Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 THE STEPFORD WIVES c.  1996 by Rhett Dreams



   Warning: This fictional story contains descriptions of explicit sexual
acts and is intended for mature audiences.  Any resemblance between
characters in this work and real people is probably

   intentional, and occasionally a little mean-spirited.

   Authors Note: This is the second in a trilogy of stories and, like the
first installment ("Southern Hospitality'), it pays to read the chapters in
order.  The full story is at www.cjnetworks.com/~jessa/rhett/rhett.html,
along with prior works by the same author.

   Thanks: To the GrooveGirl, for her help in shaping this story, and for
fixing some of my lousy grammar, spelling and twisted sentences.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter One





   Wednesday, August 9
1:10 p.m.





   Jessica Graham supervised the three moving men as they unloaded the huge
van and brought the household furnishings inside the stately colonial.

   The twenty-eight year old lawyer and homemaker was not at all happy.  It
was a hot and humid mid-day in Kansas, and she hadn't had anything to eat
since downing a quick English muffin with her coffee at breakfast.  That
was a little after seven in the morning, what she hoped would be their
final meal in that god-forsaken greasy spoon next to the hotel that had
been their home for six days.

   The moving van was supposed to have arrived at eight, which is why she
had rushed breakfast for her and her five year-old daughter, Katie.  But
they hadn't showed up until after ten, and she was forced to cool her heels
for those two hours as well as keep little Katie occupied.  To top it off,
the Bekins people had promised her four men, instead of the three now at
work.  She very much wanted everything done well before Rhett, her husband,
came home from his new job as General Manager of the nearby manufacturing
plant.

   This job was a big promotion for Rhett, Jessica knew.  An operations job
was just the boost his career would need if he was to rise to the Senior
vice-president level back at corporate headquarters.  All the same, half of
her greatly resented the move away from her friends in New England and the
career she was building as an up-and-coming fourth-year associate at one of
the most prestigious Boston law firms.  She knew, however, that Rhett had
made similar sacrifices putting her through law school at Harvard and
staying at the corporate level long enough for her career to get on track.
Too long.

   "It's my fucking turn to be noble," she thought to herself, feeling
guilty that she harbored such resentment.  But it was hot, the move wasn't
going well, and she was hungry.  So damned hungry.

   "Mommieeeee!"

   The eager voice of her daughter ended her musings and she turned to see
her girl jogging along the manicured lawn that stretched between their
house and the neighbors, hand-in-hand with a little red-headed girl of
about the same age.  Behind the two girls walked a woman who just had to be
the little girl's mother.  The thirty-ish woman also had red hair, maybe a
little darker than the child's, but hers was elegantly coifed.  It wasn't
just the hair, Jessica noticed, that made this woman so striking.  Although
she wore a simple cotton or gingham dress, it was perfectly cut for her
body and hung gracefully off of her shapely hips.

   Jessica self-consciously imagined how she must look in an old Harvard
tee shirt, shorts and sneakers, dusty and tired, her brown hair probably a
tangled mess.  Dropping her eyes to the two rapidly approaching girls she
managed an encouraging smile.

   "This is Sallie, Mommy, and she lives *right* next door.  Her mom has
fixed us lunch, PBJs for me and Sallie---"

   "Sallie and me," interrupted Jessica.  Just as soon as the words were
out of her mouth she felt foolish for correcting Katie's grammar when she
was so excited about meeting a friend in this new place.

   "It's very good to meet you, Sallie," said Jessica, with what she hoped
was a welcoming smile.

   Used to her daughter's indifferent manners, Jessica was caught short
when the red-head dropped Katie's hand, curtsied, and replied, "It's a
pleasure meeting you, Mrs.  Graham, and to have the chance to welcome you
and your daughter to Stepford."

   Sallie's mother joined them and Jessica now noticed that the elegant
woman was carrying a tray containing a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher
of what looked to be iced tea.

   "I figured you could use a care package, Mrs.  Graham," said the woman.
"I'm Linda Waterson, by the way, and you've already met my daughter
Sallie."

   "Please call me Jessica.  You're a mind-reader as well as a life saver,"
she said, motioning toward the picnic table under a large elm.  "I haven't
had a minute free to make lunch, even if I had found the time to go grocery
shopping."

   As the neighbor put the tray down on the table, Katie grabbed a
diagonally sliced sandwich half and immediately stuffed most of it into her
mouth.  The Waterson girl, by contrast, placed four glasses on the table
and began pouring iced tea.

   "I've got to work on Katie's manners," thought Jessica to herself as she
watched the cute red-head fill each glass to exactly one-half inch from the
top.  In addition to the girl's table manners, Jessica noted that her play
clothes, a green and white jumper, were spotless.  Her own daughter seemed
to have a knack for attracting dirt like a magnet, and her face and hair
were already quite dirty.

   "I hope you like tuna salad," said Linda Waterson, setting four plates
around the table.  Jessica found herself staring at her beautifully
manicured hands as she set the table, finishing with four neatly folded
cloth napkins.  Her fingers were long and slender, the perfect nails
painted in a light pink that matched, Jessica now noticed, the color of her
lipstick.  The woman's motions were at the same time economical and quite
graceful.

   Jessica sat down wearily and gratefully on the bench seat in front of
one of the plates and couldn't help but notice how Linda Waterson made the
awkward act of sitting at a picnic table bench seem like a ballet movement,
balancing one of her perfect hands on the table while she raised one leg
and tucked it over the bench, then the other.  Before taking a seat, her
hand smoothed the dress underneath her against her thighs.

   While they ate lunch, Jessica continued to marvel at the elegance of her
new neighbor, wondering yet again how she must look in contrast.  The
woman's dress was bright and cheerful, totally without any sign of a
wrinkle or stain, and it hugged her body perfectly.  Her makeup was lightly
and tastefully applied, and a pleasant, clean smelling perfume occasionally
reached Jessica's nose.  Pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace
completed her outfit.  She somehow managed to eat and drink without
spilling a drop or a crumb, and in such a way that made the act of eating a
tuna sandwich seem almost sensual.  When Jessica felt a drop of
perspiration crawl down her back, she wondered how this woman remained so
cool and dry in the ninety degree heat.

   "I really do appreciate your kindness," she said.  "But I hope I'm not
keeping you from some appointment.  You look terrific, by the way."

   "Thank you," she replied.  "I finished all my housework early, actually,
and all I have left before starting dinner is to run over to the V.A.  home
after lunch to do some volunteer work with those poor men.  I'll have some
time later in the afternoon to pitch in and give you a hand."

   Jessica kept her expression neutral but inside she was thinking, "She
dresses like this to clean bedpans?"

   "Mommy, can I go play at Sallies?," her daughter cried breathlessly. 
"She's got an *awesome* swing set.  Can I Mommy, can I?"

   Jessica noticed that Sallie had yet to finish her sandwich, and that the
girl ate with the same elegant casualness of her mother.

   "Not just yet, honey.  Wait until Sallie's done."

   "Awww, Mom---" protested the girl, bouncing from her seat at the table.

   "Actually, Mrs.  Graham, I'm really quite finished," said the red-head,
placing a half-eaten sandwich segment back on her plate.  "I'd be happy to
show Katie my swing set."

   With the girls gone to play, Linda Waterson began describing what she
did for the veterans and, on Tuesdays each week, at the nursing home
nearby. Jessica studied the woman while she talked, and found herself
resenting her perfectly erect posture, the elegance of her dress and
manner, even the politeness of the woman's child.

   "But can she fuck?" Jessica thought to herself and felt her lips curve
into the first smile of the frustrating day.  "Can Mrs.  Perfect
Waterfuckinson let her hair get mussed long enough to Do the Dirty?  I'll
bet she performs her wifely duties once a week with the lights off."

   Jessica had long ago learned a trick to help her whenever she felt the
least bit intimidated by an opposing attorney, inevitably a man with
considerably more experience than she.  And they were always taller than
she, sometimes a foot taller.  She would picture him naked, always
imagining blotchy pale skin, sagging flesh and a ridiculously small penis.
And in her minds' eye she would picture herself dressed as a dominatrix,
all in black leather with brass studs, in heels that brought her height up
to a respectable 5' 7', lashing her opponent's fleshy ass with a riding
crop.  This five second ritual was usually all it took to feel comfortable
and focus her considerable intellect on winning the case.

   With Linda Waterson it was different.  The woman's body would be
perfect, Jessica knew, shaped and toned by just the right amount of
exercise.  While the woman talked, Jessica imagined instead, her bent over
a Harley Davidson, getting her perfect little cunt hammered from behind by
a big greasy biker.  Another biker in front---yeah, that's perfect---with a
handful of her coifed hair in his gloved mitt, forcing her head up so his
enormous unwashed cock could slide across those pink lips, into her mouth
and throat.

   "I feel so much better," said Jessica with a small smile when Linda had
finished.  And she did, with her belly pleasantly full and her self-worth
back to where it should be.



   - o -



   "The new folks are in the process of moving in, Doctor," announced the
man as he closed the door to the inner office of the Director of the V.A.
hospital.

   "Splendid," said the fifty-ish doctor, rising from behind his desk to
greet the visitor.  Wearing the white robe of the trade, the tall physician
joined his visitor at the table in the corner of the spacious office.

   "Please, Mr.  O'Brien, sit," he said, graciously, his voice showing no
accent, just the flat intonation common to born mid-westerners.  Nobody
would have guessed that the distinguished doctor was not an American by
birth or that his early years were spent in the mountains of Argentina,
learning, by his father's side, German, Spanish and American English.

   The doctor was born Joseph Mengele, Jr., in March, 1944, two months
before his infamous father staged his own death and left the Dachau death
camp to make his escape from the oncoming Russians and American troops. 
The boy had never met his mother, and was told by his father only that she
was of excellent stock.  He shared his father's uncommonly bright blue eyes
and prematurely gray/white hair, and his brilliant mind.  But he was a tall
and relatively slender man, his body well built but nothing like the
powerful, bull-like body of his father, the "Angel of Death' to the Dachau
inmates.

   The elder Dr.  Mengele had died in the early sixties, but not before
securing for his son an American identity, a good sized fortune and a place
as a freshman at Stanford University.  The young man had used the name
Richard Poulsen ever since.  He had excelled at Stanford, first as an
undergraduate and later at the medical school.  Following a year of post
doctorate study in genetics and serumoligy, the young Doctor had been
recruited by the CIA to head a secret lab that researched chemical and
biochemical warfare.

   His spook masters were impressed by the doctor's diligent work habits,
how he would often be at the lab six or seven days a week, eighteen hours
per day.  What they didn't know and would never find out was the direction
of the brilliant doctor's work.

   Despite a childhood during which he had to listen repeatedly to his
father's endless diatribes about Aryan purity and the like, Dr.  Poulsen
had developed a different life view.  It might have been in part because he
long suspected that his biological mother must have been part Jewish or
Gypsy to have been forced to suffer the attentions of his father in the
death camps.

   His mother, he knew, was nothing more than a vessel for his father's
seed.  A whore.

   At their core, he firmly believed, all woman were whores.

   Women had an important position in the correct social order, he would
readily acknowledge.  Keeping house.  Bearing and raising the children. 
Entertaining.  Spreading their whore legs when their man told them to. 
This was their noble role in life.  And he took it as his life's work to
make it possible for woman, and the men who kept them, to realize this
natural order of things.

   "Here's what we know," said O'Brien, sitting across from the doctor. 
"He's taking over as plant manager, and should be in Stepford for two,
maybe three years.  The wife's been a practicing attorney up in Boston. 
She should be quite a test.  Honors graduate of Smith with a double major
in History and English, third in her class at Harvard Law.  The P.I.  I
hired up there tells me she had a well-earned reputation for kickin' butt
in the courtroom.  Cool and unruffled, brilliant...  tenacious as hell."

   "Hmmf," muttered the doctor, waving his hand for his aide to continue.

   "We don't know yet if she has any plans to take the bar exam and hang up
a shingle here, but we'll know sooner rather than later.  The family phones
are tapped, and I'll personally listen to all of the day's conversations
each evening.  As you know, this is all precaution.  She should be
experiencing the change within thirty days, forty-five at the outside."

   "A woman attorney," said the doctor, shaking his head, remembering the
insufferable Stanford coeds he had to put up with for so many years. 
Before arriving in Palo Alto with his new identity, he had been used to
just taking what he wanted from the half-breed servant girls on his
father's plantation.  At first they would fight him, holding desperately to
their virginity for those last few minutes, but succumbing in the end to
his strength and the power of his lust.  His father knew about this and
tacitly approved the rapes by paying off the girl's families.  At Stanford,
the coeds were attracted to his remarkable looks and razor-sharp mind, but
he couldn't stomach the games they played, and did little to hide his
disgust for their un-natural ambitions.

   The doctor slammed his fist against the table, but as quickly as his
anger had appeared, it was gone.  He held his hand up and ticked off each
finger as he spoke.

   "One, I want to know if she's using bottled water.  Remember the Asian
woman last year, Patricia Chan, how it took months because we hadn't
anticipated that."

   "Two, I want you to start working on the husband.  Get his current
secretary out of there and put Lisa Quinn in her place.  This guy's
probably no fool, so she needs to be subtle."

   "Three, get her neighbor---ah, Linda Waterson---in here for a chat.  I
want her to befriend this whore and do what it takes to keep the dose of
RCA as high as possible."

   Mike O'Brien didn't disclose to his boss that Waterson was expected any
moment now at the hospital.  He waited a few moments to be sure that no
more instructions were forthcoming, then said, "It will be done, Doctor."



   Back in his own office, O'Brien called his contact at the plant and
passed along Poulsen's instructions about Lisa Quinn.  Putting the phone
down, he smiled at the thought of that incredibly sexy girl going after R.
Rhett Graham.  With her centerfold body, thick, pouty lips and big,
innocent looking hazel eyes, she'd give a corpse a raging hard-on.  It was
the innocence she exuded that made every man she met want to fuck that look
off of her face, to see those xpressive eyes filled with passion of their
creation.

   Glancing at his watch he noted that he had about five or ten minutes
before Linda Waterson would stop by after her rounds with the patients,
where she helped the old men write letters that O'Brien suspected no one
ever read.  It didn't matter to the men, though, who looked forward with
relish any visit by the attractive red-head.

   O'Brien knew he was not in the same class as Dr.  Poulsen, and that he
had only a limited idea how the RCA added to the county reservoir worked on
the female population of Stepford.  RCA...  he always got a chuckle from
the acronym and Poulsen's name for the drug, Righteous Change Agent.

   He didn't really care how it worked, especially after uncovering a side
effect to the drug, one that he naively believed the doctor unaware.  As
the drug worked to replace the subject's deeply ingrained sense of
self-purpose with the pattern that Poulsen had somehow engineered into
memory molecules, it also left the women very susceptible to hypnosis.

   Hypnosis was one of the few things that Mike O'Brien did reasonably
well. He had managed to stay away from the frequent parties at the State
University just often enough to get his masters in psychology, and the
clinical use of hypnosis was the subject of his thesis.  He had ended up at
the V.A.  Hospital more out of laziness than anything else.  Building a
private practice and dealing with clients was too much trouble.  He stayed
in this relatively low paying job because, well, one of the reasons was
about to walk into his office.

   He also enjoyed the fact that he was the only member of Poulsen's
management team who was genuinely liked by everyone at the hospital,
patients and staff alike.  Poulsen was much too formal and standoffish, and
the rest of the physicians, psychologists and senior nursing staff were, by
and large, unhappy to be here, and it showed.  If they were any good at
their jobs, all would have been at a modern hospital, caring for patients
who had a real chance of getting better, instead of here at the V.A..

   Mike, on the other hand, loved it here.

   The knock on O'Brien's door was followed my the entrance of Linda
Waterson.

   "Hello, Mr.  O'Brien," she said, closing the door behind her.  With a
voice that was friendly but reserved, just as one might converse with a
merchant of some acquaintance, she said, "I just finished my rounds and
wanted to stop by and say hi."

   O'Brien suppressed a smile at her ignorance of his hypnotically-planted
instructions and said, "Zip it, bitch"

   Linda's green eyes instantly clouded over and her head dropped forward
several inches to rest on her chest.  Mike congratulated himself on his
choice of a trigger phrase for the red-head; it was so much easier for him
to remember than something like "Quasimodo'.  He got up from behind his
desk and walked past the unconscious woman to lock his outer door.  Then he
approached her and spoke softly into her ear.

   "When I count to three I want you awake.  You will see only your husband
in the room, and will be anxious to please him in any way he asks.  You'll
feel especially horny this afternoon, Linda.  One...  Two....'



   "Ohhhhh, God!  Yesssss' cried the red-head as Mike O'Brien pounded his
cock into her churning pussy.  Supporting himself on two stiff arms while
his hips rocked back and forth, driving his cock deep into the wet,
churning sex of Mrs.  Linda Waterson, he had all he could do to hold
himself in place as the shapely housewife bucked and writhed under him.

   The transformation never ceased to amaze him, these Stepford wives, all
grace and elegance in their public lives but totally uninhibited sluts with
their clothes off.  Despite the force of his thrusts, her hips kept
bouncing off the carpeted floor of his examination room, slamming up to
meet him, rotating sensually to maximize the contact of cock and cunt.

   This was not his doing, he realized.  The goal of the hypnosis was
simply to get the housewife to believe in her mind that he was her husband.
The rest was accomplished by Doctor Poulsen's drug.  Once RCA had taken
ahold it was central to each woman's self-esteem to excel at pleasuring
their husbands.  Any beliefs they may have had before, about what was
lady-like or proper in the bedroom, were gradually supplanted by this
primal need to satisfy their man.

   "Take it, you fuckin' slut!' he growled before lowering his head and
forcing his lips over hers, driving his tongue deep into her mouth.

   "Oh yes!' she cried when he broke the kiss and grabbed one of her stiff
nipples between his teeth.  "I'm your slut, Harry...  Oh, God!...  Fuck
your slut...  Fuck meeeeeee...'

   As he felt her cunt spasm around his shunting cock, announcing her
second orgasm of this lusty ten-minutes bout, he felt the tingling in his
balls that told him he would soon follow.

   "Fuckin' bitch,' he chanted, over and over as his pounding cock erupted
in the housewife's cunt, filling her sex with his copious discharge.



   Twenty minutes later, the red-head was looking as fresh and elegant as
ever when she strolled through the V.A.  parking lot to her car.  She would
remember from her visit only the gratitude of the old veterans for her
presence and aide.  No memory remained of her afternoon fuck with her
husband, Harry.

   She would also feel a stronger desire to befriend Jessica Graham, and
not know the reason why she'd inevitably offer her neighbor beverages made
from tap water...  ice tea, juice from concentrate and the like.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Two



   Friday, August 11
8:25 p.m.



   Jessica Graham was feeling for the first time in weeks that she had
things under control.  There was more unpacking to do, but it was mostly
winter clothes and her office stuff and it could wait.  After
two-and-a-half days, the house was really quite livable, and she found
herself appreciating the extra space of this house after their three years
in a cozy back-bay condo in Boston.

   Washing up the last of the dinner dishes, she was looking forward to an
evening with Rhett.  Ten minutes ago, after reading a book to Katie, he had
gathered the tired girl in his arms and brought her upstairs for bed. 
Jessica had noticed that certain amorous look in his eyes when he had said
that he'd be right down, and she was hoping they'd make love.

   "Hi there, Ms.  Jessa,' she heard from just behind her and
simultaneously felt Rhett's body press against her back, pinning her
against the sink.  As his hands massaged her neck and shoulders, she could
feel the bulge of his sex pressing against her back.

   "Hmmmm,' she purred as his fingers worked their magic, releasing the
tension in her neck and shoulder muscles.  Pressing herself back against
his bulge, she asked, "What's gotten into you?'

   "I'm a victim of circumstance,' he said, kissing the top of her head,
his fingers digging deep into her shoulders.  "The HR guy at the plant
assigned me a new secretary today.'

   "Oh?' she said.  "Pretty?'

   "Jessa baby, this girl would make you want to give up men.'

   "That's no big challenge,' she replied and was rewarded with a playful
slap on the ass.

   "I'm going to take a shower,' he said, chuckling as he walked away, "and
try to keep my mind off that luscious piece o' ass down at the plant.'

   "You can keep your mind on her, "said Jessica to his retreating form. 
"I like you this way.  Just keep your hands off her, and keep your dick in
your pants.'

   "Spoil sport.'



   "Remember that time in the Bahamas,' Rhett said, his naked body spooned
behind that of his wife on their king-sized bed, "with Todd and Lois?'

   Jessa smiled to herself and nodded, now completely relaxed after a
delightful fuck that had ended just before her second orgasm.  Far from
being disappointed, she knew Rhett's moods and desires, and was counting on
a second bout.  And she knew that the second time would last much longer.

   "First it's some hussy secretary that gets you all hot and bothered and
now, with your practically perfect wife naked before you, all you can think
of is that blond slut Lois Weston?'

   She felt rather than heard his silent laugh, his body shaking
perceptibly against her.  She could also feel his cock recovering, pressing
gently against her ass as it hardened.

   She would never forget that trip three years ago to the Bahamas, and not
just because it was the first time they'd been without Katie since her
birth.  Rhett's parents had taken the toddler for a week, an incredible
week in the middle of February; escaping the cold and snow of Boston for
perfectly warm weather in the islands.  The third night of their stay, they
had met Lois and Todd Weston and had really hit it off.

   It was strange how easy it was for her to like both of the Westons,
despite her natural inclinations to dislike people of their type.  That
wasn't fair, she knew---to distrust Lois because she possessed The Body. 
Fashion Model Perfect...  slender, almost to the point where you'd call her
skinny.  Tall, at least in comparison to Jessica, maybe 5'9' and 110 pounds
dripping wet.  Blond of course.  But she was an attorney, like Jessica, and
she knew they were kindred spirits when the woman had expressed her
absolute disgust for the morals and legal mind of Clarence Thomas ("The
only problem with Justice Thomas, I'm forced to conclude, is that his brain
is trapped in the head of his penis, you see.  Every time he speaks or
thinks or writes an opinion, it's just like a man with his tubes clipped
ejaculating.  It's white, very white, but of no good to anybody').

   To top it off, while they were in the lady's room freshening up, she had
quoted from an opinion of the "right-honorable' Justice Scalia, cleverly
using the horrid man's own words to impale him on the sharp skewer of her
insight and wit.  Jessica just loved Lois Weston.

   Based on outward appearances, Todd Weston represented another
physical/personality type she normally abhorred.  He was, to put it simply,
drop-dead gorgeous.  The type of hunk Jessica had never been able to
attract and, in self defense of her ego, had decided years ago was not
worthy of her interest.  A taller Mel Gibson except with hazel eyes and a
born salesman's confidence.  She might have been quick to write him off
except that he'd married and was obviously devoted to, an intelligent woman
of with her own unique and interesting personality.

   And, shit, he was a hunk.

   She couldn't remember exactly how it happened, that night after a fine
meal with the Westons, dancing at the disco, mostly with Todd.  He didn't
just dance with her, not as she was used to anyway.  He took possession of
her, turning her, spinning her, always under complete control, bringing her
body to his, pressing her against him with such confidence, such élan, that
she didn't mind the feeling of his semi-erect cock against her belly, his
hands on her ass.

   Jessica had decide long ago that she possessed this funny on-off-neutral
switch when it came to men.  The "on' switch was reserved for Rhett, and
she let herself relax completely in his presence, even to the point of
doing things, allowing things, that would shock her feminist Smith College
classmates.  Neutral was the setting in most situations; she was neither
strident nor a timid marshmallow.  The "Off' switch she reserved for
dealing with opposing counsel.  In that mode she could, metaphorically
speaking, rip their cocks off with her teeth and spit the useless organ
into their faces.

   Todd's looks and attention to her had the mental switch firmly in the on
position.  They'd all had too much to drink, certainly, but she was
surprised how easy it was to accept his hand when the four of them returned
to the Weston's suite.

   Sitting with Todd on one sofa, her eyes met those of her husband from
across the room.  Seeing him sitting there, on a matching sofa, with the
head of Lois resting in his lap, his fingers playing idly with her blond
hair...  A question was in his eyes as they stared across the dim room at
each other.  Her mind cleared as she connected with him and, as Todd's hand
came upon her knee, gently but firmly parting her legs as it slid up her
thighs, she smiled at her husband and nodded her head.

   As she felt her husband's cock stiffen against her ass in the
here-and-now, she remembered that incredible evening with the Westons.  I
wasn't just the sex with Todd, who was at least as skillful in bed as he
had been on the dance floor.  It was looking across the room to see Lois
swallowing her husband's cock...  seeing him later fuck the blond from the
rear, she bent lewdly over the end of the sofa.  And knowing that he was
watching her, watching as she came time and time again as Todd's mouth and
hands and cock took possession of her body.

   Her recollections were interrupted briefly as Rhett rolled her gently
onto her stomach, where she settled, pulling her knees up so her hips
cocked upwards to allow him to enter her again.  As she felt his body close
upon hers, and his thick cock work it's way inside her sex, she purred.

   "My sweet little Jessa,' he said into her ear, his cock sliding slowly
in and out.  "Straight, mother-of-the-year Jessa...  fucking and sucking a
man she just met, then letting the man's wife suck her husband's sticky cum
out of your well-fucked pussy.'

   She was still quite surprised and a little shocked that she had done
that, having never touched a woman before or since.  She had awaken that
night eighteen months ago, on the floor of the Weston's suite, to find
herself being kissed by both men; her lips and breasts, her nipples, then
her sex.  It was such a heavenly feeling that she didn't realize until she
was far beyond caring, that Lois Weston was the one feasting on her pussy
while the men kissed and suckled her tender nipples.

   It was like nothing she'd ever experienced, that tongue at her sex,
flickering like a butterfly's wings over her clit.  Stopping whenever she
got close to cumming, pausing then to suck the copious juices from her sex.
Then it would begin again.  The finger invading her virgin ass, adding a
new sensation to the myriad ones she was feeling.  Fucking her, that finger
in her ass, driving back and forth while three mouths feasted on her
breasts and sex.

   "My sweet nasty Jessa,' she heard in her ear and came, hard, as Rhett's
cock drove into her cunt while the erotic and taboo images played in her
mind.

   "Oh, Jesus!' she chanted as her orgasm racked her body.  Rhett allowed
her a minute's rest before resuming his thrusts into her sex, harder now,
more insistent.

   "You loved havin' Lois eat your pussy,' he said, his hips slapping into
her ass with every stroke, "didn't you, Jess.'

   "Yes,' she cried.

   "And eating her pussy...  did you enjoy sucking my cum outta that blond
slut?'

   "Oh...  yes,' Jessa sobbed as she remembered the blond woman squatting
over her, lowering her shaved cunt onto her face, the juices dripping onto
Jessa's chin, then in her mouth as she parted her lips and accepted the maw
of Lois's cunt against her mouth.  Her mouth filled with juices, wonderful
juices, Rhett's cum mixed with the woman's...  swallowing, swallowing as
her tongue probed into the strange cavity, searching for and finding the
erect nub.  Lashing out against it while her hands found the woman's small,
firm breasts and squeezed, wanting, in her sex-drugged mind, to hurt the
woman who had just made love to her husband---wanting to make the bitch cum
as hard as she had.

   "Oh, Rhett....  cum with me,' cried Jessa as the relentless hammering of
his cock brought her again to the edge.

   "Oh, baby Jessa,' he cried, "Oh, baby....  here it comes...  oh, baby...
oh baby...'

   Jessa felt his cock erupt inside her and felt her own orgasm crash over,
waves of pleasure rocked her body as the cock jerked and pulsed deep inside
her, filling her with it's seed.



   - o -



   The Graham's weekend was spent bringing the garden back to life, setting
up her office, enjoying a backyard barbecue next door with the Waterson's
and seeing a matinee with Katie when it rained for a couple of hours Sunday
afternoon.

   Jessa used to hate Sundays.  Hate em' because they were too damn short,
the weekend almost over, and she'd have to go back to work the next day. 
She enjoyed her job, loved the law, but resented the persona she had to
adopt to succeed in that world.

   This was different.  She wouldn't even have to take the Kansas Bar Exam
until next month, and would have all the time in the world to enjoy Katie.
Even though Rhett would be working long hours, she'd see much more of him
than when they were in Boston, where both of them routinely brought work
home nights and weekends.

   She'd have the evenings with Rhett, and she smiled to herself at the
next thought that appeared in her mind: I'll just have to fuck him
senseless each and every night to keep him from dickin' that secretary of
his.  This was a game they played, encouraging each other to notice
attractive members of the opposite (or the same) sex, and sharing the
attraction with one another.  With the exception of that one time in the
Bahamas she knew with certainty that Rhett had remained true to her. 
"Well,' she thought, "if you don't count what goes on in his imagination.'



   "What'd you think of "Matilda', daddy?' Katie asked as they drove home
from the movie theater Sunday afternoon, the girl strapped into the car
seat in the back.

   "Oh, it was way cool, honey,' said Rhett, then adding under his breath
so that his five year-old in the back couldn't hear, "but I think we would
have enjoyed "Bordello of Blood' better.'

   "What, daddy?' asked Katie from the back seat.

   "Never mind, dear,' said Jessica, giving her husband a withering glance
before reaching to insert one of her daughter's cassettes into the tape
player and adjusting the sound so it played in the back speakers of the
Saab.

   "Didn't you find it a little bit strange,' she began, talking so her
voice wouldn't reach the back seat.  "Yesterday, I mean, the way Linda
Waterson dressed for a back-yard barbecue.  Hell, I didn't dress that nice
for court appearances!'

   She glanced at her husband in time to see him grin before he responded,
"Yeah, but you gotta admit that's one fine lookin' body under those fancy
duds.'

   "You're incorrigible, Robert Rhett Graham!'

   "And the husband,' he continued, "not a bad lookin' guy himself.'

   Looking over at his wife, his eyes widening in mock seriousness, "You
aren't thinking...  Linda and me...  you and Harry...  the Bahamas all over
again.  Jesus Christ, Jessa!'

   Jessica Graham's response, filled with expletives, wasn't as carefully
modulated as she might have intended.

   "That's a naughty word, Mommy,' announced their daughter from the back
seat, sounding pleased-as-punch to have caught her mother.  This caused
Rhett to break out in laughter and he was joined reluctantly by his wife
moments later.



   - o -



   It was the following weekend, on Saturday night, that Jessica Graham's
vague uneasiness with her new community finally took shape.  Or, more
accurately, demanded more of her attention.

   She and Rhett were to host a dinner party for his direct reports at the
plant, their wives, and one important local supplier.  The company had an
entertainment budget for this kind of thing, so Jessica hired a caterer to
make and serve the meal, and to clean up afterward.

   She had busied herself with the menu choices, getting the house ready
and with memorizing the names and job titles of the people who would be
coming.  She had always been great at names and her trick was to invent in
her mind a dramatic play with all the people in whatever case she was
working on having parts.  The characters evolved as she learned more about
them and on more than one occasion she was able to spot a deception simply
because the person didn't act or sound right compared to their counterpart
in her imagination.



   Although she usually enjoyed social gatherings, and believed herself a
competent hostess, she was nervous about both the size of this one and the
fact that she'd know nobody there.

   With her friends in New England, she always knew what to serve for
dinner, what wines and spirits to have ready, and what music to play. 
Searching through her CD collection, she laughed in frustration as she
tried to figure what to play: The Beetles or Toad the Wet Sprocket; Janis
Joplin or Tracy Ulman; Tom Jones or Todd Rundgren?

   "What do mid-westerners, average age 35-45, listen to?' she asked
herself and then decided to quiz Linda.

   The girls, Katie and Sallie, were upstairs playing.  After a quick check
on them, she left to walk over to the Waterson house.  Taking the shorter
route toward the rear her neighbor's house, she stepped onto their deck and
approached the sliding glass doors of the breakfast nook, just off the
kitchen.  Nine times out of ten, it seemed to Jessica, this was where she'd
find Linda preparing a family meal or baking for any number of charity
functions.

   Looking through the glass doors, she saw only a spotless breakfast
table, an equally spotless kitchen and, beyond the open French doors, a
dining room table that gleamed in the afternoon light.

   Knowing that Linda and Harry were home, somewhere, she started to circle
the sprawling ranch house to get to the front door so that she could
discretely ring the door bell.  On the north side of the house, her eye
caught a movement through one of the windows and she stopped and turned,
finding herself looking into the Waterson's family room.

   Her jaw dropped open at the sight she saw, and she found herself
stepping to the side, an action of reflex rather than stealth, to avoid
detection.  Slowly she moved back, her eyes expecting to prove herself
wrong---it can't be!

   But it was.  As her line of sight cleared the window and she was once
again able to see into the family room, she saw again the scene that
muddled her preconceptions of the Waterson couple.

   Harry Waterson was sitting on the sofa that faced the TV, his
half-closed eyes focused on a baseball game on the tube.  Linda, his wife,
was kneeling on the floor between his legs, dressed as usual in a simple
but well cut summer dress, but her head was bobbing up and down on her
husband's cock.

   Jessica pulled herself back from this unexpected tableau, her breath
caught short, feeling a combination of guilt for having witnessed this and
voyeuristic excitement for having discovered that the pristine Linda
Waterson sucked cock with an enthusiasm that was impossible to fake.

   "Oh, fuck it, Jessa,' she said to herself and edged back until she once
again had a view of the couple.  This time she noticed that Harry's hand
had moved to the back of his wife's head and was pushing her head into his
lap, forcing the red-head to take all of his cock into her mouth and, Jessa
presumed, her throat.  She expected her up-tight neighbor to pull off and
object, but was surprised to see the opposite effect.  Linda's ass seemed
to sway in assenting circles as her mouth was forced onto her husband's
cock.  Again and again the red-head's face was skewered onto the cock while
it's owner, the Harry Waterson that always seemed so polite and gentlemanly
to Jessa, calmly watching his baseball game.

   Jessa was filled with conflicting feelings, not the least of which was
the knowledge that she had hopelessly misread Linda Waterson.  At the same
time, she resented Harry's treatment of his wife, knowing full well that
she allowed---no, encouraged---her own husband to occasionally treat her
like a common whore.  Once a month, sometimes more, Rhett would do
something like he did their last weekend in Boston, force her face-down
over the kitchen table, reach under her dress to rip off her panties, and
mount her.  It was always a quickie, her husband looking for nothing more
than his own release, but she always came just the same.

   She always came hard.

   Glancing back at the Waterson's, she saw Harry's eyes roll back and
watched his lips twist into a satisfied grimace.  What happened next caught
the young housewife by surprise: Harry's left hand, which had been guiding
his wife's efforts, grabbed hold of her perfectly coifed hair and pulled
her mouth off his cock.  His right hand took hold of his thick, glistening
rod and pumped it furiously.  Jessica watched open mouthed as Harry came,
sending rope after rope of cum into the face and hair of his wife.

   And the look...  the look on Linda Waterson's cum-splattered face was
one of exultation.

   Turning away, Jessica walked quickly back to her own house, her mind
completely confused by what she had seen, her own libido well in gear.

   "Show tunes,' she mumbled to herself as she closed her door behind her.
"That's what these strange people need, fuckin' show tunes!'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Three

   Saturday, August 19

   Evening



   The Graham's dinner party was scheduled to start at 7:30 with cocktails
and Hors D'ourves, with dinner served an hour later.

   Jessica's first surprise was that everyone came on-time.  The bell rang
at 7:30 and she and Rhett greeted three couples standing outside.  By 7:35
all of the sixteen invited guests were sitting or standing about her living
room, drinks in hand, chatting away.  This was unheard of in her
experience, but she explained it away as likely a mid-western trait.

   For the next twenty or thirty minutes, Jessica moved from group to
group, chatting comfortably with all of the guests.  In the background, her
mind developed characters for each person and pieced together a dramatic
play.

   And that was the problem.  She was quite able to place the men into
varied and appropriate roles.  Some were outgoing and flirty, some were
reserved and studious looking; some tall, some short; a few were
overweight...

   But the women, the wives of all the men associated with Rhett's plant,
were all the same.  It was astonishing.  Oh, they different in height, and
in eye and hair color.  But the eight women at the party all looked and
acted exactly like each other.  Slender, attractive, dressed perfectly if a
little conservatively, light makeup expertly applied, ready smile, and all
of them seemed to be at their husbands' side.  Jessica thought to herself
that she didn't know a single woman like this---she had no character for
them to play in her mind's game, much less eight such identical parts.

   She corrected herself---she knew one such woman---her neighbor, Linda
Waterson.  As soon as she voiced this thought she remembered the blow job
she had witnessed through their window and concluded, hopelessly, that she
didn't know her neighbor.

   She didn't know a damn thing.

   Noticing that her wine glass was empty, she went to the makeshift bar in
the family room to get a refill.  After further thought she decided to
switch to club soda.

   "I'd better keep my mind clear,' she thought, and gave her order to the
bartender.

   Another thought hit her as she rejoined the throng in the living room.
All seven of Rhett's direct reports were men.  The eighth guy at the party
ran a supplier company.  In this day and age, she would have expected a
woman or two at the senior level.

   Making her rounds again, she decided to test this.  Without asking
directly, she discovered that each of these managers had only men on his
staff, not counting secretaries.

   The last one she reached was the head of Human Resources at the plant.
Geoff Reynolds was, in her mind's eye, perfect for the part of a
warm-hearted and understanding uncle.  A little under fifty, graying at the
temples, he had an easy and warm smile, and laugh lines around his eyes.

   "Mr.  Reynolds,' she said after some small talk.  "This party seems to
me to be a great idea for team-building outside of the office.  Do you host
events like this for the men and women who report to you?'

   The hand lightly touching her arm as he leaned slightly toward her to
hear her question over the din in the room.  The smile.  The eye contact.
She had him cast perfectly.

   He nodded.  "I agree completely.  Helen and I try to do something twice
a year, a pool-side party in the summer...  a party around the holidays. 
My staff, their wives, kids, all invited.  It does wonders for morale.'

   Like the others, he had as much as said that all his staff were men. 
Feeling a little bolder now, she turned to his wife.

   "Helen,' she began, with just the right hint of humor about her mouth
and eyes, "should I worry about what your husband's done?  Assigning the
prettiest girl in Stepford as Rhett's secretary.'

   The woman laughed and told her not to worry.  As the woman spoke,
Jessica watched Reynold's reaction from the corner of her eye.  He
stiffened perceptibly, his eyes looking off before coming back to her face.

   She glanced at him and noticed a bit less color in his face.  But the
smile returned, and he said, "We like to give employees as much exposure to
the whole of the operation as possible.  Lisa had worked for me ever since
joining the company three years ago, right out of high school.  A little
young for that spot, maybe, but she's as organized and capable as any
clerical person at the plant.'

   Mrs.  Reynold's jumped in with, "See, I can tell you from personal
experience, given that Lisa's worked for my husband for three years, you've
got nothing to fear.  She's an absolute doll.'

   Smiling back at Helen, then at her husband, Jessica excused herself,
explaining that she had to see how dinner preparation was coming along. 
But before her eyes left Geoff Reynolds, she thought she detected a certain
tightness to his usually relaxed and open features.  The smile was there
but it seemed a tad more artificial than before.  It was her conclusion
that this talk of Lisa Quinn made the man uncomfortable.

   He was, she was sure, normally a man who can put on a mask to hide
whatever he's thinking.  Always smooth and personable was Mr.  Reynolds. 
But she'd seen the mask crack just a bit.

   Why?

   Had he been fucking this girl?

   Why'd he transfer her to Rhett?

   Why?



   The rest of the evening went very smoothly.  The food and wine were
excellent, Jessica thought, and all the guests seemed to have a good time.

   But all the time through dinner and after, until the last of the guests
excused themselves to go home, Jessica was piling up observations about
these Stepford couples, and became more and more anxious to discuss them
with Rhett.

   All of the wives sat next to their husbands at dinner, sipping a single
glass of wine through the meal.  The husbands had, she guessed, two or
three drinks before dinner and two glasses of wine during the meal.  She
was a big believer in the designated driver but here it was eight for
eight: The women were staying sober while the men had a good time.  When
Rhett joined her at office parties at the law firm, she was always the one
who limited herself to one or two drinks so she didn't say or do anything
stupid.  Similarly, at Rhett's office parties he was the DD.

   Each and every woman sat at the table with perfectly erect posture,
eating with the same elegance and care she had first noticed with Linda
Waterson.

   The women talked infrequently and seemed always ready to defer to their
husbands.  To second any opinions he offered.  And the touching.  Always
touching their husbands, lightly on the arm or thigh as they turned to make
a comment.

   The touching.

   After dinner, the guests milled about in three places: the large deck
outside, the living room, and near the family room bar.  Moving from room
to room, Jessica had more freedom to study her guests unnoticed: through
the window that looked over the deck, from the dining room into the living
room and so on.  Several times she saw the husbands patting their wives on
the ass, the gesture not unusual except for the strong sense it left on
Jessica.

   It said, "My wife.'

   "My ass.'

   "My property.'



   After the party she could tell immediately that Rhett was in one of
those moods.  He'd had a lot to drink, she knew, and was happy that the
party had gone so well.

   And he was horny.

   "Yo, woman, where are you?' she heard him shout, back inside after
walking the last couple to their car.

   "I want my woooooomaaaan,' he howled again.  "My sexy-as-hell Jessa
woman-child!'

   Katie was spending the night next door with the Waterson's, so Jessica
wasn't concerned about that.  But what she really wanted was to talk to
Rhett, to discuss the eerie things she had learned or guessed.

   "In here, Rhett,' she shouted back.  "The kitchen.'

   As Rhett came into the room, he was already shoeless and was unbuttoning
his shirt with a relish that should have told her that a conversation would
have to wait.

   Holding up her hand, she said, "Now wait Rhett...  honey, can we---'

   Ignoring her protest, his shirt now ripped off and tossed aside, Rhett
beat his fists against his hairy chest and howled.

   "Now hold on Tarzan.' But she was cut off my another howl.  More chest
beating.  Half of her was annoyed that he wasn't picking up on her mood,
the other half couldn't help but be amused at his ridicules antics.  By
now, however, she knew any serious conversation with Rhett would have to
wait 'till morning.

   Taking advantage of his next howl, when his eyes were mostly closed,
Jessica dashed past him and into the dinning room, flipping the light off
as she went through the room.  On her way up the stairs, she heard a bang
followed by a curse from her amorous pursuer.

   She smiled gleefully to herself but hoped he wasn't really hurt.  At the
top of the stairs she turned toward the master bedroom then paused, quickly
deciding to act on a sudden idea.  Closing that door, she dashed down the
hall to Katie's room, just managing to get inside before the sound of his
pounding feet announced that he was coming quickly up the stairs.

   Her dress was new and she liked it, just as she knew it would not
survive for even a minute if Rhett caught up with her.  Quickly unbuttoning
the bodice, she pulled it off her arms and let in fall into a heap at her
feet.

   "Bitch woman!' she heard him growl from the hall outside, then heard him
crash through the master bedroom door.  Knowing the layout of their room,
she knew she'd have about twenty seconds at the outside before he'd be able
to check out the bath, the walk-in closets and under the bed.

   She undid her bra and held it in one hand while she opened Katie's door
and crept outside into the hall.

   "You're just making it worse for yourself, bitch,' she heard from
somewhere in the next room.  Walking quickly but soundlessly in her
stocking feet, Jessica started down the stairs, leaving her bra draped over
the top stair, a grin on her face.

   At the bottom of the stairs she paused to holler back up, "Men are such
stupid people.  Fuckin' stupid!'

   Grinning at the angry howl in response to her tease, she backed herself
into the mostly empty coat closet at the bottom of the stairs.  Rhett's
thundering footsteps came down the stairs and then she heard nothing.

   No...  not nothing.  She could hear his breathing through the door. 
Then the sound of a zipper being pulled....  clothes rustling.

   "He's taking his pants off,' she said to herself, feeling her juices
start to flow at the prospect of him catching her.  In the pitch black of
the closet, she tried to recall what she had left on...  those black silk
panties, garter belt, stockings.

   If he didn't check the closet right away, and moved off to search
through the other rooms instead, she'd have plenty of time to unsnap the
garters and pull the panties off.

