tagMind ControlFalling Ch. 12

Falling Ch. 12

byVirtualScott©

Chapter 12, In which we move up in the world

It was difficult getting used to living on three whole floors instead of a single apartment. There was so much more to take care of! At least I had my own room again, even if it was rather cramped -- it just made sense to use the old servant's quarters because they were so conveniently located.

I hurried downstairs, my mind swirling with lists to organize and tasks to accomplish. It was obvious I needed more help; it was just too much to take on by myself. There weren't enough hours in the day! The stress was getting to me, and I wasn't sleeping well most nights.

Daddy had seemed worse, today. He'd gone into a paroxysm of masturbation at the sight of me, although I couldn't imagine why. Nothing about me had changed; I wasn't even naked.

The snow-white crinolines and lace "apron" served primarily to highlight the elaborate cutwork of my very short black lace dress, and a stiffly boned black leather bustier held everything in place and presented my breasts to their best advantage. The lace on top came barely high enough to conceal my nipples and tease them with every movement; the crinolines peeked out beneath my hem and were just long enough to keep me decent while standing, without obstructing access to anything.

I would have been just as happy to stay naked, but it amused Stacey for some reason, and that was good enough for me. The only downside was that I had to budget over an hour each morning just to get dressed. In all honesty, it probably was due more to the long black-lacquered nails adorning my fingers than the clothing; I was still getting used to them.

My bell jingled lightly in time with the click of my stilettos on the floor. Maybe Daddy didn't like the hose? I'd forgone a pattern in favor of a smoky grey that I thought Stacey would find attractive. Well, that and I'd ruined the patterned pair with an ill-considered grip.

Mom was more civil. A quick glance, a dismissive "I'm sorry, dear, but you're too old for me," and she had turned back to her Internet porn. I wanted to stay and talk, try and get her to socialize more, but I was late already.

Luckily for me, so was our applicant. I was able to greet her at the entry lobby after she'd been waiting less than a minute.

"Good morning," she chirped, clearly nervous. "I'm Irene Calzetta. I have an appointment with Ms. Richwell regarding her executive assistant position." She was thin, with breasts that looked a little large on her body, and curly hair about the same color mine had been. Her makeup was a little much for this early in the day, although I thought it was becoming and knew Stacey would like it, too. I bet myself she was wearing the only suit she owned. Somebody should have told her to remove the piercing in her eyebrow. Another college student looking to jump-start her climb to the top, I imagined.

I didn't bother explaining that I was Linnea Richwell, since it just confused them when Stacey did most of the talking. "Good morning, Irene. May I take your coat?" She accepted, like they all did. "If you'll wait here, I'll announce you."

Once in the cloakroom, it didn't take a moment to hang the coat and find a few hairs. Curling them carefully in my hand, I paced quickly down the hall to Daddy's -- no, Stacey's -- office and let myself in without knocking.

"I masturbated in the shower again, and our ten o'clock is here," I addressed Stacey, ignoring the girl who was kneeling in front of her. Miriam had appeared unexpectedly last week, apparently the result of a chance meeting. Both of them were naked and the room smelled of desire; Stacey wriggled contentedly as the girl's tongue stud stroked her clit, but eyed me with a trace of annoyance.

I missed being in that position, but I knew that Stacey still loved me, and it was important for me to have time to do all the other things nobody else could. It just made sense for me to take care of Daddy and Mommy, and handle the deliveries, and do the cleaning and laundry, and make our meals.

Stacey was such a trooper to help out with the... My thoughts hit a rough patch. Well, she helped out a lot, and was making an effort to master management of our finances, although she seemed to be fixated more on the balance of the money market account and the credit limits on our cards than rate of return or expected cash flows from our portfolio.

"Oh, Linnea," sighed Stacey, "what am I going to do with you? Why can't you be a good girl, like Miriam?" She sighed again, this time with pleasure, at Miriam's continued attentions.

"I can't help myself," I said remorsefully. "I miss you." She'd tried over and over to help me, but nothing seemed to do the trick. The decorative bell hanging from the ring behind my clit had been effective in the old apartment, but my parents' place was just too big. The reflexive jets of piss when I disobeyed or disappointed her had worked for a while, but I'd grown accustomed to them.

