Posted on

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)

Posted on

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)

Posted on

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)

Posted on

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)

Posted on

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)

Posted on

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

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

Damn, he thought, this could be it.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, um, stuff do you like?”

“Punishing people.”

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


“Tad-the bad?” Emily asked impishly.

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

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

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

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

“Ok, how’s eight?”

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, you know it, I’m guessing.”

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, his mother would lose her mind.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Emily, Emily…”

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


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

“You’re not loyal to my father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carman down to the carpet.

(End of Chapter 04)

Posted on

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

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 03 Silence Is The Virtue Of Fools

Drew Downing stood, waiting awkwardly, just inside the entrance of the ‘library’; a room that was perfectly suitable for intimate discussions; like the sort Emily had planned.

Downing did not know why he felt as he did around Emily; it had been that way from the time she was a teenager and he and Melanie had been married for several years. The girl had always been so good-looking that only the most confident could feel at ease around her. You couldn’t go anywhere with her, even as a teenager, without dealing with the stares and attention of complete strangers.

Adding to this was Emily’s attitude; even at eight, when Downing first met her, she was a precocious child. By the time she was a teen, she had developed a studied air of world weariness that cloaked her in persistent disdain. One, if one were an average person, always felt exceedingly boring whenever one was around this girl. It was not that she was truly rude; she was simply dismissive. Being rude would require effort; she simply disregarded one and, one ceased to exist in her presence.

That was the way Downing had always felt, and here he was with her, she now an outrageously beautiful young woman exuding a potent sexuality that was palpable; and she was, technically, his ‘boss’. Could anything be more daunting? He was about to find out.


Helena, Montana; 1975

Bufford Hawkins came into the kitchen of the family home and assumed his seat at the head of the table. The family was seated and waiting as was the expectation. Mother Shirley was at the other end, solicitous as always; oldest son Bill, now employed at the Hawkins

chair manufacturing plant, Chrome-tome Furniture, sat at his father’s right hand; Georgia sat across from Bill and beside her was the youngest, Stafford, with his head of blonde hair already worn longer than Father allowed. Melanie would not be born for another year, when her mother was forty.

“I thought you were taking the boy to Joe’s?” Bufford asked in his usual blunt manner. He was a tall man with a military look to him, even though he had never served. John Wayne was his favorite actor and he regarded most other actors and all musicians as homosexual. “He looks like a God-damn hippie.”

Shirley started; the three children focused on their plates. Profanity offended her, especially the use of the Lord’s name. She was careful however not to oppose her husband; she not only desired peace, she also feared him. He had struck her more than once, although always in places that wouldn’t show.

“I’m taking him in tomorrow, dear,” she replied mildly.

“Good, ask Joe to give him a crew cut. And he needs to eat more. Skinny as a God-damn rail.” Bufford spoke as if Stafford wasn’t sitting two feet away, and then began shovelling prime rib and mashed potatoes into his mouth; the discussion was over.

At his place, young Stafford sat quietly chewing, his mind working feverishly. He was imagining sticking his fork into his father’s eye.


“Well, don’t just stand there, come in, Uncle Drew.” Emily spoke in her languid way, a smile on her lips; today unadorned tonight. Downing took three steps in and stood, hesitating. “Your father wished me to speak with you.” Downing murmured.

Emily regarded the man through half-closed eyes. He was one of those slim, wistful fellows; his now thinning hair cut very close; his clean-cut face neither pleasant nor unpleasant. The kind of person you would not remember. What Melanie saw in him Emily could not understand. He was good at numbers, apparently. Well, Emily would see what else he was good at.

“Actually, I wished to speak to you, Drewsie.” Emily spoke with a tone of familiarity that made Downing nervous.

“Yes, right. Sorry” He replied.

Good, thought Emily; he’s apologetic. “You are aware of the share changes at the company?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I am.”

“And it means, what; like, to you?”

Drew paused; he wasn’t sure where this was going, but he felt apprehension; and where was Melanie? Why was young Emily running the show? “Well, it means that voting control could sit with you and Melanie, if you chose, or Melanie and her father or you…”

“Fifty-four percent.” Emily said.


“As of today, fifty-four present of the shares are combined between Mel and me. We did another deal; I thought fifty-one was cutting it close.”

