Carson Evolved Ch. 12

"I love my Master's thick cock stretching my ass, and it's all I can do to keep from cumming as you plow my backside. You're thrusting hard, making it clear that you are angry that I've broken the rules. I am so turned on, and I can feel my pussy weeping down my inner thighs. I am hoping that you will fuck my cunt soon, assuming that you will let me cum then. Again, after only a few minutes, you pull out. I can feel my asshole gaping, but I know that I'm not done receiving my punishment yet.

"You're gone for a few minutes, and I'm beginning to wonder when my punishment will continue. Soon, though, I rejoice to hear my Master's footsteps. Suddenly, I'm returned to my back. Your cock is still standing proud, but from the direction you're coming from, I'm guessing you went to wash it. 'It's almost over now, Slave,' you say. 'Until now, you've had it easy. I'm going to fuck my cunt now until I feel like you've learned your lesson. If you cum before I tell you to do so, you will not like the consequences. Do not disappoint me.' You dip down to place the head of your beautiful cock into my cunt. I begin to thank you as before, but my breath is stolen when you slam the full length of your cock into my hungry pussy.

"I am perilously close to disappointing you, but my Master knows his Slave's limits. You hold yourself buried within me until the urgency has passed. You begin the motion that has always driven me to the highest of heights before; slowly you withdraw, my pussy stretching desperately in an effort to keep you within, followed by a full-length slam that rocks my body and crushes my clit. Each withdrawal takes a minute? An hour? I have no idea, but it's like time is standing still. I am becoming increasingly desperate, fearing that I can't hold on until my Master allows me to cum.

"After several cycles, you begin speaking. You punctuate your questions with powerful thrusts. 'Who owns your slut mouth? Who owns that tight ass? Who fucks your fuckhole better than you ever imagined?'

"I'm going out of my mind with pleasure and I can barely form coherent responses. 'You do, Master! I belong to you! Always! This slut's mouth, cunt, and fuckhole are for you!' You pause in your thrusting, the head of your cock poised at the mouth of my cunt.

"'Have you learned your place yet, Slave?' you ask. 'If I let you cum, are you going to be a good Slave and follow my orders from now on?'

"Whimpering, it's taking all I have within me to hold off my orgasm. Frantically, I nod my head. 'I swear I'll be a good slut for you Master! Please may I cum, Sir?' I beg.

"You look around the room at the Mistresses, as if seeking their approval. I'd forgotten they were there, and the realization causes me to flush in shame at my humiliation taking place before their eyes. I'm desperately searching faces for whatever answers might be there, but I can't glean any information. Whatever message is passed, this slave doesn't understand it. But then my world dissolves into brilliant white light as you command me to cum while using the ropes wrapped at my waist to pull my cunt tightly down over your magnificent cock. Wet warmth spreads from the center of my being as you empty your balls into me. I sense that more than feel it, because my orgasm has caught me up like tidal wave and washed me away. I vaguely hear a woman screaming, 'Thaaaannnk yoooouu Maaaassstttteeerrr!' unaware that the screaming woman is me.

"By the time I come to a few minutes later, you've untied my bonds and you have me cradled in your lap, gently stroking my hair. I look into your eyes and I feel a sense of peace come over me. All is right in the world; I'm right where I should be, with my Master. I silently vow to be a better slave for him and follow all of his rules, but even then, I can feel the temptation within me to seek out more punishment. Then, to my surprise, you gently kiss my lips and say, 'Good girl, Addison.'"

Carson was stunned at the picture she'd painted. The way described it, the passion with which she spoke...it made him want to try it.

"So, what happens next?" he asked. "I need to talk this over with the other women, but I think it's something I'd like to do for you."

Addison's heart skipped a beat. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. It was like winning the lottery or something. She swallowed to try and re-wet her mouth. "This is a big commitment, and I'd like to arrange something special for you. Can I make it a surprise after you check with the Mistresses?"

"Sure. Whatever you need is fine," he assured her.

"Well," he said, standing up. "It's time for both of us to get some sleep." He wagged his finger at her. "I mean it, Addison. Go. To. Sleep."