Once again, I'd found myself standing in the shower, doing myself and cumming like a total slut. The urine and warm water had run down my bare legs unnoticed while I energetically fingered my tits and ass and felt a yearning for something I couldn't quantify. I thought -- hoped -- it was Stacey.

That brought me back to the problem of finding some additional helping hands so we'd have more time for each other. I knew Stacey was pleased with Miriam, but there were aspects of life that couldn't be solved with a tongue stud, and we couldn't just wait around, hoping we'd run into somebody suitable.

Stacey had sounded dismissive but agreeable when I'd suggested a job posting. With the economy the way it was, we'd been deluged with applications. Naturally I'd had to read them all myself.

She apparently chose to accept my not-quite-apology -- or Miriam was distracting her. "What -- aaaaah -- do you think about this one?" Stacey asked.

"She seems like a good prospect," I offered, belatedly handing over the hairs. "I think she might clean up quite nicely." I hadn't had time to re-read it and couldn't remember the details of Irene's resume, but nobody made it to an interview if they were an idiot or unsuitable. The point of the interview was to do the weeding that we couldn't do otherwise -- no unattractive women, no men, and no high-profile candidates.

It was all very sexist and politically incorrect, and illegal to boot. I'd tried to speak up once early on, in defense of a rather homely girl, but arguments with Stacey always ended with me peeing myself and capitulating. Besides, as she'd lost no time in pointing out, it was exactly what the men did when they thought they could get away with it. I'd had to settle for hoping one of these attractive young girls had a brain in her head. Unlike Miriam.

Stacey pushed Miriam away for a moment so she could swab the curled hairs in her sex and then deposit them in the large candle burning on the desktop. I never tired of watching the process that had brought me to my true love.

Miriam returned to her oral worship. "Show her in, then," Stacey ordered.

I nodded and made my way back to the waiting room. "Ms. Richwell will see you now," I announced to Irene upon my entrance.

She jumped to her feet, a bundle of nerves, and I watched her eyes widen as she really saw me for the first time. "Does everybody dress like that, Ms...?"

I realized I'd forgotten to introduce myself, and the poor girl looked confused enough already. I remembered my first interview; I'd been a wreck too. "Miss Lily," I said, thinking of my bell. "And the dress code is quite casual."

Irene's mouth opened, but no words emerged.

"Can I get you anything, Irene?" She closed her mouth and shook her head. "Well then, if you'll follow me?" I jingled down the hall, the muted sounds of Irene's boots a pleasing counterpoint, and watched her out of the corner of my eye.

We'd just arrived at the office door when she reached out to touch my arm, pulling back her hand afterwards as if I'd been a live wire. "Please, Lily, can you tell me anything that will help me with this interview?"

I turned to face her and raised an eyebrow in wordless inquiry.

"I mean, I don't want you to do anything wrong! But the Richwell Trust is rather diversified, and Ms. Richwell also is caring for her parents. The posting didn't say much more concrete than 'assistant'. Should I focus mostly on the business side of things, or the personal?"

"An excellent question," I responded, meaning it. "You should ask Ms. Richwell, but for myself, I would emphasize the personal aspects -- after all, we're people first, aren't we?"

"Thanks, Lily!" she told me, sounding sincere. "Pull yourself together Irene; you need this," she whispered to herself, and then squared her shoulders.

I pretended not to hear her, and led her into the smoky office. "Ms. Richwell, this is Irene Calzetta. Miss Calzetta, Linnea Richwell. Is there anything I can get either of you?"

Stacey looked up from her overstuffed loveseat. Miriam was engaged in applying lotion to Stacey's thighs, a process that seemed to involve equal amounts of licking and massaging. "Thank you, --"

"Lily," I interjected, winking at her.

"Lily," continued Stacey, wearing a sly smile. "Can you help Irene with her coat?"

The girl started in surprise. "I'm sorry; I forgot I still had it on," she apologized, rapidly unfastening the buttons on her blouse. I accepted the blouse and suit jacket from her, and put them on hangers so they'd stay neat.

Now clad only in a pair of those ubiquitous stretchy low-rise slacks and her Victoria's Secret bra, Irene settled into the guest chair facing Stacey. Miriam, having taken a good look at our guest, turned back to her work.

Stacey wriggled upright enough that she didn't have to crane her head to watch Irene. "Well, Irene, tell me about yourself."

"Certainly, Ms. Richwell."

"Oh please, call me Linnea," Stacey smiled, and I stifled a giggle at the joke.

