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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.'

[continues]

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