   She decided against that, not wanting to make it too easy for him.

   "I'm gonna find you, Jessa,' she heard from another part of the first
floor, "and I'm gonna fuck you, bitch!'

   Opening the door just a crack, she stuck her head half-way out and said,
in a voice that she knew would carry, "I'll bet Harry's smarter and that he
could catch me...  Hell, I know he's got a bigger cock than you.'

   Closing the door, her face split into a big grin as she heard Rhett
curse and growl, running now, searching.

   She knew it was coming, but when the door was yanked open a few minutes
later it scared her.  She cried out involuntarily and again when he grabbed
her arm and pulled her to him.  Growling again like some beast, Rhett
ducked down and pulled her over his shoulder, holding the backs of her
thighs in an iron grip.  Jessa's body was bent in half, her torso pressing
into his muscular back, her hands trying desperately to find something to
hold on to.

   He was walking now, but in the darkness and in her disorienting
upside-down position, Jessa couldn't tell exactly where.  She felt his
hand, though, when he reached behind his head and swatted her ass.

   "Fucking whore,' he said as he slapped her again and again.

   It was not really that hard, but it stung a little, and it kept her
disoriented.  It also made her pussy juice itself, and her nipples
stiffened until they were rock hard, pressing into Rhett's back. The
spanking stopped and she realized he was no longer moving.  A drawer was
opened, then slammed shut.

   "The kitchen!' she said to herself, recognizing even in the dark the
U-shaped section of base cabinets.

   Then he was moving again, taking her into the dinning room that they'd
just used to entertain his colleagues from the plant.  With dexterity that
was amazing given the alcohol he'd consumed, he flipped her off his back,
catching her as her feet hit the floor, and turned her roughly around. 
Within seconds she found herself face down on the dinning room table,
pushed and shoved until her entire body was spread onto the gleaming
hardwood surface.  Soon Rhett was on top of her, straddling her back.

   He worked silently now, at what she couldn't quite tell.  She heard a
knife cutting through something and a light pressure on her neck.  More
cutting and a second...  something fell against her shoulder.

   "Clothesline,' she realized, seeing it out of the corner of her eye. 
"He's going to tie me up,' she thought next, with a combination of concern
and excitement.  They'd never done this before, not really, and she found
herself wondering if she'd gone too far with her teasing.

   Her wrists were seized and wrapped tightly together with the
clothesline. She felt his body rise off her, then a sharp slap on her
panty-covered ass.

   "Don't even think of moving, cunt!'

   She felt her arms being pulled forward until they were pressed against
the side of her head as Rhett pulled the free end of line and tied it to
something under the table.  Slapping her ass again, he chuckled cruelly as
he began working on an ankle, looping it with clothesline, then tying the
other end to something, a table leg perhaps.  When he was finished, her
legs were pulled wide apart, the ankles secured, and she felt as vulnerable
as she had ever been.

   "You're in for a long night, bitch!'

   She felt a blade slide under the bottom edge of her panties and then a
ripping sound as his knife cut through them.  Then she felt him climb back
on the table...  his hand, grabbing her ass possessively, rudely, then his
fingers slid down and found her sex.  Found it dripping wet.

   "This is just for starters,' she heard him say, his mouth very close to
her ear, his cock probing for her sex, popping inside.

   "Hmmf,' she cried as his body suddenly came forward and down, on top of
her, his cock driving at once to the hilt.  She had a hard time breathing
as the blows came hard and fast, his hips slapping into her ass, his
pistoning cock punishing the walls of her slick cunt.  He was not making
love to her, but ramming his cock in and out, digging for his orgasm from
the beginning.  She soon realized the force of his thrusts was causing her
to slide forward, the hard wood of the table uncomfortable against her
breasts and knees.  As best she could she held her bound hands against the
table but soon her ankles started to hurt as the clothesline was pulled
taught.

   Then, at last, she felt his cock being to spurt inside her, and his hot
breath on her neck.

   "Fuckin' bitch...  fuckin' whore,' he muttered over and over as he
emptied his balls into his bound wife.



   Jessica Graham was tired, a little scared, and, above all, wondering
what had become of her husband.  She was where he had left her five minutes
ago, lying face down on the hard dining room table, her wrists and ankles
bound tightly in place, her body in the shape of an upside down Y.  Five
minutes, maybe longer, she thought, since he had finished his brutal taking
of her; pulling his spent cock from her abused sex, pausing only long
enough to slap her ass before leaving.

   Over the years they'd experimented a little with sex games, but never
anything like this.  She'd tied Rhett to the headboard, and vice versa, but
with the silk scarves they used it would be child's play to escape.  A
little spanking.  But this was different.  The clothesline binding her
wrists and ankles was tied so tight it hurt a little.

   She could feel his cum leaking from her, pooling on the table, and felt
completely embarrassed.  And vulnerable. A loud, unexpected sound startled
Jessica, her head trying to turn to find it's source, but in vain.  It was
behind her, at the other end of the table, and she couldn't get her head to
turn that way.

   "Miss me, cunt?  I've brought a few supplies.'

   "Rhett, goddammitt...  enough's enough---'

   This earned her a quick five wacks on her ass from something that she
couldn't see, but whatever is was, it smarted.

   "That's a yard stick, if you're wondering,' he said, his voice not
unpleasant.  "Every time you give me sass, whore, you'll get another five.'

   "Rheeeeeeet...' she wailed, earning another five quick swats.

   "Stay quiet, bitch,' he said, his tone happy.  "Now, you know I wouldn't
hurt a good little slut like you...  well, probably I won't...  but I am
gonna have a little fun tonight.'

   Jessica suppressed a retort, then settled down.  This'll be okay, she
told herself...  you trust Rhett more than anyone else on the planet.  Just
relax.

   She heard a bottle being uncorked and poured.  A few minutes later, a
satisfied smack of the lips. "You should see yourself from down here, Jessa
dear...  legs spread, cum drippin' out of your slut pussy...  it's quite a
sight.  Maybe I should call Harry over from next door.  I'm quite sure he's
never seen *his* wife look quite this slutty.'

   "Say...  you mentioned him earlier, didn't you...  what was that you
said?  Ah, something about him being smart enough to catch you.  Wait,
there was something else...  hmmm, let me see...  ah, now I got it.  You
said he has a bigger cock than me.  How might you know that, Jessa?  You've
been whorin' again?'

   Thinking he was being rhetorical (in addition to intentionally crude),
Jessica didn't respond.  Then she felt the yard stick on her ass, turning
sideways, the edge sliding down her crack until it stopped just over her
anus.

   "I asked you a question, bitch,' he said, pressing the stick forward
against her anus.  "You been whorin'?'

   "No, Rhett....  I just saw him."

   "Saw him?  His cock?"

   "Yeah, um, this afternoon, before the party, ah...' she stopped, not
knowing quite how to say it.

   The pressure of the stick increased.

   "Okay, okay...  I was looking for Linda, and, um, I happened to see the
two of them, in their family room."

   "This *is* interesting!' said Rhett.  "They were fucking?"

   "No, she...  she was giving him a blow job."

   "No!" he said, then laughed.  "Linda Waterson giving head!  I can't
believe it."

   Jessica found herself relaxing a bit, Rhett's disbelief reminding her
just how shocked and excited she had been to watch the display.

   "Not just a blow job, Rhett,' she said.  "He was sittin' on the couch,
watchin' a damn baseball game.  Fully clothed except that his pants were
pulled down.  And she was too, fully clothed I mean, looking like she
always does, kneeling between his legs sucking him something crazy.'

   "Deep?'

   "All the way deep!' she said.  "His hand was on her head, forcing her at
first, but she was into it...  I mean *into* it!'

   "Shee-it,' Rhett said.  "Where were you?'

   "Outside.  Tried the kitchen, then I was making my way around to the
front door when I saw them.'

   "How long did you watch?  You turning into a voyeur?'

   She giggled.  "Five minutes maybe.'

   "Hmmm.'

   Remembering the conclusion of the blow job, she said, "If you'll untie
me I'll tell you something else, something amazing.  C'mon, Rhett, please.'

   She felt the stick tapping up and down on her ass, then heard Rhett
scoot his chair back and rise.  Shortly, she felt his hand on her ass,
caressing her gently.  Then something cold, directly on her anus, his
finger, she was sure, coated with something, pushing inside her ass.

   "Rhett!' she complained.

   "Tell me.'

   The finger pushed inside, continuing until the last knuckle.

   Jessica liked having her ass played with, but didn't like the idea or
practice of anal sex.  They'd done it twice, the last time a year ago, and
she had not really enjoyed it.  Both times, mercifully, Rhett had cum very
quickly.  She was worried now, bound and defenseless as she was, that he'd
take this time to try it again.

   "Rhett---'

   He was apparently ready for this, and brought the stick down hard on her
ass, once, twice...  five times.  It stung, but she bit her lips and
refused to cry out.

   The finger fuck of her ass continued for several minutes and began
feeling very nice to her.  When he finally did pull it out she actually
felt disappointed.  But a few seconds later, something larger was pressing
into her.

   "Ohhhhh,' she moaned as the object was forced slowly into her ass.

   "Just a small carrot, Jessa, baby,' he said.  "There, it's all the way
in.'

   She felt an incredibly full sensation, like she had to take a shit.  The
carrot, she could tell, was slowly starting to be expelled.

   "Tell me.'

   "Untie me,' was her stubborn retort.  "I promise you, It'll be worth
it.'

   He laughed.  "Sweet Jessa, for me it'll be even more "worth it', to use
your words, if you don't tell me.'

   Feeling completely embarrassed that she was shitting the carrot right in
front of Rhett, she groaned.

   The flash, coming with no advanced notice, surprised her, then shocked
her as she realized that Rhett had just taken a Polaroid of her, in the
most slutty position she could imagine.

   Her protest earned her another five swats, then five more, until she
could tell that her ass was hot and pink.

   The light went on a minute later and after the darkness of the past
half-hour, the brightness hurt her eyes.

   "Hmmmm,' he said, "it's a pity you're not recognizable in this...  well,
unless somebody knows you *real* well.  Here, take a look.'

   He propped the print up against a salt shaker, a foot away from her
face. She moaned to herself as she stared at the picture.  It showed a
woman's legs stretched wide, panties ripped apart, a carrot sticky lewdly
out of her ass, cunt stretched wide, a pool of juices on the table top and
coating her garters.  She could hardly believe it was her.  As she stared
at the slutty picture a strange thing popped into her head, and she broke
out in laughter.

   And then she couldn't stop.  It hurt to laugh, tied as she was, but
every time she thought she had herself under control that thought
re-entered her head and she lost it again.

   Rhett moved to take a seat near her head, a grin on his face, his eyes
crinkled with amusement.

   "What?' he said, repeating it several times before she was able to take
a breath and calm down.

   "I was just wondering---' which was as far as she got before breaking
out into giggles.

   "...  wondering what these Stepford wives---'

   "...  do to remove cum stains---'

   "...  off their dinning room tables.'

   Rhett laughed along with her.  When they wound down, his face took on a
serious expression and he said, "I'll bet that happens *all* the time.'

   She smiled at him and then said, "That's the funny part...  maybe... 
well, okay, I'll tell you.'

   She picked up where she left off, describing how Linda Waterson was deep
throating her husband.  She could tell from Rhett's expression that he was
hooked, and his eyes went wide when she described in great detail how he
pulled her off of his cock and jacked off into her face.

   "Harry Waterson gave Linda...  a facial?'

   "Cum was everywhere,' she said.  "All over her face, dripping off her
chin, in her hair...  she was a mess.  But I caught a glimpse of her face
and it was like...  like a devout Catholic who just got communion from His
Holiness the Pope.'

   "Jesus...'

   "Rapture, Rhett...  that's what her face was like.'

   Rhett was quiet for a moment, then looked back at his wife, a resigned
smile on his face.

   "Well, I guess this means I'll have to let you up.'

   "I really would appreciate it, babe.'

   After an exaggerated sigh, he moved to the head of the table and
released the line that secured her wrists.  To her surprise, though, he
returned to his seat near her head without having released her ankles. 
Although her wrists were still bound, she was glad for the freedom of
movement and that her body was no longer stretched so tightly.

   "I'll release you in two or three minutes, babe.  Between now and then I
want to say something.  No interruptions please.'

   She started to speak but decided just to nod her head.  To make herself
more comfortable, she rose until she was resting on her elbows and
forearms, and looked at Rhett.

   "You probably know how much I adore you,' he said, reaching to gently
caress the breasts that were no longer crushed against the table.  Her
nipples stiffened under his caress.

   "How much I love you,' he continued.  His right hand slid over her
thighs and between her legs.  She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers
enter her sex.  Another digit, his thumb she assumed, made small circles
over her rosette before pressing inside.

   After the rough, physical way he'd taken her earlier, slamming his cock
into her, spanking her with his hands and that yardstick, it was heavenly
to feel his hands caressing her breasts and the gentle probing of his
fingers and thumb inside her.

   And the sound of his voice, soft and caressing in it's tone, saying
those things from his heart that she knew were there but was thrilled to
hear him say.  As he talked his hand, down below, moved back and forth, in
and out, four fingers pushing into her cunt, stretching her, while his
thumb drove effortlessly into her ass.

   Her eyes closed so she could lose herself in the experience, she felt
her senses overwhelmed by all the stimuli: the loving voice, the nipples
pulled taut the released, the tingling pleasure coming from her sex, the
incredible feeling of fullness as her ass and cunt were filled with Rhett.
Stuffed with him.

   She held back as long as she could, wanting the incredible sensations to
continue, but it was impossible.  When she came it was as hard as she ever
had, her body and mind filled with explosive waves of pleasure, again and
again until she collapsed onto the table, barely conscious.



   When she opened her eyes she saw Rhett rolling up the clothesline and
noticed that her wrists were free.  Her ankles had also been freed, she
discovered quickly.  After climbing off the table and stretching her sore
limbs, she turned to Rhett.

   "What were you going to do to me?  If I didn't tell, that is.'

   "Oh, I don't know,' he lied.

   "Yes you do,' she said, chuckling to herself and approaching him.  "You
were gonna fuck my ass, Rhett Graham.'

   He took her into his arms and kissed her.

   "Your wife, the mother of your child,' she said, pausing to kiss him
again, "and you were gonna butt-fuck me while I was tied up and utterly
defenseless.'

   Kissing him again, she could feel his cock pressed tightly between them,
feel it jerk against her belly.  He wanted her.  She knew just what he
wanted of her.

   But, she was a lawyer.

   "Honey, I'll be waiting upstairs you.  I'd really love it if you fucked
me tonight, my ass I mean.'

   Rhett looked down into her hazel eyes and said, "You mean it?  Really?'

   "Two conditions,' she said.  "One, you clean up this mess while I
shower. Two, I get two hours of your undivided attention tomorrow, just to
talk.'

   "Fuck yes!  It's a deal.'



   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Four

   Sunday, August 20
10:00 a.m.



   While the Graham's were sitting drinking coffee, she talking about her
observations of the wives from the previous night, he listening, another
conversation was going on that would have greatly disturbed Stepford's
newest residents.

   At the eighth hole of the Stepford Hills Country Club, Dr.  Richard
Poulsen and Geoff Reynolds sat in their golf cart and waited for the
foursome ahead of them to finish putting out on the green.  Across the
fairway waited the other half of their foursome, County Sheriff Ernie Grant
and Dr.  Walt Abbott, the director of the town's small but modern hospital.

   "I don't think it's anything to panic over,' said Reynolds.  "She was in
all likelihood just making conversation.'

   Poulsen pursed his lips.  "Maybe, maybe not.  She has by all accounts an
extremely intelligent and curious mind.  It worries me, Geoff, that she's
asking about women at the plant.  And her barb about Lisa Quinn, well, that
worries me even more.'

   "Should we pull Lisa out?'

   The doctor hesitated.  "No, I think that would raise even more questions
in her mind, and his.'

   The foursome left the green and the men got out to finish the hole.  At
the next opportunity, Poulsen continued. "We have the same two problems we
always have.  First, to keep her, or any new woman, from asking too many
questions while RCA corrects her personality and outlook.  With this woman
we have to be careful.  It would be surprising, actually, if the Graham
whore could relate to women who have found their true calling.  The bitch
is probably a feminist.  Rest assured that we are monitoring her closely.'

   "The second problem is the husband.  He may very well be misguided like
a lot of men.  We should assume so, given the woman he chose to marry.  He
is likely to notice the changes in his wife three or four weeks hence. 
While all men come to appreciate the change, we don't want him asking a lot
of questions, maybe taking her someplace for tests.'

   "So we stick with Lisa Quinn,' concluded Reynolds.  "So she can seduce
him and demonstrate, first hand, what sex is like with a Stepford woman.'

   The doctor nodded but in his mind he was correcting Reynolds.  "Not a
"Stepford woman', he thought to himself, "A Righteous Woman.' He had named
his compound Righteous Change Agent, RCA for short, for just that reason.
And he had planned from the beginning to use Stepford as the testing ground
before sharing the good fortune with the rest of the Americas, then
worldwide.

   The doctor's longer term problem was the logistics to support nationwide
expansion.  He didn't have the equipment to manufacture the agent in the
volume necessary for the many hundreds of reservoirs across the country. 
It would also mean people, lots of confidants, and he had understood this
from the beginning.  To expand the operation would take men who would
understand his vision and take calculated risks for the cause.  For
mankind. It was almost time to bring these men into the operation.

   Poulsen took a great deal of care recruiting people.  In this small town
he had six people on his team.  Sheriff Ernie Grant had been the first and
one of the easiest.  Poulsen had learned from the gossip mongers---the
barber, the waitress at the coffee shop, the bartender at Joe's
Place---that the Sheriff had a problem with his wife.  She had unexpectedly
inherited a good sized sum from her grandfather two years earlier, the
interest from which she spent entirely on herself.  Originally quite an
attractive girl, Mrs.  Grant had begun to drink and eat too much.

   Poulsen began by dropping by Joe's place when the Sheriff was there,
buying him an occasional drink, learning from him first hand how his wife
had become an embarrassment to him.  After several weeks, Poulsen took the
man to a back booth in the bar and made his pitch.

   "What would it mean to you to have your bride back?  What I mean is
this: A healthy, vibrant woman, one who eats and drinks in moderation and
exercises an hour-a-day to keep her body fit; is attentive to her
appearance, always looking and acting like a woman that you'd be proud to
have on your arm.  Would it please you to have your wife---this woman I've
just described---to value her service to you, her husband, above all
things?'

   Sheriff Grant broke out in laughter but slowly came down as he noticed
the serious expression on the doctor's face.

   "You shitin' me, doc?  If you've got a pill for that, I wanna buy the
franchising rights...  heh, heh...  there ain't a man on this planet who
wouldn't line up to buy it.'

   "I have a pill for that,' Poulsen said, his voice serious.  "But, please
understand that it's not my aim to reap commercial rewards.  Quite the
opposite, Sheriff.  I've spent twenty years developing this additive as a
service to mankind.  To help women realize their true purpose in life.  But
my mission would be crippled...  destroyed, if the public knew about the
existence of this drug.'

   As their conversation continued, the skeptical doubt never left the
man's eyes but Poulsen could see the flickering beginnings of hope. 
Preying on that, he convinced the Sheriff to allow him to demonstrate with
his wayward wife.  Each morning, Grant added a small capsule of diluted RCA
to the water used to make the morning coffee.

   Three weeks later Sheila Grant stopped drinking.  A month after that she
had lost twenty-five pounds from a diet and a rigorous, self-imposed
exercise program.  Even more dramatic, to her husband, was the compete
change in her attitude toward him.  She was deferential, affectionate and
caring, and incredibly enthusiastic in bed.

   Doctor Poulsen had his first confidant.

   He used similar techniques to get Geoff Reynolds at the Manufacturing
Plant, Dr.  Abbott at the hospital, and Conners at the water department. 
All of this was before the additive was introduced to the town reservoir.

   The penultimate member of his Stepford team was Lisa Quinn.  The girl
had been seventeen when Dr.  Abbott had treated her for a broken arm along
with suspicious cuts and bruises.  A quick scan of her medical history
uncovered other trips to the ER, clear cases of abuse.  The doctor and
Sheriff were able to have her removed from her home and kept in the
hospital while they treated her injuries and gave her RCA.

   A series of hypnosis sessions followed until the beautiful girl was as
devoted to their cause, and to them personally, as the other Stepford women
were to their husbands.  She was a weapon they had used on a number of
occasions since.

   Mike O'Brien had been recruited a few months later.  The lazy
psychologist would have been surprised to learn that his lack of ambition
was one of the things that helped Dr.  Poulsen conclude that he would be a
good assistant.  The doctor was a shrewd judge of character and knew that
he'd have O'Brien's complete loyalty in exchange for access to pliant,
highly sexed women of his choosing.  He knew of his aide's frequent use of
hypnosis to sample the married women in the town for his own enjoyment. 
The doctor feigned ignorance but monitored his assistant's actions very
closely.



   - o -



   "Okay, Jessa,' said Rhett after she had finished telling all of her
observations of the wives from the previous night, their husbands, and
Linda Waterson.  She laid out the evidence like the attorney she was,
effectively building a case that Something Was Wrong, but not even
attempting to draw any more substantive conclusion.

   "I also noticed the lack of women in supervisory positions at the Plant,
and intended to make it a discussion topic for next week's staff meeting.'

   "And...' he continued, then paused.  "Y'know, I've noticed but haven't
really thought about this until now...  the curious behavior of all the
women I've met at the Plant.  They're so...  helpful would have been the
word I might have chosen, but that's not right...'

   "Solicitous?' offered Jessica.  "Obedient?'

   "Yes, that's more the flavor,' he said.  "Obedient, eager to please. 
Lisa Quinn, for example, I've got this feeling that if I asked her to clean
off my desk using nothing but her tongue, shit, she'd do it.'

   Jessica looked at her husband, thoughtful.  One of the things she loved
about Rhett was his trust in her and his confidence in her intelligence...
his willingness to listen to her describe a difficult case, and how his
probing questions helped her find the answer she sought.  He didn't try to
become an armchair attorney, or to take over, and he wasn't threatened by
her mind.  He just asked the right questions.  If this needed confirmation,
which it didn't, she got it from many of the people in Boston who'd worked
for Rhett.

   "He listens, asks the right questions, then he listens.'

   "Do you think...' she began and then started again.  "Tell me honestly,
Rhett, if you asked Lisa Quinn to pull up her skirt and lean over your
desk, would she do it.  Would she let you fuck her.'

   Rhett laughed and blushed just a bit.  He didn't answer her right away,
and she watched his face as he thought it over.

   "Yes,' he said at last.  "I may be wrong...  my ego may be acting up but
I don't think so.  Because I don't think it's me...  I think she'd do just
about anything for anyone she supported.  Well, that's my guess.'

   Looking again at his wife, guessing where she was going, he said, "Linda
Waterson?'

   "Uh huh,' she said.  "That look on her face...'

   Rhett sat back and thought for a long time, with his eyes closed.

   "That's where we start,' he said, reaching for the portable phone. 
Jessica caught his eye after he punched in a number, her eyebrows raised in
a question, but he merely smiled.

   "Hi, Linda, Rhett here....  yes, it went super, thanks for all your
help. I'm calling to see if we can take the girls off your hands tonight,
both of them.  Give you and Harry a chance to enjoy an evening out, or a
quiet evening at home...  No, it would be our pleasure, really.  We'll take
em' out to a movie, and have em' in bed by nine....  that's great.'

   "What was that all about,' she asked when he rang off.

   "Remember last night,' he began, then stopped when he saw the color that
suddenly rushed into his wife's face.  It was obvious from her expression
that she was recalling the fuck on the dining room table or, more likely he
decided, what they did later.  For the first time he had fucked Jessa in
the ass, really fucked her.  The two other times he had talked her into it
had gone badly; he'd been so excited by the novelty of the act that he'd
cum almost as soon as his cock was lodged in her vice-like ass.  Last night
was different.  He took his time preparing her and then entering her,
waiting until her narrow passage could accommodate his cock before moving
in and out.  Slowly, very slowly at first.  What followed was an incredible
ten or fifteen minutes of fucking that had her cuming numerous times before
his control finally deserted him and his cock erupted time and time again.

   "No Jessa, not that,' he said, pushing the images aside, his voice a
little shaky.  "Remember when I teasingly called you a voyeur?  Well, sweet
girl, tonight we're gonna see what the Waterson's do with an evening alone
in their empty house.'

   "What's that gonna tell us?'

   "I'm not sure,' he conceded.  "But I for one need more data, and it's
either spy on them or seduce Lisa Quinn.  Now, I like to think of myself as
a trooper, someone who will give his all for the cause, but...'

   "Okay, okay...  we'll try the Watersons.'

   "First,' he said, earning himself a sharp kick.



   - o -



   The girls, Katie Graham and Sallie Waterson, had been in bed and asleep
for over an hour when Rhett saw the neighbor's sedan pull into their
driveway and then into the garage.

   "They back, from dinner?' asked Jessica.

   "Appears so,' he said, glancing at his watch.  "I should give them a few
minutes before heading over.  I'll come back and get you if there's
anything to see.'

   Rhett was dressed in a dark turtleneck and dark trousers.  He carefully
smeared over his face a medium blue goop they had made earlier from a piece
of his daughter's sidewalk chalk along with some cold cream mixed in a food
processor.

   "As a secret agent, Rhett,' his wife observed, trying not to smile,
"well, hubby---keep your day job.'

   "Bitch,' he growled, but he'd seen his face in the mirror, and he was
smiling too.

   He gave his wife a hug and slipped outside.  By the time he had jogged
across the lawn that separated their houses, his pulse was much higher than
normal.  It wasn't the short jog, and he couldn't decide what excited him
more...  the illegal trespass or the thought that he might luck out and see
something like Jessa had seen the day before.

   Approaching the house from the back, he saw a light come on in the far
left corner of the house.  Creeping up to the kitchen window, he risked a
peek inside just as the back-lit shape of Linda Waterson entered the room
from the one in front of it.  Ducking his head down just as the kitchen
light was turned on, he sat and tried to remember the layout of the house.

   Rhett heard Linda's voice through the partially opened window, and it
took him a few seconds to realize that she was on the phone conversing with
Jessa.  Checking on her daughter, he assumed.

   He also realized that he shouldn't be this close to the house, at least
not yet.  They may decide to come out to the deck.  Even if they didn't
he'd be impossible to see from a lighted room if he was three or four paces
back.  But before he could retreat he heard the voice of Harry Waterson.

   "That was quite a performance you put on for that waiter.'

   "Harry, dear, what do you mean?'

   "Don't give me that shit, woman.  He was looking down your dress all
evening, ogling your tits.  You were letting him.  Don't deny it or it will
be worse on you.  I noticed when you came back from the restroom with a
extra button un-done.'

   "That was for you, honey.  I know how you like---'

   "Not another word, bitch!  If I want to see your tits, I'll bring you
home and rip your fuckin' dress off.  If I want to be seen in public with a
slut I'll hire a fuckin' whore.'

   Rhett listened to this exchange with interest.  The tone of the couple
wasn't at all like the playful games that Jessa and he played.  Harry was
pissed.  She on the defensive.  There was a long pause before Harry spoke
again.

   "The bedroom...  you slut!'

   Rhett crept away from the window, toward the garage, and hopped over the
railing of the deck, landing softly on his feet, his knees bent to help him
land.  Circling around the deck, twenty or so feet from the house, he could
see very clearly into the well-lit kitchen.  Harry was alone in the room,
pouring himself a generous drink into a large snifter.  Some sort of
liqueur, Rhett realized, as his neighbor swirled it around in the glass
before taking a sip.

   Continuing around to the right, past the corner of the house, Rhett
edged his way past the family room windows, Jessa's surveillance post of
the other day.  He saw a light come on in a window farther down, in what he
believed would be the master bed room.

   "I hope they don't pull the curtains,' he thought to himself as he made
his way down.  "This I've gotta see.'

   This side of the house, faced a thick copse of trees about thirty feet
away.  This was where Rhett decided to go.  Looking back at the house, he
could see two well-lit windows.  The larger one was quite tall, almost
floor-to-ceiling, and gave Rhett a perfect view of the left third of the
master bedroom.  It's vertical blinds were left open.  Two hanging
plants... a TV center beyond, then the door.  He could see just the edge of
their bed.  The second window was higher up, directly over the bed, he
guessed, but this one had curtains drawn.  They material wasn't very
substantial, however, and through it he could see the form of Linda
Waterson.

   She was undressing, her back to him, and his pulse quickened as he
watched through the not-quite-opaque curtain.  The dress slid off her
shoulders...  she bent down, below his view...  back up now, taking the
dress with her as she moved off to the right, out of his view.

   "She's hanging the dress up in the closet,' he thought to himself. 
Another light came on, farther to his right.  The opaque window told him it
was their bathroom, and he decided that now was a good time to creep
closer, to get a better idea of the room and possible viewing spots.

   As he edged up to the tall window he found he could see much of the room
peering in from the left edge of the window.  King-sized bed up against the
outside wall.  Dressers opposite the bed.  The far wall had saloon-type
doors leading to a walk-in closet.  The bathroom door he couldn't see but
surmised that it must be to the right of the closet.  Keeping that same
angle for his perspective, he backed up, into the darkness, until he was
twelve or fifteen feet away, comfortably beyond the range of the bedroom
lighting.

   When Linda Waterson returned to the bedroom, his cock stiffened in his
pants.  She was nude, striding toward his end of the room, and his eyes
took in the red-head's terrific body.  Good-sized breasts with rose-colored
nipples standing out like little beacons.  A firm, flat stomach leading
down to the V of her crotch, and then he noticed that she had no pubic
hair. Even from where he was he could see the lips of her sex between her
well-formed thighs.

   His head-on view of her body was lost when she sat down on the corner of
the bed, facing the door.  He had a view of her back, one leg, and the side
of one breast.  There was something about her pose that struck him as
odd... it was so unlike Linda Waterson.  Her legs were spread wide, he
could tell, and she held her hands clasped behind her back.  Her posture
was as erect as ever but her head was lowered.

   Then it hit him, and his cock jerked anew in his pants.  "Shit,' thought
Rhett.  "Ol' Harry's gonna get himself an eye-full when he comes through
that door.'

   Less than a minute later he did.  Closing the door behind him he stood
six feet away from his wife and stared, his expression showing anticipation
and lust...  and ownership.  Rhett watched as Harry unbuckled his belt,
expecting the man to undress.  Instead, he pulled the belt slowly through
the loops of his pants until it was free.  After doubling the belt onto
itself, he approached his wife.

   Rhett watched open-mouthed as he ran the belt over Linda's face, then
her breasts and finally between her wide open legs.  He was saying
something to his wife, but Rhett couldn't hear the words.  After a minute
Harry turned and walked away, around the bed and toward the bathroom.

   Linda got up a moment later and turned toward Rhett, then walked
directly toward him.  It seem to him that her green eyes were boring into
his, through the window and across the dozen or so feet beyond.  His breath
caught in his throat.  But she stopped a few feet from the window and
turned, reaching up to one of the hanging plants.

   Letting his breath out, Rhett realized he was safe.  His eyes once again
feasted on the body that was centered perfectly in the window, seeing now
that she was much closer the puffy lips of her sex and the hint of pink
flesh within.  She turned away from him and he got a great view of her
firm, shapely ass swaying provocatively as she walked away.

   Walked away with the plant, after having unhooked it from the sturdy J
hook in the ceiling.

   "What the...,' thought Rhett.  "She's watering the fuckin' house
plants?'

   She placed the plant on the dresser and returned to carefully unhook the
second plant and bring it to dresser.  When she returned it was with a long
wooden...  something, and...  "Shit,' thought Rhett, "those are chains!'

   He watched as she placed the wooden thing, a bench, he decided, long but
no more than six inches high, on the carpeted floor.  Standing on the
bench, stretching her body to it's utmost height, she attached one end of a
short chain onto the J hook that used to support one of the plants.  The
other chain was attached next, each hanging a little over two feet down. 
At the bottom of each chain was a D ring.

   Then the housewife returned to sit on the bed, adopting the same pose as
before, thighs spread, arms behind her, head lowered submissively.

   At this point Rhett decided to go get his wife.  As much as he'd hate to
miss anything that happened, he knew that Jessa would enjoy it as much as
he.  It was hard to turn away from his view of the nude housewife, but he
did, jogging quietly back to his house.



   He was back at his neighbor's house with Jessica inside three or four
minutes.  Rhett had whispered to her what he had heard and seen as they
jogged back and then crept along the edge of the trees until they came to
Rhett's spot.

   "Oh!' said Jessa, her hands coming up to her mouth, concerned that her
involuntary gasp might be heard by the Waterson's.  They seemed so close,
framed as they were behind the tall window in the well-lit room.

   Jessa could feel Rhett's hand on hers, squeezing gently in a signal to
stay quiet, but her attention was focused completely now on the scene
before her.

   A completely nude Linda Waterson was standing on some low platform, her
arms stretched up and in front of her, dark straps around her wrists were
attached somehow to chains hanging from the ceiling.  Her legs were split
far apart and the straps around her ankles were fastened to D-rings in the
wooden platform.  She was leaning slightly forward at the waist, her hands
with those perfect fingers spread, bracing herself, against the wall.

   The flash of something brought her attention to Harry, but only briefly.
He was naked as well, his cock sticking almost straight out from his loins,
and he had just finished whipping his wife.

   Her eyes darted back to Linda as she jerked in response to the blow to
her ass, her perfectly shaped breasts bouncing up and down.  Jessa watched
as the husband stepped forward and reached with the whip---no, a belt she
now noticed---between his wife's spread thighs.

   He was saying something, Jessa knew, while he drew the belt back and
forth between her legs, but she couldn't make it out, not over the beating
of her own heart.  Watching the belt slide back and forth, seeing the red
hue of her neighbors ass, Jessa felt her juices flow, surprised and a
little ashamed that she was so excited by this scene.

   Jessica's eyes returned to the woman's breasts and she found herself
wetting her lips with her tongue as he imagined what it would be like to
suck and chew on those long thick nipples.  The red-head's smallish rosy
aureoles stood out distinctly from the milky white flesh of her mounds,
puffy and engorged in their own right.  So damn suckable, she thought, and
she would not have been at all surprised that her husbands thoughts at that
moment mirrored her own.

   Glancing higher, she could see only a bit of her neighbors profile, with
most of her face hidden behind the arm that stretched diagonally forward
and up, the hands splayed against the wall above the level of her head. 
But she could see that her face was wet and that her lips were moving.  She
was saying something to Harry.

   Whatever she said seemed to satisfy her tormentor and he pulled the belt
from between his wife's legs and tossed it behind him onto the bed.  He
stepped up then, behind his wife, his hand angling his angry-looking cock
toward his target.  His entry was sudden and quick, and Jessa could hear
the slap of his hips into her ass from where she was, and see the
red-head's body jerk in response to the brutal penetration of her sex.

   Another thrust followed quickly, the cock drawn back so that Jessa could
see the slick shaft for only a moment before it's owner stabbed it forward
again, jarring the bound woman's body when his hips slammed against her
ass. His hands were on her hips, fingers gripping for leverage, thumbs
pressing into the soft flesh of her ass.

   Jessica watched as the steady pounding continued, feeling guilty that
she was watching, more that she was enjoying herself so much.  After
several minutes she caught another glimpse of Linda's face when the woman's
head fell back.  The red-head's eyes were closed, lips parted, nostrils
flaring, and then her face flushed pink as her body shook with a powerful
orgasm.

   "Shit,' she heard whispered from behind her as she and Rhett watched
Linda Waterson cum.  They could her cries even through the window, even
over the rhythmic slapping of their bodies as Harry slammed into her, time
and time again.

   As he watched the pleasure reflecting in the woman's beautiful face,
Jessica wondered to herself if she looked that good when she came.



   - o -



   Back in their own house after their voyeuristic expedition, Rhett and
Jessica sat across from one another, silent, sipping brandy.  The liqueur
stung as it went down, but it instantly warmed her.  It hadn't been cold
outside, but the brutal treatment of Linda Waterson had chilled her all the
same.

   She had just finished watching her neighbor, somebody she might even
call a friend, get whipped, fucked and sodomized.  It was different than
the games she played with Rhett, she told herself, remembering their sex of
the previous night.  He had been so gentle, so caring when...

   "Shit, girl, he tied you up, fucked you like a freight train,' she said
to herself but she also recalled how gentle and caring he had been later.
Using his hands to give her an incredible orgasm.  And upstairs...

   Pushing that out of her mind, the images of what she had just witnessed
came back to her.

   Harry Waterson had pulled his cock out of his wife's sex a few moments
after she had cum.  He retrieved something from the top drawer of the
dresser and returned, his long hard cock leading the way, glistening from
Linda's juices.  He had in his hand a tube of K-Y jelly, and proceeded to
squeeze a dollop onto a finger.  What followed was as different from her
delightful experience the previous night with Rhett, as were night and day.
Harry unceremoniously stuffed his greased finger up his her ass, driving it
as far as he could go as she jerked and cried out.  He twisted the digit
from side to side, tormenting her, his expression dominated by a cruel
grin, before pulling it out and wiping the finger clean in her hair.

   A moment later he was in place behind his wife, the belt back in his
hands.  A dozen blows followed and Jessa winced as she watched Linda's
bound body twist and jerk in response to his belt.  Then he slipped one end
of the belt around her neck, threading it through the buckle to form a
makeshift leash around her slender neck.  Pulling it taught, holding her
like a dog, he placed his cock between his wife's firm cheeks and drove
upward.

   Jessica watched it through.  She couldn't tear herself away.  The sodomy
was only slightly less brutal than his earlier thrusts into her sex.  She
couldn't imagine how Linda's ass was taking the pounding.  But she watched,
open-mouthed, until at last Harry Waterson cried out and came in his wife's
abused ass.

   She'd felt Rhett's hand on her arm then, urging her to turn away.



   "No, it wasn't the same!' Jessa told herself, tossing the last of her
brandy to the back of her throat.  Rhett had made love to her ass, after
tenderly preparing her, bringing her to several wonderful orgasms.  Harry
Waterson had whipped his wife and fucked her ass, brutally hard, seeming to
enjoy her discomfort as much as he did the sex.  If what Rhett had heard
was true, the sodomy was a punishment for showing a little too much skin in
public.

   Feeling the effects of the fiery liqueur, Jessica's mind was a mass of
conflicting thoughts.  She let them fight each other to a draw before
looking over to her husband.

   "I want to talk about what we saw, Rhett, and what it means.  But not
now.  Tonight I want you to take me upstairs and make love to me.  Then I
want you to hold me until I fall asleep.'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Five

   Monday, August 21
8:35 a.m.



   "Did you monitor the Graham's calls over the weekend?' the Doctor asked.
This briefing had become a Monday morning ritual, he and Mike O'Brien
sitting in his office, reviewing the status of any new residents of
Stepford.  They had already covered the three other new residents, two men
and a woman, all single.

   Mike opened his note pad and recited:

   "Lots of calls in and out on Friday night through Saturday afternoon
concerning their dinner party, and arranging for her daughter to stay with
Linda Waterson for the night.

   "Nothing more until Sunday at eleven a.m., when her husband, Rhett,
called Linda to volunteer to take her kid for the night.  Kind of returning
the favor, I guess.'

   "A call, outgoing, to the movie theater later that afternoon...  let's
see, and a call to order pizza delivered.  Mr.  and Mrs.  Graham both on
the phone for a fifteen minute call to his mother, wishing her a happy
birthday.  An incoming call a little after ten p.m., Linda W.  checking on
her daughter.  That's it.'

   Doctor Poulsen was quiet for a minute.  Everything pointed to the
Graham's having a pretty normal weekend, all things considered.  Still, he
felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise every time he thought of this
woman coming into this quiet community at this particular time.  He
realized that it was probably his anxiety, being this close...

   "Okay, Mr.  O'Brien,' he said at last.  "Keep it up, though.  I've got a
bad feeling about this Graham bitch.'

   "Will do, Doctor.'



   Mike O'Brien's steps were full of energy as he walked down the hall
toward his own office, greeting the staff and patients he passed with a few
up-beat words and his charming smile.  Barbara Grant, the Sheriff's wife,
was in the hospital every Monday morning like clockwork, helping the
patients and staff with anything she could manage.

   She'd stop by to say hello in a half-hour if everything went as planned
and...

   Although they were both part of the same team, Sheriff Grant had never
shown anything but quiet disdain for Mike.  It grated on him.  After all,
he had a masters in psychology and the Sheriff was, well...  a fuckin'
small-town Sheriff!  For this reason, Mike enjoyed fucking Mrs.  Grant more
than any of the others.  Well, he thought to himself, Linda W.  was always
quite a ride, and the girls from the High School, well...



   Dr.  Poulsen placed the call from the back of the diner downtown,
cognizant as always of the public nature of phone records.  This one was
too important to make from his office.

   "Dole for President campaign,' came the up-beat, cheerful voice on the
other end of the line.  "How may I help you elect the right president for
the next millennium?'

   Poulsen resisted the idea that first popped into his mind, to suggest to
this eager idiot that he check the polls.  Instead he said, "Walter
Mitchell, calling for Mr.  Gregg.'

   That was the name he was told to use for this leg.  He'd spent a quarter
million, under the counter, to help elect a republican congressman from a
neighboring Missouri district.  That candidate had won a tight race in the
Gingrich-led Republican landslide of 1994, replacing a democrat that had
only these things going for him: he was smart, honest, pro-choice and one
of the few real leaders in Congress.

   Being a veteran of the Congress was not an advantage that particular
year, as many long-time fixtures on Capital Hill learned.  Doctor Poulsen's
generous contribution allowed the young conservative to finance a series of
heart-tugging ads that pictured (allegedly) aborted fetuses and their
(alleged) mothers-who-might-have-been, crying about the baby they'd lost,
saying to the camera that their child would now be in their loving arms if
they'd not taken the easy road and opted for a Federally-financed abortion.
Had it just not been a choice!  It was all it took to get the spineless
young man pushed over the edge and elected to office.

   None of this concerned Poulsen.  That contribution was merely a test for
him, to see what could be accomplished if he spread a little of his fortune
to the right people.  A Congressman or even a Senator would be of little
help to his cause, but he was patient, waiting for the right opportunity to
present itself.  He'd followed the primaries with interest as one by one
the republican candidates surged to prominence only to fall back later,
until only Dole was left.  With only ten weeks remaining before the
election, and with Dole sixteen points behind in the polls, a contribution
to the floundering campaign would be greatly treasured.

   Brett Gregg was the next roadblock to overcome to get his mission
advanced.

   "This is Brett Gregg,' came the voice over the line, only slightly less
enthusiastic than the previous brain-dead lad.

   "Mr.  Gregg, sir, this is Walter Mitchell calling.' He spoke into the
phone using his folksy accent.  "As you may of heard, I've been anxious to
have that inexperienced renegade, Bill Clinton, removed as the leader of
this great country.'

   "That's what we're all about, Mr.  Mitchell.'

   Ignoring the interruption, Poulsen continued.  "I was hoping to get some
time with Senator Dole, here in Kansas, and try to get the measure of the
man.'

   There was a brief delay on the line.  Gregg knew about this man's
contribution to the Missouri Congressman's campaign, but it was his job to
wring what he could out of people without using up the precious time of the
candidate.

   "Well, Mr.  Mitchell, Bob Dole has been leading this party's fight
for--'

   "Oh, yes,' interrupted Poulsen.  "He's been okay, I guess, as a senator.
But the money I'm thinking about...  my goodness, young man, you can
understand that I'd want to meet the man personally.'

   "Um...  what kind of contribution are we talking about.'

   He had the little shit.

   "Well, sir, it would be in the seven figure range, I figure, as long as
he's the guy I think he is.  And it would be totally without strings
attached.'

   This, they both knew, was code for a cash contribution.  All campaigns
were anxious for funds that couldn't be traced, that could be used to hire
the services of people who's activities couldn't be tied back to the
campaign.  Hecklers for the opponent's campaign appearances, investigators
to check every little detail of his life, even well-paid whores to
compromise the candidate or his staff.