Drew nodded his head. “Fine. And, um what, if you could share with me, does this mean, to you?”

Emily sat smiling. “It means I can kick your ass out the door,” she said, quietly.

Downing looked up and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, then spoke, “Is that, um, what you want?” he asked nervously.

“That depends, Drewsie.”

There was a pause. The house was quite quiet. Stafford was not home, and Melanie had decided to take Chantico out for dinner; in the end she didn’t want to be there for the first session with her husband. The two occupants of the house watched each other silently in the library. And waited; finally Downing needed to speak. “Depends on what, exactly, Emily?”

Emily stood; she was wearing heels and was almost the same height as her uncle; yet somehow seemed taller. She came to within a few feet of him. “Well, let’s see. One, you will address me as Miss M from this point forward.” She stared at him. “Is that understood?”

Downing licked his lips; they were suddenly very dry. “It seems odd, but none-the-less, no problem, Miss, um, M.” he said in a voice that was now thickening, as if someone was gripping his throat.

“Good. And you will work for me and report directly to me. Clear?”

Downing swayed slightly and touched the back of the couch. “Um, Mr. Hawkins could simply pay me a retainer. I wouldn’t need to be employed by the company.” He said in a quiet voice.

Emily stood and stared at him. “I’m young, Unka’ Drewsie, but I’m not dumb. Sure, work for Daddykins, but it won’t be doing any Documart stuff. That will go to the person I hire tomorrow, right?”

Downing looked down. He and Hawkins had already discussed this scenario; obviously Emily had considered it too. They essentially controlled Documart if they wished, and Downing’s only hope was convincing Melanie to work with Stafford. The fact she wasn’t here tonight wasn’t a good omen.

Melanie and Emily were already working together.

With a smile, Emily placed a set of stapled papers on the back of the couch. A quick glance told Drew they were some sort of legal document; looking more closely and with growing alarm, he read what was clearly divorce papers. “What is this?” he asked in a soft, choked voice.

“I think they call it the other shoe, Drewsie. Those are divorce papers. If you won’t work with us, Melanie will serve them on you and we will not only fire your skinny, worthless ass out the company door, but this one as well.” She slapped him across the face with the papers.

Startled and rattled, Downing blurted out, “Ow; um, Mr. uh, Mr. Ha-Hawkins, w-will never allow that.” Drew protested, but without a lot of conviction.

Emily just smiled and sat down on a chair facing Downing, tapping the papers against her hand. “There is no way to stop us, Drewkins. Well, just one way. Work for me, us, unconditionally.” Emily paused, sitting like a coiled spring, and regarded the man. “Give me your answer; I need to know tonight.” She stared at him.

Feeling light-headed and never a confident person to begin with, Drew nodded his head. “I, um, I’ll work for you, obviously. Does anything change?”

Emily watched him now, standing, swaying slightly, perspiring; twitching. She felt like driving her right foot directly into his balls; but that would have to wait. “Nothing changes at work, but things will change here. I need to know you are, loyal.”

“I have, um, been v-very loyal to Mr. Hawkins all these years. I will be loyal to y-you.”

“Hmmmm,” Emily purred. “So you say. Talk is always easy; Drewsums, actions do speak louder. You’re going to show me.” She paused and dialed a number on her cell, “Come in now,” she said into it, with no other discussion. In a moment two burly men in dark suits entered and stood by the door. “You are just outside?” Emily confirmed.

“Yes, miss,” the nearer one said.

“Good, I’ll call you if I need you.” They turned and left. Emily poured herself a glass of Merlot. “Okee, dokee, Drewsie-woozie, here’s how the play unfolds. You do what I say, obediently, and I send those two nice men away. You resist or fuss or make me unhappy, and they return and haul your ass out and you never set foot in here again. Oh, and they’ll probably punch you a few times, just ‘cuz; you know how it is?”

Swallowing hard, Downing stared like he was in a trance. How was this happening? How could his life become such a mess in so few days?

“What’s it going to be, pussy-boy? My way or the, um, highway?” Emily chuckled.

“What do you, w-want, Miss, uh, M?” Downing asked, looking down. He was now shaking noticeably.

“Strip down to your shorts.” Emily said, evenly.

“W-what?” he asked, eyes bulging.