"If you insist -- Linnea," the girl acquiesced. "Well, I have my Bachelor's in psychology, and I've started on my Master's degree. I have a minor in Business Administration, and I was an intern at Koslov and Associates the last two summers. I think my experience and education would make me an excellent choice for your executive assistant."

"Very impressive," Stacey commented, looking at me.

"Why?" I mouthed silently over Irene's shoulder.

"Why?" Stacey parroted, looking blank.

"Excuse me?" asked a confused Irene.

My bell jingled softly as I repressed the urge to stamp my foot in frustration.

"I think Lily has a few questions," Stacey prompted. I sensed she was losing interest in the process, because she pulled Miriam's hands up to her breasts and sighed as the intimate massage resumed.

Irene looked around like she'd forgotten I existed, and I walked over to stand beside the sofa in front of her.

"I believe what Linnea meant to ask was, 'why are you not concentrating full-time on your studies?'"

The young blonde sighed. "I wish; it's just too expensive. It isn't worth being in student loan debt for the rest of my life." She smiled hopefully. "Ideally, I can find a job with flexible hours that will allow me to pursue my studies at the same time."

I nodded sympathetically. "Doesn't Koslov have an education reimbursement program?"

"Only for full-time employees. I wasn't making enough as an intern to pay for it myself, and they aren't hiring until business picks up."

"Couldn't you fuck somebody for it?" Stacey asked bluntly.

"What?" gasped Irene, looking scandalized. She blinked rapidly, and for a moment it appeared she was looking at Miriam.

"Sta -- I mean, oh shit!" I yelped. I caught myself too late; trickles of golden warmth marred the insides of my thighs. Wonderful, I thought; now none of us looked very professional. At least I had diverted Irene's attention away from Stacey. "And what did you do at Koslov?"

Irene hesitated for a moment and deflated. "Busywork, mostly. Oh, I could give you a song and dance about corporate synergy and leveraging human capital, but anybody with basic English literacy could have done it. I learned a lot about how a business actually operates, though."

It all sounded regrettably familiar to me. "And you have a psychology degree? Is that where you're doing your graduate work?"

"Yes, it is," Irene confirmed. Ducking her head, she added, "My concentration is in Human Sexuality."

I looked at her more closely.

Stacey pushed Miriam away from her and sat up, obviously curious. "Really?" Stacey asked. "What made you interested in that? And why don't you undress while you tell us?"

"Well," Irene temporized while she unfastened her bra, "it's just something I've always been interested in." Her breasts were large enough that they sagged slightly without support, looking out of place on her slight frame.

"Are those tits real?" asked Stacey, evidently following my train of thought, if not my sense of decorum.

"Of course," replied Irene, who this time looked only vaguely affronted -- mostly, I thought, by the insinuation. "I think I got them from my mother's side of the family." She leaned forward to pull off her short boots, giving us a view of how her tits hung from her chest, and then stood up to unzip her slacks.

"Anyway, sex seems like such a basic part of the human psyche, I felt it was worth making the effort to understand more about it." The coed shimmied the slacks down her legs and stepped out of them. "To try and learn what makes us tick, so to speak."

Belatedly I realized she was waiting for me and collected her garments. All that remained was a lace thong matching her bra. She had a cute little butt, I thought, inspecting her while I hung up the slacks.

Stacey leaned forward. "And what makes you tick, Irene? What untold secrets do you have inside of you?"

Irene hesitated, which was impressive in its own way. Stacey was such a smooth operator that most people didn't even realize she was stretching their boundaries. "I'm into anal," she confided in a barely-audible whisper.

I flashed on a memory of all my times with Michael, and how much I'd come to enjoy feeling him sodomize me. I watched Irene pull on her thong, sawing the fabric between her folds before pushing it down her legs, and wished I had an excuse to touch myself. The unworthy thought caused me to leak another small squirt of urine.

"That's it? You're just into anal?" Stacey asked intently. Luckily for me, she was so focused on the girl that she hadn't noticed what I'd done; I'd have to bring it to her attention later, but not in the middle of an interview.

"I mean really into anal." Irene sank back into her chair and pulled up her knees against her breasts, rocking slightly from side to side. "More than anybody else I know, and I've talked to a lot of people. I look at people's butts all the time; the sight of a thong sliding into somebody's crack gets me creaming. Nothing makes me hot like the feel of something stretching out my asshole." Her voice grew slightly louder, a byproduct of her obvious enthusiasm. "There's something so dirty, so nasty about it, it always gets me off."