   "I'll have Mr.  Sanders call you back within a half-hour, sir, if that's
convenient.'

   Lou Sanders, Poulsen knew, was Senator Dole's right-hand man.  He gave
the staffer the number at the coffee shop's public phone and hung up.  The
next call would be the key.  Sanders would ask for and need his real name.
They'd check up on him and discover his post as head of the V.A.  hospital,
and his record as a life-long registered republican.  They'd check with the
Congressman, and might even discover the other service he'd done for that
damn fool.

   After signaling the waitress for another cup of coffee, Dr.  Poulsen sat
back and waited.



   - o -



   Mike O'Brien eyed the naked form of Barbara Grant as he removed the last
of his clothes.  Her body would have looked great on a woman ten years
younger than the Sheriff's wife.  She was in her mid-thirties, he guessed,
but there was no sag to her smallish, pert breasts, no sign of extra weight
anywhere on her body.  Well, almost anywhere.

   "Turn around, Babs, and lie across the desk.'

   He'd learned the Sheriff's nickname for his wife shortly after his first
hypnosis session with the woman two years ago.  All the women he regularly
used for sex had been hypnotized using the same trick, and it worked every
time.  He'd ask these attractive hospital volunteers to help him with a
patient, explaining how the use of hypnosis would help the old vet with
some problem.  Some had nightmares, others were incontinent...  the
"clinical problem' varied but wasn't important.  Sitting by the patient,
holding the old guy's hand while Mike worked, it was always the women who
were quickly brought under by his carefully modulated voice.  The patients
would be too busy enjoying the attention of the attractive woman to go
under, and too feeble to notice or care about the result Mike inevitably
achieved.

   Babs moved at once to obey the man she thought was her husband, and
O'Brien's mouth twisted into a grin at the sight of her bent over his desk,
waiting for him.  This was his favorite way to take her.  Barbara Grant
possessed generous hips and a round, full ass.  He knew she hated this part
of her anatomy and exercised fanatically in a futile effort to reduce her
disproportional full ass.  It was just how she was put together.

   And Mike loved it.  Moving behind her, his hands played with the round,
fleshy checks that jutted out toward him.  He waited until he was inside
her, fucking steadily back and forth, before beginning the game he loved to
play with her.

   "Babs, honey, I'm feelin' real horny right now.'

   "I know, Ernie...  you feel good and hard to me,' she said, giggling and
wiggling her ass back against him.

   "I think I'll fuck your ass next, Babs.'

   "What!  Ernie...  my God!'

   He'd learned that the Sheriff had never used that particular route, and
his wife believed to this day that she'd never been taken that way.  Each
time he used a new and different pproach, taking great delight in his
ability to find the words that that would convince the housewife to allow
her husband to sodomize her.  This time he let it go along longer than
usual, enjoying her pussy as well as her angst over her husband's strange,
taboo desire.  It was a request that shocked her but one that would have to
be honored for the Stepford wife to remain true to her purpose.

   She gave in, of course, as she always did.

   Removing his cock from her pussy, he took his time greasing himself and
the tiny opening deep in the crack of her ass, not wanting any damage to
occur that might make her doctor (or her husband) suspicious.  Working his
cock into her ass was always an incredible rush for him, the housewife
whimpering as he filled her, urging him to be careful.  A dozen or more
times he'd done this, taken her anal cherry, and each time was like the
first, for her and for him.

   Fucking her ass was sweet.  She was amazingly tight despite his repeated
journeys into her dark cavity.  She'd never learned (or retained) the
knowledge of earlier fucks, and how to relax the passage he now used.  So
she was as tight as fucking a virgin.

   Sweet also because she was the Sheriff's wife.  As he drove back and
forth in her ass, he pictured the Sheriff's face and smiled, imaging that
he could see this.  O'Brien also imagined and that he had the courage to
boast to the lawman, "I'm butt-fucking your wife, asshole, enjoying your
slut in a way that you've never tried.  I've fucked her mouth and her
pussy, shithead, but what I really like is reaming your wife's big round
ass.'

   With these images playing in his mind, his fingers tightened their hold
on the mewing housewife's broad hips.  Over the next several minutes he
picked up the pace of his thrusts until he felt his balls tighten, the
release imminent.  When he could hold back no longer, he pulled out of the
Sheriff's wife and grabbed his cock, pumping it furiously as his cum
sprayed onto her back and the meaty globes of her ass.



   - o -



   It was the boredom that finally got her to do it.  While it was a joy to
spend time with Katie, and she didn't mind keeping the house in reasonable
shape, or planning and cooking the meals, there was nothing to keep her
mind active.  No real challenge after spending the five minutes it took her
to complete the morning crossword puzzle.

   The boredom.

   Her mind always returned to The Stepford Wives, as she was now referring
to them.  Capital T, capital S, capital W.  She smiled as she remembered
the line her mother had frequently used, repeating something Jessica had
said as a stubborn seven year-old, when her mother was helping her turn
letters into words and word into sentences.

   "*I* get to decide where the capitals go,' she had said that day, and
her mother had used that phrase ever since.  Because it was perfect Jessica
Graham.

   "The Stepford Wives,' she said out loud, feeling a little chill down her
spine.

   The boredom caused her to pick up the phone and act on the thought that
had been bouncing around in her head.  Flipping through her rolodex until
she found Carolyn's card, she punched in the number.

   Like many attorneys, Jessica valued her rolodex as much as anything she
could name.  It was filled with Answers.  In just about every case she'd
ever worked on, there came an issue or two that required expert advice. 
What would an ER doctor normally do given these symptoms of drug abuse? 
What does a museum curator really do?  Is it normal for a roofer to work
alone?  How much of the fare does the cab driver keep?

   The questions were the result of the case, when she was struggling to
get her mind around what had happened, and why.  The Answers were found in
her rolodex, the network of people she'd built since law school.  Friends
from Smith or Harvard, friends of friends, anyone who'd have a perspective
on things that Jessica lacked.  They all went into the rolodex.

   Carolyn DiBriggio had been a classmate at Smith, and a close friend. 
She'd gone on to earn her Ph.D.  in psychology, and now taught at
Swarthmore with a small practice on the side.  Jessica had called her a
year ago to get her perspective on a psychologist's testimony that was
quite damaging to her case.  She could have used someone from the firm's
list of "expert witnesses', but she always found it difficult to trust
these professional testifiers and if you put them on the stand it always
left you exposed.  The opposition might be able to sift through your
expert's previous testimony and find something that contradicted him.

   In any case, she'd wanted a fresh, non-biased view and had gotten it
from Doctor DiBriggio.  After Jessica had relayed the man's testimony,
Carolyn had been so enraged by the idiotic testimony that she'd eagerly
helped Jessica prepare her cross examination points.  The next morning, on
cross, Jessica had completely and thoroughly destroyed the good doctor, and
bolstered her client for good measure.  By the time she sat down, her
cross-examination completed, the psychologist's normally ruddy complexion
was several shades whiter, and the judge was trying unsuccessfully to hide
a smile.

   The sound of Carolyn voice brought her back, but it was only her
voice-mail.  Damn.  Jessica left a message.



   - o -



   Lou Sanders dropped the phone back into it's cradle and sat back in his
chair.  That call was to a friend who was the number three man at spook
central.  He couldn't or wouldn't tell Sanders what Dr.  Poulsen had been
working on while employed at the CIA, but he was able to share
confidentially that the doctor had been rated consistently high in every
performance review.  He was also willing to confirm that the doctor was
privately wealthy, a conservative republican, and a well-respected
physician and administrator.

   The man had called himself Walter Mitchell until he had reached Sanders,
demonstrating a keen understanding of the need for privacy, his and theirs.
Once Sanders had him on the phone, however, he had apologized for his
modest subterfuge, and willingly gave Sanders all the information he needed
to check his bona fides.

   The call to Congressman Grayson had checked out as well, although the
junior legislator had no clue as to who his mysterious benefactor really
was.

   "If you do talk to Walter Mitchell anytime soon,' the man had said, "be
sure to tell him we've talked and to pass along by regards to him and to
his niece, Lisa.'

   Dr.  Richard Poulsen didn't have a niece, Sanders knew, so he jotted the
name Lisa down on his pad, underlined it twice, and placed a question mark
after the name.  The Congressman rattled on for several more minutes about
this girl, Lisa, and how gorgeous she was, until at last Sanders was able
to cut him off, thank him for his time, and hang up.

   Sixteen points behind in the polls, Sander's thoughts went to all the
ways they could use the untraceable money, how it might be possible to
crack the Teflon armor of Slick Willie.  Rubbing his hands together, the
politico grinned.  He knew full well that Dole probably wouldn't win
regardless of how he spent the money, but it sure would be fun to try.

   After checking the calendar for his candidate's availability, Sanders
pulled his coat on and left the office.  This was a call that had to be
made from a public phone.



   - o -



   Rhett Graham clicked off the Dictaphone at the end of the sentence,
paused, then clicked it back on and resumed. "If there's anything else we
can do, from our end, to better link our production plans with your supply
operations, please don't hesitate to give me a call.  It is our hope and
expectation that these new procedures, along with a closer working
relationship, will reduce the inventory investment for both of our
operations.'

   "Sincerely yours, etc., etc., --- oh, and Lisa, could you put a CC on
the bottom for Wes, and make sure the other staff members get blind copies.
Thanks.'

   He clicked off the Dictaphone, and sat back in his chair, smiling
ruefully at the small recorder in his hand, thinking how strange it was
that technology got in the way of people dealing with people.  Lisa Quinn
was right outside his door, yet he spoke into this recorder and sometime
later this afternoon she'd pop the tape into her head set and dutifully
type the letter.

   He'd never before used a Dictaphone, not until taking this job.  He used
to have his secretary come in and take dictation, scribbling in that
incomprehensible language known only to them.  The letter always came back
perfectly done, just as he'd said it with the exception that his grammar
was fixed.

   Lisa Quinn was as good taking dictation as any of the executive
secretaries back in Boston.  The problem was him.  She'd sit dutifully in
the chair opposite his desk, her steno pad and pencil at the ready, and
he'd get a paragraph or two out before he'd screw it up.  He couldn't
believe those eyes, so big and liquid...  looking at him with a mixture of
child-like innocence and...  something else.  Devotion?

   Those slender legs crossed at the knee, the shapely calves demanding his
attention.  The body...  dressed conservatively, but nothing could hide her
curves, the generous breasts, the hips...

   "Oh, stop it you little shit,' he said out loud, leaning forward then
deciding to come to his feet.  The business writers wrote enthusiastically
about the Management By Walking Around principle.  For Rhett it was a
necessity, whether or not it helped his understanding of what was going on,
or helped the people he interacted with.

   He just got antsy.

   Taking the tape with him he opened his door and stepped into the outer
office.

   "Hello Mr.  Graham,' said Lisa Quinn, turning in her chair toward him.
"Can I get you something?'

   "Hi Lisa.  No, just thought I'd stretch my legs.  Oh, there are a few
letters on this,' he handed the girl the tiny cassette.  "No hurry on
those. Tomorrow will be fine.'

   "Oh, I'll get them done this afternoon, sir.  They'll be waiting for
your signature before you leave.'

   "Uh, fine,' he said, tearing his eyes away from the girl, forcing
himself to take that first step, then the second.  Today she was wearing a
pastel sweater, and it reminded him of those poster girls of the forties,
or was it the fifties?  The sweater hugged her body like a second skin,
displaying the two mounds perfectly, making them seem like huge Easter eggs
that should be opened and...

   Mentally kicking himself again, he stopped at the first office he came
to and said hello to the secretary, a forty-ish woman that had what Jessica
had trained him to call, the Stepford look.

   "Hello Mr.  Graham,' she responded eagerly, getting out of her chair and
walking gracefully over to her boss's door.  "Did you want to speak to Mr.
Reynolds, sir?'

   That was another thing.  People tended to think of New Englanders as
stuffy and formal.  But at Corporate Headquarters everyone referred to one
another by their first names, even the secretaries.  He'd tried but had
been unable to get any of the clerical staff, even Lisa, to call him Rhett.
And every time he was referred to as sir, he had to resist the strong
impulse to look behind him, to see if his dad was there.

   "That would be great, Marsha, if he's got a minute.'

   She knocked discretely before opening the door.  In just a few seconds
she was escorting him into Geoff Reynold's office, asking both of them if
she could bring a refreshment.

   "I'm fine,' said Rhett.

   "Ditto,' said Geoff.  "Thanks, Marsha.'

   After the door was closed, Rhett said, "Nothing important on my mind,
Geoff, just thought I'd escape my office for a few minutes and shoot the
shit.'

   "I'm an HR guy, Rhett, that's my specialty.'

   Rhett chuckled.  He liked Reynolds, his easy-going ways, and felt
instantly at ease.

   "How'd you do it Geoff?  Learn to concentrate, I mean, with Lisa Quinn
as your secretary?'

   He grinned and said, "I've two answers for that.  One I'll give you now,
here in the office.  To hear the other, you'll have to accept my invitation
to golf at Stepford Hills.'

   "Done.  This weekend?'

   "How about Saturday, early,' suggested Reynolds.  "This late in the week
it's hard to get a tee time at a civilized hour, but if you're willing to
haul your ass outta bed at six, we can get something at 6:45.'

   "That would be fine,' said Rhett.  He stared out the window while
Reynolds called the pro shop to get a tee time.  He had not picked up golf
until three years earlier but was already hooked on the game.  But it had
taken $1,000 in golf lessons to correct a nasty slice, and to learn how to
make those tricky pitch shots and bunker shots that used to add so many
strokes to his score.

   "It's done.  6:50.'

   "Great,' said Rhett.  "Now, back to my question, and don't think for a
second that I'm gonna let you squirm out of answering.  What's a
full-blooded, heterosexual, happily-married man supposed to do to keep his
eyes off of that unbelievably gorgeous female.'

   "One thing,' he said, holding one finger up, the voice and pose a
perfect imitation of Jack Palance's character in the movie "City Slickers'.

   "Yes,' said Rhett, expectantly.

   "Sex.'

   "Sex?  That's your answer?  That's the One Thing?'

   "Uh huh.' He smiled and continued.  "I've got four kids now, Rhett, and
three of them were conceived in the thirty-eight month period that Lisa
Quinn was my secretary.  I came home horny every night.  Don't let on that
I told you this, Rhett, but Helen got into the practice of putting her
diaphragm in ten or fifteen minutes before I was scheduled to come home.'

   Rhett laughed.

   "Suffice to say,' concluded Geoff Reynolds, "my wife and I grew much
closer during that period.'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Six

   Tuesday, August 22
8:40 a.m.



   Just as soon as he got to the hospital, Mike O'Brien let Poulsen's
secretary know that he needed time with his boss as soon as he was
available.  The previous night, just before retiring, he had listened to
the tapes of the Graham's phone calls.  The returned call from Carolyn
DiBriggio, whoever she was, had disturbed him greatly.  He brought in the
tape so Doctor Poulsen could hear it first hand.

   "This is gonna screw up my whole day,' said O'Brien to himself as he
entered his own office.  He had no idea when Poulsen would be free.  It
could be an hour from now or four, and the Doctor would have him doing
something related to the Graham woman as soon as he heard the goddamn tape.


   He was frustrated because he had plans for this day.  This was Tuesday
and that meant that Sister Mary Katherine was helping out at the hospital.
This would be her third week assisting at the V.A., and he had only last
week been able to hypnotize the young, attractive nun.

   Having gone to parochial school for twelve years, Mike had a great deal
of exposure to these women who "married' Jesus Christ and gave their lives
to His work.  His natural laziness in school had caused the nuns to
constantly chastise him and occasionally discipline him with a sharp whack
with whatever was handy.  He'd developed, over the years, an understandable
and deep animosity toward nuns.

   But, he reminded himself, none of the nuns he grew up with looked
anything like Sister Mary.  The first time he met her...  the clean bright
face and those big blue eyes, framed in the black and white habit, had
caused his heart to miss a beat.  She had smiled and introduced herself,
recognizing the startled expression on his face for what it was, having
seen it on men quite often since leaving the seminary two years earlier. 
He recovered enough the shake the offered hand and to stammer out his name.

   "Michael O'Brien is it,' she said, adopting a lilting Irish brogue. 
"Sounds like a good Jewish name to me.'

   "Irish,' he said, feeling foolish once he recognized her little joke. 
"Irish Catholic,' he said, recovering some initiative and finding his
charming smile, "but a lot of people make that mistake, Sister Mary.'

   She'd smiled at him before excusing herself to return to her work, and
he had let his eyes follow her for a moment, looking for any hint of the
body beneath her habit.  Pulling his eyes off the nun he went immediately
to Dr.  Poulsen's office to quiz his secretary.  He learned that Sister
Mary had been in Stepford six months, assigned to the town's one Catholic
church.  She had just begun the volunteer work that would have her at the
hospital two mornings per week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

   After two attempts that he had to abort because the patient had acted
up, he'd finally succeeded last Thursday in bringing the nun into a
hypnotic state.  As soon as he realized that her eyes were dull and
unfocused, he grabbed her by the arm and escorted her back to his office,
communicating only enough words to keep the sleep-walking nun walking in
the right direction.

   To his office.

   He had only a few minutes before he was expected in Poulsen's office,
and he used the time with Sister Mary to program a verbal trigger in the
young cleric's mind ("Jesus H.  Fucking Christ', he decided after a moments
reflection), and to quickly scope out her body through the bulky habit she
wore.

   "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God...  she's got tits!  Big tits!  And an ass!' he
whispered to himself as his fingers probed.  His cock hardened in his pants
but at the same time a strong sense of guilt and shame rose in his
consciousness.

   Today was supposed to be his time with Sister Mary, and he had spent
many hours thinking through his approach.

   "Fuck you, Jessica Graham, you interfering little bitch!' he cried, the
frustration palpable.



   - o -



   The alley was dark and stank of garbage and the urine of bums, but it
was the route they'd been told to take.  Dr.  Richard Poulsen and his
"niece' entered the Topeka Hilton through the employee's entrance, as
instructed, and took the service elevator to the top floor.  They were met
by Lou Sanders as soon as they stepped through the doors.

   The politico shook Poulsen's hand, then Lisa Quinn's.  The Doctor was
used to the effect Lisa had on men, but smiled to himself just the same as
Sanders stared at his breathtaking companion.  He led them down the hall
and stopped before the Secret Service agent, explaining to his guests that
routine security required that he check them and their bags.  The agent
activated a hand-held metal detector and ran it over the clothes of both of
them.  If the agent was impressed by Lisa Quinn he didn't show it, and he
showed no apparent interest in the neatly bundled stacks of hundred dollar
bills in the Doctor's valise.

   Within a minute they were shown into Bob Dole's penthouse suite.

   Poulsen had not been that least surprised when Sanders had brought up
Lisa during the final call to set up this meeting.  When he'd referred to
her as, "your niece, Lisa,' he knew that Dole's aide had talked to the
Congressman.  Lisa had been the one to bring the cash to the republican
candidate the year before, introducing herself as Walter Mitchell's niece.
It hadn't taken much prompting on her part to get the candidate to make a
pass, and his awkward proposal was readily accepted.

   Poulsen had expected to have to bring up the girl himself, wanting her
at the meeting for his own purposes, but Sanders had beat him to it.  They
had agreed very quickly that his niece, a big fan of Bob Dole, could join
them.

   After greeting them with a politician's ready smile and unctuous warmth,
Dole invited them to sit.  Poulsen and Lisa sat on one sofa while Dole and
his aide settled into another, facing their guests, separated by a
rectangular coffee table.  It was on this that Poulsen set his valise.

   "I know how busy you must be, Senator,' started Poulsen, "and I'm very
pleased that you could give me this time.'

   "It's my pleasure, Doctor,' said Dole, smoothly, his eyes moving off
Lisa's legs as he answered his guest.

   Dole and Sanders were caught off guard by Poulsen's next act.  They
watched as he turned to the stunning brunette and said, "Albuquerque
Waltz.' Her eyes clouded over and her head fell back just a bit, to rest on
the back of the sofa.

   "Lisa so much wanted to meet you, sir, and I hope you'll have a few
minutes later to talk to the girl.  But I wanted our little chat to be
confidential, if you know what I mean.'

   "She hypnotized or something?' blurted Sanders.

   "Yes,' he said, then turned to the girl.  "Lisa, would you be so kind as
to step into the next room.'

   The men watched as the Doctor rose and helped the girl up, gently
escorting her to the door that led to a bedroom.  When he returned he took
his seat as if nothing strange had happened.

   "It's my pleasure to make this contribution to your campaign, Senator,
and I wish it was enough, by itself, to insure that your noble mission is
achieved.'

   Dole cleared his throat and said, "Well, Doctor, we'll certainly use
your generous contribution to our best advantage.'

   He nodded.  "I'm sure you will, Senator.  But the funds are not the real
purpose of my visit tonight.  I'd like to make an even greater contribution
to your efforts, one that may assure your election in November.'

   This got their attention, and both men sat forward, their eyes on the
impressive man before them.  In minds of both men was the same thought:
what could be more significant than a million dollars in cash?  Then, what
could the Doctor do that would assure a win?

   "Could you explain yourself, Doctor,' said Sanders.

   "Senator Dole's biggest problem in the polls is women voters, right?'
When the aide nodded Poulsen continued, "It's not just the Senator, as you
know.  All Republican candidates, male or female, have to overcome what the
analysts call the gender gap, all those misguided women who vote Democrat.'

   "What I propose to do, gentleman, is close and then reverse that gap.'

   Sanders did some quick calculations in his head, and came to the same
conclusion that the Doctor had reached months before.  If women voted for
Dole by the same margin they now favored Clinton, the incumbent would be
history.  Toast.

   "Go on, Doctor.'

   "I'd be glad to.  But first, Mr.  Sanders, can I assume that you checked
me out pretty thoroughly before agreeing to this meeting?'

   Sanders nodded.

   "And the result?'

   "You're no flake, Doctor.'

   Poulsen smiled before continuing, starting with his discovery of the RCA
additive.  He explained at a high level, the mechanics of the drug and how
it resulted in women who were more family-oriented, more respectful and
obedient to their husbands.  He briefly outlined what the drug accomplished
in Stepford: the divorce rate was zero for the community of 32,000; spousal
abuse was non-existent, child abuse down 80%, all forms of crime down
significantly.

   He mentioned almost casually another side effect of their "corrected'
perspective.  These "Righteous Women' were much more receptive to the
Republican message of conservatism and family values.  Of the women who
voted in Stepford, and some, he admitted, left this duty to their husbands,
over three-quarters opted for the GOP candidate.

   Sanders whistled under his breath.  He knew too much about Poulsen's
background from his contact at the CIA to believe this man a nut case.  The
money helped, and what he did with that girl...

   "The logistics will be difficult,' continued Poulsen, "and I'll need
your help.  It would be impossible between now and the election to attempt
to cover all or even many of the fifty states.  What I propose is we focus
our efforts on large metropolitan areas, traditional Democratic
strongholds, in those states with the largest Electoral College votes. 
Aside from the political angle, the water supplies are easier to... 
manage. Where I need your help most is finding a secure and confidential
manufacturer of pharmaceuticals.  My lab cannot make enough of the RCA for
our purposes.'

   "Your strategy makes sense,' said Sanders, glancing at Dole to read his
reaction.  What he saw was a mixture of skepticism and hope.  Sanders was
thinking along the lines that Poulsen had outlined, and thought out loud,
more for Dole's benefit that their guests.

   "California, that means LA and the Bay Area; New York, the City of
course; a little help in Texas would be nice, Florida too.  With the
mountain states and deep south already in our corner...  well, we might
need either Ohio or Michigan...  but, shit!'

   Sanders glanced at Dole and saw that he was holding back, not willing to
let the hope created by the Doctors comments show itself.  He'd spent a
career in politics, all of it leading to this final chance to reach his
goal.  And in walks a stranger who says he can make that dream possible...
it was too much to believe, but his aide could see the hope in his eyes.

   "Perhaps you could give the Senator and me a little demonstration.  Your
niece, can I assume she's a...  what was your expression, a Righteous
Woman?'

   Poulsen nodded and rose to get Lisa, bringing her back a minute later.
He kept her standing while he took his seat.

   "On the count of three, Lisa, you will awake,' said Poulsen.  What
followed was exclusively for the benefit of Dole and his aide, as Lisa
wasn't hypnotized, and wouldn't need any encouragement to fuck Dole.  She
was completely devoted to Poulsen and his cause.  "You will feel for the
three men in this room exactly what you'd feel for a husband, and treat
them accordingly.  One, Two, Three.'

   Lisa Quinn's eyes opened and her face broke out into a warm smile.

   "Is there anything I can do for you?' she said, her eyes taking in all
three men in turn, the subtle emphasis of her sexy voice on the word
anything.

   "Perhaps I should leave, gentlemen,' said Poulsen, rising to his feet.
"Once you've satisfied yourselves as to the qualities of a Righteous Women,
would you be so kind as to ask Lisa to meet me at the bar across the
street.'

   Shaking their hands he said, "I'll be expecting your call, Mr. 
Sanders.'



   On the drive back to Stepford, in Poulsen's Mercedes Benz, Lisa Quinn
briefed him on the events after he'd left.

   "Sanders asked me a bunch of questions while Dole just sat there like a
statue.  Then the ol' guy interrupted and said, "Get undressed,' all gruff
like.  So I stripped, and I was kinda looking forward to fucking Dole. 
Geeze, I've never fucked a President before.  But he just stood and watched
while Sanders undressed and had me.'

   "Dole didn't touch you?'

   "Not once.  Just stood there and watched.  I would have noticed any sign
that he was turned on, y'know...  I looked.  Aside from a nervous twitch
every once in a while, nothing.  You figure maybe he's too old to get it
up?'

   Poulsen thought to himself that if Lisa's incredible looks and
centerfold body couldn't get the man excited, nothing could.  Instead of
voicing this thought he reached over and put his hand behind the girl's
neck, the light pressure of his fingers telling the girl what he wanted. 
As she lowered her head into his lap, her fingers busy with his belt, he
drove and thought about the meeting.

   It had gone well, he knew.  Dole was a politician and would do anything
to win the election, Sanders too.  He needed their help but they needed his
even more, to have any chance to win.

   Doctor Poulsen smiled to himself as Lisa's talented mouth went to work
on his cock.  If he could pull this off, and get Dole in the White House,
he'd have access to all the resources he'd need to complete his life's
work.

   Then his thoughts went to the tape he'd listed to, with Mike O'Brien, of
the conversation between the Graham bitch and the psychologist.  He started
to think about what to do about the whore, but had a hard time
concentrating on that, and the driving, with Lisa Quinn sucking on his
cock. So he put that problem aside and let himself enjoy the sensations.

   After five more minutes, his hand dropped to the head in his lap,
pushing it down, holding it in place as his cock emptied its load into the
deliciously tight throat of Lisa Quinn.



   - o -



   Two days later, Mike O'Brien was sitting behind his desk, and his heart
was pounding in his chest.  Rubbing his hands together, he realized that
his palms were wet.  He couldn't remember a time when he'd been this
nervous, or when he'd looked forward to something with as much anticipation
as now.  And it wasn't working.

   She was standing in front of his desk, eyes closed, head lowered, in the
same position she'd been in for the last ten minutes, every since his
trembling voice had uttered the phrase, "Jesus H.  Fucking Christ.'

   He'd spent many hours thinking about the right approach.  Sister Mary
Katherine was a nun and a virgin.  O'Brien had plenty of experience with
former, but none of it applied to what he wanted to accomplish, and
absolutely none with the latter.  He knew with virtual certainty that his
usual approach would fail; before he even put them under, the Stepford
wives were already programmed to worship their husbands.  It was an easy
task to get them to believe that he was him.  They were already inclined to
do just about anything for their husbands, as he demonstrated during his
weekly butt-fucks with Barbara Grant.

   Sister Mary, on the other hand, was married to the church, to a live of
service to God and His son, Jesus Christ.  Sex was completely foreign to
the young nun, and he assumed that it had been burned into her mind since
an early age, like his, that sex out of the marriage bed was a cardinal
sin. She'd be suggestible, yes, but the stretch from chastity to whore was
way beyond the power of his meager abilities.

   His planned approach built on his assumptions about her beliefs and
motivations.  Several minutes ago he'd started, keeping his voice slow and
clear as he brought the nun through each step: trusting him, believing him
a man of God, valuing his advice and friendship above all others, wanting
to please him.  Then came the tricky part, building on the Catechism,
reminding the nun that God spoke through the Holy See.  He suggested to the
Sister than he, too, was a messenger from God, but that his mission was to
find a woman who would bear His son, the second coming of Jesus Christ.

   But it hadn't worked.

   She hadn't laughed, not really, but she'd unsuccessfully tried to hide a
giggle.

   He'd tried again, realizing that even in her highly suggestible state,
the nun's mind would resist anything that went up against a strongly held
belief, so he backed up and covered again who he was, what his mission was,
and how she might be the vessel for His son.

   "You want to be the mother of God's son, don't you, Sister Mary?' he had
said moments before.

   "Ah...  Your Holiness, sir, that's not possible.'

   Mike was stunned into silence.  It wasn't working, and he had no idea
why, nor did he have an alternative approach.  He asked her if she had some
physical problem that wouldn't allow her to bear a child.  That wasn't it.

   He was about to give up, thinking that he needed time to come up with a
different approach, when he decided to ask her a few other questions.

   "Are you a virgin, Sister Mary?'

   "Yes.'

   "Have you committed any sins of the flesh?'

   The nun paused a moment before responding, "Yes, your Holiness.  I
have...  touched myself, but I confess to these sins regularly.'

   Mike was slightly take aback.  "Regularly, sister?'

   "Yes, your Holiness.'

   "Okay, Sister Mary, and God has forgiven you.  Did you experience an
orgasm?  These times when you touched yourself?'

   "Yes.'

   "How does it make you feel?' he asked.  "Guilty?'

   He watched her lips break into a smile.  "Later, sometimes.  No, it
makes me feel more spiritual.  Closer to God.'

   Mike was non-plussed by the direction of the conversation, and
considered once again if he should bring her out of the hypnosis, and think
up something else.  It had never occurred to him that a nun would enjoy and
practice masturbation.  But his curiosity kept him going.

   "When was the last time you masturbated, Sister?'

   "Last night.'

   "Do you, um, think about having sex when you touch yourself?'

   "Oh, yes,' she said, "all the time.'

   "With whom?' he asked, stunned.

   "It varies.  Sometimes with a parishioner, or a priest.  Last night I
was imagining having sex with a man at the hospital where I sometimes work,
Michael O'Brien.'

   "Oh?' he said, his cock stiffening at this revelation.

   "Yes.  He's incredibly sexy, and I know he thinks I'm pretty.'

   "Don't you believe such thoughts are a sin?'

   "No...  no I don't,' she said.  "I never have.  He would not have given
us the pleasure of an orgasm had He not wanted us to feel it.'

   "But...' Mike was astonished that a nun would form her own opinion on
this issue, something that was drilled into him all throughout his Catholic
training.  "But, you have not had sex?'

   "No, your Holiness.  I've taken a vow of chastity...  It would be
inappropriate for a Sister to do such a thing.'

   "But you've wanted to, right?  You imagine yourself having sex with men
you've met.'

   "Oh, yes.  Men and, sometimes, women.'

   Mike stopped at this point, totally confused.  It had never occurred to
him that a nun would allow herself such thoughts, much less finger herself
while some fantasy played in her mind.  And the Sister had confessed to
having fantasies of making love to other women.

   He decided after several minutes of thought that he must start over,
along a track that was more sympathetic to the Sister's feelings toward her
sexual urges.  After telling her that she'd wake with no knowledge of their
conversation, he brought her out of hypnosis only long enough to utter her
trigger phrase and begin anew.

   This time, as he cycled through his routine, he established his identity
as a different messenger from God.  He assured the Sister that God believed
as she did, that her body was Holy and the pleasures it gave her should be
welcomed.  He emphasized that He had intended all His children to
experience the joys of their bodies, most especially those in His service.

   The sister's answers to his questions came easier now, and he was able
to build in her mind the idea that God wanted her to elevate her
understanding of the pleasure she was able to give and receive, and that
she would grow more spiritual as a result of her experiences.  Finally, he
assured her that her vows to His messenger took precedent over her earlier
pledge.

   "When I count to three, Sister Mary, you will awaken and find yourself
in a Holy place.  The man that you will see before you will be a stranger
to you but a true messenger from God.  You will obey his instructions in
all things.  His body is Holy, as is yours, and his instructions are the
will of God.'

   "One, Two, Three.'

   As her eyes opened and her head lifted up, Mike O'Brien held his breath,
not sure what to expect.  But the nun's big blue eyes were immediately
filled with adoration, and her face broke into a serenely happy smile.

   "Your Holiness,' she said and lowered herself to one knee, her head
bowed in respect.

   "Rise Sister Mary,' he said, "and let me see the woman who will take
this Holy journey with me, to find ourselves closer to His presence.'
Taking her hands in his, he looked into her beautiful face.

   "Let us undress, Sister Mary, and perform this Holy duty for our God.'

   O'Brien watched as the nun moved to obey, her face coloring as she
unhooked the collar on her habit and reached underneath to find the zipper.
As she pulled it down, her expressive eyes looked over to him, and the
psychologist recognized the plaintive look.  She was not simply embarrassed
about exposing her body for the first time to a man; the look on her face,
and in those eyes, was different than virginal modesty.  She was concerned
about not being worthy of this great opportunity to serve her God, a
self-purpose that had grown even stronger with the effects of RCA.

   "Rest assured, child, that I understand your concerns.  You have
demonstrated your devotion to serving His wishes, but as a virtuous child
of God, you know not how to perform this Holy duty.  I, too, am unpracticed
in these matters, but not unschooled, and we will learn together, you and
I.'

   "Yes, your Holiness,' she said, her eyes beaming at him.  Her fingers
returned to her task, and she unzipped the habit.  The headdress came
first, displaying as it was removed short, curly strawberry-blond hair. 
O'Brien had guessed from her fair skin and blue eyes that she was Irish
like he, and as the habit dropped to her ankles and she saw the freckles on
her neck and chest, he was pretty certain that he'd guessed right.

   The nun stepped out of her habit and the slip beneath, now dressed only
in her bra and panties, neither of which were designed to titillate a man.
All the same, the workman-like undergarments caused his cock to throb in
his pants.  The shoes and socks he noticed only when the nun dropped to one
knee to unlace the sensible working shoes.

   He look this opportunity to strip off his tie and unbutton his shirt,
kicking off his loafers as he did.  After removing his shirt he sat back on
his desk and peeled off his socks, his eyes never leaving the kneeling form
of the nun.  As he unbuckled his belt the nun rose to her feet, the flush
returning to her face and chest.  With her eyes lowered demurely, she
reached behind her back to un-latch her bra, holding her arms modestly over
her breasts as the undergarment fell to the floor.

   His eyes feasted on the milky white of her body, the tops of her
swelling breasts showing over her arms, the soft rise of her belly, the
thighs and slender calves.  She was not like the Stepford women he'd fucked
so regularly all these many months, their bodies shaped and hardened by
hours of exercise each week.  She was not hard, but soft, her service to
God's work requiring strength of purpose, not rigorous and vain attention
to her form.

   She was, in fact, just a little plump.  Far from disappointing Mike
O'Brien, his first glimpse of her body made his cock as hard as he'd ever
remembered it.  As he lowered his pants over his stiff jutting cock, he
realized that he wanted to see and touch her breasts, her belly, her ass,
as much or more than he'd ever desired Linda Waterson, Barbara Grant or the
others.

   It was her purity, and not just her virginal innocence, that excited
O'Brien.  She was to him like a wildflower with a scent that no man had
ever breathed into his lungs, a perfect example of his church's ideal of
womanhood.  He'd grown indifferent to his religion during his tenure at the
State College.  Freed at last from the straight jacket of Catholic schools,
it had been six wonderful years of drinking and debauchery.

   Looking across the dozen feet that separated them, he caught her eye and
smiled reassuringly.  As he peeled his boxers over the his rock-hard cock,
letting them fall to his ankles, she lowered her arms from her breasts.

   Large breasts, they were, milky white melons standing proudly on her
chest.  The nipples were already erect, the coral nubs long and thick.  As
the nun bent over to slide her panties off her hips and down her thighs,
the breasts swayed provocatively, the firmness of the melons evident, and
he knew at once were he would start.

   Stepping out of his boxers, he approached the nun as she was standing
up, one arm over her breasts, the other shielding her sex.  The modesty
appealed to O'Brien and made his cock throb anew.  The nun's eyes were on
the stiff member jutting eight inches out from his loins, the member
looking to the nun like a one-eyed serpent.

   "Your modesty becomes you, Child,' he said, more to test his shaky voice
than anything else.  Standing less than two feet away from the girl, he
reached over and gently caressed the arm shielding her breasts with the
backs of his fingers, noticing as he did the tiny hairs on her arm rise as
if by magic.  Their eyes locked, he nodded and the arm came down, hanging
at her side.  The other did as well, exposing a bush of dark blond, silky
hair.

   But his eyes were on her magnificent breasts, and his hands came up to
gently cup the mounds.

   "These are lovely, Sister Mary,' he said, finding himself absorbed in
the fantasy he'd created for her.  The globes felt heavy in his hands, soft
and firm and the same time.  Moving his thumbs up to her nipples he moved
each digit back and forth along the underside of the thickly-erect nubs.

   "It is a shame that no child will ever suckle at these breasts, drawing
the nourishment that will make it strong.'

   "Yes,' she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

   Moving a step forward, he lowered his head and took a nipple between his
lips, kissing it tenderly before gently sucking it into his mouth.  As he
increased the pressure, and drew more of her breast into his mouth, he
could feel the nun's body tremble.

   A small noise escaped her mouth as his sucking continued, and her hand
came up, tentatively, to the back of his head.  Her fingers combed through
his hair, holding him there, feasting on her breast, a light pressure
urging him on.

   He felt the hand and sucked harder, taking as much of her into his mouth
as he could manage.  Then he pulled off and let his tongue flicker back and
forth over the nipple before sucking the flesh back into his mouth.

   The nun's lips parted and a low moan escaped.  She closed her eyes and
let her head fall back, relishing the pleasurable sensations.  When His
Holiness moved to her other breast, his tongue flickering back and forth
across her nipple, she moaned again.  Soon it was both breasts, his mouth
suckling one while his fingers rolled her other nipple between them, adding
to the incredible sensations she was feeling.

   "Ohhhhh,' she cried, her mind filled with the pleasure of his
ministrations and also the holiness of their task.

   O'Brien heard the moans, and the cries, but was completely surprised
when the nun came, her body trembling as the unexpected orgasm coursed
through her body.  He was delighted but baffled, having only used his mouth
and hands on the nun's breasts and nipples.  He felt her body slipping away
and just managed to pull his mouth off her breast and get his arms around
her before she fell.

   Holding her to him, his cock pressed up against her soft belly, he
looked into her flushed face, saw the serene smile and heard her whisper,
reverently, "Closer to God...'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Seven

   Friday, August 25
2:15 p.m.



   Linda Waterson's normal half-hour session with Mike O'Brien on Friday
was not of the usual sort.  The psychologist had spoken the trigger phrase
as soon as the red-head entered his office, but instead of passing himself
off as her husband for a lusty fuck, O'Brien had quizzed the woman about
Jessica and Rhett Graham.

   He'd been told in no uncertain terms by Doctor Poulsen that the Graham
bitch was his problem.  His boss indicated he'd be extremely busy with some
hush-hush project over the next two weeks, and O'Brien was tasked with
monitoring her activities and, when the occasion presented itself,
increasing her exposure to RCA.

   After questioning Waterson for ten minutes, O'Brien was satisfied that
she knew nothing of her neighbor's activities or plans, despite the
friendship that had developed between their kids.  He did take the
opportunity to plant an instruction in her mind that would help him later
on.

   After releasing the red-head and escorting her politely out of his
office, he sat down as his desk and thought about his plans for Jessica
Graham.  Linda Waterson would give him a call, here or at his apartment, if
and when she learned that her neighbor would be out of the house for an
extended period.

   He wanted to do two things once he got in.  One was check the bitch's PC
for any eMail she might have exchanged with the psychologist, or anybody
else about her observations of Stepford.  He'd learned of this possibility
after the two women had exchanged several voice mails, never managing to
connect, and the housewife last message had suggested they use eMail.

   Second was the RCA.  Doctor Poulsen had given him a vial of the potion
that was many times stronger than the dose she'd get from the water supply.
His plan was to get inside the house, and add the concentrated RCA to
something that the housewife might drink.

   He glanced at his watch and paused, puzzled for a moment.  Linda W.  had
been gone for several minutes, yet he still had about ten minutes before
the usual time he had to get her dressed and gone to avoid any suspicion.

   "Damn,' he said to himself, "we could'a ripped off a quickie.' In his
mind he once again blamed the Graham woman for screwing up his plans.  What
he couldn't or wouldn't admit to himself, however, was that ever since his
time with Sister Mary Katherine, his interest in other women had flagged.

   He thought back to the day before...



   After she'd cum from just his hands and mouth on her breasts, he had
kissed her deeply while his tongue foraged in her mouth.  She moaned,
kissing him back with enthusiasm, but with the inexperience of a virgin. 
His hands slid down her back while they kissed, stopping only when he had a
firm grip on the fleshy cheeks of her ass.

   When he finally broke the kiss, he looked down into her wide blue eyes,
the luminous orbs filled with adoration.  The globes of her large breasts
were pressed against his chest, the erect nipples a reminder of what they'd
just done.  Lower, his cock throbbed against her belly, reminding him of
his passionate need.  But in his head, another idea was forming, and he
found himself slipping effortlessly into the fantasy.

   "Closer to God,' he said, smiling at the nun in his arms.  "My child, we
both need to become closer to God, reaching out together, Sister Mary.'

   "Yes, your Holiness,' she said, her eyes filled with pride.

   "I must learn your body, and your mind, so I can help you achieve that
blessed state.'

   "And I, your Holiness,' she said, her expressive grave, "must learn your
body.'

   He smiled at her and nodded.  Reluctantly, he let go of her ass and took
a step back, watching as the nun's eyes dropped to his cock.

   "The vessel of my seed,' he said.  "Kneel, Sister Mary, and learn all
you can about it's feel, it's taste, and how it changes as it nears the
blessed state.'

   Sister Mary Katherine lowered herself slowly to her knees, her hands
reaching out tentatively to touch him.  Reverently, she slid her hands down
it's length, then back.  The nun had worked the V.A.  wards often enough to
have seen the male organ, and occasionally it had been somewhat erect those
times when she had bathed the aged veterans.

   But her experience had not prepared her for this.  The organ in her
hands, which would soon enter her and give her the pleasure that she had
often imagined, was longer and thicker than any she had seen, and any that
she had imagined as a teenager when she'd first fantasized while her
fingers were busy in her sex.

   She was not scared by the prospect so much as filled with wonder, that
this large shaft could enter her body, the cavity that she'd forsworn in
her service to Him five years earlier.

   What was it that His Holiness had said?  That they would need to achieve
the blessed state of orgasm together...  if their union was to bring them
to a heightened state of spirituality.  That goal was the blessed aim of
their activities, she knew with ever ounce of her being.

   She needed to learn of this organ, but how?

   Raising her eyes to His Holiness, she asked, "My father, how can I best
serve our Holy mission?'

   Mike O'Brien had long ago set his real personality aside.  He was not
the detached clinician but was instead as thoroughly engaged in his part as
was Sister Mary.  He smiled at the virgin kneeling before him with his
throbbing cock in her hands, and found that the words came easy.

   "I have been told, Sister Mary, that we must learn how to achieve the
blessed state together, so that we are one with each other and with God
when He decides that the moment is right.  It will take practice on our
part to achieve this Holy thing.  Practice, my innocent angel.'

   She smiled at him before bringing her attention back to the shaft in her
hands.  The tiny hole in the head was oozing a clear liquid, and as she
squeezed the shaft the pre-cum formed a droplet and slid off the end. 
Acting from impulse she stuck her tongue out to capture the drop.