“Strip. Shorts. You. Stupid?” Emily repeated as if she were addressing a toddler.

“But I….”

“Fuck.” She declared, taking out her cell.

“No,” he screamed. “Please, stop. Ok. Ok. Stop”

Fuck, he’s going to cry, Emily realized with repugnance.

Hands shaking like he had palsy, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, Downing removed his shirt and tie, and his undershirt (who wears a fucking undershirt, Emily pondered) and then his shoes and trousers, revealing dark socks and grey boxer shorts (of course grey, and boxers…Emily chuckled).

Emily rose, drifting over to stand behind the slouching figure; she pulled his arms behind him (they’re like twigs, Emily thought with disgust), and fastened them with plastic ties. She took something out of a bag lying beside the chair; it was a ball gag that said ‘CUNT’ on it. She wrapped the cord around Downing’s head and shoved the ball into his mouth.

She then pulled down his shorts and stood in front of him, as his member made a feeble attempt at hardening. Emily looked down at Downing’s manhood as he stood shaking with his eyes tightly shut.

“Open your eyes, pussy-boy Troy; that’s my pet name for Drewsie-poo,” she said, running a finger down the side of Downing’s face. “Looks like your little friend wants to play,” she smirked, rubbing her knee into Downing’s groin, eliciting an anguished groan from behind the gag.

While Downing stood shaking, Emily called her ‘security’ and told them they could go. She then went to a wardrobe and pulled out a tripod with a cell phone mounted on it, and placed it in a specific spot. Next she dragged Downing over to stand in front of a straight-back wooden chair which faced the mounted phone.

As he was turned away from her, Emily undressed and took a harness out from under a cushion and tied it on herself, before inserting a modest six-inch black dildo into it. Tugging Downing’s boxers completely off she tossed them away, then spread some gel onto a small, black butt plug and aggressively inserted it into Downing’s unwilling anus, as he struggled and protested with muffled cries; all in vain.

Using a remote she started the video as she sat on the chair and positioned Downing over her erect phallus, pulled out the plug and then forced his hips down, slowly impaling him.

“Move your ass, Jack, or I’ll start doing some nasty things to your balls. This is shoe number three.” Emily threatened, chuckling at her inside ‘joke’; Downing began to move up and down on the dildo, fighting the urge to vomit. After a few minutes of this, Emily positioned her victim for a sideways view and had him lift his leg so the camera/phone could capture the action of his anal sex and his face as she turned it to the stand.

After fifteen minutes Emily decided she’d had enough for her purposes, now, and withdrew her ‘penis’ and pushed Downing to the carpet. Removing the phone from the stand she took out the device’s card and inserted into a thumb drive that then went into the USB port of her laptop. In seconds she had downloaded the video file and sat watching it, a grin on her face.

She called to the huddled figure on the carpet. “Oh man, lookin’ good Boy-toy-Troy, we see your face, we see all the butt action. You look like a regular rump-ranger, fer shure.” She laughed and then dressed, before picking up her glass of wine and strolling over to the man, lying eyes closed beside the chair.

She turned the body slightly with no resistance, opening the legs a touch; then stood, drew back one leg and slammed her foot directly into Downing’s lightly-haired testicles. The body jerked violently and then Downing curled into a fetal positon, the ball gag preventing the vomit’s release.

Emily texted a message to Melanie. “Drew-baby is all ours. Miss M.” Smiley face.


Helena, Montana; 1971

Six year old Stafford Hawkins arrives home from school an hour early due to the monthly staff meeting. He lets himself in and walks through the quiet kitchen, surprised his mother is not there to greet him. Dumping his stuff on a kitchen chair, he begins the hike up the staircase, but pauses part-way up, a sound above him confusing him and making him hesitate. It is a rhythmic thumping sound and then he hears voices, but they are not speaking, just making sounds.

Not knowing why, Stafford continues the rest of the way up as quietly as possible, then moves down the hall to his parents’ room, where the sounds are clearly coming from.

Halting at the door, he sees a naked body bent over the bed; a woman, and behind her a man, his back and legs hairy. The man is moving back and forth against the rear of the woman. Even though he cannot see the woman’s face, Stafford knows it is his mother. He doesn’t know who the man is. He watches in silence as the man becomes more agitated, both people now grunting loudly and crying out.