He turned and walked away. Just as he turned around the door, he leaned his head back in. ""You really are a dirty girl, aren't you?"

"For you? Absolutely filthy."

He grinned and said, "One more thing: No washing for you tonight. Your slut ass is going to bed naked except for my cum, just so you remember who owns you. Understand?"

Addison shivered before nodding. "Thank you, Sir. This slut will obey her master."

"I know you will." Then he was gone.

Addison sank back into her chair and began giggling like a schoolgirl. She hugged herself as she spun her chair around, still essentially naked, replaying the earlier events in her head.

*****

It took a little less than 72 hours before the extent of the damage began to emerge. The first hint that something was wrong came when Jozef got a notification from his financial management company, informing him that his change orders had been executed.

He dialed the direct line to his adviser. "What the hell is this supposed to mean?" he growled.

"And good morning to you, too, Jozef. I'm fine, thank you for asking. Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Cut the crap, Stu. I'm not in the mood. I just want to know where my money is."

Stu Hanson had been handling Jozef van Heuval's portfolio for decades. In the last ten years, he'd also helped him to establish...creative...ways to shield his money from the ever-greedy hand of the tax man. That also made him privy to some of the more unsavory aspects of his client's dealings. Knowing all that, he'd been caught off-guard when the change orders began piling up. Apparently, Jozef was liquidating most of his assets through charitable contributions. Stu idly wondered if it had anything to do with the recent troubles for NeoGenesys; their stock had tumbled in value to a tiny fraction of its peak value.

Jozef's minority ownership stake in the company had been a sore point with his manager, since it had not increased significantly in value for years, yet his client steadfastly refused to divest himself. As a result, he'd lost hundreds of thousands of credits upon the devastating news of their nefarious activities. It wouldn't be the first time one of his clients panicked after taking a big financial hit.

Stu wasn't exactly in a good mood either. Jozef's account had been one of his largest, and in the last three days, he'd watched as credits trickled away, taking Stu's commissions with them. Something about his client's tone, though, made him hold his tongue. Jozef seemed genuinely confused about what had been happening with his investments.

"Are you serious about that? As our report stated, we've liquidated your accounts and distributed them according to your wishes. I must say, it caught me off-guard. I wish you'd spoken to me before filing those change orders. You've incurred millions in penalties and taxes. We could have found some more friendly means..."

Jozef was on the verge of a meltdown. His blood pressure was dangerously high, and he was beginning to see spots. Angrily, he cut the man off. "Are you telling me that my investment portfolio is gone?"

"Well, there's still the minimums to keep the accounts open, and..."

"Yes...or...no?"

"Well, essentially the answer is yes," replied Stu. He was beginning to feel dread settling over him like a cold, wet blanket.

As the stunned silence that followed stretched on, Stu began to wonder if something had happened to Jozef. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"How could this happen?" came the trembling, defeated voice of his client.

Now Stu was confused. "Jozef, talk to me. Are you saying that you didn't send us change orders to transfer your holdings into a series of charitable donations?"

Jozef collapsed into his chair, his face now pale and clammy. It's gone. It's all gone. Everything I've worked for so long is gone. Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't even hear Stu's questions. Without looking, he reached over and ended the call.

In his office, Stu flinched at the abrupt end to their conversation. He spun in his chair to stare vacantly into the distance, his fingertips tented before his mouth. He felt confident that his firm was covered; the orders had been authenticated using Jozef's own access code. Still, part of his job as a partner was to look out for potential trouble. He pressed a button on his desk. "Tim? Are you there?"

"Yes sir," came the voice of his executive assistant.

"I want you to gather all the change orders for the van Heuval account from the last two weeks and meet me in the conference room in, say, half an hour? Will that be a problem?"

"No sir, that won't be a problem."

Stu ended one call and made another, this time to his partner. "Bernie, I need you to meet me in the conference room in a half hour. Bring Lonnie with you." Lonnie Campbell was the firm's legal counsel. Mentioning his name made people nervous.

"Is there something we should be worried about?" asked his partner.

Stu seemed distant when he answered, his mind racing to examine any possible liabilities for the firm. "I don't know. I just got off the comms with Jozef van Heuval. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that he didn't make those change orders."