   "Nectar from God,' he said, delighted at the virgin's initiative.  He
gave her a few suggestions and after a minute or so her mouth and tongue
were busy exploring his cock.  One of her hands was fondling his cum-filled
balls while she sucked the head of his cock between her lips and into her
hot, warm mouth.  That the nun was inexperienced did nothing to diminish
his enjoyment.  Watching her lips slide an inch or so down his shaft,
feeling her tongue bathe the underside, it was far more erotic than the
same act would be if performed by one of the Stepford wife/whores.

   They could suck like powerful vacuums, and would eagerly take his cock
into their tight throats.  In contrast, the pressure of Sister Mary
Katherine's mouth and tongue were light; she treated his cock with love and
reverence.  She was clumsy at times, but that just made it more exciting
for him, her large blue eyes looking up to his face for guidance, reminding
him with every look of the nun's innocence.  His cock throbbed in her warm,
wet cavity, occasionally surprising her by jerking in her mouth.  After
several more minutes of this, he decided to take control.

   "You must learn to gauge the pleasure you're giving, Sister Mary.  This
is how it will feel, for me, when I'm inside your sex.  A little tighter,
I'm told, but we'll learn that together.'

   Placing his hands on each side of her head, the fingers combing into the
nun's strawberry blond tresses, he continued his discourse.  "Watch my
eyes, child, and listen, while I move back and forth.  Keep your teeth
back, yes, that's it...  and suck a little harder.'

   He knew that he'd come sometime very soon, the eroticism of his conquest
adding to the scene he was witnessing.  Her eyes, filled with wonder,
watching him while he fucked his cock back and forth into the nun's mouth.

   "I will achieve the blessed state in just a few moments, Sister Mary,
and you will be rewarded with your first sample of my seed.  It will be
warm in your mouth, comfortingly warm, and it will taste delicious.  You
must try to feel the minute changes in the vessel of my seed, so you can
recognize them later, as I achieve the blessed state.  You must swallow the
seed, all of it, and imagine that you to are feeling the pleasure of His
presence.'

   He groaned as his balls tightened and began pumping his cum up he shaft
and into her mouth.  Watching her face with half-shut eyes, savoring the
delicious feeling of release, he saw her eyes widened as his cock spurted
inside her.

   She'd felt the subtle changes to his organ and to the balls cupped in
her hand, just before the back of her mouth was splashed with his seed.  It
was warm, she thought, and a little salty, swallowing just before the
second blast coated her tonsils.  She felt something else as his organ
bucked and throbbed in her mouth, releasing his Holy seed.  From her
long-neglected sex, she felt the start of her second orgasm of the session.
Clamping her lips more tightly on his shaft, swallowing gratefully, she
groaned as her body shuddered, her orgasm bringing her once again to that
Holy state.

   Closer to God.



   When he'd fished cuming in her mouth yesterday morning and regained
control of his senses, he'd watched the kneeling nun with something
approaching awe.  The virgin nun was moaning with passion, bobbing her head
back and forth on his now-drained cock, and her body was trembling, hips
swaying in small circles.  It was obvious that she was cuming, again.

   He'd decided right then to postpone the taking of her cherry.  After the
nun had finished cuming she'd fallen back onto her haunches, the expression
on her face one of pride and devotion.  He put her back under, and
questioned the nun for several minutes, reinforcing the earlier messages.

   He'd also learned from her all about the church in which she served, a
building on the edge of town that O'Brien had driven past on many occasions
but had yet to enter.  When she indicated that the church was empty late
Saturday night, he knew the time and place he'd take the nun's cherry.



   - o -



   Rhett Graham's practice swing felt good to him and he stepped forward to
address the ball.  Like a mantra he repeated the five words in his mind:
relax...  tempo...  coil...  power...  release.  Then he let his mind take
over as he slowly brought the club head back...  up...  pausing at the top,
letting his coiled muscles bring the clubhead down...  the speed increasing
as it descended, and then, the sound---that he believed the most beautiful
in the world, a well struck ball---then the release, his shoulder easing
his head up in the follow through, leaving him in perfect position to watch
the white dot soar over the tree that guarded the green...  falling softly
on the manicured surface, stopping eight or ten feet away from the flag.

   He heard the soft whistle behind him, from the cart.  "Heck of a shot,
Rhett.'

   Walking back to the cart, he couldn't suppress the grin on his face. 
"Geoff, I think those are the two best shots I've hit in a row in my life.'

   He'd needed two putts to par the first hole.

   The second was a short par four, but he'd lipped the par putt that would
have tied the hole, and had to settle for a bogie.

   But here on the par-five third hole, he'd crushed his drive and the
adrenaline had helped him decide to for the green, over a tree and 200
yards away.  Now he was sitting on the green with an eagle putt.  If he
made it he would be one shot under par after three holes.  He'd never
scored an eagle nor had he ever been under par in any of the rounds he'd
played over the years.

   "Yeah, sure,' said Geoff Reynolds.  "That's what you East Coast hustlers
always say.  Shit, Rhett, if you're an eighteen handicap, I'm Mother
Teresa.'

   Rhett laughed and got into the cart.  Later, on the green, he studied
his putt while his playing partner blasted out of a bunker to within two
feet of the flag.  Rhett conceded this short par putt and stepped up to
address the ball.  He missed his ten foot putt, reading more break that was
there, then watched in complete frustration as his ball kept rolling until
it was four feet beyond the hole.

   "Shit!' he said, but was saved the ignominy of missing the come-backer
when Geoff picked up his ball and tossed it to him.

   "That's good, boss,' he said.  "Nice birdie.'

   It was during a short recess after nine holes that Rhett remembered Lisa
Quinn.  They'd stopped for a hot dog and a cold soda before heading to the
tenth tee.

   "Breakfast of Champions,' said Reynolds before biting into his hot dog.
Rhett took a bite of his and waited until he was done chewing before
bringing up the girl.

   "Okay, Geoff, you've told me half the answer I sought, about how I can
keep my hands off Lisa Quinn.  I've been following your advice, and Jessa's
delighted.'

   "And you want the other half?'

   "Uh huh.'

   Geoff waited until they had both teed off before speaking again as he
piloted the cart down the path.

   "I won't give you all the needless background.  You've seen the girl,
you know what it's like to work with her.'

   "Yep.'

   "I gave in, Rhett.'

   "You....'

   "I screwed her one day, right there in my office.'

   "Holy Christ!' Rhett said under his breath.  "And...'

   "And I'm a knucklehead, or so I thought, when it comes to my wife and
family.  They're more important to me than anything.  I went home that
night and confessed to Helen.'

   They hit their next shots and Rhett's sliced badly, onto the next
fairway.  Rhett took a few clubs and went after his ball.  After meeting
back up with Geoff on the green and finishing the hole, he returned to the
subject of Lisa Quinn.

   "I've got two questions, Geoff,' he said as they drove to the next hole.
"First, what did your wife do, or say.'

   "She was pissed, but she forgave me,' he said, the lies coming easy. 
The truth was that he and his wife were enthusiastic members of Stepford's
upper-middle-class wife swapping club.  Helen Reynolds enjoyed three-ways
enormously, and was hoping Geoff could seduce the comely brunette.

   "But it happened again the next week, and she wouldn't talk to me for
several days.  Finally she sat me down and gave me the most incredible
ultimatum, either I stop screwing Lisa Quinn or...  she gets to join us.'

   "What?' said Rhett.  "Helen?'

   "Yeah, if that didn't beat the band.' It wasn't difficult making this
part sound truthful, because it was.  He and his wife had spent countless
hours with the gorgeous brunette, fucking and sucking until they were both
exhausted.  He decided to share this with Rhett just in case his young wife
was bisexual.

   Rhett immediately thought of that time in the Bahamas with Lois and
Todd, then pushed those images aside.  Helen Reynolds was not somebody he
would have thought would even consider such an arrangement, and his cock
stiffened a bit as his mind pictured the attractive but conservative 40ish
housewife and Lisa Quinn...

   "And your second question?' asked Geoff Reynolds, interrupting Rhett's
thoughts.

   "Um...  Ah, well, what the fuck.  How was she, Geoff?  Lisa?'

   Geoff Reynolds grinned as he looked over at Rhett.  "Think about the
most incredible sex you've ever had or imagined...  well, it wouldn't come
close.'

   "Sheee-it,' said Rhett.



   - o -



   Mike O'Brien got the call from Linda Waterson Saturday morning, at his
apartment.

   "Jessica's just left with little Katie,' said the housewife, not really
knowing why she was calling this man.  "The husband is out golfing.  Nobody
will be home for the next hour or two.'

   He'd rushed over to the Graham's neighborhood, parking his car a
half-block away and walking the rest of the way.  He found the key just
where Linda said it would be, under a small potted plant on the front
porch, and let himself in.  He went immediately to the kitchen and checked
the refrigerator.

   There were bottles of soda, regular and diet, and several pitchers.  The
first contained pink lemonade, and he set that one back.  The second
pitcher was half-filled with iced tea, and it was into this that he added
the RCA.  After setting everything back as it was, he left in search of
Jessica Graham's PC.

   It was in one of the second-floor bedrooms that he found it, or rather,
them.  Two tables were arranged in an L and on each sat a computer.  One
was a Macintosh, and the other was a Compaq PC.  He tried the PC first,
flipping it on and waiting impatiently for Windows to boot.  The interface
was Windows 95, and it took him a moment before he found the America
On-Line application.

   Five minutes later, he reversed his steps until the machine was turned
off.  This was the husband's system, he learned, from the eMail he'd read
that was to and from RGraham@aol.com.

   He tried the Mac next, and cursed as a dialog screen popped up,
demanding a password.  He paused and thought for several minutes, then
checked in nearby drawers for any scrap of paper that might contain her
password.  He found a couple of possibilities and typed them in, one at a
time.  After a half-dozen failed attempts, he decided it was time to leave.



   - o -



   Rhett pulled his Lexus into the garage, noticing absentmindedly that his
wife's Saab was gone.  He had thoroughly enjoyed his round of golf with
Geoff Reynolds, despite the twenty bucks he had lost when his game deserted
him during the back nine, when his mind was on Lisa Quinn instead of his
game.  He left his golf bag in the trunk, hoping to make it a regular date.
Entering the house through the garage, he went straight to the kitchen.

   Sitting in front of the TV with his sandwich and drink, he watched
college football while he waited for Jessica and Katie to return.  At a
commercial, he took a long draught of the ice tea, and thought of Reynold's
shocking revelation.  He found himself rehearsing a conversation with
Jessa, one that he hoped would convince his wife to bring Lisa Quinn into
their bed.

   Back in the kitchen, he poured himself the rest of the iced tea and put
the tea kettle on to make more.  It was a warm day and he knew that Jessa
would be thirsty when she returned from her errand with Katie.



   - o -



   Richard Poulsen surveyed the dozen faces, seeing in their eyes the same
feeling he felt for them.  Pride and admiration.  The twelve young men
ranged in age from nineteen years to twenty-three, and they all looked
amazing like one another.  They also looked like a much younger version of
the middle-aged Doctor standing in the front of the room.

   Dr.  Poulsen had just turned thirty when his development of RCA had
reached the stage where it needed experimentation.  He'd worked like a dog
for years in the CIA labs, forcing himself to make steady progress on the
research for his spook masters and simultaneously on his own work.

   There was limited opportunity to experiment with his drug on animals. 
RCA was much too tailored to the biophysiology of female humans, and it was
too tricky to manufacture to waste it on the monkeys in the lab.  He'd
needed to experiment on live subjects, and to this end he made himself
available to three local university for what the idiots at the schools
termed, Career Mentoring.  In his case, he volunteered to discuss with
coeds opportunities for women in the careers of medicine, science and
research.

   The girls at Swarthmore and Penn and UVA had come to his offices like
lambs to the slaughter.  Using a much more potent dosage than he dared risk
today, he brought the girls one-by-one under his control and influence. 
Each was told of her noble purpose to bear his child and each accepted
their responsibilities with alacrity.  Over those four years in the early
'70's, a steady stream of young coeds would show up at his Virginia farm,
their eager young faces excited as they shared with him the news that they
were ovulating, that their temperature was perfect for conception.  All of
the twenty-six coeds had spread their legs for him like the whores they
were, taking his seed into their fertile wombs.

   The unexpected mothers-to-be had left college shortly after learning of
their happy fate.  Poulsen had hypnotized and programmed the girls in this
and many other things.  Over the years, each mother of a son wrote to
Poulsen of the progress of his child.  The whores who produced daughters,
on the other hand, were left to their own devices.

   His son's mothers received a generous but untraceable stipend in the
mail each month, more than enough to support themselves and his child. 
There were other instructions that each followed to the letter, that
insured that his sons grew up with the very best schooling in all things.
It was the mothers themselves who demonstrated first hand to their sons the
advantages of Righteous women.  On the son's fourteen birthday, each boy
was treated to an education in the joys of access to a willing slut.

   From an early age, all of his sons had been drilled by their mothers
that they had a special purpose in life.  When Joe or Joey was young, their
mothers would make it a game, hinting often of this mysterious and
wonderful purpose.  When the boys were older, lying in their mother's beds
before or after a lusty fuck, she'd remind them that their purpose in life
was critical, and that it would become clear in due time.

   The telegrams had gone out last week, to twelve of the fourteen sons he
had fathered.  One of the original fourteen had died as an infant, the
other, Joseph Reed, had displayed such bad judgment throughout his teen
years, often involving drugs and violence, that Poulsen had decided against
using him.

   "Your real names, my sons, are Joseph Mengele the third,' he began, and
every bright intelligent face looked up at their father with expectancy. 
After talking respectfully about his own father he covered with little
modesty the results of his life's dedication to the purpose of Righteous
Women.  He spoke next of his joy and pride in their upbringing, in how well
they'd endured the twenty-odd years with the whores that were their
mothers.

   Some blushed at this and a few became angry for a moment, but all were
soon drawn back to the sound of his voice as he told them of the experience
that all of them had shared.  He spoke of the advantages of learning first
hand, from one's mother, of the true nature and calling of women.

   One of the Josephs, who had bristled at his father's coarse description
of his mother, looked around the long table and realized that he wasn't
alone in his taboo enjoyment of his mother for all those years.  All of
these guys, his brothers, had used their mothers probably as thoroughly as
he had...  a blow job before school, perhaps, or a quickie with her bent
over the kitchen table...  and at least one fuck later in the day, in her
wet, warm pussy or in her deliciously tight ass.

   "Yes,' he thought, "she was a whore.' Pushing these thoughts and his
momentary doubts aside, the young man focused his attention back on his
father and learned, along with the eleven others, his assignment.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Eight

   Saturday, August 26
10:40 p.m.



   Mike O'Brien parked a quarter mile away from the church, tucking his car
down a one-lane dirt road that split two large fields of corn.  The
cloudless sky was filled with bright stars, and the quarter-moon provided
him with enough light as he walked back toward the edge of town, a backpack
suspended from his shoulders, toward the church.

   His thoughts were on his rendezvous with Sister Mary, but as he got
closer, and could make out the cross on the church's steeple set against
the starry sky, he found himself feeling a deep sense of guilt.

   He had never consciously bought into the teachings of his church, but
they'd been drilled into him for so many years that he could not forget
them if he tried.  And he had tried, during college, pushing the Catholic
morality aside just long enough to seduce his first girl.  The guilt
followed, but it wasn't as powerful as his lusts, and the second girl was
easier.  The other guys, his friends and dorm mates, showed no restraint at
all.  They acted and boasted as if it was all a game, and the winner would
be the guy who got laid the most.

   The guilt lessened over his freshman year, until that awful time in the
Spring when his girl friend of the time told him she was late.  Two weeks
later she was tested positive, pregnant.  She'd had the pregnancy
terminated, and his feeling of guilt was magnified.

   He'd gotten a vasectomy shortly thereafter.  Through the rest of his
undergraduate years, and his graduate studies, he had used his charm and
good looks to bring a steady stream of coeds into his bed.  The guilt faded
into the background.

   But as he approached the church, it's steeple and cross looming large
against the sky, the guilt returned.  He was a fornicator, he knew, and
that was a sin.  But the thing he was about to do was far more serious.  A
nun.  In God's house.

   He tried the side door and found it unlocked, as the sister had told him
it would be.  Slipping inside the darkness, he could feel his heart
hammering in his chest.  The smell of the place was familiar, that mixture
of candle wax and something else...  he couldn't identify it but the smell
evoked the many times he'd sat through Mass.

   Creeping forward like a thief, he walked furtively toward the neat lines
of pews, until he could see the candles burning on each side of the pulpit,
the dim light swallowed by the cavernous space.  Behind that, high on the
far wall, illuminated by the moonlight filtered through the stained glass
window to his right, was the relief of Jesus Christ on the cross.  He
stared as he walked down the aisle, and would have stumbled over the
kneeling form of Sister Mary had he not stopped.

   It was the quiet mumbling of her prayers that stopped him short, and he
found himself straining to make out the dark shape a dozen feet away.  He
walked quietly forward, and could make out her habit, and see that she was
rolling her rosary beads in her hands as she prayed.

   Swallowing back his fear, and his guilt, he said in a voice that was
barely a whisper, 'Jesus.  H.  Fucking Christ.'



   Twenty minutes later he just had to stop.  His jaw and tongue ached, and
his face and neck were drenched with her juices.  Pulling himself out from
under the habit, he sat back on his haunches and stared at Sister Mary.

   She was as he'd remembered her before he pulled up the bottom of her
habit and crawled inside to feel with his tongue for her virgin sex. 
Sitting on a pew bench, her eyes fixed on the relief of Jesus Christ. 
There were some differences now, he noticed, the eyes were impossibly big,
luminous, her lips set in a reverent smile, and the headdress of her
uniform was off her head, upset he knew by the gyrations of her passions.

   He'd been trapped for fifteen minutes in the pitch black of her skirts,
his mouth and tongue constantly at her sex.  Even so, he could not have
missed the nun's many orgasms, her cries of release, the first less than a
minute after his tongue first found the slit of her sex and eased inside.
They followed more quickly as he continued, and in the end it seemed to him
that she was cuming almost constantly, wetting his face with her discharge.

   He rose to his feet and pulled his tee shirt over his head, then kicked
off his shoes as his fingers released his belt.  All the time he undressed
he watched her, sitting there in rapturous attention to her master, Jesus
Christ.  Even when he stood before her, nude, his cock fully erect, she
didn't move, not even blink, as if she could see through him to the relief
on the wall.  As he pushed her wide open legs back together, and climbed on
the bench, one knee on either side of the nun's thighs, and brought his
cock to her face, she stared beyond him, or at the image in her mind's eye.

   The silence after her passionate cries was eerie, and he didn't want to
break the mood by speaking.  His hands went behind her head and he set her
headdress back in place.  Holding his cock in one hand, he used the other
to caress her lips, then to part them.  As he slid his cock over her lips,
her newly-formed instincts took over.  She opened to take him inside,
keeping her teeth out of the way.

   It didn't take him long at all, sliding his cock back and forth in her
wet, warm mouth, the pressure of her lips and tongue delicately erotic. 
With her habit on he was constantly reminded that he was face-fucking a
nun. Less than two minutes after he'd started, he groaned as his cock
blasted his cum into her mouth.

   "Come, Sister Mary, let us experience the joys of our Holy purpose,' he
said.  After cuming in her mouth five minutes earlier, he'd walked around
the church, looking for the best spot for taking her virginity.  Behind the
pulpit was a raised dais, with seats on one side for a choir, and an organ
on the other.  Between them was six feet of open flooring, directly beneath
the relief of Jesus Christ.  He retrieved from his backpack a towel and a
camp pad, and pulled the valve that allowed in to inflate.

   "Yes your Holiness,' she said, taking his hand and rising to follow him.
Still dressed in her habit, and only her habit, having "forgotten' to don
underclothes after her evening bath, the nun didn't take undue notice to
his nudity, nor did she wonder why The Holy Man directed her to lie down on
the makeshift bed without having her disrobe.  As she looked up and saw the
form of Jesus Christ looming above her, she hardly noticed his hands
pushing her skirts above her waist.

   O'Brien's cock stiffened anew as he uncovered her legs and sex to his
view.  He caressed her calves and thighs before lifting her legs up and
back, raising her ass up long enough to position the towel beneath the
white globes.  He knew she'd likely bleed and was also concerned about
their juices creating a suspicious stain on her habit.  But, at the same
time, he wanted Sister Mary dressed as a nun when he took her.  Leaning
forward, he found the zipper near her throat and pulled it down to her
belly button.  He pulled the garment apart, exposing her milky white
globes.

   When Sister Mary felt the probing at her sex she tore her eyes off the
figure of Christ and looked at the Holy man lying over her.  She felt his
mouth at her breast, and the head of his cock pressing into her sex, and
groaned.  Placing a hand on his head, she urged him on, arching her back to
push more of her breast into his mouth.

   Her cunt was like a hot furnace as he eased inside the tight passage,
stopping only when he reached the membrane that guarded her virginity.  He
worked his hips around in small circles, not attempting any further
penetration but instead moving the head of his cock inside the lips of her
pussy, across the erect nub of her clit.

   Sister Mary moaned as she felt the fire build within her, the Holy
purpose of their coupling central to her thoughts, the pleasure unlike
anything she had ever imagined.  Closing her eyes, she felt her heart race
as the warm sensations coursed through her young body.  Feeling his mouth
leave her breast, she opened her eyes to see him above her, the clear blue
eyes showing patience along with the passion of their Holy purpose.  She
knew that she had to have him inside her, and she wrapped her legs around
his hips in a signal of her need.

   O'Brien lifted himself up on his arms above her.  Slowly, he pushed his
cock further into her very tight hole.  He could feel the walls of her sex
stretch wide to accommodate his girth, but her face showed no signs of
pain. When his cock pressed again up against her membrane, he stopped and
then withdrew until just the head was inside.  Back and forth he went,
fucking his a few inches into her tight sex, stopping each time his cock
reached the barrier.  He angled his penetration so that his cock shunted
across her clit each time he pushed inside.

   Sister Mary was groaning loudly now, twisting her head from side to side
as the pleasure coming from her sex increased.  Her hips began pushing back
at him, moving around to increase the contact of his cock on her center. 
The pleasure built with each stroke of his cock, and soon she was close to
the edge.  When she did cum, the feelings in her brain were like a thousand
little explosions, and she felt him drive into her, hard, breaking though
her hymen and driving deep inside her womb.  The pain was lost in the power
of her orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body.

   O'Brien stared into the nun's face, watching the angelic features
distort with the pleasure she was feeling.  His cock felt like it was in a
velvet vice, the tight walls of her sex gripping his rod, pulsating as he
pulled back several inches before driving once again into her spasming sex.
Her orgasm seemed to go on and on as he forced his cock back and forth in
her sex, her copious discharge easing the way, thoroughly wetting his cock
and balls.

   When at last Sister Mary felt the hot eruption of His Holy seed deep
within her, splashing against her womb, the power of her orgasm doubled...
tripled...  and she could feel His presence as never before, the warmth of
her merciful God filled her as her consciousness slowly faded away.



   - o -



   Jessica Graham hummed to herself as she sat in front of her Mac and
flipped it on.  Rhett was down the hall reading a good night story to
Katie.

   The weekend and been delightful, she thought to herself, and smiled when
she recalled the look, *that look*, on Rhett's face while he was shooing
Katie through her pre-bed ritual.  It meant that their weekend was not yet
over.

   They'd made love Friday night after a delicious Japanese dinner in town.
Saturday, when she'd returned from her back-to-school shopping with Katie,
Rhett had sat impatiently through the modeling of all her new clothes.  As
soon as he had the chance, however, he pointed out to the five-year old
that Sallie was playing at the swings next door, and had reached for
Jessica as soon as the door closed behind the girl.

   There on the family room floor, he'd given her several great orgasms,
first with his tongue flickering in her sex and then during a wonderful
fuck, his hands on her breasts while she bounced up and down on top. 
Jessica wondered how a game of golf could make someone so horny.

   Last night, he'd gone out to rent a movie after their family dinner.  It
wasn't until much later, after she'd put Katie to bed, showered and gone
downstairs in her robe, that she learned of his choice.  She feigned
disgust with the XXX-rated movie, but had secretly enjoyed the wildly
improbably sex on the screen as well as the constant attentions of Rhett.
There were two scenes she especially liked, in part because Rhett was
spooning her on the carpeted floor, his hard cock inside her, stationary
but throbbing, while they watched.

   A blond girl was on a king-sized bed, on her hands and knees, getting
her ass fucked by a well-hung stud.  Lying on the bed beneath the blond,
head to tail, was an auburn-haired girl who possessed a long and versatile
tongue.  Jessa could readily imagine herself as the girl on the bottom,
because they looked somewhat alike.  The cut and color of her hair was the
same as hers, and the girl lapping at the blonde's cunt had Jessa's full
breasts and neatly trimmed pussy.

   The blond, by contrast, was tall and slender, with gold rings pierced
through her nipples, belly button and labia.  The close up shots,
alternating between the thick cock gliding back and forth in the blonde's
stretched anus to the auburn girl's tongue foraging in her cunt, were a
little too clinical for Jessica.  The overhead shots were incredibly sexy,
however, to see that incredibly long cock driving...  disappearing between
those firm white cheeks....  deep inside...

   The second scene she recalled with even more pleasure.  It was the same
three lovers, but the two women were lying face to face on a thick rug in
front of a crackling fire.  They were rubbing their breasts and cunts
together, kissing passionately, and Jessa found herself wondering how the
blonde's rings would feel against her breasts, nipples, and clit...

   The man appeared after a few minutes, and quickly joined the action,
mounting the girl on top, the Jessa-like girl, driving his cock into her
cunt.  During this scene, Rhett had eased her onto her belly and entered
her from the rear.

   By the time Rhett had cum inside her for the second time during the
movie, he had stroked her through a half-dozen orgasms, some of them small.
This action, however, watching "herself' pinned between the man and woman
while in real-life Rhett fucked into her from the rear...  her orgasm had
coated Rhett's cock and balls with a tremendous discharge.



   Sunday morning, she'd returned to their room after making Katie's
breakfast and starting the coffee.  Discarding her robe, she climbed back
into bed.  Jessa knew that Katie would plop herself in front of Sesame
Street, and that she could sleep another hour snuggled next to Rhett's
warm, sleepy body.  But after a few minutes during which sleep didn't come,
she got another idea, and slipped down under the covers.

   Rhett woke from a particularly erotic dream a few minutes later, and it
took him a moment to realize what was happening.  He smiled as he tossed
the covers aside, seeing his wife's head sliding up and down on his erect
cock.  Folding his arms behind his head, on top of the pillow, he relaxed
and watched his wife work on his cock.  After a minute or two he felt the
stirring in his balls that told him he was close.

   "It's been awhile, Jessa babe,' he said, "since you've sucked me off. 
You don't mind if I let you finish...  while I just sit back and watch?'

   Her mouth full of his cock, she managed only to nod her head.

   "Oh that's good, Jessa.  Mmmmm.  Suck me, baby...  suck me good and
hard...  ohhhh, baby...  ohhhh...'

   She'd increased the pressure she was applying, and swallowed the squirts
of cum as soon as they reached her throat, taking him as deep as she could
handle.



   Shaking off those memories, Jessa glanced at the Mac screen before her,
and typed in her password at the prompt.  She was about to hit enter when
she stopped, puzzled.  At the bottom of the security program's dialog box
were the words, "Six failed attempts since last successful log-in.'

   She stared at the screen, trying to remember the last time she's logged
on.  It was Friday afternoon, and she'd read a detailed eMail from Carolyn
DiBriggio, and had typed in a response.  In actuality, the primary reason
she was logging on tonight was to see if she had any additional mail from
the Psychologist.

   "What the fuck?' she said, just as Rhett poked his head into the room.

   He only heard the last word of her comment, and said, "Be happy to babe,
although you've worn me to a frazzle this weekend.'

   Jessa snorted and said, "Pot to kettle...  come in please.'

   "What's up?'

   "It's my Mac, come look,' she said, pointing to the notice of six failed
attempts.  "Could Katie have been trying to log onto my system?'

   "I can't image why,' he said.  "She knows the best games are on the
*real* computer.'

   "Turn your piece o' shit on, Rhett.  See if...  oh, I don't know.  I'll
be right back.'

   Jessica walked down the hall and entered Katie's room.  Sitting at the
edge of her bed, she kissed her daughter goodnight.

   "G'night, mommy.'

   "Honey,' she asked, "have you been trying to turn on mommy's computer
this weekend?  To play games?'

   "Geeze, mommy, all the really cool games are on Daddy's computer,' she
said, yawning.  "I never use yours.'

   When she returned to their office, she found Rhett staring at his
system, his expression puzzled.

   "Katie tells me she wouldn't be caught dead using my boring system,'
said Jessica.

   "Smart girl,' he said.  "This is a little strange...  my AOL account---'

   "Yes, it is a little strange that a modestly intelligent man would
submit himself to that piece o' crap...'

   He laughed.

   "Here, take a look,' he said, his wife looking over his shoulder, "see
how my 8/15 note to Walt is higher in the out basket than the later note to
Peter....  I've set up AOL so it orders things by date of last access, but
I can't remember re-reading that note, or why I would ever want to.'

   He double clicked on the message in question, and Jessa read the
two-paragraph note to Rhett's younger brother, Walt, telling him that
they'd moved in, and giving him their address and phone number.

   A chill came over Jessica as she thought about the implications of this.
Someone had tried to get into her system, tried six times!  If Rhett was
right, that same someone had entered his computer and checked some of his
eMail.  She felt violated and scared, then angry, then frustrated.

   "Let's take a walk through the house,' he said, rising from his seat. 
"See if anything is...  well, different.'

   Twenty minutes later they had checked every room in the house, and had
come up empty.  If anyone had broken in, or found the key they hid on the
front porch, they hadn't taken anything.  The couple had some expensive
silver pieces, her jewelry, the electronics, and Rhett's coin collection he
had accumulated as a kid---all untouched.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Nine

   Wednesday, August 30

   8:45 p.m.



   Rhett Graham sat in his office drinking his second cup of coffee, this
one decaffeinated.  He was about to ask Lisa Quinn to join him, and he
didn't need any more artificial stimulation.  He and Jessica had agreed
last night that something needed to be done, and that Lisa was a good place
to start.

   In her eMails to Jessica, Carolyn DiBriggio had told her all she could
without having examined and tested the women in person.  The Ph.D. 
psychologist had offered her analysis of the behavior they'd witnessed,
however.  The submissiveness displayed by Linda Waterson before and during
her brutally sexual punishment at the hands of her husband, and the fact
that she'd helped him by setting it up, were highly unusual.  The
psychologist had remarked further that the women who were sexual
submissives, and took pleasure from their servitude and debasement, didn't
tend to show the other traits of the housewife.  The extreme pride of
appearance, of her person and home, her daughter, even her standing in the
community, would not be expected of a sexual submissive.

   Dr.  DiBriggio had speculated that the cause might be in some part
physiological, and wrote that there wasn't much more she could do without
lengthy interviews of the subject(s), and/or without a blood sample to
test.

   Rhett buzzed his intercom and told his secretary that he wanted to see
her for a few minutes.  As his door opened and Lisa Quinn stepped in, he
rose from his chair and motioned to the area of his spacious office that
contained a sofa, coffee table, and two easy chairs.

   "Please, Lisa, have a seat.'

   "Thank you, Mr.  Graham.'

   She was wearing a navy blue skirt and an off-white blouse, the top two
buttons loose.  As he took his seat in the chair facing her, he crossed his
legs and let his glance take in the girl's slender ankles, shapely caves,
and the promising curve of her hips and bust.  He'd never allowed himself
to examine her this directly, but he had been coached by Jessica to make
his attraction known.  Looking up into her face, he caught a glimpse of a
new look in her large hazel eyes.  It was gone quickly, the look, and her
eyes gazed back at him now with the sexy innocence he'd come to expect.

   But he'd seen it, the pleased look that said, "Finally, he's noticing.'

   "This won't take long, Lisa.  My wife and I were talking last night
about the Labor Day weekend coming up, and she suggested that I invite you
over for dinner.'

   He smiled and shrugged before continuing.

   "I told Jessica that you probably had dates set up...  heck, she's heard
me talk about you enough to know that you're just about the prettiest girl
in Stepford.'

   Lisa manufactured a blush, and smiled.

   "What do you say, Lisa?  Can you join us Friday night?  Saturday? 
Jessa's a wonderful cook.'

   "Oh, that would be very nice, Mr.  Graham.  I'd love to meet your wife
and little girl.  Friday would be fine.'

   Rhett let his eyes drop to the girl's body once again before looking
back into her eyes.

   "Well, Lisa, we were thinking of having Katie, my daughter, spend the
night with her best friend next door.  Jessa and I do like an adult evening
every now and then.  But, in any case, is 7:00 good for you?'

   She nodded and thanked him again, and after Rhett rose from his chair,
holding out his hand, she let him help her up.  As she passed him by, she
couldn't help but notice the slight bulge in his trousers, and could feel
his eyes on her ass as she walked to the door and let herself out.

   "Bingo!' she thought to herself as she settled into her chair in the
outer office, a satisfied smile on her face.  "Even if I have to screw your
wife, too...  it's about fucking time.'



   - o -



   Why it came to her she couldn't say.  Maybe the thought popped into her
head as a result of flipping through her Rolodex, seeing the name of Gene
Myers.  Gene was a security consultant, having set up his business in
northern Virginia after twenty years service in the FBI.  He had left the
Bureau, Jessica knew, because he had fallen in love with, and married,
another agent, and such unions were against policy.

   She'd handled a case that was tried in Boston but had it's roots in the
Washington beltway.  Her client, a successful Washington lobbyist, was
positive that his phones had been tapped, telling her that there was no
other way for the prosecutors to know about his admittedly-shady
activities.

   She'd found Gene Myers through a friend who knew his wife, FBI Special
Agent Clarice Starling.  On a trip to Washington she'd scheduling time with
Myers, charging the cost of their two hour conversation to her wealthy
client.  In that time, the ex-FBI agent gave her a thorough education on
the state-of-the-art equipment and techniques for electronic surveillance.

   It was seeing his name, and feeling violated by the entry of some
stranger into her house, that got her wondering if their phones were
tapped. Acting on her hunch, she unscrewed each of the phones and, finding
nothing, was not surprised.  The bugs planted directly into phones were the
easiest to discern, and to find, and were no longer used by people who
really knew their business.

   Outside, she followed the phone lines from her house to where they
joined the box high up on the pole at the street.  It was there she noticed
the inch-think cylindrical object clamped around her phone lines just
before they disappeared into the box.  She'd held one of these devices in
her hand during her meeting with Myers, and recalled him telling her that
both incoming and outgoing signals could be picked up by the hi-tech
device. Another device would be nearby, no more than a half-mile away, that
would receive the signals and record them for later use.

   "I think I better give Gene Myers a call,' said Jessica, to herself, as
she walked back into the house.



   - o -



   The handsome young man waited with the rest of the passengers for the
luggage from United flight 803 to arrive at the lower level carousel. 
Several of the other passengers noticed the man, for he was quite striking:
tall with thick blond hair, bright blue eyes, and with a confident set to
his features that seemed misplaced on someone so young.  His expression was
of a man who knew who he was and where he was going, and it stopped just
short of naked arrogance.

   He was, in his mind, Joseph Mengele, III, and had been ever since
meeting his father.  His identity growing up was different, but he now
accepted his real name and heritage with enormous pride.  His grandfather
has advanced his field of science by working on the barely-human dregs of
Europe's ghettos.  His father, left alone to complete his noble work, had
accomplished even more.

   His father.

   Every time he thought those words his heart filled with pride.  Growing
up with only his mother had been hard, not knowing who his father was or
even if he was still alive.  The whore who raised him would only hint that
his father was out there, someplace, and he'd secretly hoped all those
years that this man would eventually come for him.

   It had been so compelling, this hope that his father existed and would
come back into his life.  But she, the slut that was his mother, had never
told him...  even after he had tied her to the bed they'd shared ever since
his fourteenth birthday.  Face-down, her arms and legs stretched into an X,
he'd whipped her until her back and ass were chris-crossed with red welts.
He'd finally concluded that the crying, slobbering slut knew nothing, that
she hadn't been trusted to know anything beyond the drivel she'd been
telling him for years.  He'd driven his cock into her ass that day, raping
her mercilessly in punishment for her ignorance.

   After collecting his luggage, Joseph walked to the Hertz booth and
queued with the travelers waiting for rentals.  He knew there were the
others, eleven of them, and that his father loved them as much as him.  But
he was determined to succeed at his task, here in Los Angeles, and with any
further responsibilities his father would trust to him.  The young man,
grandson of Dachau's Angel of Death, smiled to himself, determined to make
himself so invaluable that he'd be at his father's side for as long as the
noble man lived.



   In San Francisco, a similar young man eased his rented Jeep Cherokee
onto the Interstate and headed north and west, away from the airport and
toward the huge mountain reservoir that fed the City and most of the
peninsula communities.



   In Cleveland, Cincinnati, Dallas, Detroit, Miami, New York, Newark,
Tampa,...  the son's of Dr.  Poulsen spread out like missionaries.  Each
had a set of plans for the metropolitan water supplies and other gear for
reconnaissance.  The stainless-steel cylinder also in their possession,
once filled and deployed at just the right location, would release it's
contents slowly over the next six weeks, bringing to the women of these
cities the Righteousness of the Stepford Wives.



   - o -



   Jessica Graham finished loading the dishwasher, then poured the
after-dinner drinks.  Before joining Rhett and Lisa in the living room, she
added a powdered sedative to one of the glasses, stirring it carefully
until it was dissolved.

   She found them sitting next to each other on the long sofa, and although
the lights were dim she could see her husband's hand stroking idly along
their guest's thigh, his other hand along the top edge of the sofa, behind
her neck.  Throughout dinner with the gorgeous young girl, and afterwards,
she sensed his awkwardness about this.  Jessica knew that her husband was
not skilled in seduction, at least not the kind that made it easy for some
men to pick up partners for casual sex.

   As she approached them with the tray of drinks, she resolved to force
the action.  After handing Rhett his drink, and noticing the uncertainty in
his eyes, she took the glass intended for Lisa and stepped around the
coffee table.  Leaning over, she brought her lips to the girl's, kissing
her softly before handing her the drink.

   Stepping back to retrieve her glass, she raised it in a toast.  "To a
very interesting evening.'

   Lisa Quinn giggled and then sipped her drink.  Rhett drank too, and she
could see his face relax.

   "I'm so glad Rhett finally invited you over, Lisa.  He's been talking
about you ever since we got here, it seems, and I knew from the start that
he had the hots for you.  I can see why.'

   Lisa took another swallow and smiled at her hostess.  "I was beginning
to wonder,' she said, "I mean he's so good looking, but he didn't seem to
really notice me.'

   "Oh, I noticed,' said Rhett, his hand back on her thigh.

   "He'd be dead not to,' said Jessica, adopting the girl's giggle for the
occasion.  "You know what he told me after first meeting you, babe...  he
said, "That girl will make you swear off men,' didn't you Rhett.'

   "Uh huh,' he said, sliding his hand under her skirt, past the edge of
her stockings, over the garters...  When she turned to look at Rhett he
leaned in for a kiss.  She returned the kiss and very quickly their tongues
were exploring each other's mouths.

   Jessica pushed down her feeling of jealousy as their kiss continued,
resolved to play her slutty part in the charade.  She took a long swallow
of her cognac, watching her husband's hand dive deeper between the
brunette's thighs, feeling her own pussy become moist despite the risks
they were taking.

   Jessica finished her drink and moved over to the sofa, taking the seat
next to Lisa.  When their kiss ended, Rhett sat back and reached for his
drink.  They wanted her to finish hers before they got too far.  She did as
they wanted, draining the last of her glass before turning toward Jessica.

   The women embraced, the kiss long and wet.  Lisa took the initiative,
turning toward the older woman, pressing her back to the arm of the sofa,
covering Jessica's body with hers while their tongues danced.  When Lisa
broke the kiss, Jessica knew that she wouldn't have to act any more, and
her arms circled the girl's body, pressing her against her own, feeling the
girl's stiff nipples through the clothes that separated them.

   "What does he call you?' the question whispered directly into her ear.
"When he fucks you, I mean.  Jessica?'

   "No, Jessa,' she said, then giggled into the girl's ear.  "Most of the
time he calls me Jessa...  sometimes he calls me bitch, slut...  whore.'

   Watching Lisa and Jessa embrace, the girl's body draped over his wife's,
caused Rhett's cock to grew uncomfortable large in his pants.  Kicking off
his shoes, he quickly stripped until he was nude from the waist down. 
Climbing back on the sofa, behind Lisa, he reached out and flipped her
skirt onto her back, exposing the panties he'd felt earlier.  His hands
caressed her ass, then the moist mound of her sex, and he noticed that her
panties had snaps at the crotch.

   "And are you?' Jessica heard in her ear.  "Are you a slut...  Rhett's
whore?'

   Lisa didn't give her time to answer, her lips finding Jessa's and
forcing her mouth open, their tongues battling inside.  An expulsion of
breath preceding the breaking of the exciting kiss, and the girl moaned
into her ear.

   "He's coming inside me, Jessa, your husband...  Oh, yes!  Rhett's
fucking me, you bitch, fucking me.'

   Jessica gasped to herself, and felt the younger woman's hand on the back
of her head, pulling her up so she could see over the girl's shoulder, see
her husband kneeling behind the girl...  see his back and forth movements
as he fucked Lisa Quinn.  The girl's fingers got a grip of her hair and
pulled her back down, rudely bumping her head into the arm of the sofa. 
Lisa's mouth covered hers, the kiss demanding, taking possession of her.

   Jessa could feel Lisa's body rocking into hers, reverberating with the
power of Rhett's thrusts into her sex.  She felt that she was getting
fucked as well, not by Rhett but by this gorgeous girl, her breasts rubbing
against hers, the thrusts of the girl's tongue in her mouth echoing the
cadence of Rhett's cock..

   Jessa was enjoying this immensely, but part of her wanted to cower this
girl who had tried so hard to seduce her husband.  She freed a hand and
took a firm grip on the girl's hair, pulling her up and breaking the kiss.
Her other hand reached awkwardly between them and found Lisa's breast,
knowing from the moment she'd welcomed the girl into her home that the
brazen slut had come bra-less.

   She squeezed the firm flesh between her fingers and watched as Lisa's
lips parted and she cried out.  Keeping the girl's head pulled back, and
her vicious hold on her breast, she could hear now the slapping sound made
each time Rhett's hips met the flesh of her ass, each time he fucked his
cock into her.

   She could tell from the pace of his thrusts that Rhett would soon cum,
and she said, "Fuck the bitch good, Rhett...  cum in your office slut's
whore pussy.'

   As Jessa watched Lisa's face, the younger woman's eyes shut, and steady
cries came from her mouth.  Jessa squeezed the breast in her hand in the
tempo of Rhett's thrusts.  When the girl came a few moments later, Jessa
pulled her head down and kissed her through her climax.  She could tell
from the girl's reaction, half way through her orgasm, that Rhett was
coming inside her.



   It was the plan the Jessa had herself devised, but all the same she felt
embarrassed and ashamed to hear Rhett's words in front of Lisa Quinn.

   In front of that bitch.

   "You've been naughty, Jessa-slut, haven't you,' he'd said a few minutes
after they'd extracted themselves from the sofa.

   "What, Rhett?'

   "You've been a naughty girl, Jessa.  I know that tramp little mind of
yours...  you want to eat Lisa, don't you?  Innocent, sweat Lisa, and you
want to suck her pussy clean.'

   It didn't take much acting to blush.

   "Well, I'm not gonna let you...  not yet anyway.' He motioned for the
girl to follow, and led Jessa up the stairs, slapping her ass as he went.
In the bedroom, while Lisa Quinn watched, he stripped off her clothes while
he humiliated her further, called her every nasty name he could think of.
Inside a couple of minutes, she was nude and handcuffed to the headboard.