I was getting hot just listening to her, and I noticed her nipples were erect.

Irene wasn't finished sharing. "I think there's something wrong with me. I've tried lots of things and lots of ways, but I can't orgasm unless somebody else -- a cock, tongue, or finger -- is penetrating my ass. I'm a freak."

A wave of sympathy suffused me, but Stacey stifled a laugh. "Have you ever met a black guy named Nathan?" She quickly composed her expression. "Never mind; you wouldn't remember."

Stacey abruptly stood up. "I think you'd be a fine match for us, Irene. The job is yours, if you want it."

Irene leaped to her feet, hands clasped in joy. "Yes!" she shouted, and then more sedately, "Oh, yes, I accept! Thank you so much, Linnea -- you won't regret it!"

I was a little nonplussed by the decision. It wasn't that I wouldn't have hired Irene, but that Stacey hadn't asked me before doing it. We were supposed to be helping each other out, but she was acting like she was in charge! First this Miriam girl out of nowhere, and now Irene before we'd done even half of the interviews I'd scheduled!

My gaze settled on Miriam, who remained curled on the floor; she was fingering herself languidly, her face still shining with Stacey's dew. She seemed to think I was running a bed and breakfast, and now it appeared I had somebody new to break in, too. I felt like things were getting worse instead of better.

God knew I loved her before all else, but I was going to have to have a heart-to-heart with Stacey before this got even more out of hand. She was a great lover, and a great hair stylist, but she didn't know crap about running a business. How many more freeloaders would we end up with?

"Just one formality to take care of," Stacey continued. "A quick drug test to make sure you're clean -- you are, aren't you?"

Irene nodded earnestly. "Sure. Where do I go?"

Stacey walked over to her. "Right here!" She plucked a strand of hair from the surprised girl's head and examined it in the dim light. "Now, Irene, you'll be working very closely with Lily." I jumped as she yanked a hair from me, too. "Very closely. She's a critical part of my team, and the workload really has gotten to the point where she can't handle it by herself."

I began to sense where Stacey was headed, and watched with rising anticipation as she spun our hairs together into a single strand and wound it about her finger.

"I'm sure I'll enjoy working with Lily," Irene told us, still beaming.

Stacey smiled knowingly. "I'm sure you will. Did I mention she really likes anal, too? She's not supposed to touch herself, but I don't have time to supervise her as much as I should; that will be one of your responsibilities. Lily will show you to your new office and take care of any other needs you might have."

The beginnings of a frown appeared on my face. It sounded like Stacey thought I was going to be Irene's assistant, instead of the other way around. That seemed... not right?

"She's very talented with her tongue, by the way," Stacey commented as she moistened the coil in her sex. She deposited it carefully atop the flame flickering on the large desktop candle, and I blinked back a brief wave of dizziness.

She handed the candle to Irene. "This is for your desk. That's all, then. Go settle in!" Wearing as wide a smile as I'd seen in some time, she returned to the sofa and pulled Miriam's face roughly into her crotch.

A little nonplussed for some reason, I collected Irene's clothing and led her out of the office and down the hall, mostly on autopilot.

"Oh my God, Lily, that went so much better than I expected!" Irene erupted once the door was closed behind us. "I just wanted a job, any job. I'm, like, Linnea Richwell's executive frikkin' assistant, can you believe it? I even have somebody working for me!"

There was a pause, and I could feel Irene's eyes on me. "What are you, anyway, Lily? My secretary or something? You dress like a maid in some guy's wet dream."

My mouth worked several times, but the reflexive answers stuck in my throat. "I'm not a maid; I'm a slut," I finally replied. "Everybody says so." I felt hazy on the details, but I knew it was true.

We pulled up in front of Da--Mr. Richwell's library. It had been converted into an office for... My thoughts petered out again. Linnea had the old office, and nobody else needed one -- of course, this was for Irene. "This is yours," I told her, leading her in.

Irene put the candle on the desk and looked around while I tried to decide what to do with her clothing. I'd have to check with -- Linnea -- to find out if she should have a bedroom. Finally I settled for draping the clothes over a chair; the blouse went slithering to the floor and I bent to retrieve it.

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