"Preposterous!" thundered Bernie Marx. "It's just like these rich bastards to make a mistake and try to blame the little people. Someone should take their money and give it to people who could use it better."

With a little smile, Stu said, "Someone like us, you mean? You know, to most people we're part of the rich bastards club too."

"Well, naturally," came the reply, Bernie conceding that he was just as greedy as anyone else. "Someone's got to pay for our vacation homes, right? The gods know I'd rather someone else pay for it." Stu smiled; it was a long-running joke between them how the public face of the firm advocated wealth redistribution, but they privately took advantage of every tax shelter and avoidance scheme devised by man.

Stu chuckled with him, then said, "I'd just like to cover our bases in case Jozef tries to claim fraud or bad faith or something."

They signed off, agreeing to clear their schedules for a forensic analysis of their handling of the van Heuval account. No sense leaving themselves open for litigation.

*****

Two days after the proverbial shit started hitting van Heuval's fan, Carson was working in his office, finishing up a filing for a new client. He heard the office comms ring, and after a moment, Corinne beeped him.

"That woman who was here the other day, Ms. Morgan? She's on line 1 and needs to talk with you. Says it's very urgent."

"Thanks Corinne." He signed his filing with a flourish and flipped the folder closed. Done. He sat back for a moment before answering, reflecting on the magnitude of the impact the Scottish import had had on his life in such a short time. She had been welcomed into the house by all. She had a warm nature, and as the oldest woman in the house, she seemed to have taken on the role of house mother. Even in her early 60s (Carson hadn't pursued any further), she seemed too young to be grandmother to the Pride.

The two of them had spent many an hour speaking about the magical world. Carson was fascinated, but without a teacher, he seemed to be stuck. Siubahn had been diligently searching for someone to apprentice the young man, but to date had been unsuccessful.

Opening his comms, Carson said, "Siubahn! How are you today?" After much trial and error, he'd managed to teach his mouth the proper way to say her name. He was under no illusions that he'd be fluent in Gaelic anytime soon, but he was picking up bits and pieces here and there as she occasionally slipped into her mother tongue.

"I'm well, maighstir. I have good news."

"Oh? Well, don't keep me in suspense," he replied.

"I found someone to train you."

"That is good news. What's his name? Or hers, I guess."

Siubahn hesitated before answering. "Not over the phone. This man has reason to believe that there are hunters looking for him. He's willing to meet with you provisionally to see if he might be able to help you, but it has to be tonight."

After checking his calendar, Carson said, "I'm free. When and where?"

"Do you remember the pub where we first met?" she asked.

Carson cast his memory back to that night. He'd been walking Isana back to his transport when Siubahn had stumbled. He realized that there was a pub called "The Farmer's Daughter" at just the spot they'd met. "I remember it. What time?"

"How about 7?"

"I'll see you then." Ending the call, Carson once again found himself staring out his office window. There was an early season storm moving in, with heavy northern winds and driving rain. Not exactly a good night to be out and about. Oh well, maybe it'll calm a bit before I need to leave. If this guy can help me learn about magic, how fantastic would that be? he thought. The possibilities boggled his mind.

He spaced out for a little while before realizing that he might be imagining things that had no basis in reality. Better to just wait and meet the man to find out the real story. He turned his attention to the women in his life.

With Cara, Sam, and Corinne expecting, the other women in his life were beginning to get a little anxious to get started on their own new babies. Even Tilda, who had a newborn at home, was already hinting at having another. And that was just the women he lived with.

He'd held off moving forward with Orisa over a disagreement over where their baby would be raised, since she had thus far refused his offers to move her family to the LD. With Quinn's departure, though, he was beginning to realize that he might have overcomplicated things a bit. If his relationship with Orisa were a traditional one, he would be adamant that they should at least try to be together for the baby's sake. But they didn't have a traditional relationship, and their child (and her children with Taric) would understand that as part of Orriri. That didn't mean he wouldn't be involved in his child's life, though. They lived in the save town, and he'd damn well make sure that his child knew who its father was.