   She watched as Rhett and Lisa finished undressing one another, kissing
and touching as they did, and was forced to listen to his appreciative
comments on the younger woman's admittedly incredible body.  They moved
into the bathroom, her master bathroom, and showered together.  While she
waited she felt the jealousy return, even as she knew Rhett was hers and
always would be, that he was playing a role in the play of her creation. 
At the same time, she knew he was enjoying himself, getting this
opportunity to live out a fantasy, fucking this drop-dead gorgeous girl.

   When they returned, Rhett lowered the lights and behaved like she wasn't
even there, moving on the bed next to her with Lisa.  She watched...  hell,
she couldn't not watch, as her husband made love to the beautiful girl. 
His hands on those perfect mounds, his mouth sucking the thick brown
nipples; their kisses so long and passionate; their words of lust
escalating as their adultery took it's course.  His cock inside her now,
hammering inside as her legs wrapped around his back, her hips rotating
sensually, driving up to meet his thrusts.  The sound of her cum.

   Then again, this time with the girl on top, her incredible body shown to
best advantage as she rode Jessa's husband.  Even chained as she was Jessa
could see the union of their sex, her husband's rod slick and shiny as the
girl rose up, then it was swallowed up in the wet pink flesh of her
hairless cunt.  She came again, her features even more beautiful in
release, calling his name, her husbands name, as she slammed up and down on
his cock...

   Then, as her orgasm wound down, she fell forward into Rhett's arms. 
After a few moments, Rhett lifted her head off his shoulder, shaking her
slightly.  Satisfied that she was out cold, he rolled the two of them over,
and pulled his cock free.

   "She out?'

   "Yeah, I think so.' Whispers.  Quiet whispers.

   Rhett came over and released Jessa.  Rolling off the bed, she went to
the dresser and retrieved the kit that Dr.  DiBriggio had sent a week ago.
Rhett turned up the lights as Jessa moved purposefully to the girl, rolling
her onto her back.  Taking a seat on the edge of the bed Jessica held one
arm straight while Rhett tied the rubber tourniquet around the upper arm of
the sleeping girl.  Jessica nodded to him and rubbed the alcohol-coated
cotton ball on the inside of the girl's elbow, directly over the faint blue
line of a blood vessel close to the surface.

   Rhett closed the girl's fingers into a fist and flexed her wrist until
the vein stood out clearly in the arm.

   "My turn to poke the bitch,' Jessa whispered as she inserted the needle.
The blood began to fill the tube, and she glanced up at Rhett.  His eyes
were on hers, and she could see the same excitement in his face and eyes
that she'd noticed when he'd snuck out to spy on the Waterson's.  He
clearly enjoyed the risk-taking of all this, and she had to smile.

   He saw the smile.  "Not bad, eh?' he whispered, motioning with his head
toward the sleeping girl's body.  Jessa looked at the large but incredibly
pert and firm breasts, the thick nipples, the tiny waist, the gracefully
full hips...  then back at the tube, almost full now.

   "You're a trooper, hubby,' she said, closing the valve on the needle
housing.  She pulled the full vial of blood from the housing and handed it
carefully to Rhett.  The second vial she plugged in place was full of an
amber looking liquid, a narcotic that would counteract the sedative they'd
given her earlier.  It would also insure that she woke without the
tell-tale headache and drowsiness.

   "Fifteen minutes, hon,' she said, removing the needle and pressing a
cotton ball over the tiny puncture, folding the woman's arm at the elbow to
hold it in place.  After five minutes or so she climbed over the girl and
took her place on the other side of the bed.  Rhett cuffed her as before.
Once he was satisfied that her arm wouldn't bleed, he used a warm washcloth
to clean off the alcohol.

   After lowering the lights, he climbed back on the bed, spreading and
lifting the unconscious girl's legs, bringing her slit to the level of his
cock.

   "This is kinda weird,' he whispered to Jessa as he eased himself in the
sleeping girl's sex.

   "The work's done, babe,' she said, watching her husband as he rolled
onto his back, the impaled girl resting on his body.  "Now it's time for
the fun.'

   "You're sure you want me to...' he said, leaving the rest of his
question un-stated.

   "Yes,' she said.  "Now be quiet.'



   Lisa Quinn awoke and it took her a moment to remember where she was. 
The arms around her tightened perceptibly in response to her movement, and
she could feel the hard cock filling her sex.

   "Rhett,' she said to herself, forcing her eyes open, seeing his neck,
shoulder, and ear.  The memory of their evening came back to her, and she
smiled to herself.  That must have been some cum, she smiled to herself. 
He was pretty good, this Rhett Graham, a great fuck...  and the way he
shackled his wife and made her watch, that was kinky.

   Turning her head until her lips were on his ear, she kissed him there
and whispered, "Do you think she's suffered enough?  Should we fuck the
little bitch?'

   She felt Rhett's body vibrate as he laughed silently beneath her.  Then
his teeth bit playfully on her ear lobe before he said, "How 'bout you eat
her pussy while I ream the slut's ass?'

   She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes.  He was
serious, she saw at once, and she grinned at him when she felt his cock
jerk in her cunt.

   She kissed him before bringing her lips to her ear.  "She let's you do
that, huh?  Well, Rhett, honey, I'd love to participate in any way I can.'
She felt his cock throb again in her sex when she added, "Here or at the
office.'

   "It's only been recently,' whispered Rhett into Lisa's ear, following
the script, "that she's allowed me to take her that way.  I'm hooked, Lisa
baby...  and now that you mention it, I'll want you in my office first
thing Tuesday morning, greased up, ready to get your ass reamed.'

   "Yes, Sir!' said the brunette.



   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Ten

   Sunday, September 3



   It was not often that the plant was completely deserted, but this was
Labor Day weekend, and the place was empty except for Rhett and Jessica
Graham.  They'd left their daughter with the Watersons and were here to use
the speakerphone in Rhett's conference room.  The extra impetus was, of
course, that their home phones were tapped.

   Jessica dialed the number that Gene Myers had given her a few days
before, after a brief phone call to office.  He'd been able to talk for
only a few minutes but had suggested she call him back at this time, so
that his wife could participate in the conversation.  Jessica knew of
Clarice Starling Myers from a mutual friend at the Smithsonian Institute,
and it was through her many months ago that she'd found Gene Myers for her
all-important Rolodex.

   She recognized his deep southern accent as soon as he said hello.  After
a few words of greeting and introductions, more for Rhett's benefit than
anybody else's, Jessica jumped in.

   "I really do appreciate you and your wife giving up some of your long
weekend to talk to us, but I'm really quite worried.'

   "I could tell, Jessica, from our brief phone call, and I wish we could'a
set this up earlier.  Maybe I should start by sayin' I've briefed Clarice
on what you told me Thursday, that you strongly suspect that someone has
broken into your home, ostensibly to access your home computers.  And later
you discovered that your phones are tapped.  Right?'

   "Yes,' she said, "we're pretty certain about both.  The
cylindrical....thing on the wire near the box looks identical to the device
you showed me in your office last year.  I can FAX you a Polaroid of it if
you'd like.'

   "That would be great, Jessica,' said Clarice, "but let's assume for the
moment that it checks out, and that your phones are tapped.  The obvious
question is, why?  Were you working on some sensitive case back in Boston?
Or is Rhett's job involved in something that might attract attention?'

   "I don't think that's it.  We're worried that it's something else.  I
don't know how to put this so you don't think we're crazy, but the women
here in Stepford---and I mean all the females---are uniformly...  well,
strange.  They act exactly alike, all of them, like a characterization of
someone's idea of a perfect woman.  It's hard to explain without appearing
paranoid, but all the women here dress like Princess Grace, keep their
houses like Martha Stewart, and, well...'

   "Excuse my interruption,' added Rhett, "and my crude language, but they
fuck like $1,000 whores.'

   "I won't ask how you know that, Rhett,' said Gene Myers with a touch of
levity, "or how a Yankee boy like yourself gits a name like Rhett.  What I
will ask is this, what's the problem?' Both of the listeners could not miss
the sound of a punch landing solidly on flesh, and an exclamation from
Gene.

   "Please excuse my Neanderthal husband, Jessica,' she said, but her voice
carried just the hint of amusement.  "I've only had him for eighteen
months, and he's not quite trained yet.'

   The conversation got serious then.  Forty-five minutes later, the
Grahams left the plant and headed home, feeling for once that they weren't
alone in their efforts to grapple with this mystery.



   - o -



   Lisa Quinn brought the tray of drinks to the patio by the pool, and
handed each man his glass.  Scotch on the rocks for Dr.  Poulsen and Jim
Conners, vodka martini for Dr.  Abbott, beers for Sheriff Grant, Mike
O'Brien and Geoff Reynolds.

   A diet Coke for herself.

   "Thanks, Lisa,' said Dr.  Poulsen.  "Please, sit down.'

   "Mr.  O'Brien, if you will...'

   "Certainly, Doctor.' O'Brien consulted his notes briefly before
speaking. "Eleven of the twelve are set...  they've scoped out the targets
and are ready to proceed.  The twelfth, Joseph number six,' O'Brien had
learned never to use the mother's last names after a sharp rebuke from
Poulsen a few days ago, "is in place in Miami, but had to delay his part of
the project because the damn airline put his luggage on the wrong flight.'

   Mike ignored the derisive snort from Sheriff Grant.  "He's all set now,
however, and will reconnoiter the reservoir tonight.'

   Glancing up at Jim Conners, he continued, "Jim, they all found the plans
you provided of the water systems invaluable.  To sum it up, they're all in
place, ready and waiting for the RCA.'

   Dr.  Poulsen nodded his head.  "Dole's aide found me a plant in Kansas
City, MO, of all places.  A big Republican supporter, no doubt.  He tells
me he'll have the RCA manufactured by the wee hours of Monday morning,
using only one trusted foreman to help him with the equipment.  The batch
will be divided into twenty-five sealed containers, twelve of them
air-shipped to our boys, the rest sent to the hospital for storage.'

   Smiles broke out on most of the faces around the table.  There were
still risks and problems to overcome, but everything was working like
clockwork.

   "What about the Graham woman?' asked Poulsen, his look taking in Lisa
Quinn and O'Brien.

   O'Brien allowed himself a small smile, having already heard the story of
Lisa's night with the couple.  He nodded to her. "If that woman isn't
Righteous,' said Lisa, "she's pretty close.' The brunette quickly covered
Rhett's invitation to dinner and the first part of the evening.  She took
her time when she got to the part in their master bedroom, knowing that her
words would get all these men hot.  Watching their eyes as she spoke,
seeing the excitement build, she told of the husband shackling his nude
wife to the headboard while they fucked, of her quiet acquiescence when he
ordered his wife to kneel so that Lisa could slide underneath, of the
wife's many orgasms as her husband fucked her up the ass.

   She concluded her narrative with the events of the next morning when, to
her surprise and amusement, Rhett Graham had ordered his wife to remain
nude while she prepared and served them breakfast.  By the time she had
finished telling them how the wife had crawled under the table and serviced
Rhett then her, she knew there were six hard cocks under Dr.  Poulsen's
table.

   "The thing I'm still concerned about,' added O'Brien, "is that Mrs. 
Graham talked about Stepford to the psychologist, Dr.  Carolyn DiBriggio,
and probably exchanged eMails.  Maybe with others too.'

   "No luck getting into her system?' This from Sheriff Grant, and the tone
was condescending, as usual.

   Mike turned to the lawman and shook his head.  "I went in again, last
week, and daisy-chained a special component to the back of her system.  It
will store the first hundred or so keystrokes the next time she logs on. 
That'll give me the password she uses, unless she's paranoid and changes
it.'

   "When do you go back in?' The sheriff asked, his tone only slightly more
pleasant.

   "Go back in,' O'Brien thought to himself, "go back in your wife's fat
ass?  Is that what you mean, fuckhead?'

   Instead he said, in a reasonable tone that belied his contempt for the
cuckold lawman, "As soon as Linda Waterson gives me a call, alerting me
that they're out of the house.  Tomorrow hopefully, Wednesday at the
latest.'

   "Good work, Mike,' said Poulsen, nodding his head at his aide, then at
the girl, "and Lisa, well done.'

   Poulsen scooted his chair back and rose.  "The grill is ready, my good
friends, and dinner will be on the table in a half-hour.  Please help
yourself to another drink if you wish, or perhaps you'd enjoy a swim or a
Jacuzzi.'

   "That's for me,' announced Lisa Quinn, lifting herself out of her chair
and heading toward the large kidney shaped pool.  As she walked she pulled
her cover-up over her head and tossed it aside, knowing that six sets of
eyes were on her ass, the tiny bikini bottom hiding very little.

   She suspected that five of the six men would opt for a swim instead of
another drink, and she hoped she'd get the chance to empty each of their
balls before dinner.  Dr.  Poulsen, on the other hand, would tend to the
grill, postponing his enjoyment of her until after his other guests had
left.

   And she was right, on both counts.  Jim Conners got to her first,
meeting her in the shallow end of the pool, his rigid cock jutting out a
few inches above the water level.  While she sucked him into her throat she
felt two more sets of hands on her body, lifting her into a horizontal
position.  Her bikini bottom was peeled off her hips and down her legs.

   She didn't know or care who it was that moved between her legs, his
hands holding her thighs, his cock easing into her sex.  She was supported
by both men, but it also felt like she was floating.  After a minute the
two men developed a regular cadence, pulling her one way until the cock in
her mouth lodged firmly in her throat, then the other, until her pussy was
filled with cock.

   It was a slow, easy fuck, the water making it impossible for anything
vigorous, but she came before the men dumped their loads into her body. 
Each was replaced with two more, Mike O'Brien at her mouth, and the cock at
her sex, she recognized from it's considerable girth, belonged to Sheriff
Grant.

   When this pair had finished using her she'd cum twice more.  Her last
act before dinner was to swallow one more appetizer, this one from Geoff
Reynolds.  She found her former boss sitting on the edge of the pool,
sipping his scotch, his familiar cock standing straight up.  It took her
less than two minutes to suck him dry.

   Lisa Quinn had just enough time to dry off and dress before dinner.  The
men would be dressed casually for the end-of-summer meal.  But she knew
what was expected of her, especially at Dr.  Poulsen's table, and came to
the dinning room in an elegant black cocktail dress and three-inch heels.
The diamond earrings were a full carrot each, and the string of diamonds
around her slender neck and wrist would have cost her five year's salary
from her job at the plant.

   As she took her seat she smiled to Poulsen at the head of the table,
seeing in his eyes appreciation for her decision to wear his gifts.  The
conversation over dinner was about how the country would change over the
coming months and years.  She knew not to take part unless asked a direct
question.  She focused instead on eating and drinking with the elegance and
care that would be expected of her, smiling at Dr.  Poulsen every time he
looked her way.



   After cleaning up the kitchen and dining room, she poured a generous
portion of Drambuie into a glass and went outside to the pool.  The others
had excused themselves and left thirty minutes ago, leaving Lisa alone with
Poulsen.

   She found her master relaxing in the Jacuzzi, and handed him the drink.
Kneeling behind him, she went to work massaging his scalp, her fingers
applying just the right amount of pressure.  For thirty minutes she worked,
on his head, neck and shoulders, digging into his muscles until her fingers
were sore, while he sipped his drink and relaxed in the bubbling water.

   "Enough,' he said at last, rising and stepping out of the water, steam
rising from his body.  She dried him thoroughly with a large soft towel,
then helped him into his robe.  His uncircumcised cock hung down between
his legs, its length and thickness impressive even in it's current relaxed
state.

   "Pour me a nightcap, would you, dear,' he said, "and bring it to me
downstairs.'

   At the mention of his basement "playroom' her heart began beating a
little faster.  Lisa poured his drink and took a large swallow, hoping the
alcohol would relax her and give her courage.  She was always thrilled that
Dr.  Poulsen desired her, and that the great man took pleasure from using
her body.  Such was her conditioning.  She was also more than a little
frightened, having experienced his sometimes violent lusts many times.

   She took his drink and descending down into the basement rooms.  Her
steps made quite a racket, high heels against the concrete floor, but she
could hear the music escaping from the room in the corner.  It was
Beethoven's ninth symphony.  Hearing the music and recalling the other
times he'd chosen that piece, what he'd done to her, caused her heart to
race.  Entering the room and closing the door behind her, she saw that
Poulsen had discarded his robe.  He was standing naked in the middle of the
room, his eyes half-closed, his tall muscular body swaying perceptibly to
the music.

   When she approached him, he reached out for the drink, then held up his
other hand, opening the fingers so she could see, and take from him, the
tube of lubricating jelly.

   He was absorbed in his music, and she knew that he wouldn't want any
words exchanged.  But she already knew what he wanted, how he'd take her
this night.  Dropping to her knees she took his flaccid cock into her hands
and rubbed the head over her lips.  The organ began to grow in her hands,
and then in her mouth after she sucked it gently inside.  Soon it filled
her mouth more fully than any cock she'd ever had, and she couldn't manage
much more than half of it's length.

   Pulling her stretched lips off the mammoth shaft, she squeezed a
generous dollop of jelly into her hand, and proceeded to lubricate his
cock. When she was done the thick pole of muscle reflected the light as
well as the diamonds around her neck.  Reaching between her own legs, under
the bottom of her black silk dress, she forced a finger into her ass, then
another, driving them and the lubricant as deep as she could.

   After preparing herself as best she could, the brunette cleaned her
hands and set a thick cushion on carpeted floor, next to the long wooden
bin that contained his things.  The things he'd use on her very shortly.

   Still looking as elegant as she had at dinner, the brunette lay down on
the floor, adjusting herself so the thick cushion was under her ass.  Her
head was about a foot from the wall.  She didn't have to wait long, a few
minutes perhaps, before Poulsen joined her, kneeling between her legs, his
greased cock jutting out ten inches from his loins.  He pulled her dress up
to her waist before lifting her legs up and back, across her body.  Poulsen
was the only man who'd ever taken her this way.  Oh, she'd been taken
anally for years, starting with her abusive father when she was fifteen. 
But only Poulsen did it like this, facing her, in a position that gave him
easy access to her cunt, breasts and face.

   As she felt the head of his cock against her rosette, she willed herself
to open, groaning in pain as he forced himself past her sphincter.  Her
teeth were clenched but she forced her hands behind her to brace on the
wall and pushed back against him as he worked his massive cock inside.

   "Oh God!' The cry was involuntary, escaping her lips after the last
thrust had buried his cock six inches into her stretched hole, leaving her
feeling like she was being split in two.  His hand lashed out and slapped
her, hard.  The taste of the blood in her mouth would be a constant
reminder that he wanted her quiet and unmoving.

   Gritting her teeth she managed to endure the pain of his entry in
silence.  Her mind struggled to push away the pain and focus instead on the
service she was providing to this greatest of all men.  The music, she
knew, simulated one part of his mind as thoroughly as using her this way
stimulated another.  Fully corked at last, she watched in silence as his
hands came up to her neck, adjusting the diamond necklace just so,
spreading her hair in a halo around her head.

   His touch was gentle as he untied the straps of her cocktail dress.  The
bodice was pulled down, exposing her breasts, his hands cupping the firm
flesh.

   Then his hands left her breasts to forage in the box to his right.  Lisa
groaned to herself as she saw the things he retrieved, then again as he
tightened the nipple clamps to her thick nubs.  When that was done he
shoved a vibrating egg into her sex, forcing it deep with his long fingers.

   Only then did he take up the wand.  It was a about eighteen inches long,
slender and black, and he held it between his fingers just as a conductor
would.  Up and down it went, side to side, all in perfect time to the
music.

   Lisa's mind was filled with the sensations coming from her body, the
incredible feeling of fullness from her ass, unpleasant still but not as
bad as before.  The egg helped, it's gentle vibrations deep in her sex
could be felt in her ass and, indeed, throughout her body.  Her nipples
were on fire, clamped as they were, and every once in a while Poulsen
brought the wand sharply down on one tip or the other, sending a jolt of
pain through her body.

   After a lull in the music the final movement began, and so did Poulsen.
The wand in his hand danced back and forth in time to the music but now he
eased his cock out of her tight hole until only the uncircumcised head was
inside.  Lisa clenched her teeth and braced herself as he drove back
inside, corking her fully in one long steady thrust.

   Poulsen's uncommonly bright blue eyes stared into her face, missing none
of the girl's discomfort...  the wet, luminous eyes, the flared nostrils,
the full lips pressed tight each time he drove inside her.  He established
a conscious cadence that flowed with the orchestral music, driving into her
ass as the music soared, bringing the wand down on one breast or another as
the tymphony was struck...  but before the final movement was half through
he was so embroiled in the music that his mind took over.  And when the
last magnificent crescendo built to it's conclusion, his cock erupted deep
in the vice-like sheath, adding that pleasure to his almost orgasmic
enjoyment of the music.



   - o -



   Dr.  Carolyn DiBriggio stared at the phone, wondering if she could make
herself do it.  He would have all the latest testing equipment and
methodologies, and if there was anything in the blood sample she'd received
that morning from Jessica Graham, Peter Goodwin would find it.

   But Peter Goodwin, Ph.D., was a sore point for her, or rather, she
corrected herself, she was a sore point for him.  They'd dated and then
lived together while she was getting her doctorate at Stanford.  He was at
that time a full professor at the age of thirty-five, well on his way
toward becoming a legend in the scientific community.  His field was
bioengineering, and he'd been the one to solve the RNA riddle of a deadly
strain of virus found in equatorial Africa.

   Their families and friends assumed they'd marry, Peter and she.  But he
was offered, and she understood that he really had to accept, the position
of Director of Research at the Center for Disease Control, in Atlanta.  For
the work he did, the CDC was the Mecca.  The Pasteur Institute in Paris was
close, and the FBI labs in Quantico were quite capable for what they did,
but the CDC had the most respected people and labs in the world.  This was
the only place in the world where the Russians, Chinese and just about
every other country sent blood and tissue samples for testing and matching
with other viral strains.

   Peter had wanted to get married, and pressed her to postpone the
completion of her work at Stanford to join him in Atlanta.  They'd
fought... said some stupid things.  In the end, she'd walked out, refusing
even talk to him over his last several weeks in Palo Alto.  She was hurt
that he didn't appreciate how much her work meant to her, angry that he
would presume so quickly that she'd drop everything to accommodate his
soaring career.

   He'd been a jerk, yes, but she also realized, a little bit late, that
she'd been childish.  The friends they shared told her that he was wounded
by her refusal, more than a little bitter.  His pride wouldn't allow him to
even call her during the intervening years.  Although she had dated several
men since Peter, she'd never found a relationship that felt as right.

   And now she had to call him, and open up their wounds.  Damn.

   The call from Jessica Graham had troubled her, when her Smith college
friend had told her of her phones being tapped and of the break-in.  She
could hear the uncertainty and fear in her friend's voice, and had assured
Jessica that she'd do what she could.

   That was what did it for Carolyn...  she'd promised to do her best and
her best was Peter Goodwin.  Picking up the phone at least, she placed the
call.

   "Goodwin here,' came the response after two rings.  That was just like
Peter, she remembered, his disdain for the titles and trappings of
academia. "The guy who fixes my car,' he once said, "he's a doctor of
carology---no less schooled, if he's good, in the art he practices, than
you or I.' "Hello Peter,' she said.  "This is Carolyn calling.  Carolyn
DiBriggio.'

   "Hmmm,' he said after a pause of a few seconds, "boy, that name's
familiar.  Give me a minute and I'm sure it will come to me.'

   His words were up-beat, but she knew him well enough to recognize the
hurt in his voice, and the hope.  She smiled into the receiver.  "Tall,
medium brown hair...  brown eyes that used to look at you with something
approaching hero worship...'

   "That can't be the Carolyn I remember,' he said.  "She was a real
ball-buster..  hmmm, but, I have to admit, a great friend.' His voice lost
it's jocularity, and his last words were flat, completely from his heart,
"And I've missed her...  I've missed you...  terribly.'

   "Me too' she said, her eyes filling with tears, "I've missed you too,
Peter.'

   "Before we go any further, Carolyn...  shit, how do I say this
right---I've picked up the phone a hundred times, to call you, just to hear
your voice...'

   She waited for a moment, then longer, and knew at last than he was
unable to speak.

   "Peter, Jesus...  I, um...  I called you about a work-related issue,
something that has been eating away at me.  But now...  now that I hear
your voice...'

   "Tell you what, babe.  Before I start bawling into the phone, why don't
you tell me how I can help.  That is, if you can push your hero-worship
aside long enough to clue me in.'

   She laughed.  "I'll try.'



   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Eleven

   Tuesday, September 5
9:45 a.m.



   O'Brien got back into the Graham house Tuesday morning, after a call
from Linda alerted him that the housewife was out visiting the local
elementary school with her daughter.

   It took him less than ten minutes.  Disconnecting the gadget from the
back of the Mac, he plugged it into the laptop he'd brought for this
purpose and read the data.  Turning on her Mac, he typed in the password,
luvurhett, and breathed easier when the hard disk purred and the system
finished booting.

   He didn't take the time to read the mail, just copied all the files from
the last month onto a floppy disk.  Then he turned the system off, and left
to return to his office.



   - o -



   "Damn,' said Dr.  Poulsen, under his breath, not for the first time
since he started reading through the stack of eMails.

   Mike O'Brien had already read through them, twice.  His own copies of
the printout were in front of him, heavily highlighted with notes in the
margins.  The correspondence with the psychologist made it clear how close
Jessica Graham, and her friend, were to guessing the truth about the women
she referred to as The Stepford Wives.

   The last eMail was dated nine days ago, and the length of this elapsed
time since the last contact gave him some comfort.  This note was from the
psychologist, and Jessica Graham had never replied.

   "She's been here, what, twenty-eight days?'

   "Twenty-nine,' said O'Brien.

   "Well, if we assume she consumed the high strength RCA you left, it's
not unexpected for her to be showing symptoms of the change by now.'

   "Yes, Doctor.  I worry less about Graham than I do about her friend in
Maryland, DiBriggio.  Graham's here.  We can watch her, and her husband. 
Who knows what DiBriggio's up to, and whether she'll put two and two
together after the election results.'

   Poulsen had to concede his point.  That was the risk of their approach.
People would wonder about Dole's sudden resurgence in the polls.  Exit
polling would show the high percentage of women who voted for the
republican.  Not everywhere, just in high population urban areas, and not
in all cities.  The talking heads at the networks would point out how
strange it was that women in Miami, New York, Dallas, LA and Detroit would
vote against the usual pattern of their gender, while women in Houston,
Boston, Chicago and Phoenix didn't.  The focus of Dole's advertising in the
areas they'd chosen for RCA might explain a little of it.

   In future elections the voting tendencies of women would become
wide-spread, but Poulsen needed to do all he could to insure that the first
signs of The Change remained an unexplained mystery.  Carolyn DiBriggio
might be a serious problem after all.

   "Get me on the next plane to Baltimore,' said Poulsen at last, "using
one of my other identities.  In my absence, I want you and Lisa to welcome
home my boys, just like we planned.'

   "Yes, Doctor.'



   Back in his office, O'Brien placed the call to Samantha Weeks, the
principal of Stepford's high school.

   Mike had first met Weeks during the previous Spring, under orders from
Dr.  Poulsen to find suitable wives for his sons.  He had originally
thought it a strange directive, and wondered what the doctor's sons would
think of their father choosing them mates.  But then he reminded himself of
the what he knew about the women who had borne Poulsen's sons, and
concluded that his sons would likely share their father's view of women as
nothing more than living incubators.

   The plan for introducing RCA in time for the upcoming election had been
finalized in the Spring, after the Republican primaries had resolved who
would be Clinton's adversary.  Part of this plan was the use of his many
sons.  The doctor had given his aide a list of attributes for the girls who
would mate with his sons and bear his grandchildren, and tasked him with
the job of "recruiting' them.

   Weeks was a rarity in Stepford, a female holding a position of
responsibility and leadership, and because of this O'Brien had gone to that
first meeting with a strong sense of curiosity about the woman.  His cover
story, that the V.A.  needed volunteers to help with the men, got him that
first meeting.

   She had not been very helpful.  It didn't take long for Mike to realize
that his charm was wasted on the forty-ish spinster.  She was all business,
the tone of her questions and comments bordering on curt.  Her appearance
also baffled the psychologist, who was used to the feminine elegance of the
Stepford women.  The six-foot woman wore her dark brown hair cut short,
almost like a helmet, and her charcoal gray pants suit adding to her
mannish look.  She might not have stood out in Greenwich Village, but here
in Stepford, Kansas, she was uniquely different from the others of her
gender.

   He needed access to the girl's grades, for starters, since Poulsen
wanted the children of these unions to be well above average in
intelligence.  A private interview was also required, so that Mike could
hypnotize the girls and learn more about their family history.  Blood tests
would follow.

   Samantha Weeks had denied him access to the records, claiming they were
confidential and that it would be her responsibility to screen the girls to
find the right candidates for helping at the V.A..  O'Brien had little
choice but stick with his cover story and agree to her conditions.

   But he'd left that meeting determined to learn more about the principal.
The next night he'd broken into the school to hide a voice-activated
recording device in her office.  The next day, while she was at the school,
he'd picked the lock at her house and had set up similar devices in her
bedroom and living room.

   What he learned from the recordings gave him everything he needed to
enlist the principal's cooperation.  First in her office after hours, then
over the weekend at her home, Mike had listened to two discipline sessions
with mildly truant high school girls.  It was clear to Mike that this had
been going on for some time, as the principal needed very few words to
convince the girls to bare their bottoms for a lengthy spanking session. 
It wasn't entirely clear from his first listen to the audio tape what
followed the spanking.  A second play of the tape, listening carefully to
the sounds and occasional remarks, made it clear to O'Brien that the
mannish principal was fucking the girl's with something.  He finally
decided, after listening to the tapes several times, that the principal was
either a man posing as a female or some sort of trans-gender dyke who had
strapped on an artificial penis.  The sounds of flesh slapping into flesh
was too clear, and too regular, for the sex to be anything else.

   It was also clear that both the principal and her [his?] girls enjoyed
the sex very much.  Listening to the cries of passion and release had
caused Mike's cock to become rock hard.

   He scheduled a follow-up meeting as soon as he could, and had played his
tape recording as soon as he was alone with the principal.

   "You can turn if off now,' she had said after it had run for a minute.
The room was silent for a few long moments as the woman's intelligent gray
eyes looked at him across the desk that separated them.  Finally, she said,
"Okay, Mr.  O'Brien, please be so kind as to tell me what game you're
playing.  Blackmail?  You probably make as much as I do at the hospital, so
I think you're going to be a little disappointed---'

   "I don't think it will come to anything like that, Ms.  Weeks,'
interrupted Mike, giving her his most charming smile.  "But I do believe we
can be very helpful to one another.  Very, very helpful.'

   "In what way?'

   "I'll get to that in time, Ms.  Weeks.  But I'm very curious about a
couple things, and let's start there.  How many girl's do you, um, how
should I put this...  discipline in this manner.'

   "Two.  That tape you made---I'm not going to ask how you wired my home
for your voyeuristic purposes---'

   "And your office,' he interrupted, his voice pleasant.  "Under the desk,
right about there,' he paused to tap the surface of her desk, "is a
voice-activated recorder.  I have a very interesting recording of your
session with, what was her name, Claire?'

   "Yes, Claire has been quite a problem for us.  The other girl's name is
Denise.'

   "I see,' Mike said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.  He knew he had the
woman cold, but he was greatly impressed with her stoic acceptance of her
situation.  "You mentioned my "voyeuristic purposes' a minute ago...  hmmm,
I think that will be our first order of business.  You can think of it as
an experiment, a test of our new and mutually beneficial relationship.'



   The next night he was hiding in Samantha Week's bedroom closet, the
sliding door ajar some six inches, giving him a perfect view of the
principal and the teenage girl.  The woman was dressed in black leather
pants, so tight that Mike could see a bulge at her crotch, extending
several inches down one leg.  A leather bra, at least one size too small,
caused her smallish breasts to seem much larger, and to spill over the top.


   Denise was a rather plain-looking girl who had been caught several times
cutting classes to smoke pot in the orchard next to the school.  Mike
learned about this beforehand, and even more while the principal spanked
the bare-assed girl.  In between the first dozen slaps and the second, the
sobbing girl had admitted that she'd blown the school janitor to get the
drugs.

   Later, after the spanking had turned the girl's cheeks bright red, she
was forced to strip off the rest of her clothes and lie on the bed, arms
and legs spread wide.  As Mike watched, Samantha Weeks un-laced the leather
pants and peeled them down her long muscular legs.  Springing up from her
loins was an eight-inch phallus, realistic down to the thick veins standing
out from the rubber shaft.  Under the pants was a series of leather straps
winded around her hips, over her ass, holding the phallus in place.

   Mike's own cock stiffened uncomfortably in his pants as he watched the
woman climb onto the bed and mount the girl.  She/he fucked like a man,
Mike noticed, her ass muscles tightening every time she rocked back only to
spear the girl again.  Both of the combatants came several times before the
bout was concluded.



   "Did that turn you on, Mr.  O'Brien?' asked Weeks after the girl had
dressed and left, her tone mildly defiant.  She was standing with her hands
on her hips as he let himself out of the closet, still dressed in only the
black leather bra and the chris-crossed straps holding the phallus in
place.

   "Very much, Ms.  Weeks,' he said, openly rubbing the bulge at his
crotch. "And I don't think I'm gonna get any relief from you, am I?'

   "You'd get more out of fuckin a blow-up doll,' she said.  "If you
haven't guessed already, from that little exercise with my teen-aged slut,
I'm a man trapped in a woman's body.'

   Mike nodded, remembering his classes in abnormal psychology at the State
College.  He took his time walking around the woman, noting the hard
sculpted muscles on her otherwise slender body.  That she worked out
regularly was obvious from the condition of her body and the nautilus
equipment crammed into the spare bedroom.  Kneeling on his haunches before
her, Mike noted that the rubber shaft was still glistening with the girl's
juices.

   "That's a remarkable...  cock, Ms.  Weeks.'

   Mike watched as she released a level at the base and began unscrewing
the slippery phallus.  With it removed, Mike could see that the harness
looked very much like a leather jock strap.  A triangular patch extended
from the belt circling her waist, down over her crotch and between her
legs, where two straps ran from the crack of her rock-hard ass cheeks to
join the belt at her waist.  From the center of the leather triangle was a
metal bolt standing out three-quarters of an inch.

   Mike got to his feet as Weeks turned and stepped toward a long dresser,
the sleek muscles of her thighs reminding him of a jungle cat.  When he
joined her she was finishing wiping down the phallus and placing it into
the only empty compartment of a shallow box.  It now contained six rubber
cocks, ranging from a very thin, four-inch version to a monster horse-like
cock than looked to be a foot in length and as thick around as the woman's
wrist.  Each had a threaded hole in the base that would allow them to be
screwed into place on the harness.  The two other compartments contained a
set of artificial balls, and a jar of some sort of paste.

   Mike watched as the woman undid the belt at her waist and squatted just
a bit before pulling the harness free.  It was then that he noticed the two
probes under the triangular patch.  Both were about three inches long, one
had been inserted in her cunt, the other in her ass.

   "That'll keep it in place,' he said, admiringly, as the now mostly naked
woman stepped into the bathroom.  He followed her, watching as she cleaned
the harness and the anchoring probes.



   Over the final five weeks of school, Mike O'Brien and Samantha Weeks
spent many hours going through the records of all 465 girls at Stepford
High.  Before the summer break, Mike had hypnotized sixteen girls, all
academic stars, ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen.  Posing as a new
counselor, it was child's-play for Mike to use the principal's office to
bring the girl's under, and plant his instructions in their suggestible
minds.

   He and Sam, as he began to refer to the principal, spent even more time
at her house, developing a strong friendship as they introduced Stepford's
"Naughty Girls' to the practice of sex.  Sam was the one who took their
cherries, choosing a modestly-sized phallus for the occasion.  Mike got his
share of and with the jail-bait recruits, however, and was the one who
coached the girls through the practice of sucking his cock and drinking his
cum.

   O'Brien was somewhat envious of his new buddy's powers, for Sam could
fuck for a solid hour or more.  He/she would cum many times as a result of
the constant pressure from the probes in her cunt and ass, but would never
tire or, as Mike did, lose his erection.

   One Saturday afternoon in July, he and Sam were watching a baseball game
on her oversized TV.  Earlier they had each taken turns fucking a sixteen
year-old girl who looked even younger because she was not even five feet
tall and wore her auburn hair in pigtails.  With Mike's suggestions planted
in her brain, she took great pleasure in being naughty.  The still-naked
teen fetched them beers and snacks as the two guys argued about who was the
best left fielder of all time, Stan Musial or Ted Williams.  The banter
continued even after Mike had grabbed the girl and positioned himself
between her legs, easing his cock into her very tight cunt for his second
bout of the afternoon.

   To this day, Mike was surprised that he let it happen.  He was fucking
the girl with slow, easy strokes, kissing her playfully, their tongues
dancing about, when he felt hands on his waist.  He broke the kiss when the
hands parted the cheeks of his ass, lifting and turning his head to see Sam
kneeling behind him, wearing a four inch phallus.

   "Sam!' he said, then tried to push himself off the girl as he felt the
pressure against his anus.  But the girl's arms were around him, and Sam
lowered herself on his back as she eased the lubricated rubber cock inside
him.  Mike felt a combination of shame, anger and excitement as Sam's cock
filled his ass.

   "I've always wanted to do this,' he heard in his ear.  "Fuck you, I
mean. As a man.  A man fucking a man fucking a slut.  C'mon, Mike, fuck the
little tramp!'

   Mike let it happen that day, telling himself that it wasn't a sign of
homosexuality...  she was a women, sort of.



   Throughout the rest of the summer, it became more and more common for
Sam to fuck him.  She gradually increased the size of the cocks she wore
for these occasions, and began spanking him as well.

   "Take my cock up your hole, my little ass-boy!' she'd say, sawing in and
out while she spanked him.  Mike found himself enjoying the humiliation as
much as the sex, especially when one of the nubile high school girl's was
sucking his cock while he took Sam's pounding.  She occasionally attached
the artificial balls after filling the sacks with a mixture of paste and
hot water.  He loved the feeling when she squeezed her balls and hosed his
bowels with the cum-like enema.



   O'Brien pushed these thoughts out of his mind as the phone rang.  He
hadn't seen Samantha Weeks for almost a month.  The principal had taken the
first three weeks of August as vacation, and had gone to New York.  Both of
them had been busy since she returned, he with the Poulsen's RCA plans, and
she with the start of the school year.

   "Samatha Weeks here.'

   Mike smiled into the phone.  "Stan Musial couldn't carry Ted Williams's
jock strap, Sam, a fact you'd readily admit if you were a real man.'

   "Mike!' she exclaimed.  "God I've missed you.'

   "Oh, really?' he teased.  "Didn't you get your share of pussy in New
York?'

   He/she laughed.  "I did okay.  In fact, I got one bitch to take the
foot-long up her cunt...  But you've spoiled me rotten with this steady
diet of Stepford jail-bait.'

   "Yeah, it is hard to beat the naughty young ones.  That's why I'm
calling, actually.  I'll need the girls for the next two nights.  Seven
tomorrow evening, twelve on Thursday.'

   "Oh, shit,' she said.  "I knew this was coming, Mike, but I'm gonna miss
those sluts.'

   "That still leaves us with four, buddy, and there are more where they
came from.'

   "Hmmm.  And I've still got my ass-boy, right?  For when we wear out the
cunts.'

   "If you behave, you fuckin' he-bitch.'



   - o -



   Joseph Mengele (number seven) got off the greyhound just as the sun was
setting Wednesday night.  He'd spent most of the day traveling, San
Francisco to Denver on Continental, a turbo prop from there to Wichita,
then this bus ride to Stepford.

   He saw the Mercedes's light flicker off and on and headed toward the
huge sedan parked at the curb.  Expecting his father, he was a little
surprised, but not the least bit disappointed, when the driver door opened
and Lisa Quinn got out.  His heart beat a little faster as the gorgeous
brunette stepped to the curb to meet him.

   "Congratulations on a successful trip, sir,' she said, reaching for one
of his bags, stepping into him, her lips finding his, the unexpected
greeting brief but exciting, promising more.  He followed her to the back
of the car and watched her while she opened the trunk and put his bags
inside.

   He'd met her only that one time, after his father and Jim Collins had
finished the briefing on their mission.  She'd spoken to him and his
brothers about the joy of being a Righteous Woman.  His and eleven other
pairs of eyes had stared at the captivating girl, taking in the sexy
innocence of Lisa's face, the fullness of the breasts and hips suggested by
the dress hugging her incredible body.  With a shy smile, the girl had
hinted at a reward for their good work.

   With his luggage stowed, she held out the keys and said, "We have one
more stop to make, Sir, to pick up your brother.  Would you care to drive?'

   "Sure,' he said, reaching for the keys, but also taking her hand in his.
She came to him easily, pressing her body up against him, her luminous eyes
locked with his.  Her full lips parted as he lowered his mouth to hers, and
the kiss went on for a full minute, their tongues intertwined, his hand
sliding down over her ass, cupping the firm flesh beneath her silk dress.

   Joseph could tell that the woman was naked underneath her stylish dress,
his fingers feeling only flesh beneath the material covering her ass, and
the firm globes pressed into his chest were unfettered by a bra.

   After breaking the kiss Lisa embraced him, her mouth next to his ear,
her hand sliding between their bodies to caress the bulge of his cock.  "If
we leave now, and you drive, we'll have plenty of time for me to suck you
off before we get to the airport.  Would that please you, sir?'

   Two minutes later Joseph Seven was easing the sedan into traffic to head
to the small airport on the edge of town.  Lisa Quinn's hands were
extracting his cock from his pants.

   "Oh, my,' she said.  This would be the sixth Joseph she'd had today, and
this one was the closest to his father in the size of his cock.  As she
lowered her head into his lap, parting her lips wide to take his thick
shaft inside, she wondered which of O'Brien's harem of high-school girls
would have her cunt ravaged by this monster.

   Seven of Mike's girls would arrive later tonight at Poulsen's farmhouse
for recreational use by the sons who had returned from their missions.  The
other five girls would have to wait one more day before the other Josephs
returned.

   Joseph Seven exploded in her talented mouth just as they approached the
airport.  On the way home, Lisa and Joseph One sat in the back seat while
the now-satisfied brother drove.  It wasn't long before Lisa Quinn was
straddling the eldest son, lowering her bare pussy onto his shaft.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Twelve

   Wednesday, September 5
10:45 p.m.



   Mike O'Brien looked on with conflicting emotions.  It wasn't supposed to
be this way, he knew.  Poulsen wanted his sons paired to one of these young
girls, and for the union to ventually result in a grandson.  He would have
expected his sons to enjoy the girls, but to take their responsibilities
seriously.  At least, that was Mike's beliefs about Poulsen's intent.

   But with the father gone, and Mike holding little sway over the actions
of the seven sons, even if he'd wanted to try, the evening had degenerated
into an orgy.  It was obvious to Mike that the young men had established a
strong bond, similar to fraternity brothers but deeper, born from a common
experience, albeit one that was shared separately.  He wondered how many of
these son's of Dr.  Poulsen had experienced sex with someone other than
their mothers.  They were all quite good looking, but he wondered if their
experience with their mothers, willing sluts every one, would have prepared
them for the delicate mating dance with non-righteous girls.

   Joseph One had begun the parade ninety minutes earlier, selecting a
slender blond girl barely seventeen years old.  While his brothers cheered
he stripped the girl's clothes off and mounted her, driving his good-sized
cock into her sex with one brutal lunge.  The girl's cries brought more
cheers from the onlookers.

   Each was drinking a beer, holding the girl they'd chosen in their laps
or curled up at their feet, watching their brother hammer his cock into the
writhing girl.  While they watched and cheered, their hands were thrust
rudely under their girl's dress, or groping at the girl's breasts or ass
through her clothes.

   When Joseph One finished and rose from the body of his dazed partner,
his brothers applauded.  The next eldest threw his girl over the back of a
chair and took her standing up.  One by one the girls were raped, not
unwillingly given their programming, but the cavalier brutality of their
treatment could not be missed.