Stafford stares at the wall and the painting hanging above the bed. It is a painting of a Harlequin by Rodster; it seems to be watching him; calling to him.

Retracing his steps, Stafford goes back downstairs and grabs his jacket and goes outside. He sits on the step, the image burned into his mind; but as he recalls it, the Harlequin’s face becomes his own.


Emily woke to a kiss on the cheek. “Morning, Miss M. It’s time for breakfast, but what am I doing this morning, with, um, him?”

Emily chuckled; how Chantico’s life had been turned upside down. First sex with women, which she was just beginning to be okay with, and then last night, coming home to a naked Drew Downing, tied up and waiting.

Melanie looked almost as astonished as Chantico, but Emily took control and basically laid out the astonishing news; Drew had to pay a debt to her and he would do it by being her slave. That was it. Chantico did not have to ask questions or take part; just do what Emily directed.

So last night Downing had slept on a large dog bed against the wall in Emily’s spacious room, as Chantico and Emily shared her poster bed. The routine this morning would be established and Chantico would be shown her role in all this. At eight o’clock Downing would leave the house as usual; but that would be the only regular aspect. The rest of his time at the house would be as a slave; at least for now. At work he was to provide his usual financial support, talking with Hawkins as needed, but sharing nothing that Emily didn’t want shared. His loyal silence would eventually earn his release.

Melanie wasn’t sure how she felt about this part, but it was happening and she was okay with it; at least for now. She had no real feelings of affection for her companion of fifteen years; she wasn’t sure now that she ever did.

It had really been a marriage to suit Stafford Hawkins.


Ryland Ross sat in one of the two chairs in Stafford Hawkins’s office; Hawkins himself was facing his lawyer; neither wore masks, Ross being the only one treated so. “And what of the house?” Hawkins asked quietly.

“Well, sir, because it was purchased through the company it is listed as an asset and cannot be dealt with, without…approval.” Ross left that statement dangling.

“Meaning Melanie and my daughter.” Hawkins concluded the thought.

“Yes, sir.” Ross nodded his shiny dome.

Hawkins folded his hands on his thin frame; “Well, I guess I can’t toss them out.” The two men sat in silence.

“Have you, considered, em, talking with her, your daughter I mean.” Ross ventured, looking earnestly at the pen set on Hawkins’s desk.

Hawkins surveyed his lawyer; the suggestion had crossed his mind, to be quickly dismissed. “What do you think would be gained from that, from a legal point of view?”

Ross did not propose his thought that meeting face to face with your own kin was natural; that was not a legal opinion. “I believe it would be a show of good faith if this were ever to be brought before, um, authority.”

Hawkins considered. Yes, that actually was something to be considered. “Send Da Costa first; I want a report. Has Downing anything?”

Ross looked intently at a stapler occupying the corner of the desk. “He has not brought anything to me; but I feel the, em, ladies, have kept him well out of the loop, as it were.” He spoke smoothly.

Hawkins nodded; that was his belief as well; Downing wouldn’t be of much use here. “Quite so. Thank you, Ross. Please prompt Da Costa and we will speak tomorrow, or if there is any more action on the shares.”

Ross rose to leave, “Will do. Good day, sir.” Hawkins

nodded in the direction of the departing figure, and then his intercom lit, signalling a call from one of the assistants. It turned out to be Ms. Graves, Da Costa’s associate. “Yes Ms. Graves?” Hawkins spoke into the mic.

“A message, sir, for you to call your sister. Georgia, sir. She called earlier but I’ve waited until Mr. Ross left to inform you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Graves.” He considered for a moment. “Could you contact her now please, and let me know what she’s after?”

“Right away sir.”

Hawkins sat in thought. Family, hummmpff, what good had they ever been to him? Suddenly his intercom lit again and Ms. Graves was back with news that Georgia Allan (nee Hawkins) was on the company line.

Hawkins sat for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Good-day, Georgia,” Hawkins said into the receiver, in his distinctive voice, free of any emotion. It could have been the dry cleaners he was speaking with, not a sister he hadn’t spoken to in over seven years.

“Stafford, so good to hear from you, really. It has been so long.”

“It has,” Hawkins agreed, “how may I assist you?”

