Hawkins murmured, although he chastised himself again for not watching more carefully the trusts he had created. A moment of weakness, he told himself. And it had come back to bite him. “Does my daughter, intend to stay…long, in Glendale?” He asked quietly.

Da Costa paused, she didn’t really know. “She said nothing to me, sir. She seems, uh, settled.”

Interesting, Hawkins pondered; his daughter had never really ever seemed settled. “And this; project?”

“I had a chance to look over the manuscript when I was meeting with, your daughter (she had almost blurted out Emily; why that would be a problem, she didn’t know, for sure) and it looks very good. They have hired a director with staff already and are in the process of casting. Everyone seems to feel this will do well.”

“Thank you, Ms. Da Costa. That is all.”

Being dismissed, Da Costa left. She needed to check in with Ross. Hawkins meanwhile brought up the video from the evening before. He didn’t record all his sessions, but he had recorded last night. He watched with interest the two attractive and very young looking, dark-haired girls, strutting around in their white bras and panties, just as his sister had done.

But then they were punished, as she should have been. Their panties were pulled down and they were spanked, albeit by each other as Hawkins watched. He never directly participated. After their asses were nicely reddened, the girls engaged in oral sex, with the receiving girl being on her knees and the pleasuring girl positioned behind. As he watched this, Hawkins brought up the recent photo of Georgia on her knees, buttocks spread.

He smiled and noticed, with amazement, that he had an erection. It had been a long while.


Helena, Montana; 1978

Stafford was in quite a state. Sister Georgia had been particularly seductive tonight. She had left her bedroom door open and he had seen her completely naked from the back, her white ass round and tempting, before she pulled on her white panties. But even then she had walked around her room with her small but still alluring breasts exposed.

Stafford was now reclining against the pillows on his bed, in the darkness, pants down to his ankles; pounding his erection relentlessly, feeling the release building.

Suddenly his door flew open, and the imposing bulk of Bufford Hawkins blocked out the light. “You disgusting little perverted piece of shit.” The elder Hawkins spat out as he whipped the belt off of his trousers.


Emily and Carman Da Costa were sitting on one of the outside balconies. Carman would be leaving in the morning for Tucson and they had been discussing the latest developments. “So Father-Dearest is okay with staying on as CEO?” Emily asked; she didn’t believe he would toss in the towel. He might liquidate everything

else; that was just assets, really. “What do you think he’ll do with all his…millions?” she added.

Carman regarded the young woman. “Your father plays his cards, as they say, close to his vest. He hasn’t left and continues to look after the day to day stuff, with our assistance of course. I wish I could tell you more; I think you know what he is like?”

Emily smirked. “Yeah, I think I know.” She sipped some wine. “Whaddya doin’ in Tucson?”

Carman smiled; she wasn’t going to relate everything; not yet. “I’m finalizing the sale of one of the companies. It is with a group of Arizona investors; it’s mostly just paper-work, but they did have a property as part of the offer, so there will be a little discussion.”

“You’re back Monday?”

“I’m back Monday.”

“Then we’ll have to have some fun tonight.” Emily smiled and Carman laughed out loud.

This girl was too much.


Helena, Montana; 1978

Stafford lay on his bed; he had stuffed a blanket in his mouth to prevent his cries from being heard, as his father had whipped his bare ass. He continued to chew on it now, as he lay recovering. His door was still open and someone, not his father, was now standing there.

It was either his mother or his sister; he could not tell which. Whoever it was just stood and stared, saying nothing.

(End of Chapter 05)