   When all seven had finished, several of the elder sons were ready for
seconds.  The girls were passed around without a second thought, two and
sometimes three of the young girls getting fucked at the same time.

   Ninety minutes after they'd started the Josephs had gone through the
girls a second time, and had finished the case of beer Mike had bought for
the occasion.  He expected the celebration to wind down after this point,
with the beer exhausted and the Joseph's fucked-out.

   But he was wrong.

   Lisa Quinn had also watched the proceedings, but without the concern
that Mike felt.  Knowing the Doctor's sexual preferences and appetite much
better than Mike, she believed (correctly) that the boy's father would have
been proud of their antics.  She could see that the camaraderie between the
seven Joseph's was even stronger than before, and she knew that this would
please her master.

   "Girl's,' she said, clapping her hands together to silence the many
conversations in the large room.  "I'm sorry, I should address you now as
women, Righteous Women.  You have done a tremendous job here tonight,
satisfying these men as is your noble duty, and I'm proud of you. 
Extremely proud.'

   The seven teens needed only this reminder to feel much better about the
evening.  Smiles appeared on all their faces, and they drew closer to the
Joseph's sprawled around the room.

   "But your service is not quite complete.  There will be a Righteous
ceremony out by the pool in twenty minutes.  I want each of you to shower,
or bathe, then join the men and me outside.'

   Lisa directed the girl's like a traffic cop, sending them to various
bathrooms in the large house, slapping their bare asses playfully.  When
the girls were gone, she asked the Josephs to join her outside for a swim.

   The seven rushed out the door, hollering and slapping each other on the
backs, and dived into the pool.  Somewhat confused by what Lisa had
planned, Mike followed Lisa the sliding glass doors and took her arm.

   "What's up, Lisa?'

   "Dr.  Poulsen wanted the girls to learn how to service all of his boys'
needs,' she said, unbuttoning the top of her dress, motioning with her head
toward a box on the table.  Mike walked over and opened the box, finding a
dozen tubes of K-Y jelly.

   "Oh,' he said.  When he turned back toward Lisa, she was stepping out of
her dress, nude now except for the heels she wore.  Seeing her lush body,
Mike's cock swelled at once and the pressure in his pants reminded him that
he was the only one still clothed.  It wasn't long before the guys in the
pool noticed Lisa, and they cheered and yelled, urging the brunette to join
them in the water.  Lisa whispered into Mike's ear, telling him of her
plan, before turning toward the pool.  Lisa's ass swayed as she walked to
the edge of the pool and stood with her hands on her hips, legs parted
slightly.  Mike, from behind her, could see the fig of her sex from between
her legs and knew that the guys in the pool had a perfect view of her
hairless pussy, as well as her melon-sized breasts.

   "Gentlemen,' she said, holding up one hand for quiet.  When the noise
abated, she continued.  "As much as I'd like to join you in the pool, and
offer myself to the sons of my master, your great father has directed me
otherwise.  In a few minutes, the girl's that you have turned into
Righteous women will join us once again.  You have one more duty to
perform, to help them progress along their journey to Righteousness.'

   Mike watched as Lisa kicked off her heels and stepped off the edge and
into the water.  All the Josephs swam over to her, surrounding her,
listening as she told them what was expected.  He noticed that Lisa's hands
touched them as she talked and that the seven guys responded in kind.  It
wasn't long before all seven sported raging hard-ons.

   The girls began arriving a few minutes later, and Mike's cock hardened
even more as he watched the naked, nubile young girls mill about, each one
innocent before their experience with Sam and he.  Lisa climbed out of the
pool and approached the girl's, and seven pairs of eyes secretly examined
the beautiful woman's assets: the large breasts standing pertly from her
chest, nipples thick and fully erect, the small waist and womanly hips, the
plump lips of her sex.

   "I am a Righteous Woman,' Lisa announced after she'd directed the girl's
into a small semicircle around her.  Standing with her feet at shoulder
length apart, she continued.  "My body,' she said, caressing her breasts
before sliding her hands down slowly down to the valley between her legs,
"is meant to give pleasure to my man.  My sex exists to be filled with his
cock, if that is my master's wish, his pleasure.'

   As she talked, she spread the lips of her sex.  "You did very well in
there, giving your men the pleasure of using your sex.  But that is not all
you must learn, for your men will sometimes want to take their pleasure in
a different way.'

   Mike caught her looking his way, mouthing the word, "undress.' He was
happy to comply, his cock quite uncomfortable in his pants.  He'd lowered
them forty minutes earlier, during the orgy inside, and Lisa had knelt
before him and sucked him off.  But now, as he stripped off his clothes, he
was once again hard and ready, excited about what Lisa had in store.

   At Lisa's command, the Josephs climbed out of the pool and took their
place behind the girl they had chosen.  Standing a dozen feet away with
Mike, Lisa bade the girls to watch.  Mike played his part, forcing Lisa to
her knees before him, sliding his cock into her mouth.

   "That's good little cock-sucking slut,' he said, for the girl's benefit,
"suck it baby, suck my cock.' He let it go on for a minute or so,
commenting all along on Lisa's technique.  Then he pulled her off of his
cock and helped her up.  Lisa went toward the couples, directing each girl
to kneel before her man and take his cock into her mouth.  Some of the guys
shoved their cocks into the mouth before them with too much relish, causing
their girl to gag and pull off.  Lisa autioned the boys to bring the girls
along slowly.

   Once all seven sons were good and hard, Lisa clapped her hands together
for attention, once again kneeling before Mike.  She explained what she was
doing as she coated his erect cock with lubricating jelly, and as she
prepared her nether hole.

   Mike knelt behind the sexy brunette, his hands on her hips, watching the
seven girls prepare their men and themselves, waiting for Lisa's signal. 
When it came he spread her firm cheeks apart and positioned his cock at her
rosette.  Having only experienced anal sex with the eternally virginal
Barbara Grant, he was a little surprised when Lisa pushed back against him
as he entered her, and how easily his cock popped inside and cleaved into
her warm, spongy ass.  He was also quite surprised that Lisa was able to
speak in a conversational tone through out his entry, explaining to the
girls that they would feel some discomfort at first, and cautioning the
seven sons to be very gentle this first time.

   The girls were all kneeling with the boys behind them, watching with big
eyes as Mike's cock eased inside until Lisa was fully corked.  All but one
of Dr.  Poulsen's sons had experienced anal sex before, and remembered the
difficulty their mother's had the first time.  Amid the groans and cries of
the girls, each attempted to follow Mike and Lisa's example.  It took
steady encouragement from Lisa before the girl's tried pushing back against
the cock.  Even so, it was several minutes before all of the girl's were
corked.

   Mike reached around Lisa's shapely hips until his fingers found her sex,
and urged the boys to do the same.  Mike kept his cock stationary until
after Lisa had cried out in orgasm, her discharge coating his fingers. 
Only then did he pull his cock back and begin fucking the girl.

   The first Joseph came after five minutes, holding back as long as he
could in the vice-like sheath of his girl's ass, sent over the edge when
her fingers in her sex brought the girl to a second orgasm.  Mike was the
last to cum, pleased with himself that he was able to control himself so
well, enjoying the fact that fourteen pairs of eyes were watching as,
toward the end, he hammered his erupting cock into the tight ass of the
mewing Lisa Quinn.

   Had she known what Mike was thinking as his cock throbbed and spurted
into her bowels, she would have been surprised.  For the first time in
Lisa's young life, a man was fucking her and thinking of another girl
during his release.

   As Mike's cock erupted in Lisa's ass, he was imaging that it was Sister
Mary taking his cock up her ass and wondering if he could somehow manage to
bring his good buddy Sam into the mix.

   - o -

   If you didn't look too closely, the man looked every bit the part he
played.  The Bell Atlantic shirt was genuine, and the wide leather belt
supporting all of the tools of his trade gave him the impression of being a
phone company repairman.

   But if you looked closer at the man himself, and noticed the
unmistakable intelligence burning behind his bright blue eyes, it would
have seemed absurd that he'd hold this lowly job.  But it was early and the
first week of classes at Swarthmore, and the brick walkways cutting through
the tree-lines campus were almost completely empty of activity.

   No one was around to notice the repairman enter the faculty office
building and climb the wide stairs to the second floor.  The lock on the
office of Dr.  Carolyn DiBriggio was old and it took just a credit card to
pop it free.  The PC was also not secure, and within minutes the man was
sorting through the professor's eMail, deleting all that was to or from
Jessica Graham.

   Dr.  Poulsen had visited DiBriggio's other office the night before,
finding nothing but patient records and professional correspondence stored
on that system.  He had checked her appointment calendar and noted that
Thursday morning was filled with patient appointments, and that the
professor/practitioner had one class at three in the afternoon, and that
was it.  He was safe to be at the University, at least until other
professors and staff started to arrive.  But by that time he'd be finished
here and gone, to the woman's apartment for the final part of his job.



   - o -



   Carolyn DiBriggio's body was found the next day, by the Chair of the
Psychology department.  He was concerned when his always-reliable colleague
had missed her morning lecture, then even more so when he'd received the
afternoon call from Carolyn's part-time receptionist, telling him that
she'd missed the first of several patient appointments at the office.

   Getting only her answering machine when he called, he decided to drive
to her apartment.  There was no answer when he rang the bell, but he
discovered the door unlocked when he tried the knob.  As soon as he stepped
inside, he knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.  The furniture in her
small living room was scattered about, and his nostrils were filled with a
fecund odor.

   He paused for a long moment, trying to remember the cop shows he'd seen,
and what he was supposed to do.  Finally he decided to call for help, and
dialed 911 on her phone.  After giving the police operator his name and the
address of the apartment, he set the phone down and crept forward, his
heart in his throat.

   He found her body sprawled on the floor of her bedroom, and the
condition of his friend and colleague caused him to gag, bile coming up his
throat.  He rushed to the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach, then
continued to retch until he was almost unconscious.

   The police arrived a few minutes later.  The beat officers' experience
with the darker side of human nature allowed them to view the scene with
more detachment, but not completely without disgust and horror.  The nude
body of Carolyn DiBriggio was a mass of cuts and deep purple bruises, bite
marks and scratches, and her head was bent grotesquely to one side, her
neck clearly broken.  Contributing to the smell her colleague had noticed
when he first entered the apartment was the blood and feces, the latter a
result of voiding herself as her last act on this earth.

   The detectives would arrive within ten minutes, discovering the signs of
robbery in addition to the rape and murder.  The victim's purse was missing
its wallet, and her jewelry case was empty.  Drawers in the dinning room
hutch were left open, and they could find no sign of silverware or other
valuables.



   - o -



   The stewardess placed the napkin and glass of orange juice down on the
table next to the passenger in 5C, noting his mostly lidded eyes and the
small crooked smile on his lips.  The first class cabin on this flight from
Baltimore to Denver was mostly empty, but she would have noticed the
distinguished man even if it had been crowded.

   The thick white hair, strongly built body and piercing blue eyes had
immediately attracted the attention of the woman when he had first boarded
the plane.  She couldn't have missed his open appraisal of her body while
she completed her pre-flight duties, and it was not the furtive glance that
the shapely blond had come to expect from business travelers.  She knew men
were drawn to her blond hair and long shapely legs, stealing looks when
they believed she wasn't looking.  They were bored, she knew, and they
probably played the same game that she did to cut the tedium of these long
empty flights, imagining what an attractive man looked like with his
clothes off.  How he'd fuck.

   Unlike the usual male passenger, the distinguished and incredibly sexy
man in 5C did not hide his interest.  His extraordinary eyes lingered on
the swell of her breasts and hips and the slender legs, then came up to her
face, a barely perceptible nod of his head indicating his appreciation. 
She had blushed at the boldness of his inspection, at the sense that he
knew her thoughts, knew that she was very much attracted to him.  When she
turned away to deal with the only other first class passengers, busying
herself with taking the drink orders of the two businessmen in 1A and 1B,
she felt a throbbing in her sex.

   Later, a half-hour after takeoff, she'd brought him this glass of orange
juice, not because he'd ordered it, but just because she was drawn to the
handsome man.  After setting the drink down, her eyes took in the cruel
smile on his face, and the promising bulge in his perfectly pressed slacks.
Had she known what was playing in his mind, his brutal rape of Carolyn
DiBriggio the night before, the stewardess would have been repulsed.

   Instead, she was very much attracted to the man.  When his hand reached
out and grabbed her wrist, she started but her surprised gasp died in her
throat.  His eyes were open now, fixed on hers, and she believed at once
that he could read her mind, that he knew of her sexual attraction.  As his
hand pulled her wrist toward him, she looked quickly toward the front of
the cabin, then back to insure that the curtains leading to the main cabin
were closed.  She shook her head in silent protest but he ignored her,
smiling as he forced her hand toward his lap.

   "Oh my God!' she said to herself as her hand came in contact with the
huge hard shape under his slacks.  Her face flushed with color as she felt
the size of him, shamed that she would allow him to do this, and more
because she could see in his face that he knew of her desires.

   "You want it, cunt?' His deep, low voice would not carry very far beyond
her ears, but that knowledge didn't stop her from taking another nervous
glance fore and aft.  His low chuckle caused her to blush even more, but
she didn't attempt to remove her hand from his cock, not even when he
switched so his right hand held her in place.  His left hand went to the
inside of her knee, pressing her there, making her feel weak, defenseless.
The hand slid slowly up her stockinged thigh, feeling the moistness at the
vee of her crotch, patting her ass in a gesture of ownership.

   Then he released her just as suddenly as he had taken possession of her
moments before.  His hand let go of her wrist and the other came out from
beneath her skirt, but it was a full minute before she dared let go of his
cock.  His eyes remained locked with hers until finally he nodded, freeing
her of his eerie hold on her.

   The stewardess moved off to tend to the preparation of the meal, feeling
detached as she went through the motions, knowing that his eyes were on her
as she served the two businessmen in the front of the cabin.  Her heart was
racing when she returned to his seat, the action of spreading the linen
tablecloth requiring much more attention that ever before.  She blushed as
she unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in his lap, her slender hands
shaking, knowing that he knew her thoughts were on the shaft beneath.  As
she arranged his silverware she felt his hand once more inside her skirt,
plucking at the material covering her sex, the message clear.

   After serving his lunch, she got a knife from the galley and slipped
into the narrow bathroom.  It was awkward, but she managed to bunch her
skirt above her waist and pull down her stockings to mid thigh.  The knife
cut through the thin material quite easily, and the wet panties followed.

   As she cleared the trays of the two men in front, she wondered if they
could see her agitation or if they could smell the juices running down her
thighs.  When she returned to the man in the back, her eyes were bright and
her throat was dry.  His chair was back in the reclining position, and the
food tray was placed on the table near the window.  She removed the table
cloth from the his table, then lifted it and latched it to the back of the
seat.  As she did she noticed the cloth napkin in his lap, tented
considerably by the massive cock beneath.  Her fingers shook as she removed
the napkin, and she suppressed a gasp when she saw the turgid shaft
sticking lewdly out of the now-opened fly.

   She'd never seen anything as large as the uncircumcised head that stared
back at her, or anything as thick as the shaft.  Tearing her eyes away, she
looked into his face, watching as his tongue came out and slowly traced his
lips, wetting them.  She knew what he wanted, what he demanded, and her
juices flowed even more as she imagined doing what she must, taking that
cock into her mouth.

   Dr.  Poulsen smiled to himself as the stewardess knelt in the aisle and
stroked his cock before tentatively taking the head inside her warm mouth.
He'd miss this, he knew, taking women who were free of the effects of RCA.
He'd recognized that this one was a natural slut the moment he'd boarded
the plane.  As he felt her lips press against his shaft, her tongue
flickering over the sensitive head, he knew that it would be increasingly
difficult to find and conquer such women in the future.

   Remembering his rape of the DiBriggio bitch, he also knew he'd miss the
resistance.  The muffled screams as he forced his cock into her dry cunt
reminded him of his youth in Argentina, of his father's maids and cooks,
how they struggled when he put them to the cock.  How it sometimes took a
vicious beating before they succumbed.

   Bringing his attention back to the present, he felt the pressure of the
stewardess's sucking increase, and he decided that he'd have to stop her if
he wanted to prolong the subjugation.  Pulling her head off his cock, he
leaned forward until his mouth was close to her ear.

   "The galley, cunt.  Five minutes after you start the movie.'

   As the stewardess climbed unsteadily to her feet, then moved down the
aisle, he smiled to himself, wondering if the two men sitting up front
would notice her slightly disheveled appearance or the smeared lipstick.

   He got his answer ten minutes later, when he brought his tray up to the
galley in the front of the first class compartment.  Glancing at the two
men to his left, he saw them smile at him, and one of them winked.  Before
entering the galley, Poulsen held up a hand with the fingers spread.

   "Five minutes,' he mouthed to the grinning men before pushing the galley
curtains aside and entering.  The look of shame and desire on the
stewardesses face caused his cock to harden as soon as his eyes found the
comely blond.  Within a minute he had manhandled the pliant girl so she was
facing the small window in the wall, bent at the waist, her hands holding
the wall for support as his cock worked its way inside her.

   She came twice before he erupted in her tight cunt, then again as the
man from 1A took his turn fucking his smaller cock into her gooey pussy,
the shame and humiliation of her abuse adding to her pleasure, and theirs.
The third and last first class passenger spent only a minute inside her
well-fucked hole before turning her around and using her mouth for his
pleasure.

   By the time the seat belt sign illuminated for the descent into
Stapleton airport in Denver, the submissive stewardess had drained all
three men a second time.



   - o -



   Unknown to each other, two men on the flight to Denver exited the plane
and headed for the same gate for the connecting flight to Topeka.  Dr. 
Poulsen noticed the other man first, struck by how much the husky stranger
reminded him of his father.  It wasn't just the two-hundred fifty pounds or
the massive shoulders on the six-foot traveler that evoked Joseph Mengele
to his son.  It was the restless intelligence in the bright blue eyes that
scanned the waiting area, examining and categorizing every traveler before
moving on to the next.

   Gene Myers played his favorite game as he waited for the boarding
announcement for his flight to Topeka, examining each person he saw and
guessing at their age and occupation.  As his eyes settled on the tall,
distinguished man near the windows, he said to himself, "Fifty...  maybe a
few years older, and I wish I was in that shape in five years.  CEO... 
someone used to command, to giving orders that will be carried out.  A
player.'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Thirteen

   Friday, September 8
3:15 p.m.



   Janice Cheever pulled her eye from the electron microscope and rubbed
her eyes.  The slender black woman knew she wasn't seeing things, even if
her many years as a top-notch lab technician had left her unable to solve
the mystery of what she saw, the twisted molecule blown up to 50,000 times
its normal size.

   She glanced at the paperwork, noticing that this blood sample came to
the lab directly from Peter Goodwin, the Big Kahuna of the Center for
Disease Control.  The lab form was absent the usual patient identification
data or the contact information of the physician or lab that had sent it
in. Typical of big shots, she thought to herself.

   She pressed the button that would produce a high-quality computerized
image of the strange substance, then went to her phone to call Goodwin's
office.



   - o -



   Detective Jim Cooper read through the autopsy report with a scowl on his
face.  If he allowed himself to think about it, which he wouldn't, he would
have felt sorry for the victim.  What pissed him off was that he got this
case, and it was looking like his statistics would take another hit. 
Unless something fell in his lap, this one looked didn't look like a
winner.

   She'd been raped, but the seminal fluid in her badly torn vagina was
non-secreting.  Even if they found a suspect they couldn't match his blood
type to the semen.  Time of death was between nine and eleven P.M. 
Thursday night.  Only one neighbor was home during this time and she'd
heard nothing.

   No fingerprints.

   No witnesses.

   No guilt-ridden confessor.

   No wallet left at the scene (damn!).

   Leaning back in his chair, the detective rubbed his eyes.  It was either
a rape, with the robbery an added bonus for the perp, or the other way
around.  Probably the former, he thought ruefully, because what thief would
bring a ball gag to a job.

   It could be, and often was, someone she knew.  A jilted boyfriend
perhaps, or one of the psychologist's patients.

   "Fuck,' he said out loud.  What it was he probably would never know.  It
would be at least a week of interviews, all the faculty at the college, her
students, and a court order to access her patient records that would
probably be denied by the fuckin' judge.

   Another goddamn hit to his stats.



   - o -



   Rhett Graham shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his side and up against
the warm body of his wife.  His dreams were filled with the images of naked
women, and he and they were fucking and sucking up a storm.  In his mind,
their features came into focus only occasionally, and seemed to change
almost as soon as he pictured them...  Linda Waterson, taking his cock down
to the root, trying with all her might to suck the cum out of his balls...
Lisa Quinn, bent over, looking back over her shoulder at him while he
fucked her ass...  Jessica, sucking pussies, cocks...  his, others...

   Jessica woke to the feeling of her husband's hard cock pressed up
against her ass.  After a moment to collect her senses, she realized by the
sound of his breathing that he was still asleep.  Smiling to herself,
remembering her own erotic dreams of late, she lifted her leg up and
reached down to find his cock and position it at her sex.  It was awkward
work easing down the bed, but she managed to get most of his cock inside.

   Feeling his cock throb inside her, and the warmth of his body pressed
into her back, she closed her eyes and dozed.  Drifting in and out of
sleep, she came awake when she felt his hips moving just so, his cock
edging back and forth in her sex.  Then it stopped and she dozed again,
until he began rocking back and forth, this time with more insistence,
small noises coming from his mouth.

   In Rhett's dream he was fucking into Lisa Quinn's cunt, on the floor of
his office, and she was cuming underneath him, her eyes wide open, their
innocence replaced with a burning passion.  When he couldn't hold back any
longer he grabbed the girl and drove his erupting cock hard and fast into
her churning sex.

   Jessica felt his arm wrap around her, then the quickened pace of his
cock in her sex, filling her with his warm cum.  She was not close enough
to cum with him, but she smiled happily to herself, wondering what dream
that set him off.

   And she was surprised when he didn't wake through his orgasm.  Instead,
he finished and rolled onto his back and, within minutes, was snoring.

   "Slam, bamm, and not even a thank-you ma'am,' she said to herself. 
Jessica knew that she'd have to roll Rhett over if we wanted to stop him
from snoring, and that if she didn't, he'd keep her awake.  Glancing at the
clock, she knew Katie would be waking soon, and finally decided to get up.



   "You're up early, Gene,' she said, entering the kitchen to find Myers
sitting at the breakfast table drinking coffee.  She felt a little
immodest, dressed as she was in only a robe and slippers, having decided
after she shower to come down and start the coffee before dressing.

   "Coffee's ready,' he said, smiling at her, keeping his eyes on her face,
trying not to notice the outline of her breasts showing through the
light-weight robe, and the dark nipples clearly visible trough the fabric.
"I'm usually an early riser, and with the time change coming west...'

   "Yeah, I remember trips to the west coast, waking up at four for the
first couple of days.'

   Jessica poured herself a cup of coffee.  With her back to Gene, she
glanced down and saw that her breasts were partially visible in the gap of
the robe, and that her nipples were erect from the coolness of the morning.

   "Oh, fuck it,' she thought to herself.  "If Rhett can fuck me while
sleeping, thinking of that slut Lisa Quinn, I can give Gene Myers an
eyeful.'

   Turning and strolling toward the table, she took a seat.  "I apologize
about my attire, Gene.  I didn't expect that you'd be up just yet.'

   This time he didn't bother to hide his gaze, sipping his coffee and
looking at her over the top of the mug.  He set it down and smiled at her.

   "I don't mind a'tall, ma'am,' he said in his folksiest drawl, "the
coffee and a right pretty lass'll help me wake up.'

   Jessica smiled, and blushed.  This huge, slightly rumpled teddy-bear of
a man had a quiet sex appeal that could be devastating.  But he was
married---not married like she and Rhett, she reminded herself, enjoying in
their fantasies other partners, and lately, in person---he was married
married.  An ex-FBI agent, married to an FBI agent, both probably as
squeaky clean as people get.

   Still, she could imagine...

   "I've got some questions if you don't mind startin' out early,' he said.


   She nodded, sipping her coffee.

   "This girl that you got the blood sample from, Lisa Quinn?'

   "Yeah, she's Rhett's secretary at the plant.'

   "Thanks.  I'm thinking we should find Dr.  DiBriggio, and see what she's
done with the sample.  And also, maybe we should get samples from you and
Katie, maybe Rhett too.'

   "Katie'll love that,' Jessica replied, cringing at the thought of
exposing her girl to a needle.  She was deathly afraid of shots.  "It's
been real hard to get in touch with Carolyn, er, Dr.  DiBriggio, not being
able to use the phones here.'

   "I'll have that taken care of this morning.'

   "Oh?'

   "I'll set up an A-B box, er, a kind of switch, so that when we want to
make sensitive calls, we can, without making your listening friend
suspicious.'

   "Great.'

   Gene got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.  "Say, Jessica, how
did you manage to draw that blood sample, from Lisa Quinn?'

   She was glad his back was to her, so he couldn't see her blush. 
Clearing her throat she said, "I think the term is, I slipped her a
mickey.'

   "Oh?' he said, turning back and taking his seat, a gleam of admiration
in his eyes.  "And how did you explain it to her when she came to.'

   Jessica was saved from answering when Katie came bursting into the room.

   "Morning, Mommy.' The girl, dressed in her sleeper pajamas with the
Mickey Mouse feet, stood next to her mom and stared opened-mouthed at Gene
Myers.

   "Boy, you're big!' she said.  The girl had been in bed when Myers
arrived the night before, but she'd been told the man was coming to spend a
few days with them.

   Myers lifted himself out of his chair, slowly, turning his face into a
comic book-like menace.  "And I'm mean,' he growled.

   Katie shrieked and threw herself into Jessica's lap, but saw the big
friendly grin on the strangers face, and knew she'd been had.

   "I wasn't really scared,' she said.

   "Mr.  Myers knows you're a brave little girl, pumpkin,' said Jessica,
then added, with a devilish grin directed toward her guest, "and I'll bet
if you ask real nice, he'll make you pancakes.  With butter and syrup.'

   "Oh, yes!' she squealed.  "Will you?  Oh, please!'

   Gene Myers held up his hands in surrender, thinking that this woman was
not only sexy as hell, but also that she was at least as smart as Clarice
had said she'd be.

   Smart and sassy.



   Rhett came downstairs thirty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed
for his golf game with Geoff Reynolds.  He found the three of them sitting
around the kitchen table, eating pancakes and drinking coffee.

   Well, Gene and Jessa were eating, he noted, and little Katie was
inhaling the last of her stack.  He patted his daughter on the head and
leaned over to kiss her, then his wife.  From his position leaning over, he
couldn't have missed the generous view of his wife's full breasts down the
front of her robe.  This reminded him of his erotic dreams of the night
before, and the wet spot he'd found on the bed.  Had he---

   "G'morning,' he said, to the room, pushing those thoughts aside.

   "I'm done, mommy.  Can I go watch cartoons?' Katie cried, jumping out of
her seat, not waiting for an answer.

   "Sure, honey,' Jessica said to her daughter's back as she ran to the
family room.

   "Pancakes, huh?' said Rhett, helping himself to a mug of coffee.

   "Yeah, Rhett,' said Gene, "your scheming wife trapped me into making
them.  Sit down and I'll make you a stack.'

   Rhett took the seat his daughter had just vacated.  "Don't bother with a
new plate, this one's licked clean.'

   After sipping his coffee he added, "You're right about Jessa, though. 
She can be a scheming little bitch.'

   "Oh, Rhett, honey' she said, batting her eyes, "you say the sweetest
things.'



   After finishing his pancakes and coffee, Rhett announced that he had to
leave for his Golf game.  Gene was at the sink in the kitchen, doing up the
dishes, as Rhett leaned over and kissed his wife.  He held the kiss longer
than usual, reaching into her robe to fondle her breasts.

   Breaking the kiss but not his hold on one nipple, pulling the nub as he
brought his mouth to her ear.  "Was that you last night, or this morning?'

   He felt her nod.  "Well, sweetie, I owe you one...  and in my absence,
well, Gene's a great guy.'

   He stepped away and was out the door to the garage as Jessica gathered
her robe back in place, feeling her sex ooze at the touch of his hands, and
the naughtiness of his suggestion.

   She got up from the table and brought her mug to Gene at the sink,
trying to push the thoughts from her mind.

   "I should go get dressed,' she said, then kicked herself for
emphasizing, to herself if not to her guest, that she was naked under her
robe.  "I can give you a hand,' she added, too quickly, "with the phone
stuff.'

   Gene turned and dried his hands on a dish towel, seeing in her face the
obvious embarrassment.  Standing this close to her, he could see down the
front of her robe.  He let his eyes linger on the smooth round flesh,
feeling a stirring in his loins.  He tossed the towel onto the counter and
placed his hands on the counter on either side of her.

   Jessa held her breath as Gene trapped her against the counter, wanting
him the kiss her, take her.  Looking up into his face she saw a shy grin
and humor in his eyes.  Desire was there too, but it was held in check.

   "As much as I enjoy the view, Jessica,' he said, "it would be more than
a little bit distracting.'

   He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, then turned and walked
away.

   Jessica let her breath out and stood there for a moment, questioning
what just happened, and her motives.  "Did I really want him to fuck me?'
She had to admit she did, in part because he was incredibly sexy, but also
because Rhett had fucked her that morning, leaving her happy but
unsatisfied.

   As she went upstairs to dress, she concluded to herself that she very
much wanted to fuck Gene Myers, but that it would have to be his idea, and
the likelihood that the big southerner would initiate such a thing was
remote.

   "Oh, well,' she said out loud as she entered her bedroom, going directly
to the nightstand next to her side of the bed.  With a white vibrating
dildo in her hand, she entered the bathroom and locked the door.



   - o -



   Gene Myers set up his equipment in the basement after replacing the
phone intercept on the pole at the street with an almost identical one that
he'd brought.  The long table contained his PC with FAX capability,
scanner, speaker phone and several other pieces of electronics that Jessica
couldn't identify.

   "You should make all calls of a sensitive nature down here,' Gene was
saying.  "That way you won't forget to toggle the A-B switch, here.  It's
important that you, we, remember to switch it off and back on again. 
Who-ever's listening would become suspicious if you stopped makin' any
calls.'

   Jessica flipped the switch to off, and turned her Rolodex to Carolyn
DiBriggio's card.  The call to her apartment got only her answering
machine, and Jessica left a message that she was trying to reach her, and
would keep trying.  Calls to her friend's two offices also came up empty,
and she left messages there as well.

   Gene placed the next call, to his home in Virginia, and was pleased to
find Clarice in.  Putting the conversation on speaker phone, he brought his
wife up to date on the developments, including the fact that the blood
samples had been sent to Dr.  DiBriggio, and that they hadn't been able to
reach her.

   "Wait a minute...could you hold on for a second,' she said, and Jessica
noticed Gene stiffen at the tone of his wife's words.

   She came back on a minute later, and Jessica felt a icy chill run down
her spine at the Agent's first words, "I don't know how to say this,
Jessica, um...  in this morning's Washington Post, an article in the metro
section...  well, damn, I'm terribly sorry, but Carolyn DiBriggio is
reported dead.'



   - o -



   In the vestry of the small church, Sister Mary Katherine chatted with
several small groups of parishioners.  Most of the congregation had left
shortly after the mass was read.  A small line had formed inside the
sanctuary, waiting to give confession to the priest.

   She was as happy as she'd ever been, and it showed in her smiling face
and ready laugh.  The Catholics of Stepford, used to the somewhat dour
priest, were delighted with the enthusiastic and effervescent nun.

   She didn't know why she woke each morning with a feeling of joy in her
heart, or where the boundless energy came from.  The brisk morning walks
through the countryside were new for her but she found it a great way to
begin each day.  A long hot bath usually followed, and her fingers played
in her sex with none of the residual guilt she used to experience.

   Oh, and the orgasms!

   She'd never even attempted to cum more than once before, not even as a
sixteen-year old when she first began to explore her body and it's
passions. Lately, however, she could cum and cum and...  stopping only when
the bath water got too cold.  And the images in her mind, of hard cocks...
sucking them into her mouth, feeling them spurt and fill her mouth or sex
with warm nectar.  The images were so real...  the feel of a man's chest
pressed against her breasts as his cock stroked back and forth inside her,
his lips covering hers, the tongue fucking into her mouth...  all so vivid,
despite her virginity.

   As she talked to the men and women in the vestry, she did so from a
stronger spiritual base than ever before, her words of encouragement and
hope coming from someplace deep inside her.  Each of the worshipers in turn
thanked her for her help or for just being here in Stepford.

   She turned after saying good-bye to one elderly couple to find Michael
O'Brien and a tall woman approaching.

   "Sister Mary,' said O'Brien, shaking her hand.

   "Ah, Michael O'Brien, is it, coming to Church even,' she said, her voice
a sing-song Irish brogue.  She liked O'Brien quite a lot and just managed
to suppress a blush at the thought of how often he was the main player in
her fantasies.  Seeing the look he gave her, she wondered if the reverse
might also be true.

   "I'd like you to meet my good friend Samantha Weeks,' he said, releasing
her hand and turning toward his companion.  "Sam is the principal of
Stepford High and this,' he said bowing slightly toward the nun, "is the
lovely angel of mercy, Sister Mary Katherine.'

   Sister Mary shook her hand, surprised that she could see in the woman's
intelligent gray eyes the same look of appreciation (desire?) that she'd
come to expect from men.  As she talked to the educator, she noticed that
the woman's eyes glanced down at the swell of her breasts, just like she'd
seen Mike O'Brien and several other male parishioners do.

   But before she could give it much thought, Mike O'Brien leaned over and
whispered something in her ear.

   As Sam Weeks looked on, he very quickly put her under and gave her the
suggestions he had planned, ones that would kick in later in the afternoon.



   "So what do you think?  Of Sister Mary?' Mike and Sam were sitting in
the far back booth of the Stepford diner, each with a large platter of eggs
and hash browns in front of them.

   "Delicious,' Sam replied around a mouthful of bacon, "really a lovely
girl.  Almost made it worth sitting through my first mass.  And aside from
the obvious fact that she's a nun, isn't the good sister a touch old for a
cradle-robbing pervert like you.'

   Mike smiled.  "Would you be serious for just a moment, you fuckin' dyke
of a he-bitch.  You like em' young too.  Young and naughty.  How many
cherries did you pop this summer?  Over thirty, I figure, if you count both
sides.'

   "About that, maybe.  Back to the lovely sister---are you telling me
she's naughty like the others?  A slut?'

   "Yes and no,' he said, then briefed his buddy on the sister's newly
reinforced attitude toward sex, and the link she had confessed to under
hypnosis between her enjoyment of sex and her spirituality.

   After he was done he saw a grin on Sam's face.  "Shit, Mike, you're more
of a pervert than I thought.  Let's do it.'



   Sister Mary showered after shaving her legs and underarms, allowing
herself only one orgasm before turning off the water and drying off.  It
seemed to her the most natural thing in the world to slip into her habit
without donning her panties, bra or slip.  The thick fabric felt strange
rubbing against her bare nipples, causing them to stiffen and tent the
habit.

   She couldn't remember why she was expected at the high school this
Sunday afternoon, but she was brimming with joy as she drove to the other
end of town, singing along with the oldie playing on the radio,

   "Stand by your man...

   give him two arms to cling to

   And something warm to come to

   When nights are cold and lonely.

   Stand by your man, and show the

   world you love him

   Keep giving all the love you can.

   Stand by your man.'



   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Fourteen

   Sunday, September 10
3:30 p.m.



   Mike led the nun into the gym and across the gleaming hardwood floor. 
He'd put her under a few minutes before, long enough to remind her of their
Holy search for spirituality through sex, and to prepare her for Sam.

   But as they entered the weight room off the gym, Mike wasn't sure he'd
prepared her quite enough for the shock of Samantha Weeks.  At one end of
the room the floor was covered with thick blue wrestling mats, and walls of
this section were covered on three sides with mirrors.  Standing in the
middle of all this was Sam, nude except for the harness strapped around her
crotch.  Her entire body had been oiled and as they watched she struck
various poses that caused different muscles groups to ripple and stand out
from her otherwise slender body.

   "Oh, my,' said Sister Mary, her hand going to her mouth as she watched
the strange man/woman stretch and strain.  Consistent with Mike's earlier
suggestions, she saw only the long, thick cock standing out and up from the
man's crotch, and not the harness and straps that held the phallus and
heavy balls in place.  The smallish breasts were those of a woman, however,
and were capped by long, thick nipples.

   Feeling Mike's hand on her waist, she let herself be led toward the
man-woman, and she felt her pussy throb as she stared at the oily cock
jutting at a forty-five degree angle, hoping that their Holy purpose would
result in that huge shaft entering her mouth and sex.

   Sam had watched them enter and cross to the mats, stopping a yard or so
away.  He saw the nuns eyes on the ten inch phallus he wore, and smiled
when he saw her lips part and tongue come out to wet her lips.  As Mike had
suggested when they discussed this over brunch, he bowed at the waist
toward the beautiful nun, then addressed her.

   "His Holiness has told me of your noble quest, dear Sister, and I hope I
can be of some assistance,' he said.

   Both Mike and Sam were surprised at the nun's quick response.  One hand
went to pull off the headdress while the other began undoing the latch at
her throat, then the zipper of her habit.  Within twenty seconds, the
sister was stepping out of the black and white pile at her ankles, naked
now except for the white running shoes on her feet.

   Sam Weeks looked at the lush body of the nun with a new fire in his
loins, the full white breasts, freckled lightly at the tops, and the softly
rounded belly contrasting against his own rock hard body and small breasts.
Taking her into his arms, feeling the cock pressed between them, her
womanly breasts pressed into his oiled chest, he leaned down and kissed
her.

   The kiss continued as he lowered the two of them to their knees, then
broke for a moment while he lowered the woman to the mat.  His eyes
lingered on her full, soft breasts, the coral nipples erect and looking so
very suckable, then the silky strawberry blond hair between her legs.  As
he spread her legs apart, he could see that she was already wet, the pink
lips of her sex glistening with her secretions.

   This was a woman, he found himself thinking.  Not a teenage fuck-toy
like the girls he and Mike had used all summer, and as different as could
be from the burnt-out pieces of ass he'd had in Greenwich Village.  As he
moved into position, the woman pulled her knees back almost to her chest,
her slit gaping open, leaking, waiting for his cock.  After moving the
rubber head in small circles over her lips, he slipped the massive head
inside.

   At the first contact of the cock with her clit, Sister Mary lowered her
feet back to the floor and lifted her ass off the mat, pushing herself
toward the cock, forcing the shaft several inches into her tight cunt.  She
came almost immediately, the spasms of her cunt now easing the way.  The
man-woman was over her now, staring down into her face as her head rolled
from side to side, the orgasm peaking, then beginning anew as she felt her
sex stretched wide by the invading cock.  She cried out and pushed her hips
up again, impaling herself another inch or two on the cock.

   Sam had never seen anything like the woman cuming under him.  He pushed,
and the resistance of her tight hole stopped him again, sending a jolt back
through the phallus to his clit.  Again and again he drove forward and
experienced a flash of pleasure as his progress was stopped.  When at last
the cock was fully inside the writhing woman, he came as well.

   Mike had been watching this with mixed feelings.  He was excited by the
cries from Sister Mary, at the obvious pleasure she was feeling.  He also
felt regret that she was getting this pleasure from someone other than he,
and was, he acknowledged, a little bit jealous.  But when he saw that Sam
was cuming as well, he knelt between his friends legs and reached for the
rubber balls.  He knew from the times Sam had fucked him that squeezing the
sacs would send a small torrent of a cum-like substance rushing up the long
shaft.

   The nun knew he was cuming, and her own orgasm soared yet again when she
felt the warm blast against her womb.  Again and again she felt the cock
erupt deep inside her, and her orgasm rocked her body until she felt her
consciousness ebb away.



   Sam rolled the dozing woman onto her belly, and settled between her
splayed legs, his head resting lightly on the pillowy soft checks of her
ass.  Her skin was so white and flawless and soon he was running his tongue
over the smooth flesh, kissing and biting playfully.  When he began sliding
his tongue down the deep crack of her ass, flicking it back and forth, he
felt the Sister stir.

   "Oh, my,' Sister Mary said, opening her eyes, the pleasurable sensations
coming from the flickering tongue in her crack new to her.  Pushing herself
up onto her arms she turned, seeing His Holiness to her left, removing the
last of his clothes, his cock rigid.  Lying behind her was the man-woman,
his face buried in her ass.  As the tongue neared her anus she moaned and
instinctively pulled away, but as she came to her knees the tongue followed
her and she felt hands holding onto her hips.

   "Oh, God,' she cried as the tongue flickered back and forth over her
most-private hole, the exciting sensations coursing through her body. 
Distracted for a moment as her lover/teacher knelt before her, presenting
her with his cock, she opened her mouth and sucked it inside.  As she
sucked the cock her attention returned to her ass, feeling the tongue
stabbing inside.

   Mike heard and felt her moans around his cock, not minding in the least
that her attention was not fully on the task.  Combing his fingers through
the silky strawberry tresses, he took hold of her head and began sliding
his cock back and forth in her warm, wet mouth.

   Sam positioned his hands so his thumbs could pry apart the cushiony
cheeks of her ass, giving his tongue better access to the crinkled rosette.
Rolling his tongue into a spear, he forced it past the sphincter and into
her hole.  After less than a minute of tongue fucking, he felt her body
tremble, and his chin was sprayed by the discharge of her cum.

   After her tremendous orgasm died down, Sister Mary moaned as the tongue
was pulled out of her ass.  The cock in her mouth continued to fuck in and
out, and she sucked on it lovingly, wishing that she could somehow take all
of it in her mouth, but his thrusts stopped short of her throat, and her
attention was once again divided as she felt a cock enter her sex.

   Mike watched as Sam's ten inch phallus cleaved the cheeks of her ass and
worked inside her cunt.  As more and more of the oily shaft disappeared
inside, he felt the Sister's hand on his hip, the dainty fingers gripping
his flesh.  The other hand followed, and he discovered her purpose when she
pulled him towards her, his cock driving up against her throat.

   "Oh, yes, Sister Mary,' he said, his voice hoarse.  "Take me deep... 
breathe out of your nose and try to swallow my cock.'

   Trying her best to put aside the incredible feeling of the cock fucking
back and forth in her sex, filling her as never before, Sister Mary
concentrated on the cock in her mouth, gagging as she tried to swallow the
bulbous head.  Willing the reflex away, she took the cock an inch into her
throat.  The next time she rocked forward she was able to take it deeper.

   Mike gritted his teeth against the pleasure and eroticism of the
Sister's effort, holding back the cum that churned in his balls.  But soon
it was too much, and he tightened his grip on her head and took back
control, driving his erupting cock deep into her incredibly tight throat
with every thrust.

   As the cock exploded in her throat, the Sister came again, feeling the
intense orgasm race through her body as she was impaled at both ends, her
body filled with cock, her mind open to the clarity of spiritual thought
that always accompanied her release.



   It began twenty minutes later, just a flicker of something on the edge
of her thoughts, but it wouldn't fully form in her mind, or go away.  She
didn't press it, instead giving her mind over to the feeling of the cock in
her sex, and the mouth sucking and chewing on her nipples.

   Sam Weeks increased the pace of his thrusts, hammering the long rubber
phallus into the nun's cunt, digging for what would be his fourth orgasm of
the afternoon.  He'd lost track of how many times the Sister had cum, but
knew it was at least a half-dozen since Mike slipped under her and began
kissing and sucking her hanging breasts.

   When Sam came a few minutes later he heard the sister cry out as well,
and he reached behind to squeeze the swinging balls, emptying the last of
his cum into the trembling body of Sister Mary.



   The tendril of thought tugged again at the edge of her consciousness
while she was slowly rocking up and down on top of her Holy master,
enjoying this languid sex, the feel of his gentle hands on her breasts. 
After the hammering of the man-woman's longer, thicker cock, this was a
delightful change.