Reflecting on his treatment of Orisa over the past few months, Carson couldn't help but feel a little guilty. They'd embarked on a bit of a whirlwind romance, but upon reaching a level of acceptance from any of the people who mattered around them, it had sort of sputtered a bit. It hadn't been an intentional withdrawal on his part, but he recognized that she was probably just giving him space, thinking that he needed time to see things her way. Perhaps she's right, Carson mused.

The other outstanding woman-related issue that he had was his newly formed relationship with Isana. He really did feel something different between them. That notwithstanding, with the escalation of his efforts against her father, he couldn't help but wonder how she'd take things if or when she found out what he was doing to bring down not only her father, but his entire shadow organization. Carson would like to believe that her expressed distaste for her father's methods would cause her to support him, but it was still too early to feel any sense of certainty about it.

Carson was still daydreaming about things with the Pride, and even the implications of agreeing to Addison's stated desire to be his sex slave. There was no doubt in his mind that the idea titillated him on one level, while on another level he was horrified at even considering taking her up on her offer. He resolved to find some time for just the two of them to visit with one another away from the LD, away from all the odd circumstances that had thrown them together, just to get a chance to see if there was something more than objectification between them.

He was broken from his reverie by a sound he hadn't heard since moving into this office. The building had an internal communications system, but it was rarely used. It was hit and miss on whether anyone would even be in their office when you tried, and between the rapid transporters for inside the building and the ubiquity of communications devices outside it, there wasn't much use. It took Carson a second even to place the tone he was hearing.

Touching the button to activate his comms unit, he said, "This is Carson."

"Carson! Glad I caught you. This is Director Sinclair. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time before you leave this afternoon?"

Carson frowned. Ramsay Sinclair might be director of Orriri, but he was not someone that Carson wanted to spend much time with. There was an oiliness to his character that reminded him of a salesman who tries too hard to make the sale. Carson thought of him as a trade show representative, so eager to show off the newest and shiniest bauble that he couldn't be bothered to truly understand what his customers wanted. They'd only spoken briefly in passing, and this was the first time the director had reached out to him personally. He began to have a very bad feeling about this.

Part of being in Orriri, a large part for a member of the council, was maintaining appearances and monitoring alliances. Carson wasn't really sure where the director stood, but it wouldn't do to disappoint him. With feigned enthusiasm, he agreed to visit the director's office shortly.

When the contact closed, Carson found himself wondering just what he was in for. Just who is Ramsay Sinclair? he thought.

It was getting towards the end of the day, and Carson didn't really have anything keeping him in the office any longer. He closed up shop. Passing Corinne's station, he sent her home early with a kiss and a promise that he would check in on her and the girls when he got returned from his dinner meeting. Then he made his way to Sinclair's office.

Unlike Carson's office space, which split a floor with some financial services office, Sinclair's offices apparently occupied and entire floor of the building. The elevator opened directly into his offices. The view that greeted Carson was stunning, and not just because it was essentially an open view to out over the harbor. Floor to ceiling panels of smart glass offered a crystal-clear view of the spectacular thunderstorm raging outside. Since the last time he'd checked, the storm had intensified. No, while the view outside was spectacular, the view inside was compelling as well. Unlike Corinne's station that Carson had always thought more suited to a dental office, Sinclair's assistant sat behind a large secretary desk. Its graceful curving combination of dark wood and stainless steel matched the combination industrial-rustic aesthetic on display in the rest of the room.

In years past, the younger version of Carson might have been intimidated by the woman sitting behind the desk. He'd seen her in the vicinity of council meetings before but hadn't realized that she worked directly for the director. She had an Asian heritage, Japanese he thought. Her face was strong, with a rugged jawline that masculinized her face. She had a warm ivory or light honey cast to her skin, but she'd treated what appeared to be naturally dark, dark brown hair to make it almost almond brown in color. She wore her hair long on top and parted at the side, resulting in a drape to one side and uniform length all around. She was wearing a pair of rimless glasses, but they seemed unusually wide. As he got closer, he began to see hints of images behind the lenses and realized that she was wearing smart glasses. She was speaking into a tiny stick microphone attached to her earpiece.