“Oh, well, I had called about something. But how are you? How are Melanie and Emily?”

“Everyone here is just tip top, sister. Please, let’s proceed with what you need.”

“You believe I’m calling because I need something?” she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. This actually made Hawkins smile.

“That usually is the case, Georgia. I am correct, yes?”

“Well, yes, although I did want a little news. It’s unfortunate our family is so spread apart.”

“Why?” Hawkins asked, still with a voice that betrayed nothing.

Georgia sighed. “Ok, fine, some things never change. Well, it’s just that Tad (Georgia’s second child, Theodore) is in L.A. and looking for financial support. I know he is reluctant to speak with you, but I think he has a promising project on the go. Would it be possible for him to see you at your home?”

Hawkins was just about to say ‘fat chance’ or something to that effect, but instead murmured, “He should come around and speak with Emily. She is expanding her, um, wings, financially so to speak, and two young people might understand each other better than, um, we.”

“Well, thank you, Stafford. Your address remains as before in…”

“Adams Hill, yes, that is correct.”

After a few closing comments the call ended and Hawkins sat with an odd look on his face; this could actually work out, now that he pondered on it. Damn memories, he smiled to himself.


Helena, Montana; 1977

Stafford watched his sister Georgia from the corner of his eye. Now sixteen years old to his twelve, his sister had taken, when their father and older brother were out, to parading around the house in her bra and panties, her developing body on display. Right now she was talking on the house phone, located in the kitchen, and she was sitting, legs parted, by the table.

Stafford could see the dark patch visible in the crotch of her panties and was well aware of what that meant, even if he was generally clueless about social issues, he knew the difference between boys and girls. He himself had just begun getting pubic hair, although his was thin and very light brown. His sister took after their father, with a head of dark brunette hair and clearly a pubic area to match.

Suddenly he looked up to see her staring at him as he was staring at her. She smiled, leaving her legs open invitingly for a moment, before turning to the wall to continue her conversation.

It went that way for almost a year, with her giving him little glimpses of her female ‘attributes’. He actually saw her full breasts, nipples and all, more than once. But there was no touching, except what Georgia did to herself in her room, with thoughts of Stafford’s clear desire making her smile. She had a friend who was doing the same thing with her younger brother. They would compare notes and giggle.


Drew Downing was on his knees, licking the high-heeled boots of his niece. Emily sat on the same straight-back chair she had used the night before. Downing was naked, with a dog’s chain around his neck. Eight wooden clothespins had been attached to the sensitive skin on the underside of his testicles, and Emily would occasionally rub the toe of one boot against them, producing an immediate reaction. Also around Downing’s testicles, and he was made to put it on himself (I ain’t touchin’ your nut sack, Boy-Toy-Troy, Emily had drawled) was a band that wrapped tightly, preventing any ejaculation.

“You’re pretty good at this, Drewsie-poo; I’m thinking you’ve done some boot lickin’ in your time, hmmmm?” Emily chuckled and pulled the choke collar tight for a moment.

Downing was unable to say much one way or the other, with a leather cord tied around his head and through his mouth; he was only able to lick and grunt. “Lickin’ and gruntin’, that’s all widdle Drewsie-woozie Troysie-woyzie can do,” Emily teased, looking over with a smile at Melanie seated on the couch; she was silently watching all of this; an odd look on her face.

(End of Chapter 03)

Posted on

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

A Gathering of Clowns

By LongDarkRoad

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No sir, it…”

“Then sell them.”

“Um, excuse me sir?”

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

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

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

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

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

“Very good sir, We’ll see you then.”

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on the girl’s arm, gently stroking it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her cheeks, her eyes wide.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The daughter.” Ross said evenly.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

“Two…big girls, by any chance.”

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

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

their punishment,” she sighed.

Both women chuckled.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” Emily said quietly.

(End of Chapter 02)

Posted on

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

Chapter 1 The Circus is a Jealous Wench

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

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

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

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

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

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

One would not be likely either to guess that he was

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

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

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


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

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

“What a freak show,” Emily had commented.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the girl/woman had resumed her studies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

now here you are. Who was the guy?”

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

“Yeah, him. What’s his name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

her father. Somewhere deep inside she felt a twinge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ross nodded his egg-shaped noggin.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(End of Chapter 01)