   It was while looking down into his face, sensing rather than seeing,
that she knew he was in love with her; not the love she felt for her church
or God, but rather the love between a man and a woman.  As her heart opened
up, her senses cleansed and sharpened by the many orgasms of the past hour,
she knew with certainty that she loved him as well.

   And suddenly she knew something else.  The thought came sharply into
focus, that she was fucking.  In violation of her vows, she was fucking...
Mike O'Brien...  not some Holy or spiritual being.  Closing her eyes, she
let her thoughts and feelings form in her mind, finding very little
resistance to her conclusion.

   "I'm fucking Michael O'Brien,' she said to herself, "and I love it as
much as I love being a nun, serving the spiritual needs of the
congregation. And I'm going to go on fucking him as long as he'll have me.'

   Opening her eyes, she smiled and lowered her mouth onto his, kissing him
urgently, passionately.  And when she felt his cock erupt in her sex, she
experienced her final orgasm of the afternoon, her heart filled with the
warmth of sexual and womanly love.



   - o -



   Clarice Starling walked hurriedly up the concourse, glancing out the
tall windows to see Delta flight from Atlanta taxi to the gate.  The
passenger she was meeting was Dr.  Peter Goodwin, research director for the
Center for Disease Control, and she was anxious to get him to the FBI labs
at Quantico.  They'd been working for hours on the blood samples sent from
the Grahams, and were looking forward to collaborating with the famous
scientist.

   She hated that call she made Saturday afternoon, not knowing who he was
or what his connection was to the late Dr.  DiBriggio.  But she and Jim
Cooper, the Chevy Chase homicide detective, had checked the victim's voice
mail at work and her answering machine at home, and had found several
urgent messages from this man named Peter Goodwin.

   For Starling, the call to Goodwin was worse than the one with Jessica
Graham, despite the distraught woman's break down when she was told of her
friend's violent death.  Jessica at least had Gene with her, and a husband
to help her through the pain.  Hearing Peter Goodwin after she told him of
the reason for her call---or, rather, not hearing him---that long agonizing
moment of silence, when Clarice knew at once that his connection with the
victim was more than professional.  Much more.  The sob she heard before
the phone went quiet once again, until at last he came back on the line...
waiting through that minute of silence, knowing the awful thing she'd done
to this stranger, was something she never wanted to experience again.

   She would have known this was Peter Goodwin even if she hadn't brought
his photo.  In contrast to the bored or business-like expressions on most
of the travelers, the face on the man who approached her was as different
as it could be.  The burning eyes behind the wireless glasses, the firm set
to the mouth and jaw, it was a mask of barely contained fury.

   "Starling?'

   "Yes, Dr.---'

   "Let's go,' he said between tightly clenched teeth, holding firmly onto
her arm, leading her down the concourse and toward the exit.



   Clarice Starling couldn't follow the least bit of the fast-paced dialog
between Goodwin and the collection of Bureau forensic scientists, chemists
and the like.  Her college science courses and forensic training at the
Bureau was little help at this rarefied level of conversation.  But she
didn't have to understand the science to notice what was happening.  In
this room were several world-class scientists, but the brilliance of
Goodwin crackled throughout the room, like an electrical discharge that you
couldn't see but could feel all the same.

   "No!  No, No, NO!!!,' shouted Goodwin, banging his fist on the table as
if his loud voice needed emphasis.  This was after one senior FBI scientist
made a tentative observation about the worm-like shape on the slide
projected onto the far wall of the conference room.

   Picking up the control for the slide projector, Goodwin marched to the
front of the room and clicked to another slide of a photograph from the
CDC's electron microscope.

   "Look, people,' he said, "see this fragment, here...  and here.  That's
part of this fucking package.  Or was, before the original substance was
ingested.' Clicking to a new slide, he continued, "The asshole who designed
this was smart, real smart.  See here, where the fragment's gone, very
likely destroyed by the acids in the stomach.  It's a package within a
package within a package.  You can bet your house that once we find the
original substance, it'll be encapsulated in some protein that will survive
it's native environment...  water, foodstuffs, pollen, whatever it is.  In
the stomach, that protective coating is dissolved, leaving this little
baby. And I'm certain that this isn't the end product, look at this next
slide....'

   Clarice Starling slipped out of the room, knowing that this effort
wouldn't benefit from her presence.  Back in her office she called the
Director of Research and ordered a database search on any and all residents
of Stepford, Kansas.  Before she'd have to leave to catch her plane to
Kansas, she'd have on her laptop every piece of data known about the
residents: military or government service, all known past residences, jobs
held, taxes paid, educational history, and any connection with any FBI
investigation over the last half-century.



   - o -



   It would be a pretty community, once the trees, shrubs and grass grew in
enough to hide the scars of the summer-long construction.  But as it was
the twelve new ranch-style homes looked very stark against the flat, barren
landscape of this new development.

   Joseph Seven didn't mind one bit how the neighborhood looked as he eased
his brand new BMW into the driveway.  In response to his thumb on the
opener, the garage doors swung up and he pulled the sedan into the garage.

   His garage.  His BMW.  His house.  And when he went inside, he'd find
the pretty sixteen year old girl, Sandra, who would shortly be his wife.

   He'd be twenty-two next month, and what he wanted more than anything for
his birthday was to be able to tell his father that a grandchild was on the
way.  He suspected that his other eleven brothers shared his desire to be
the first, and he wondered if they, too, had their wives checking their
temperatures several times a day, looking for the spike that would tell
them that ovulation was occurring.

   This competition, like the others when they played basketball or swam
races against each other in their father's pool, wouldn't lessen the
growing friendship between them.  Knockin' up their teen-age whore brides
would be another bond between he and his brothers, just like sharing the
cunts among one another was becoming a regular practice.  They'd agreed to
Joseph One's suggestion that sex with another's wife should be limited to
the slut's mouth or her back-door.

   Entering the house from the garage, he smiled to himself at the spotless
kitchen, but was surprised when he came across Sandra in the living room,
dressed only in a robe.  Since they had moved in together, he'd been
pleased that the girl dressed and did her hair and make-up to please him,
always wearing dresses appropriate for a wife.  But as he entered the room
he saw her smile broadly and rise, pushing the robe off her shoulders as
she did, displaying the body that never failed to make him hard.

   "I'm ready, honey,' she said, "my temperature's up...  way up.' Her
hands sliding down to the hairless lips of her sex, already moist in
anticipation.  "Fuck me, honey...  give me your cock...  let's make a
baby!'

   Inside a minute Joseph had stripped off his clothes and had mounted the
young girl, driving his cock into her tight, moist sex.  Three minutes
later he stopped his frantic thrusts into the writhing girl, holding his
position deep inside her while his cum blasted her fertile womb.  After
carefully pulling out, he sat on his heels and pulled her hips up into his
lap, achieving an angle that would insure that his seed stayed deep inside.

   Ten minutes later he took her again, this time with her ass balanced on
the arm of the sofa, her body on the cushions below.  Fucking down into his
future wife, it took much longer before he achieved his release, and he
counted four orgasms from the girl before he filled her with his cum.

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Fifteen Monday, September 11 1:45 p.m.



   Mike O'Brien was surprised when the knock on his office door was
followed by the entrance of Sister Mary.  He glanced at his desktop
calendar to confirm, yes, this was Monday afternoon.  The nun wasn't
expected on the wards until Tuesday.  Tuesday and Thursday.

   But when he saw her eager, smiling face, he forgot all about the
schedule, and rose from his chair, feeling the now-familiar tug in his
heart at the sight of her.  It was then he noticed that she wasn't wearing
her habit, but was dressed instead in a black and gold Notre Dame
sweatshirt and a pair of blue jeans.

   "Sister Mary,' he said.

   "Just Megan, now,' she said, taking a seat on the corner of his desk,
facing him.  "Megan Sullivan.  I'll explain if you've got a minute.'

   "Yeah, um, yes, of course.'

   "It won't be official for a few days now, not until the Cardinal rules
on the FAX I sent him last night.  But I'm leaving the sisterhood.'

   "What?' he said, dreading what he knew was coming, that she was leaving
Stepford as well.  "Why, Sister Mary--- er, Megan?'

   "In large part because of you, Mike.  I hardly slept a wink last night,
thinking about everything that's happened to me here.  The sex, which I
loved, but that was against the solemn vows I've taken.  It was a hard
decision to reach, but I finally decided that I could do the work I love,
but not within the Catholic Church, and hopefully have the man I love, too.
Y'see, I love you, Michael O'Brien.'

   Mike sat back in his chair, stunned.

   "And you love me too.  I can see that as clearly as the nose on your
Irish face.'

   Mike looked into her face for a long time, knowing that she was speaking
the truth, and feeling a deep sadness, instead of the elation he always
expected he'd feel at this moment.  He knew he'd lied to and manipulated
the girl, and many others in Stepford.  As he looked into the amazingly
open face of the woman he loved, he was forced to look into his own heart.
He didn't like what he saw there.

   "Sister,' he said, then held up his hand when she was about to correct
him.  "Sister Mary Katherine...  I need you to hear me out, and if you love
me even half as much as I do you, you'll give me this chance to talk.  To
explain why you shouldn't leave the Church, at least not for a man like
me.'

   She listened for the forty-five minutes it took for Mike to tell her of
his deeds, the confession covering his real job at the hospital helping Dr.
Poulsen's RCA plan, of his frequent adultery with the women who volunteered
in the wards, and of his use of subterfuge and hypnosis to convince the
Sister to have sex with him.

   The newly re-christened Megan Sullivan let him speak, never taking her
eyes off his face, until he was done, his head buried in his hands.  She
waited until his sobs had finished before she lifted him up so he was
sitting back in his chair.

   Sitting in his lap, she held his head between her hands and looked into
his face.  "Three things.  One, I still love you and it's probably my curse
to love you until I die.  Two, you and I have some work to do to set things
right, but that can start tomorrow.  Three, I want you to take me to your
home, right now.  I want you to make love to me, not as Sister Mary, and
not under some magic spell.  I want you to make love me as to Megan
Sullivan, your future wife.'



   Mike rolled Megan onto her back, and eased his body on top of hers, his
head even with her large breasts.  Taking a rosy nipple between his lips he
let his tongue flicker over it until it was quite long and stiff.  After
kissing and suckling and her milky-white breasts for several minutes, he
slid down her body, kissing as he went, until he was between her legs.

   As his mouth covered her sex, gently sucking and lapping the juices from
their first bout, he heard her moan and felt her fingers in his hair.  The
first time had been a little awkward; he'd felt clumsy and unsure of
himself as they'd undressed each other, conscious that this was his first
time in years with a woman who wasn't hypnotized.  And he knew that this
would seem to her like her first time, and he wanted it to be perfect.

   It hadn't been perfect.  He'd never before made love to a woman.  He'd
fucked many dozens, but never one that looked at him with the same love
that he felt for her.  Their faces inches from one another, his cock in the
warm vice of her sex, he'd felt a heightened awareness like never before...
the feel of her breasts under his chest, the hard nipples pressing into
him...  her soft belly against his...  the arm around his back, the fingers
playing in the hair at his neck...  her sweet breath on his face...  oh,
and the feeling of his cock inside her.

   His cock had stiffened and erupted in her sex after less than a minute
and, thankfully, she had cum as well as they kissed through the pleasures
of their sudden release.

   This time, would be better, he told himself, sliding his fingers under
her ass, lifting her up just a bit so he could flick his tongue over the
hard nub of her clit, and watch over her the mound of her pubis, through
the valley of her breasts, seeing her head come up to watch him and to let
him watch her.  She held her eyes on his even as she came, as her body and
mind filled with the pleasure of her orgasm, of her love.

   The second time inside her had been perfect, the greatest pleasure he'd
ever known.  Taking his pleasure from hers, loving her more as each orgasm
came and reflected itself in the beauty of her open, guileless face, her
sex becoming hotter, wetter, with each stroke of his cock.

   After his cock had finished erupting inside her, the feeling of release,
and love, the most fulfilling of his life, he watched as her eyes closed
and her head fell gently to the side.  It was then he realized that she
must be exhausted, remembering that she'd told him of her restless night.
He'd slipped out of her and gone to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth.
As she slept, he cleaned her as best he could, then climbed in bed and held
the sleeping woman in his arms.



   He awoke sometime later in the middle of the night to find Megan under
the covers, her mouth and tongue exploring his cock.  He closed his eyes
and let the wonderful feelings build and build until he exploded in the
tightness of her throat.



   Megan woke at the first night of dawn, and heard the sound of running
water in the bathroom.  The joy that had greeted her mornings of late was
even stronger, and she smiled broadly, thanked her God for showing her the
way.

   She found Mike in the bathroom, his hair damp, a towel wrapped around
his waist.  He opened his arms as she approached, gathering her naked body
to his, and his kiss was long and wet, thrilling her to her core.

   "Your bath is drawn, m'lady' he said, then held her hand as she stepped
into the hot scented water.  She rested her head against the pillow he'd
fashioned using a towel, relaxing in the hot water, watching as he knelt by
the tub and began bathing her.  He began at her feet, washing them
thoroughly with a soapy washcloth, using his fingers between her dainty
toes.  She had one small orgasm before he finished her front, when one hand
was washing her breasts, caressing them really, and the other was between
her legs.  A few minutes later, lying in the tub on her stomach now, she
had another after his soapy fingers had played on, around and then finally
inside her ass.

   They sat on his bed, naked, feeding each other from the tray sitting
between them, picking up a fresh strawberries, coating it in whipped cream
or chocolate sauce before sliding it in one another's mouths.  Laughing,
giggling as their bodies and the bed became more of a mess...  talking.

   Mike answered her questions about sex, telling her after she insisted
what they'd done together and with Samantha Weeks, some of which she
remembered.  Telling her all that was possible between a man and a woman,
between a husband and wife.  Seeing in her eyes desire, that she wanted to
try it all, with him.  Leaning over, licking the whipped cream off her
chin, then the chocolate sauce off her breast, and then her belly...

   - o -



   The preliminary report from Dr.  Goodwin and the team of FBI scientists
was FAXed to Stepford Monday night, and was largely incomprehensible to
Clarice Starling and Gene Myers.  However, there were several conclusions
and observations that helped them direct their activities.

   One, don't drink the water.  They tested a sample of tap water and found
a substance that shouldn't be there.  Further analysis had shown that this
substance would be broken down by the acids in the stomach to yield the
same amino acid-based molecule found in the blood samples of both of the
Grahams and Lisa Quinn.

   Two, the individual or team who created the additive was world class,
supported by a state-of-the-art laboratory.  The scientists could only
speculate as to how the substance worked to alter the subject's
personality, but to accomplish this, no matter how it was done, required
the inventor to have solved many thorny physiological and psychological
puzzles.  In the worldwide scientific community, there was nothing
published that would even hint that such a breakthrough was possible.

   Three, the concentration of the substance in Jessica Graham's blood was
not significantly different from that of Lisa Quinn.  The report concluded
that there must be another (not yet understood) step in the biochemical
process, that required time to create the behavioral symptoms observed in
the town's women.



   In their make-shift basement HQ, Clarice and Gene sorted through the
data on the residents of the town and the surrounding county land.

   Or, at least, they tried to.  They could hear from upstairs the sharp
voices of the Graham couple, and they couldn't help but listen in.

   "I think he's right,' whispered Clarice to her husband, "she should take
Katie and get out of here.  Who knows how this stuff works, and whether
it's permanent.'

   "Yeah,' said Gene.  "If I was Rhett, I'd be arguing the same thing, but,
honey, if you were Jessica you'd be tellin' me to go fuck myself.  That
little lady is tougher than you may think, and she feels like she may be
responsible for a friend being killed.  She's not gonna run away from a
fight, and neither would you.  But what they should do is send Katie away.'

   On that all four would agree.



   It wasn't all that difficult to find the name among the Stepford
residents.  Dr.  Richard Poulsen had the impressive science background (the
degrees from Stanford), and his position as head of the V.A.  hospital
might give him the access he needed to labs to make the stuff.  And there
was a suspicious eighteen year hole in his background, beginning after his
post-doctorate work at Johns Hopkins, to the point seven years ago when he
took this appointment in the V.A..

   Clarice toggled the switch which would insure that her call wasn't
recorded, then called Quantico.  She ordered a detailed background check on
Poulsen, including his place of work during the 18-year hole in the
Bureau's record of his life.

   Gene, meanwhile, had downloaded the manifests of all logical flights
between BWI and KC, and was cross checking against the database of Stepford
residents.

   Through the small basement window, Clarice noticed a car pull up to the
curb and a couple get out and begin up the walk to the house.  As she rose
her hand moved instinctively to check the automatic on her hip, and the
speed-loader cartridges nearby.  Satisfied that all was in order, she
pulled her jacket off the back of the chair and slipped it on.

   "I'll get this one,' she said, and went up the stairs.

   - o -



   Rhett was annoyed, first at Jessica's stubbornness and then at the sound
of the doorbell that interrupted their argument.  He had called the office
twice this morning, telling Lisa that he'd be later and then, later still.
Grumbling to himself, he answered the door to find a young couple on the
front porch, and his first thought was that they were Mormon missionaries.
The girl especially, looked so fresh and attractive, and had a openness to
her expression that could only belong to someone young and [annoyingly]
sure of her path.

   "Mr.  Graham,' said Mike O'Brien, "I suspect you're about to head to the
plant, and I apologize for the intrusion.  But if you'll give us ten
minutes of your time, I think you'll decide that the job can wait, and that
your family is more important.'

   "I think you'd better come in,' said Rhett.

   It was only after the door closed behind them that Mike noticed the
thirtyish woman standing to one side of the door, her hand stuck inside her
jacket.  He nodded at her, noticing that her eyes scanned over his body,
and Megan's.

   "She's a cop,' he thought to himself.

   "Follow me,' said Graham, leading the couple into the living room.

   After refusing his offer of coffee, Mike sat and waited until they were
joined by Jessica Graham and a big stranger who had the most watchful eyes
Mike had ever seen.  The presence of these strangers bothered him, but he
was determined to get this off his chest, and he drew strength from the
presence of Megan's hand in his.

   "My name is Michael O'Brien,' he began, choosing the face of Jessica
Graham as his focus, noticing the redness in her otherwise hazel eyes, "and
I am the chief of staff at the V.A.  hospital.' With his eyes on the wife,
he didn't notice the two strangers stiffen at his words.

   "This is Megan Sullivan,' he said, indicating with his head toward the
girl sitting next to him on the sofa.  "Until recently, she was known as
Sister Mary Katherine, and she served at Stepford's Catholic Church and did
volunteer work at the hospital.'

   "Well, Michael...  Megan,' said Jessica, nodding to one, then the other,
"it's good to meet you.  I'm Jessica Graham...  my husband Rhett, and, um,
our friends Gene and Clarice Myers.'

   Michael acknowledged the introductions with nods of his head, then
continued, "I'm not sure exactly how to say this, and I may ramble a bit,
but if you'll bear with me until I finish, I'd sure appreciate it.'



   Clarice and Gene were back in the basement ninety minutes later, waiting
impatiently for the machinery in Washington to work as it must.  Clarice
had reached her boss, Sam Franklin, head of the Behavioral Science section
of the FBI, briefed him on the alarming allegations from Michael O'Brien,
and he had promised to reach Louis Freeh as soon as he hung up.

   The call came an hour later, and the two looked at one another with
eyebrows raised as Franklin told them that Janet Reno as well as Louis
Freeh were in the conference room with him.  It wasn't often that
Washington moved this fast.  If she didn't feel intimidated enough, Dr. 
Peter Goodwin was also present.

   After clearing her throat, Clarice Starling proceeded to brief the
Attorney General, FBI Director and the rest on what they'd learned from
Mike O'Brien, and from their other work.



   Dr.  Poulsen got the call two hours later, from his contact at the CIA,
the same man that had spoken two weeks earlier to Dole's aide.  William
(Bill) Carlisle had been his manager for the latter years in Langly, and
now was Deputy Director of Intelligence (Operations) at the Agency.

   "I can get into a lot of trouble just making this call, Dick.  But you,
of all people, know that.  I'm calling to tell you that the files related
to your work here have been requested by the Department of Justice, the
request signed by the dragon lady herself.'

   "I thought those records were buried,' said Poulsen, his irritation and
worry clear, "and that my name was purged from the Agency's data banks.'

   "They were and they are, by order of President Reagan, and it'll take an
Executive order from Clinton to release them.  But if Reno has found out
enough to ask about them, I wouldn't put in past her to go to the top. 
What's going on, Dick?  What in God's name are you up to?'

   Poulsen hesitated.  They were so close.  So damn close to achieving his
dream.  How could the fuckin' bitch Attorney General know about him, know
about his plans?  He made a mental list about all the people who knew of
RCA: the six on his team, none of them would have the least incentive to
talk because all were as deeply involved as he; Dole and his aide, but they
had even less reason to screw things up; his twelve sons...  He put this
train of thought aside for later, when he had time to think.
"I'm pretty sure you shouldn't know, Bill.  Deniability and all that.  I
also give you my solemn word that you'd approve wholeheartedly.' When

Poulsen had worked under Carlisle, he had learned that his boss's wife was
an independent and very wealthy Washington socialite, albeit one with a
social and political outlook far to the left of her husband.  Poulsen knew
that it irked Carlisle no end that his wife advanced her liberal agenda
with generous financial contributions from her personal and sizable
inheritance.  Poulsen had helped the man bring the woman (and their two
teenage daughters) into the Righteous state, and had spent many days and
nights over the next several years at their elegant Georgetown home, or at
their summer place on the shore of Long Island, enjoying with his boss the
now-eager and pliant threesome.

   Poulsen continued, choosing his words carefully, "But if you can safety
find out what's behind the Reno request, Bill, I think we'd all rest a
little easier.'

   After ending the conversation and handing up the phone, Poulsen leaned
back in his chair and thought long and hard about where this investigation
had come from.  He knew Carlisle would bust his balls to find out what was
going on, lest his own situation and history become a source of inquiry.

   Finally, he decided to act.  He placed a phone call to Joseph One,
telling his eldest son to contact all of his brothers and meet him in an
hour at his ranch.

   Joseph One put the phone down and returned his attention to the
seventeen year-old red-head kneeling between his thighs.  A minute after
hanging up on his father, he groaned as the wife-slut of Joseph Nine took
his cock once again into her throat, holding him there, her rosy lips
pressed up against the base of his cock, as he blasted his cum down her
throat and into her belly.



   - o -



   The final son came out of hypnosis, after answering all of his father's
questions to his satisfaction.  Poulsen was now very much satisfied that
none of his sons, accidentally or otherwise, had compromised the mission.
Not one of them had confided anything of import to their live-in whores,
nor to anyone else.

   Joining his sons in his living room, he divided them into six teams of
two each, discussing with each team in turn how it might accomplish the
removal of their targets.  It was risky, his plan to eliminate all of his
team, but it would be riskier still if he tried to sort out who was
responsible, or to take them one by one.

   The two tasked with eliminating Dr.  Abbott would take him out at the
office, staging the death to look like drug addicts had broken into the
clinic and forced the physician/administrator to open the cabinets before
putting a bullet through his brain.

   Sheriff Grant and, if necessary, any deputies would be taken out when he
came to investigate at the clinic.

   Jim Collins at the water department would have an accident coming home
from work, discovering too late that his car's brakes were out of
commission.  His team would follow him down the steep embankment along the
reservoir and, if needed, do what was required to finish the job.

   Mike O'Brien would find his team of two Joseph's already in his
apartment when he came home from work.  If all went according to plan, the
single man would be found some days later, the rubber tourniquet still in
place around his upper arm, an apparent victim of a self-induced heroine
overdose.

   Geoff Reynolds, and his wife, Poulsen decided after remembering how both
had enjoyed Lisa Quinn and were probably more intimate than he liked, would
be the apparent victims of a robber who killed the couple after taking
their belongings outside the restaurant they dined at every Thursday night.

   The team for Lisa Quinn would abduct the girl outside her apartment,
drive her into the hills, and rape her before slitting her throat.

   And, finally, they would take care of the Graham bitch, and her husband.
Poulsen had learned nothing that might suggest that the housewife was
anything but what he suspected, a newly Righteous woman, but he decided on
impulse to have her and her husband brought to him.



   By midnight, all of his son's had returned.  Poulsen was disturbed by
the report of the two boys assigned to Mike O'Brien.  They reported that
his aide had never shown up, and also that his bedroom closet and dresser
were mostly empty of clothes.  They could find no suitcase in his
two-bedroom apartment.

   "Then he's the one,' said Poulsen, not the least disturbed that he'd
ordered five deaths that probably weren't necessary.  "Well,' he thought to
himself, "I will miss Lisa Quinn.'

   His thoughts went to the Graham couple.  Two hours before, he learned
from his CIA contact that they were somehow behind the Justice Department
request for his files.  That would be the last task of his boys, to bring
them here so he could determine what they knew, what they had told, and
where he might find Mike O'Brien.

   "Father.'

   Poulsen looked up to find Joseph One standing before him.  "We
all---every one of us---would like you to know that we would do anything
for you.  Anything.  With the Lisa-slut gone, we want you to know that we
would be honored to provide our whores for your personal use.'

   "And if your use of them should result in a child,' offered Joseph
Seven, his voice cracking, knowing that his wife was ripe for conception,
"it would be my honor---our honor---to raise your son as our own.'

   Poulsen watched as Joseph One snapped his fingers and in response twelve
girls filed out from the hall leading to the back of the house.  His heart
swelled in his chest at this unselfish gesture, even as his cock responded
in kind to the sight of the naked, nubile teens that formed a line to his
left.  The sight of their pert breasts and shaved cunts reminded him of his
son's mothers, of how much he had enjoyed impregnating those sluts
twenty-odd years ago.

   "We must leave, father,' said Joseph One.  "And you can rest assured
that we will return with the Graham couple.'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Sixteen

   Wednesday, September 13
12:45 a.m.



   Clarice and Gene were still hard at work in the Graham's basement when
the unexpected attack commenced.  They had just finished coordinating with
the airborne SWAT team that would arrive in Topeka in an hour, and were
completing their work cross-checking the incredible story from Mike
O'Brien. So far, every fact checked out, even down to the date Dole and
Poulsen had met at the Topeka Hilton.

   With the make-shift drapes pulled tight over the basement windows to
shield the light from the neighbors, neither could have possibly noticed
the three dark shapes moving toward the front of the house.  It was the
lack of advanced notice that undoubtedly saved their lives.  When they
heard the crash of doors being flung open, and the flurry of footsteps
above them, the two FBI veterans were too far out of position to react
effectively.

   Even though Clarice realized the hopelessness of their tactical
situation, Gene had to hold his wife back to keep her from running up the
stairs to the ground floor, to her certain death.  It was hard for him,
too, especially when he heard the scream from Jessica Graham.



   - o -



   Not wanting to disappoint any of his sons, Poulsen directed all of the
girls to join him in his basement playroom.  He selected a Brahms symphony
for the occasion, and directed two of the girls to undress him while the
music played.

   He had all twelve girls line up along the wall, in order of the age of
their fiancées.  It took several minutes before the giggling girls had it
right and stood facing their future father-in-law, legs spread to shoulder
width, hand in hand with the girl next to them.  Poulsen started with the
slender blond girl at the end, his hands covering the girl's firm breasts,
squeezing them while he lowered his mouth over hers for a kiss.

   Before moving onto the next girl, he pushed two fingers into the juicy
shaved cunt of Joseph One's bride-to-be.  The next girl in line sucked the
secretions off his fingers before Poulsen took the brunette's more ample
breasts into his hands, thumbs pressing the hard nubs into the firm flesh
while his tongue ravaged her mouth.

   By the time he finished with the final girl, his cock was rock hard,
precum leaking from the glands.  Next, he had each of them kneel and,
starting with the twelfth girl, had each of them take his cock into their
mouths.  He only allowed them ten seconds or so, just long enough to
confirm that each performed this service a little differently, and the
variety was as interesting and exciting as had been the kissing.



   - o -



   At the top of the basement stairs, her gun drawn and ready, Clarice
Starling listened for a moment longer before silently opening the door and
stepping into the hallway.  Crouching in the darkness, looking both ways,
she headed to the left and sensed rather than heard her husband follow out
the basement door and head right.

   Sixty seconds earlier, they had heard the thunder of footsteps coming
down from the second floor, then the sounds of doors closing.  At the
moment she had heard the sound of a car's engine turning over, she had left
the basement and moved quickly to the door leading to the garage.  Peering
out the small windows in the garage door, she saw the headlights turn left
at the end of the cul-de-sac.  Once it was safe, she punched the garage
door opener and climbed into Gene's rental car.  Keeping her headlights
off, she eased the car down the driveway and out to the main road, turning
left and speeding down the two-lane road to catch up with the caravan.



   Gene finished checking the house and found, as expected, that Jessica
and Rhett were gone.  He was tremendously glad that earlier in the day they
had sent little Katie to her Grandparents in the east, escorted by a female
agent from the Kansas City office of the FBI.

   Taking the steps three at a time, he ran downstairs to the first floor
and then into the basement.  Dialing the number of Clarice's cellular
phone, he had to wait only one ring before he heard her voice.

   "Gene?'

   "Yeah, hon.'

   "I'm heading west on Route134, I think it is.  Three BMWs and a panel
van.'

   "They've got them,' he said, stating the obvious.

   "At least they're still alive.  Shit, Gene, why didn't we anticipate
this?'

   "It won't help, Clarice, to worry about that now.'

   "Yeah, I know...  Okay, Gene, they're taking a right up ahead...  wait a
second...  shit, it's impossible to see the street sign without my lights
on.'

   "That's OK, they're probably heading to Poulsen's house.  I'll keep this
line open and use the other line to reach Washington, then the team flyin
up from Dallas.'

   "Got it, Gene.'



   - o -



   Jessica Graham had never felt so frightened or defenseless.  In the
darkness of the van, she could see only the vague shape of Rhett propped up
against the other side.  He'd been stuck by one of the men who had burst
into their bedroom, and her last sight of him, just before they'd been
shoved into the back of this van, had added to her fear.  His face was
ghastly white, eyes dull and unfocused, and a long trail of blood led from
his hairline, where he'd been hit with the butt of the gun, down the side
of his face and neck.

   She told herself that there was hope.  Clarice and Gene had not been
discovered in the basement, and she knew they were quite capable people. 
This was their thing...  why the two carried guns and knew how to use them.
But each time she tried to take strength in this thought her analytical
mind insisted on bringing up the more possible fates that awaited them.

   Sitting awkwardly with her hands cuffed behind her, she couldn't stop
thinking about how she looked, how little coverage her summer-weight
nightgown provided.  It didn't help that the abductors had openly fondled
her tits and ass while bringing her out to the van.

   In the fight of her choosing, the arena of law, she would have felt
expertly prepared, but in this world...



   - o -



   Poulsen pulled his cock from the vice-like cunt of the red-head, the
plop made by his withdrawal audible over the strains of music in the
basement room, and moved behind the next girl.  All of the girls were lined
up facing the wall, bent at the waist, arms extended to brace themselves
against the wall.

   The red-head smiled as she stepped off the wooden box that Poulsen had
used to bring her sex to the level of his cock, and pushed it down to the
next girl.  She was happy that she'd honored the man by cuming so quickly,
after less than a dozen strokes of her father-in-law's magnificent cock.

   Poulsen's hands played over the next girl's ass.  This one possessed a
small, exceedingly firm ass and narrow, boy-like hips.  His huge cock,
slick from the juices of the previous girls, looked impossible large in
comparison to the fifteen year-old's slender body.  Positioning his cock
beneath her tight ass cheeks, he found her slit and forced his cock inside.

   "Ohhhh,' moaned the girl and he worked a few inches inside.  Holding
onto her narrow hips, he lunged forward and up, the power of his thrust
driving the girl up, onto her toes and then higher, before she lost her
balance and fell back, impaling herself on the huge shaft.

   The girl's cry echoed off the walls of the basement.  This one would
take a while before her tight cunt could accommodate the huge shaft, but
within two minutes she too sprinkled Poulsen's cock with her discharge.

   - o -



   Even though it was well after midnight in Washington, Myers' phone call
found Louis Freeh still in his office.  Updating him on the abduction of
the Graham couple took less than a minute.

   "First thing, Gene, consider yourself reactivated, as of now,' said the
Bureau chief.  "You and Starling did well by not forcing the action when
you were outnumbered and the opponents held the higher ground.'

   "Second, and this comes directly from the President, our goal for the
remainder of this operation is to put things right, but to do it quietly,
and completely.  He agreed immediately with my and Reno's recommendation
that it would hurt our country if Dole's part in this became public, and
that it would be dicey if the press started asking a lot of questions about
the CIA's role in the creation of this drug.'

   "Understood, sir,' said Myers, but he really didn't.

   "Not yet you don't,' said Freeh, the rebuke mild but clear.  "This
assault on our country will be stopped, and any record of it erased. 
Completely.'

   Gene felt a chill down his spine.

   "The team coming up from Dallas are, shall we say, professional erasers.
You take charge of their deployment and then just get out of the way.  Do
you understand?'

   "No sir,' he said.  "What about the Grahams?  Mike O'Brien and his nun
friend?  Poulsen's sons, and the other members of his group?'

   "If it's possible to save the Grahams, it should be attempted.  But we
can't have a protracted hostage situation.  It needs to be finished
tonight. You've got O'Brien stashed away, and we can decide what to do
about him later.  As for the other members of Poulsen's team, well, it
appears that somebody beat us to it.  Sheriff Grant and Walter Abbott were
found shot to death earlier this evening.  Very suspicious circumstances.
Reynolds and his wife, and Collins, dead.  The only missing member of that
group is Lisa Quinn.  In any case, that problem appears solved.'

   "Shit,' said Myers.

   "Hold on, Gene...  One of my people informs me that the team has landed
in Topeka, and the chopper will be redirected to---hold on...  It will land
on the street directly in front of the Graham home.  Got that, Myers?'

   "Got it, sir.'



   - o -



   Poulsen stroked his cock back and forth in the very tight cunt of the
seventeen year-old blond, the last of the twelve girls in the line. 
Hearing the commotion from outside, knowing his sons would need him
upstairs, he relaxed his control and felt his balls tighten.

   "Take it, slut,' he repeated as his cum blasted forth into the girl's
fertile sex.



   - o -



   Clarice Starling heard the exchange between Gene and Freeh over the open
line of her cellular phone.  The caravan she was following turned into a
long driveway, and she pulled the Ford sedan onto the shoulder of the road.

   "This is America?' she asked rhetorically, as she opened the case on the
passenger seat, and retrieved a long circular metallic tube.

   "You heard that, huh?' she heard from Gene over the phone.  She pulled
her gun from the holster on her hip and screwed the silencer in place.

   "Yeah.  Bizarre.  Somebody must be really scared.  Gene, I'm parked on
the road in front of Poulsen's ranch.  The big house is about 300 yards
away, and they're unloading Jessica and Rhett now...  taking them inside.'

   "Clarice,' he said, his voice soft.  "This SWAT team will be here in
twenty minutes, and to Poulsen's in thirty.  Stay in the car, Clarice, and
wait for the pros.'

   "No, Gene.  And I won't make their rescue a secondary objective.'

   "Clarice, please...' he said but heard the car door close, and knew he
had lost her.



   - o -



   Jessica sat on the bed, trying not to tremble...  trying not to stare at
the gun pointing in her direction, or to think about where they'd taken
Rhett...  what was happening to him...  what would become of them.

   The man in the bedroom guarding her was young, maybe twenty she figured.
The contemptuous set of his mouth, and the arrogance with which the clear
blue eyes overtly examined her barely-covered body, made her tremble even
more.  He'd removed her handcuffs, but only after running his hands over
her body, snorting contemptuously as he did.

   It wouldn't work, her usual trick.  Poulsen's sons were all young and
possessed, she was sure, terrific bodies.  Imaging her guard naked could
not restore her courage and confidence and would likely accomplish the
opposite.

   "You've got to find something!' she shouted to herself.  She forced
herself to think back over everything she knew about Poulsen and his sons,
everything Mike O'Brien had said...  the mothers had been drugged and
programmed by Poulsen many years before--and what was it O'Brien had
said?---that he'd been ordered by Poulsen to find wives ("Human incubators'
was the term the psychologist had used) for his sons.  Maybe that was
something she could use.

   Poulsen and his sons were used to dealing with women and girls who were
rendered pliant and submissive by the drugs.  This may be the only way they
could handle women.  They were bigger than she, stronger, and they had the
guns.  But they were cowards, hiding behind their drugs.

   Cowards.

   Then the door opened, and it walked a tall, distinguished looking man
and she knew immediately that he was the younger man's father.  This was
Dr. Richard Poulsen, she was sure.

   "Strip,' he said.

   She was frightened by his terse command, but she forced herself to sit
up straight and look him in the eye.

   "Fuck you.'

   His eyes clouded over and his lips pursed in anger.  He smiled though, a
cruel smile, and walked over to the bed.  She was expecting it, but when
his hand crashed against the side of her face she felt the pain explode in
her brain.  But as quickly as she could manage it, she sat back up and
looked directly into Poulsen's eyes.

   "If I have to ask you a second time, my son will blow off one of your
kneecaps.'

   Jessica rose to her feet and pulled the nightgown over her head and
tossed in onto the bed.  Then her eyes were back on Poulsen's.

   "Hands behind your head,' he barked and she shrugged before complying.
She knew that her full breasts were thrust forward in this position, and
that her nipples were stiff from the coolness of the early morning.  But
she also knew that this was part of Poulsen's game of intimidation, trying
to make her feel small and powerless.  Even with her eyes on Poulsen's, she
could sense that his son was ogling her body.

   "Do you know how to deal with a woman who isn't drugged?  You and your
coward sons?'

   Poulsen knew how to intimidate.  Separate the prisoners so they can't
draw strength from one another..  strip them of their clothes so they feel
defenseless.  This wasn't quite working, but he knew her resistance would
evaporate if he had the daughter to threaten, or did something with the
husband.  To emphasize her vulnerability he grabbed one of her breasts and
squeezed until she cried out.

   "Listen you fuckin' cunt.  You have two options,' he said, holding onto
her breast.  "One, we'll bring you into the other room and you can watch
while each of my twelve sons fucks your husband.  And that will be just for
starters.'

   He paused and said to the boy, "Joseph, show this cunt what her husband
has coming to him.'

   Poulsen released his painful grip of her breast and moved behind her. 
The son stepped in front of her and lowered his pants to his ankles, then
grinned at her while he stroked his cock.  She looked away, but Poulsen's
hand gripped her hair and forced her head down, so she had to watch as the
cock grew in the son's hand.

   Jessa's eyes teared as she watched the cock thicken and lengthen, until
the shaft was fully hard.  It was the biggest cock she had ever seen.  Oh,
not Rhett...

   "Oh, my,' she heard in her ear.  Jessica felt the tears roll down her
cheeks, then cried out as Poulsen's arms circled her body and gripped her
breasts.  "Do you think Rhett can take that cock up his ass, slut?  What'll
be left of your husband when all my sons finish reaming his butt-hole?

   "I asked you a question, whore!'

   "I...  I don't want that...  I...'

   She took a deep breath when the hands released their painful grip on her
breasts.  His hands were now caressing her breasts very gently, then also
the mound just above the lips of her sex.  The fingers moved in small
circles, pressing the mound over her clit, forcing an unwanted response,
and the caresses continued as he spoke.

   "I don't want that either,' he said, the voice in her ear soft.  "And
you have a second option, my dear.  You can tell me all you know about my
little operation here in Stepford, and how you found out.  One lie and my
boys will rape your husband before your eyes, and when they're done,
they'll put him out of his misery.'



   Ten minutes later, Poulsen entered another room and repeated the threats
with the groggy Rhett Graham, and found his resistance fade away when he
was given the alternatives of talking or watching his wife get raped by his
sons.  He couldn't know that this very minute, in the room across the hall,
his wife was paying for her insolence.  Just before he left, Poulsen shoved
the woman face down on the bed and held her there while his son mounted
her, driving his huge cock into her cunt from the rear.  The bitch would
get quite a pounding, he knew.

   The two stories offered by the frightened couple, independently, were
identical.  That was the good news.  He now knew what his enemies knew.

   The operation was in deep trouble, probably lost, but it was also a fact
that almost all of the possible witnesses were dead.  He'd send three of
his boys to Lawrence, to the hotel where the Graham's told him Mike O'Brien
was hiding, and eliminate that loose end.  He very much wanted to go
himself on that job, to see his former aide's eyes as he choked the life
out of the traitor.  But this would have to be delegated.

   In the tedious legal system of his adopted country, he knew that he'd
have an excellent chance.  His record was spotless, and even if the CIA
records of his work there were opened, they would contain no evidence of
his real work.  In fact, the progress he had made on defending chemical
weapons for the Agency would bolster his case.

   He should probably send his sons away, as the authorities might be able
to link one or more of them to the carnage of this night.  As much as he
hated the thought of sending them back to their mothers, those handy
identities were real and completely untraceable to him.

   And the girls...  well, he could keep those sluts occupied until it was
safe to bring back his sons.



   - o -



   Clarice had circled the house once, and was now in position near the
garage in front.  Her reconnaissance had uncovered a few valuable facts,
the most important of which was that Poulsen had not assigned any guards.

   "Okay,' she said to herself, "He must not know about us.'

   She had counted eight men, maybe nine, glancing through the windows as
she circled the house.  She wasn't sure how many there really were, because
all of his sons looked so much alike, and if they moved from room to room
she could have counted some twice, and missed others altogether.  Through a
small opening in one bedroom's drapes, she'd seen Rhett Graham in a room in
the back, one armed man with him.  He was lying on the bed, clearly
injured.

   She hadn't seen Poulsen, or Jessica Graham, but several other rooms had
the drapes closed tight.

   "I've got to assume that all twelve sons are inside,' she thought to
herself, "and with Poulsen that makes thirteen.'

   She heard them before she saw them, not the exact words but the
conversational exchange and the short harsh laugh that followed, then the
front door closing.  Creeping forward to the edge of the garage, she saw
the back-lit forms of three men coming up the walkway toward the driveway.

   She'd shot and killed once before, but that time in the basement of the
psychopath "Buffalo Bill' she was under an extreme and obvious threat to
her life.  It was a frequent joke between the cadets at the FBI Academy
years before, that you had to give the bad guy the opportunity to shoot
first---Dick Tracy did, and it was only fair.

   "Not this time,' she said to herself.  Forcing herself to take deep,
regular breaths, ignoring the hammering of her heart, she backed toward the
vehicles until she was in the right spot, shielded from the outdoor lights
by the windowless cargo van parked to her left.  Bracing her legs, she
brought the gun up in both hands, waiting for the trio to round the corner
of the garage, where they would be somewhat shielded from the main house.
Her mind calculated all of this without conscious effort, knowing that
noise was her enemy and surprise her only ally.

   The three forms came into view, walking toward her now, not seeing
anything but the cars littered along the expansive driveway.

   "I can't believe ol' Mikey would do this,' said one.

   "Maybe we can ask the fucker---'

   Squeezing off her first shot, the dull splitting sound reaching her ears
but not theirs twenty feet away, she shifted her aim to the right, knowing
without having to watch that her first target had been hit square in the
face, and would fall straight back.  The second man was slowing when her
second bullet crashed through the bridge of his nose.  He too would be dead
before his body reached the ground.  The third target had just enough time
to register that something had happened, and to turn his head in the
direction of his brothers, presenting Starling with his profile, the mouth
open in silent shock.  Her third bullet struck his head just above the ear,
scrambling his brains just as thoroughly as the first two.

   Starling paused for several long moments, listening for any sign of
alarm from inside the house.  Hearing nothing, she set her gun softly down
on the hood of a BMW, and pulled the corpses, one by one, into the shadows.



   - o -



   The noisy chopper came to a rest in the middle of the circular end of
the cul-de-sac, and Gene watched as six men came out, bent slightly at the
waist as they ran under the blades toward the light of the open garage.

   He had rifled through the Graham's belongings until he had found the
keys to Jessica's Saab and Rhett's Lexus sedan.

   "Let's do it,' said the coal black man leading the group, and Gene
recognized his gruff voice as belonging to the Marine major he had spoken
to several times en route from Dallas.  He and the other men were all
dressed in black, and their thick padding suggested that each was protected
by bullet-proof vests.

   "We've got one complication,' said Gene as he and the six Marines, most
armed with deadly looking machine guns, piled into the cars.

   "Just one?' said the Major.  "Then this job'll be a fuckin' breeze.'



   - o -



   Poulsen gathered his sons in the living room, looking at the nine eager
faces with pride and a deep feeling of regret, wondering how long it would
be before he would see them again.  He had waited until the last two
returned from the basement where they'd gone to shackle the Graham's to the
wall, before beginning. "No father could be prouder of his sons,' he began,
his sons struck by the powerful emotion in his voice.



   - o -



   Starling was surprised when she counted ten men sitting around the
well-lit living room, hoping against her better judgment that they'd left
Rhett and Jessica unguarded in the back bedrooms, were she'd have a chance
at rescuing them.

   But when she returned to the corner bedroom where she'd seen Rhett not
ten minutes ago, he and his guard were gone.  Moving silently, she circled
the back of the house and came to a door.  She tried the knob but found it
locked.

   Looking through the windows of the door, he saw a partly lit hallway
that dead-ended on another hallway which she figured must extend most of
the length of the house.  To her left, the hall would lead to the bedrooms,
and to the right to the living areas where Poulsen and his sons were
gathered.

   It took her a moment to figure out what to do.  If she could remove one
of the six panes of glass, she could reach in and unlock the door from the
inside.  She checked her pockets hurriedly, but found nothing she could use
to remove the strips of wood keeping the glass in place.  No knife, no
file, nothing.

   Thinking desperately, she was almost ready to try the garage for
something that would do the job when it occurred to her.  At her belt were
the speed loaders for her automatic, and she pulled off the case and
examined the cartridge the held eight rounds, running her thumb along the
sharp edge of the base.  Setting her gun on the ground, holding her breath,
praying that she wouldn't make any noise that would reach Poulsen and his
sons, she set to work gently inserting the metal edge between the wood
edging and the glass, prying to widen the gap.

   Her heart came into her throat when the huge hand grabbed her from
behind, covering her mouth and pulling her back away from the door. 
Instinctively, she executed the maneuver that she had practiced so often,
driving her elbow back into her attacker, stomping backwards with her heel
into the shin.  An expulsion of breath was followed by a barely perceptible
loosening of his grip, just enough for her to spin free of his hold. 
Moving into a crouch, she was just about to go for a hand strike to the
man's crotch when she heard the word.

   "A friend, Agent Starling.'

   She froze, focusing her eyes on the black face of the large man in front
of her, seeing his finger come up over his lips in a signal for quiet.

   "Major Jefferson, ma'am,' he said.  "My men are in position around the
perimeter.  How many inside?  Targets first, civilians next.'

   "Ten...  targets, all in the living room at the moment,' she said
quickly.  "I got three of them.'

   "Yes, ma'am,' he said and she saw the white teeth suddenly appear in the
blackness of his broad face.  "That was nice shootin'.  Civilians?'

   "Two.  Used to be in the back bedrooms but they've been moved.  I don't
know where.'

   Clarice watched as he spoke quietly into his headset, relaying her
information to his men.

   "We go in ten seconds from right...  now.'

   It was only after the Major had moved toward the door that she realized
that another man was with them, this one armed with a machine gun.  As the
Major counted quietly down from ten, the other man took a position directly
in front of the door, his gun only inches from the lock.

   She expected the noise, but was still shaken all the same when the gun
erupted in the soldier's hands.  The wood around the lock splintered into
hundreds of pieces and the two men rushed through the feeble door and
inside.  The racket of automatic gunfire was soon everywhere, and Starling
retrieved her gun and walked unsteadily into the house.



   It was murder, thought Myers, watching as each body was riddled with
bullets.  He'd followed the team entering through the front door, and by
the time he'd reached the living room, all three teams had converged there
and opened fire without a single word of warning.

   The carnage was completed inside ten seconds, and in the silence that
followed Gene saw the bodies lying everywhere, limbs askew, faces blown
apart, the plush white carpet now soaked in the blood of Poulsen and his
sons.

   Through the fog in this brain, he heard the Major's sharp orders and saw
the soldiers jog in different directions.  Shaking his head, he stared for
several more moments at the once-handsome faces of the dead boys
grotesquely littering the floor.

   Then he turned his head and saw his wife, the expression on her
unnaturally pale face reflecting the horror of the scene.  He walked to her
and took her into his arms, then led her outside, where the sickening
stench of cordite and death wouldn't be so oppressive.



   The major found them a few minutes later, leading the Graham's out the
side door so they wouldn't see the gruesome scene in the living room. 
Dressed in robes that the soldiers had found someplace, Jessica and Rhett
hugged the FBI agents, the silent embraces serving to communicate their
thanks.

   "Agent Myers, sir,' said the Major after a moment.  Gene let go of
Jessica, smiled into her face, and turned toward the soldier. "I think you
better follow me, sir,' he said, and Gene was surprised at the look of
uncertainty on the normally cock-sure face of the man.  He followed him
down the stairs that led to the basement, and then into the room in the
corner.  Three black soldiers, looking every bit as uncomfortable as their
Major, held their guns pointing vaguely in the direction of the corner,
where Gene saw the dozen naked girls huddled together.

   "Oh, shit,' he breathed, looking for someplace else to fix his eyes
other than the girls, forcing himself to think.

   "My orders---' started the major, his voice lacking the confident
swagger of before.

   "Your orders,' interrupted Gene, spitting his word, "are shit, Major!'

   He turned to the man and stepped directly into his face.  "Send two of
your men upstairs to find these girls clothes.  Then find me a phone.  Do
it Now, Major!'

   The combat veteran hesitated only a moment before he nodded, turned and
snapped his fingers at one soldier who followed him out of the room.



   Mike O'Brien woke abruptly when the phone rang not two feet from his
head.  He reached it before the second ring, hoping that the shrill sound
wouldn't wake Megan.  But as he pulled his legs out of the covers and onto
the floor so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, he could feel her
hand on his back.

   "Hello,' he said into the phone.

   Megan pulled herself up to the top of the bed, glancing at the clock on
the bedside stand, wondering who would be calling at this hour.  She found
the sheet at her waist and pulled it up to cover her naked breasts.

   "Yeah,' she heard Mike say, "that can be done quite easily...  uh huh...
an hour at the latest.  Poulsen's place...  yeah, I know the way.'

   Mike hung up the phone and turned on the light.  Rising to his feet, he
turned and was about to explain the phone call from Gene Myers when he
stopped, his heart fluttering at the sight of her rumpled strawberry blond
hair, the sleepy look in her big blue eyes, and the modest pose with the
sheet pulled up so that it covered most of her breasts.

   Despite the fact that they'd worn each other out ever since they checked
in, he experienced once again the love and desire that she made him feel,
the strong impulse to jump back into bed and dive under that sheet. 
Instead, he smiled at her.

   "We've got to get dressed, Meg.  They need my services back in
Stepford.'

   She had seen the look on his face, and could easily guess that his
thoughts mirrored hers.  Tossing the sheet aside, she rolled out of bed and
came into his arms, feeling his hands on her ass and they kissed, and his
cock stiffen against her thigh.

   "Tell you what, lover,' she said, reaching between them to touch his
growing manhood, "if you'll drive I'll suck you off on the way.'

   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Seventeen

   Friday, September 22
4:45 p.m.



   It had taken some time to feel this way, but Jessica was now glad they
had taken Gene and Clarice up on their offer to spend a few weeks away from
Stepford, here at Gene's New Orleans home.  The Victorian was beautiful,
filled with ornate period detail, down to the large four-poster bed that
dominated the first floor guest room that she and Rhett used.

   She had been in New Orleans only once, three years ago, to depose a
witness for a trial.  But she'd flown in the night before, and back home
the next afternoon, and had seen very little of the sights.  She was
looking forward tonight's reunion with Clarice and Gene, who were flying
down from Washington for the weekend.

   The first few days here had been kind of strange, the moody uneasiness
both were feeling made it difficult to enjoy their long walks throughout
the beautiful city.  But that ended last night, and she smiled at the
recollection of Rhett joining her under the huge elm in the back yard, the
silly grin on his face was the first sign of joy she'd seen in him since
that awful night.  He had in his right hand a joint, and they'd smoked it
in a comfortable silence, holding hands, enjoying the warm evening and each
other's company.



   At dusk, on the way to dinner, walking down the tree-lined streets,
Jessica had giggled as they came up to an old cemetery next to a church,
pulling Rhett behind her as she took the detour into the graveyard and
between the large, ghostly tombs.  Pushing him up against one tomb, out of
sight from the sidewalk, she put her hands on his chest and kissed him,
then bit his lower lip playfully.

   Her mouth at his ear she whispered, "Do you think if we fucked here in
the graveyard, the ghosts would mind?'

   She felt his body stiffen.  "Jess, honey, this isn't some Anne Rice
novel...  people might come.'

   "Exactly,' she said, then giggled at her bad pun, and lowered one hand
to his cock, finding it mostly soft beneath his slacks.  "All the way
here,' she whispered, "I've been thinking about how delicious your cock
would taste...  should I do that...  take this cock out of it's prison and
suck it?'

   She felt his head move from side to side and knew that he was quite
nervous, checking for signs of life in the parsonage on one side of the
cemetery and the church on the other side.  She could also feel his cock
responding to her touch, and hoped that his excitement would overcome his
reluctance.

   "I'll bet most of these dead folks have never seen a woman take a man's
cock into her mouth.  The ghosts would get a real thrill watching us... 
watching me suck you off, Rhett.'

   "I don't know, Jess,' he said, then she heard him swallow.  "But I
guess...  they would like it.'

   She kissed him once more before kneeling in front of him and unzipping
his pants.  Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, she took his cock into her
mouth and sucked him to hardness.  Both of them giggled frequently as she
licked and sucked his cock, saying silly things to one another, bad jokes
about their eerie local.  When, finally, he exploded into her mouth, Jessa
knew that they'd be all right.



   After a delicious dinner at the Commander's Palace, their walk home had
taken a different path, but this time it was Rhett who pulled Jessa off the
sidewalk and into a small park.  Bent over the back of a park bench, she
had two wonderful orgasms before Rhett's cock exploded in her pulsating
core.

   After a second joint, feeling as relaxed as she had in months, they had
found Rhett's collection of CD's and listened to music.  On the floor of
the family room they cuddled together, his cock inside her but unmoving,
talking sometimes, kissing, joking, letting the music and their closeness
soothe their souls.

   "Do you really think Gene wants to fuck you?' he'd said last night, his
eyes teasing.

   "Sure he does,' she said, "but he's more than a little smitten with
Clarice, honey, and I don't think he's the type that goes for what you're
thinking.'

   "Hmmm...  well, then, Clarice is the key.'

   She laughed, rolling the two of them over until she was on top, rocking
slowly up and down on his cock, thinking that, yes, she would like to fuck
Gene Myers.  As Rhett's hands came to her breasts, stroking them gently,
teasing the hard nubs, she imagined how Gene's huge hands would feel on her
breasts and her ass.

   - o -



   Gene and Clarice were surprised to be met at the gate by the limo driver
holding up the sign with their names on it.  Even a little embarrassed, as
the driver was a very attractive black woman, her outfit a cross between a
formal morning suit, complete with the long tails in back, and a risqué
dancer, the bodice under her jacket cut low to display a generous portion
of her swelling breasts.  Hot pants, black fishnet stockings and three-inch
heels completed the eye-catching outfit.

   Following the woman down the concourse, Clarice looked over at Gene and
smiled at his sheepish expression.  But she also noticed that his eyes
didn't miss the swaying ass of the woman, or the long shapely legs.

   "Rhett set this up, you figure?  To thank us for Clinton's call?' They
had arranged for Janet Reno to ask the grateful president to call the CEO
of Rhett's company, to help grease the skids for this unscheduled vacation.
Rhett had been both pleased and surprised by the call from the CEO the next
day, who told him that the president had commended him for his bravery and
service.  The man had offered his own thanks, "for whatever the fuck you
did, Rhett,' then ordered him to take the next two weeks off.

   "Could be,' said Gene, "but my money would be on Jessica...  she's a
sassy little thing.'

   Clarice smiled, then chuckled.  "It won't be just your money on Jessa if
I don't watch you like a hawk.'

   Gene pretended to be hurt by her allusion but didn't quite pull it off.
Smiling at her as they approached the stretch limo, he whistled the tune,
"I've only got eyes for you.'



   Jessa and Rhett were sitting in the rocking chairs on the deep front
porch when the limo slowed along the curb in front of the house.  Grinning,
they got up and walked down the stairs toward the sidewalk and the
impossibly long limo.  The sexy driver they had hired got out and smiled at
them as she circled the car to open the rear door.

   "Hey, Rhett,' said Gene after stepping out.  Shaking his hand warmly, he
said, "Are you the rascal responsible for this?'

   Rhett laughed and pointed with his thumb at Jessica.  Gene grinned and
took her into his arms, lifting her up off the ground in an embrace that
forced Jessa to wrap her arms around his neck.  On impulse, she kissed him,
making it harder and much wetter than a normal greeting between friends.

   She was thrilled when he kissed her back before finally breaking it and
setting her down, his face slightly colored.

   "Do you think we should worry?' Jessica and Gene turned at the sound of
Clarice's voice to find she and Rhett with their arms around each other,
smirks on their faces.

   "Nah, I don't think so,' said Rhett.  "Look at them, they just
don't---what's the phrase---fit together.' In her sandals Jessica was a
foot shorter than Gene, and looked even smaller in comparison to his bulk.
Rhett tightened his grip on Clarice and added, "you and I, on the other
hand...'

   "I see what you mean,' she said, turning into him and giving him a kiss
that rivaled the one between Jessica and her husband.  Rhett broke it when
he heard the limo driver clear her throat for attention.

   "Ah, yes, Angelica,' he said.  "We won't be goin' to dinner until seven,
so you're free 'till then.' He paused, his face taking on a lecherous grin,
"unless you want to come inside, honey...  and go upstairs?'

   She grinned back at him.  "White boy like you, and a Yankee to boot.  No
sir.  I'll see ya' at seven.' The four sets of eyes watched her hips sway
as she navigated the limo and got inside.



   After hanging up his suit and stripping for his shower, Gene entered the
spacious master bath just as Clarice was turning off the water.  He leaned
against the wall and watched, smiling, as his wife pulled aside the curtain
and reached for a towel.  Her hand found nothing on the hook where the
towel should be and, wiping her eyes clear of water, she saw her grinning
husband holding up the towel.

   "Allow me,' he said as she stepped onto the bath mat.  Clarice glanced
at his swelling cock and smiled.  He started with her face, blotting off
the water with the soft towel, then did her arms, her torso, moving down.
She placed one foot on the edge of the tub as he knelt before her and dried
one leg, then the other, the towel feeling very nice when he ran it gently
over her crotch, the lips of her sex, and back through to her ass.

   When he rose and moved behind her, she saw that his thick cock was now
fully erect.  As he used the towel to dry and fluff her hair, she felt his
cock pressed against her lower back.

   "Is that 'cause of me,' she said, teasing, "or are you thinking about
that kiss with sassy Jessa?'

   He finished drying her back before responding with a flick of the towel
on her ass.

   "Ow!' she cried, moving her foot down from the edge of the tub and her
hand to her ass.  He grabbed that wrist and then the other, holding both in
one hand behind her back while he used his free hand the open the bathroom
door.

   "It might have been Jessa's kiss that gave me this condition,' he said,
bending her over the edge of their bed.  "But she's not the one who's gonna
take care of it.'

   Clarice smiled as she felt his thick cock slide around in the wetness of
her sex before entering her fully, the familiar feeling of being plugged by
him so exciting.



   Clarice found Jessa and Rhett in the backyard, lounging under the large
elm.  As she approached, she noticed that Rhett was lying on his back,
staring up at the huge branches of the tree, chewing lazily of a piece of
grass.  Jessa was sitting with her back against the trunk of the tree,
fiddling with something in her lap.

   "Can I make you a cocktail?' Clarice said.  "Glass of wine?'

   Then she noticed what Jessa was doing, packing some green leafy
stuff---pot, she decided---into an ornate wooden pipe.  She looked up at
Clarice somewhat sheepishly.

   "I hope you don't mind...'

   "No, not at all, Jessa,' said Clarice, lowering herself to the ground.
Rhett rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his elbow, still
chewing the stalk of grass.  His eyes, she noticed, took in her bare legs
before settling on her face.  The look caused her to recall the exciting
kiss they had shared earlier, then the fuck she had just finished with
Gene.

   "You look different, Clarice,' he said, "more relaxed.'

   "Oh?' she said, trying to hide a blush.  "Coming here to N'Orleans,' she
tried, "this house...  it does help put the pressures of work behind you.'

   "This'll help even more,' said Jessa, holding up the pipe.  "Will you
join us?'

   "My...' Clarice began, "I haven't gotten high since college...  You can
probably guess that it's not a practice looked on with favor at the
Bureau...  but...  what the hell.'

   Rhett lit pipe while Jessa studied Clarice.  "She does look different,
Rhett...  what is it?  Hmmm.'

   Rhett passed the pipe on to Clarice, who busied herself with taking as
little as possible, not wanting the first smoke in her lungs in ten years
to cause her to cough.  Holding the smoke in her lungs, she passed it on to
Jessa.  She was doing just fine until Rhett exhaled and said:

   "I know what it is...  Clarice has that well-fucked look.'

   Clarice coughed out the smoke and alternated between laughing and
coughing, not doing very well at either.

   She was glad when Jessa changed the direction of the conversation,
beginning a long diatribe about how unfair it was that pot was illegal
while alcohol and cigarettes, both worse for one's heath, were not.  She
paused only to take her turn with the pipe.  As she was building up steam,
ranting now, Clarice looked to Rhett and saw the humor in his face at his
wife's passionate oratory, and they both broke out in laughter.

   Jessa pretended to be hurt, but finally joined them.  This was how Gene
found them, the three sprawled under the elm, laughing until their sides
hurt.



   "I'd forgotten how horny pot makes me,' Clarice said, then giggled.  The
two couples were in the back of the limo, sitting facing each other.  They
were supposed to be seeing the sights of N'Orleans, but were instead
enjoying each other's company.

   "Horny and uninhibited,' said Gene, patting Clarice's thigh, "and that's
the way I like my women.'



   Jessa waited until the other woman left the restroom before bringing up
the topic with Clarice.

   "Um, Clarice, there's something I want to ask you, and it's a little
embarrassing...'

   "Yes, Jessa?'

   When Clarice saw the younger woman blush it dawned on her where the
sexual tension of the evening might lead.

   "Well, it's about Gene and Rhett...'



   "What do you think has happened to the ladies?' said Gene, sitting in
the living room, sipping a cognac as he and Rhett talked.  It had been
fifteen minutes since they'd returned from the restaurant and excused the
limo driver.

   "If I know Jessa, she's probably taken Clarice off to get her high.'

   "I can think of worse things,' he said, grinning, then, "Holy shit!'

   Clarice and Jessa came into the room, each dressed in very skimpy, sexy
lingerie.  Gene was surprised when his wife sashayed over to where Rhett
was sitting and sat down next to him.  He didn't have time to register what
this meant before Jessa, her stiff nipples showing over the top of her
half-bra, sat in his lap, her knees on either side of him.

   "Hi, Gene,' she said, then brushed her lips against his.  She bit
playfully at his lips before finally kissing him fully.  She felt his hands
tentatively on her back, then he was returning the kiss, his tongue sliding
over hers, exploring her mouth.  His huge hands slid down her back and
cupped her ass, pulling her tighter into him.  When they broke the kiss his
mouth came to her ear.

   "Do you always get what you want, Jessa?'

   She pulled back and smiled into his broad face, seeing in his eyes, the
set of his lips and rumpled hair the teddy-bear sexiness that had first
attracted her to him.  She cocked her head to one side and grinned at him.

   "Not always,' she said.  "This'll be a test, 'cause I want you real
bad.' Tucking her head into his shoulder, she inhaled the wonderfully male
scent of him, then spoke into his ear.  "I want to feel your hands on me,
your fingers inside me...  your cock in my mouth...  your tongue...  I
desperately want to feel every part of you, Gene Myers.'

   She rose on her knees and fed him a breast.  While he sucked she undid
the top buttons of his shirt, sliding her hands inside to find his nipples.
But it was still too cramped for her comfort so she pulled the shirt apart,
sending the remaining buttons flying.

   "Oh, God, Gene,' she said, feeling his fingers probing between her legs
from the back, working under her panties and into her steaming sex.  The
thick digit slid deep inside her, then out as his fingers found the snap
and opened her panties.

   "Ohhhh,' she moaned as two thick fingers entered her, fucking back and
forth in her sex, rubbing against her sensitive clit.  His teeth were
gently chewing on her nipple, but he lost his hold on the thick nub when
she pushed herself down, forcing his fingers even deeper in her sex.

   "Hmmm...  I guess you like that,' he said, watching as she hunched up
and down on his hand.

   "Jesus Christ!' thought Gene as he felt her cunt spasm around his
finger. He saw the pleasure reflected in her face, the lips trembling just
so, curving into a smile as they did.  This was only the third woman he'd
ever had sex with, after his late wife and Clarice, and he'd never thought
it possible that someone could or would reach her climax this quickly.  As
she came down he hugged her to his chest as she fell back into his lap. 
His fingers were still stuck way up inside her, and he could feel the slick
wetness of her tight channel.

   Looking over her shoulder, he saw his wife on the other sofa, her hands
on the back of Rhett's head, which was buried in her lap.  He caught her
eye and smiled at her, then felt Jessa moving in his lap.

   She kissed his neck then whispered in his ear, "That's one, Gene.  Nine
more and I'll think about giving you back to Clarice.'

   She felt his face break into a grin, then his mouth at her ear.

   "You better slow down, Jessa, or we'll hit number ten and you'll be back
sleeping with Rhett tonight.'



   - o -



   Jessa felt the huge hands on her waist relax, and she fell back into his
lap, once again impaled on his extraordinary cock.  It had been so
incredibly sexy how he had lifted her effortlessly after she had finished
cuming on his fingers, standing her in front of him, his hungry eyes on her
body while he stripped off his pants, throwing the clothing against the
wall.  Then those huge hands were on her again, turning her, lifting her
back into his lap.  The movements were so sure and adept, one arm across
her body, holding her against his massive chest while the other hand went
between her thighs, moving his cock into position at her sex.  Then the arm
relaxed and she groaned as his very thick cock filled her sex.

   She helped a little, but it was mostly Gene picking her up and dropping
her back, fucking her on his cock.  And it was thrilling to be facing Rhett
and Clarice, not ten feet away, watching Rhett's hips rock up and down.  He
was driving his cock into Clarice, her slender but muscular legs wrapped
around his back.  Watching them kiss passionately, she regretted only that
Gene couldn't do the same with her.

   Gene felt his balls tighten, and knew his release was imminent.  Jessa's
pussy felt incredible to him, but it was watching his wife and Rhett fuck
that excited him even more, sending him over the edge.  As he quickened his
pace, moving Jessa quickly up and down on his erupting cock, he heard her
cry out and felt her effusion wet his cock and balls.



   - o -



   Rhett finished brushing his teeth and entered the master bedroom, still
feeling the pleasant effects of the pot they had smoked, to find it dimly
lit with candles.  After the bright lights of the bathroom, it took his
eyes a moment to adjust.  The naked form of Clarice Starling was on the
center of the king-sized bed, face down, her hands extended up to the
headboard.  It was only after he climbed on the bed that he noticed that
her wrists were cuffed, and that the long chain connecting the two
handcuffs was threaded through the slats of the headboard.

   "Hi, there,' he said after kissing her neck and lowering his body onto
hers, nestling his hardening cock between the cheeks of her ass.

   "Mmmm...  Can I trust you?' she said.

   "No.'

   He felt her silent laugh, then kissed her neck, and nibbled on her ear.

   "You'll take advantage of me, defenseless like I am?'

   "Uh huh,' he said.  Both could feel his cock stiffen where it was,
trapped between the cheeks of her ass.  Rhett felt her shift under him, and
he moved more of his weight to his elbows.  Her legs parted, and he worked
his cock between her firm cheeks.

   "Oh!' she said when his cock came up against her anus.  "Maybe I should
call for my husband?'

   "My guess is, he's a little busy right now.' He chewed on the soft flesh
of her neck before continuing, "besides, he'd bring Jessa up with him, and
I'd have to share you with her.'

   "Oh?'

   Her bit her again, and pressed his cock up against her anus.  "Uh huh...
and if you think I'm gonna take advantage of your situation, she'd be even
worse.'

   "Oh?  Do tell.'

   He ignored her and slid down her body, biting her playfully as he went,
until he directly over her ass.  After kissing and biting her cheeks, he
slid his tongue into the crack, flicking the tip back and forth in the
crevice.

   Clarice moaned as his tongue approached her rosette, pulling her knees
up a bit to spread herself for him, hoping he'd lick her there.  In the
shower ten minutes earlier, they had taken turns washing each other, and
Rhett had spent a goodly amount of time cleaning her ass, inside and out.
It was the feeling of his soapy finger in her ass that got her thinking
about him fucking her there.  She didn't know if he did that, and rather
than suggest it she decided to cuff herself face down on the bed, and see
where things led.

   "Oh, yes,' she moaned as his fingers spread her ass and his flickering
tongue found her rosette.  Her entire body thrilled at the incredible
sensations, and she pushed herself down against him, hungry for more
contact.

   Rhett pulled his tongue away and slapped her five times, very quickly,
on her ass.  It was only after he had done this, and she had moaned and
moved just a bit back up the bed, that he wondered if spanking her was such
a good idea.  He had to smile at the idea that popped into his head---this
wasn't Jessa who enjoyed being spanked, and the sounds of the slaps might
bring her husband up to investigate.  He knew as soon as the thought passed
that it was absurd, and smiled to himself at how much pure fun it was to
learn the sexual tastes of a new lover.

   Bringing his tongue back to her rosette, he resumed flicking his tongue
over the crinkled orifice, and could feel her body tremble in response. 
Moving his thumb down to her cunt, he found her clit and pressed the digit
over the erect nub, not moving, just providing a firm pressure while his
tongue probed into her ass.

   "Ohhhh,' moaned Clarice as his tongue stabbed into her ass, sending a
jolt of pleasure to her clit and throughout her body.  Just needing that
little something to get over the top, she pushed down against him...



   "Shhh!  Listen,' Jessa said.

   They were in the kitchen, dressed in robes, downing grilled cheese
sandwiches that tasted to Jessa like the greatest thing she'd ever eaten.
Maybe the joint they shared after the glorious living room fuck had
something to do with it...

   Gene cocked his head to the side and heard the rhythmic slapping sound
from upstairs, then looked back at Jessa and raised his eyebrows into a
question.

   "What do you think, Jess...  should I run upstairs and rescue my poor,
defenseless, wife, delicate creature that she is, from that brutish husband
of yours?'

   She smiled at him.  "Defenseless?  Clarice?  How do we know it's not my
poor hubby who needs rescue?'

   She grinned at her next thought.

   He saw the grin, and guessed what was behind it.  Downing the last of
his sandwich, he put their two plates in the sink before holding her hand
in his.

   "Let's go see,' he said, his grin matching hers.



   The spanking had stopped, and by the time they were right outside the
door to the master bedroom, all they could hear were groans and muffled
words.

   "Open it a crack,' Jessa heard whispered in her ear.  She tried the
knob, and pushed the door open an inch, then another.



   Rhett drove his cock again into her spongy ass, and heard the woman
under him moan with pleasure.  Sliding his cock back and forth in the tight
passage, he lowered his mouth to her ear.

   "So, bitch, you want to call out?...  get Gene and Jessa up here... 
isn't one cock enough for you?  Or is it Jessa you want?  Slurpin' at your
cunt while I fuck your ass?'

   Absorbed in their activities, and facing away from the door, neither
combatant could see that Gene and Jessa had entered the room, and stood not
ten feet away from the foot of the bed.  Standing behind her, Gene pulled
the robe off of Jessa's shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then
removed his own.

   Jessa felt the cock pressed against her back as she watched her husband
fuck Clarice, then felt his hands reach around her body and caress her
breasts.  As one of his huge hands slid down her body and fingered her
cunt, she found herself wondering if Gene would take her that way before
the weekend was over.

   "Oh God...  yes, Rhett,' cried Clarice, "fuck me, harder now... 
Harder!'

   Jessa's mouth fell open as she watched her husband pick up the pace of
his thrusts.  Gene's fingers were rubbing in small circles over her clit,
and the other hand was pulling and twisting her nipples.

   "Ohhhh,' cried Clarice, "I'm cuminnnnnggg...'

   Jessa felt her own orgasm hit at the same time, and closed her mouth to
keep from crying out.  Standing there in Gene's arms, watching Rhett empty
his cock into Clarice's ass, she trembled as the spasms washed over her.



   - o -



   It was strange, thought Rhett---strange and wonderful---to be spending
so much time in her company, but not.  Walking down the wide plankway
hand-in-hand with Clarice after spending a few hours gambling on the
elegant ship, he watched Gene and Jessa up ahead, his wife's arm around the
large man's waist.

   It had been this way all weekend, Clarice and he a couple, talking
intimately, exploring each other as new lovers do.  Sleeping together,
except for Saturday night, when the four of them fell asleep on the family
room floor after an exhausting evening of sex.  He had awaken later to find
Jessa eating Clarice while Gene fucked her from the rear.

   His wife was as sexy and uninhibited as he'd ever seen her that night.
When she noticed that he was awake she stopped the action and ordered
everyone around like a Field Marshall.  A few minutes later he was on his
back on the floor, his greased cock buried to the hilt in Jessa's ass (she
had decided she couldn't take Gene after several attempts earlier in the
day).  Jessa was lying back on top of him and Gene was kneeling between
their two sets of legs, his cock easing back and forth in Jessa's stretched
cunt.  Clarice was straddling them as well, her hands on Gene's shoulders,
lowering her pussy to Jessa's hungry mouth.



   It was very exciting, not just the sex, which was terrific, but the
discovery and sharing with Clarice one another's backgrounds, dreams and
hopes.  He never believed it possible to love two woman at the same time,
and even now he wasn't sure what exactly he felt for Clarice.  She would
be, he thought, a lifelong and magically wonderful friend.

   And he knew without having to ask her that Jessa had found a kindred
spirit in Gene as well.  He also knew that they had found here in
N'Orleans, and with Clarice and Gene, the strength they needed to go back
to Stepford and, with Katie, pull their lives back together.



   The Stepford Wives - Chapter Eighteen

   Late Fall, 1996

   Boston



   Mark Sullivan pulled his Ford to the curb and waved to get Megan's
attention.  They'd been in Boston six weeks now, and it was four weeks
since that simple ceremony at town hall, where the guy from the FBI's
witness protection program acted as his best man and witness.  Since he had
to adopt a new name anyway, Mike O'Brien had taken Megan's last name, and
the first name Mark.  The Bureau had provided all the trappings of his new
identity.

   He knew he was very fortunate to be given this second chance, and would
not have been surprised to know that a heated debate within the FBI and
Justice department had proceeded their decision to give him this new
identity.  Gene Myers had argued his case, pointing out that without his
cooperation the RCA would have been discovered much too late, if at all. 
If they had continued to believe that Stepford was the singular, isolated
use of the drug, they would have a constitutional crisis on their hands
after Dole won the election.  Also, Gene argued, his hypnosis sessions with
each of the young girls found in Poulsen's basement made it possible to
return the girls to their families, without fear that the story would leak
from one of them.

   As she got into the car, he could tell from her wide smile that the
meeting had gone well.

   "I start next term!' she said.

   "That's terrific,' he said, then kissed her.  "I don't know, Megan... 
how it's going to feel being married to a minister.'

   "Yeah, right!' She grinned at him and said, "You seemed to do all right
when I was a nun and Catholic, so I have a hard time believing that you
wont be able to Get It Up when I'm a Unitarian or Congregational Minister.
But can you believe it---Harvard Divinity School!'

   Pulling out into traffic, he only half-listened to her description of
her meeting with the admissions director, hearing all of the enthusiasm if
not the words.  He had his own good news to share, but he'd wait until they
were home to tell her that the procedure had been successful.  The doctor
who reversing his vasectomy last week, and checked his sperm count this
morning, had said that the odds were better than 90% that he could father a
child.

   As he swerved to avoid another driver and cursed, he realized there were
only two things he missed about Kansas, and courteous drivers was one.  The
other was Sam Weeks.  Putting aside all the depraved sex they had shared,
he missed the camaraderie of having a really good male friend.

   Even if she wasn't totally a guy.



   He set the timer for the rice, then poured two glasses of the chilled
California chardonney.  With his job as a staff psychologist at Mass
General not bringing in as much money as he was used to, it was a rare
treat to spring for the lobsters for dinner, and the wine.

   He found Megan in the small living room of their two-bedroom apartment,
and handed her the glass.

   "Oh, my,' she said as he sat next to her on the sofa, "celebrating my
acceptance?'

   "Yep.  That and my plumbing being fixed.'

   "Oh, really!  The test results came back!'

   He took a swallow of wine and set the glass down, grinning at her. 
"Looks good, babe, and the doctor practically ordered me to try it out
tonight.'

   Reaching over he undid the top button of her blouse, then the next.  She
took a sip of her wine, set it down, and turned toward him.  Knowing how he
liked to undress her, she let him do all the work removing her blouse and
the lace bra.  Then she stood up in front of him and let him unzip the side
of her skirt, and pull that off.

   He smiled when the skirt came off and revealed the garter belt,
stockings and sexy panties.  He remembered the plain high-waisted cotton
panties she used to wear as a nun, and it pleased him that she now enjoyed
dressing sexier.  He teased her about it, telling her he'd have to take a
second job just to support her bills from Victoria's Secrets.

   "Maybe I should stay this way,' she said, bringing his hands up to her
breasts, "throughout dinner, hmmm?'

   He liked this, too, how she initiated the action more and more, making
her desires known, probing to understand his.  He had wondered what she'd
be like once she was free from the effects of the RCA, and there were
differences.  She was more aggressive and independent, and he liked that,
especially since she'd lost none of her intense interest in all manners of
sex.  He wasn't sure how much to attribute to the absence of the drug, and
how much was just the sexual growth of a woman who was still a virgin only
four months before.

   He understood now why virginity was so valued in many cultures.  It was
tremendously exciting to participate in and help shape her sexual
awakening. She insisted on trying everything, and relied heavily on him to
tutor her as to the possibilities.

   "Okay, Meg...  I'd like that,' he said, reaching for his wine.  "But I'd
be at such a disadvantage being fully clothed.'

   "I can take care of that.'



   Wearing only an apron now, Mike dropped the two lobsters into the
boiling water and set the top back on.  He washed his hands in the sink,
his eyes on Megan sitting at the small table in the kitchen, cutting up
vegetables for the salad.  As his eyes took in her full breasts and the
sexy lingerie below, he felt his cock stiffen yet again.  He'd been almost
constantly hard since she'd stripped him and made him don the apron,
working next to one another, sipping wine, preparing their meal, brushing
up against one another.

   Megan's eyes came up and met his, then dropped to the obvious bulge in
his apron.  She smiled.

   "Come here, babe,' she said, tossing the sliced mushrooms into the salad
bowl.  After he stepped over in her, the bulge level with her face, she
pulled the apron up with one hand and held his ass with the other.

   "Oh, God,' he moaned as she pulling him toward her and sucked his cock
inside her warm mouth.  Her beautiful blue eyes were on his as she teased
his cock with her tongue before taking him deep, until he could feel the
back of her throat.  Then she pulled her head off and smiled up at him.

   "I'd like a little appetizer before dinner,' she said, he smile turning
wicked.  Wetting her finger in her mouth before returning his cock to the
warm, wet cavity.  He groaned when he felt her finger force it's way into
his ass, and within sixty seconds he was pumping a huge load of cum into
her mouth.



   He watched as she dipped the last of her lobster into the bowl of
clarified butter and brought it up to her mouth.  A drop of butter fell to
her chin, then onto a breast as she chewed and swallowed the succulent
meat.

   "This is incredible,' she said, licking the butter from her fingers. 
Watching her eat, her breasts bare, had given him another erection, and he
look a long drink of wine before responding.

   "Yes, it is,' he said, his eyes on the large breasts that were liberally
splattered with butter.  "And I don't mean the food.  You've gotten so
slippery that I wont be able to stay on top.'

   She looked down at her breasts and laughed, then looked back at him with
a gleam in her eyes.

   "Can you make more butter?' she asked, dipping her fingers in the
remaining yellow liquid, smearing her fingers on the white flesh of her
mounds.  "Or are you tired of the taste?'



   "Oh, God...  Oh, Jesus, yes!' she cried, feeling so enormously full of
him.  She moaned as he withdrew, then waited for his fingers to tighten
again on her hips before pushing herself back against him, crying out as
his cock cleaved through her backside and bottomed out deep in her ass.

   "Ohhhhh,' she cried.

   "You're so unbelievable tight, Meg,' he said between clenched teeth.

   "It's great, Mike...  So great!  Fuck me, babe...  c'mon, fuck my nasty
ass.'

   He pulled back and rocked forward with more force this time, and Megan
fell forward onto her arms, sliding a bit on the linoleum floor of their
kitchen.  It was hard for him to keep a good grip on her, she was so slick
with the butter all over her body.

   "Brace yourself against the fridge, honey...  yeah, that's it...  hold
on tight, cause now I'm gonna really fuck you're nasty butt!'

   "Ohh!  Oh, shit!' she cried as he drove into her, harder now.

   "Take it slut!' he said, driving quickly back and forth inside her,
feeling the walls of her tunnel grip his cock almost possessively.  Then he
felt the sprinkling on his balls that told him she was coming again, and he
felt his control desert him and cried out himself as his cock blasted
inside her.



   It had taken them thirty minutes to clean up the mess they'd made of the
kitchen, then twenty more in the shower, scrubbing each other clean.

   "That was incredible, Meg,' he said when they were snuggled together in
bed.

   She kissed him in response.  "Much better than the first time.  In my
bottom, I mean.'

   "That was great,' he said, "and the blowjob before dinner...  and
watching you eat---God, that was sexy!'

   He kissed her before continuing, "But, honey, when the doctor said I
should try out my new plumbing tonight, he wasn't thinking that I should
cum in your mouth, or ass.'

   "No?'

   "Nope.'

   He felt her fingers close around his cock, stroking him, while her mouth
came to his, their tongues intertwined.  She broke the kiss and rolled him
onto his back and climbed on top of him.

   "Hmmm.  Well, only 'cause it's doctor's orders.'

   THE END

   An excerpt from the third and final installment of this Trilogy: "The
Fourth Reich':



   The probate lawyer shook his head and muttered to himself after the
hour-long meeting was over.  Although taxes would take a good portion of
Richard Poulsen's estate, Joseph Reed would be a wealthy young man.  The
attorney suspected that there was even more to the dead doctor's estate
than the ten million that was part of the public record.

   His instructions were complicated and quite thorough.  The wealthy
doctor had intended to divide his estate between thirteen young men from
all across the country, all named Joseph, and all described in the lengthy
will as sons of the late man.  The will had instructions in the event that
one or more of the beneficiaries died before probate, and now the only
surviving son, Joseph Reed, would inherit everything.

   He'd get the money, and the private correspondence addressed in the
doctors own hand to each of his sons.  Having discussed probate and estate
law in great detail with Poulsen, and knowing the man's aversion to estate
taxes, he strongly suspected that the letters contained the secrets to
additional funds.

   The attorney respected his clients wishes, but it had made his skin
crawl to meet the beneficiary of all this largess.  He knew from his
research into the boy's life that he'd been raised by a single mother, but
that didn't explain why he had dropped out of high school (despite an IQ
well into the genius range), nor his frequent problems with the law... 
drug possession with intent to sell, three assault and battery charges, a
rape charge that was dismissed when the young girl dropped the charges
rather than face her rapist.

   After meeting the boy, now a man, the attorney was convinced that Joseph
Reed was some sort of a neo-Nazi.  It wasn't just his appearance, the
shaved head, the four steel rings in his ear, the swastika tattoo...  it
was the raw hatred that burned behind the man's incredibly bright blue
eyes.

   He was clearly a powerful man, physically imposing as well as having a
crude charismatic aura.  More than simply a bully, he struck the attorney
force of nature, and one that was wholly evil.



   Joseph Three set the first type-written letter aside and opened the next
envelope, his pulse racing.  The second one was more of the same, this one
giving directions to a stash of diamonds in a safe-deposit box in St. 
Louis.

   "Good stuff?'

   He looked up and smiled at his friend, then glanced down at his mother's
form kneeling between his legs.  He liked having her suck him off in front
of his friends, naked, with the leash around her neck, but she was
distracting him now, and he wanted to focus on the amazing letters.  Using
the leash, he pulled her off his cock and placed his boot against her chest
and pushed her away.

   "Unfuckingbelieveable stuff, Greg,' he said as his mother fell to the
floor.  "You take a turn with the slut.'

   The bare-headed and incredibly ugly Greg Schultz pulled his bulk out of
the chair.  An offensive lineman in high-school, he'd continued to lift
weights daily until his body was almost grotesquely muscled, now three
hundred pounds on his six-five frame.  Grinning cruelly at the naked woman
on the floor, he pulled his tank top over his head to reveal a huge and
sculptured chest, kicked off his shoes and slid his shorts and boxers down
his massive thighs.

   Lois Reed didn't let her disgust show as she crawled over in front of
the giant.  Taking his cock into her mouth, she sucked eagerly while her
hand slipped between his thighs to caress the huge balls, knowing by now
how each of her son's Nazi friends liked it done.  She'd resisted only
once, four years before, and the beating that had followed had convinced
her that her duty extended beyond serving her son's needs.

   Joseph looked up after reading the final letter.  Greg was fucking her
now, holding on to her leash while he hammered his cock into her from
behind.  And his mom-whore was cuming, crying out as she always did,
begging for more.

   The money from his father would make him wealthy, but not, as they said,
beyond his wildest dreams.  He had dreams that would change the world.  And
it pleased him that he got it all without having to even meet the asshole
that had knocked up his mother and gone off to live his own life.  He knew
almost nothing about Richard Poulsen, but he despised the man just the
same, and had ordered his mother to tell him to fuck off when he contacted
her six months before.

   Ever since he was small, the bitch had been spouting drivel about a some
great purpose for him, a noble destiny that somehow involved his father. 
But he had found his own destiny, and now, with all the dead fucker's
money, nothing could stop him from spreading the word of racial purity.  He
would be the leader of the forth Reich, and unlike the criminally stupid
Adolph Hitler, he would actually succeed.

   His eyes focused once again on Greg Schultz banging away at his slut. 
Joseph knew that the giant could and probably would take a half-hour or
more before he'd cum, his mother was just too willing and cooperative to
really excite his friend.  The few times he'd seen Greg really hot was when
he was raping some teenage bitch.  It was the crying and screaming that
turned Greg on, knowing that the Jew-bitch or nigger-slut was suffering,
knowing that he would snap their necks just before cuming in their torn and
ravaged holes.

   He was an idiot, Joseph knew, really quite stupid.  But he was useful to
have around, especially when the gang's plan to control the local drug
trade required someone comfortable and experienced with brute force. 
Pointed in the right direction, Greg Schultz was a deadly weapon.  Even
more important, he was completely loyal to him personally, as were the
others.  Complete and unwavering loyalty to him and their cause was a rule
that all of his gang understood.  The second rule was that drugs were for
niggers, not Aryans.  They'd worked hard to control the drug trade, but
that would become unimportant now that he had the many millions from his
father.

   As he took his position in front of his mother, feeding her his cock, he
decided that he needed more recruits.  People who he could trust as
thoroughly as Greg, but with enough brains to help him take his ideas to
the next level.  He'd need a chemist or biochemist to help him understand
and take advantage of the drug his father had created, the formulae and
instructions in that letter completely useless to the high-school
dropout...