God Laughs Ch. 08

Chapter Seven:

This is a chain story written by Jezzaz, Todd172, Stev2244, Harddaysknight, Girlinthemoon, Qhml1, Oshaw and blackrandl1958. One different author wrote each chapter in this story, building on the work of the preceding author. We are submitting one chapter each day until the story is finished. We would like for you, the readers, to see if you can spot who wrote the different chapters. If you care to hazard a guess, you may leave it in a comment on the last chapter of the story. If no one is right, we will pick the one closest to right and one, or more, of us will dedicate our next story to you. If multiple persons are right, we will dedicate the story to all who are right. We will wait one week after the posting of the last chapter, then announce which chapter was written by which author. This was a very entertaining exercise for us, and we may do it again. We hope you enjoy the story, Napalminthemorning.

*

Before we go any further, let's all take stock of the situation and do a brief recap. I know I need this, and I dare say you do, too. Events have been a little... calamitous, if not outright precipitous.

So, I'm John Graham. My wife is Amber. Between us, we own Graham Enterprises, which sells... umm... adult toys. Very Adult. And some of them not so much toys, either. We also own Fairy Tails productions, which sets up adult events: niche adult fantasies, so to speak. For reasons that I won't go into here, I also bought the remnants of a circus.

We had a party last night, to deal with Amber's Boss, one Jack Salinger, who was attempting to blackmail my bride. That was, obviously, never going to happen.

Things got out of hand at the party -- we ended up with a Cat 6 bulldozer in our pool, owned by my neighbor, Rhino Star, a British expat who was part of a super group, but all he's done in recent years is grope groupies, as well as several uninvited guests. Albanian Albinos, who are apparently mobbed up and testing some kind of gizmo that turns everyone into sex maniacs. Various circus performers, Tyrone, the gangster (real name Kevin Peters) and owner of a massive dick, a Chinese weight lifter and god knows who else.

Things got totally out of control, and we woke up this morning not really remembering what the hell had gone on. We got visits from every lettered agency you care to name, excluding the CIA and the NSA, and even though neither were supposed to involve themselves in the events of last night, I felt that it was only a matter of time. Everyone else had shown up, why not them?

Our most recent visit had been from a Logan Barbarossa, who was on the tail of the Albanians, and post his inclusion in our lives, we had a romantic interlude with a voodoo priestess, named Dominique. Very Romantic, at least from Amber's point of view. She was given the kind of orgasms that you have to mail order from Ron Jeremy.

Where the voodoo priestess came from, I've no idea, but you can add that to the list of things I don't know, such as what was actually in that briefcase. Or what happened in the Pool house with Amber while I was otherwise occupied in the main house.

Dominque apparently has a partner, named Rosalie, and they are after the briefcase, too.

I think that's about it. I may have left out some comings and goings. More coming than going, to be sure, but yeah, I think that's about the size of what's been going on.

Yeah, I don't think it makes much sense either. We'll get to that in a bit.

So Logan, butt plug with a tail hanging out of his ass— $18.99, no, wait, that's the large one. $25.99— is standing helplessly peering around, as though he might suddenly see the albino's escaping, or the briefcase lying on the ground. You have to give him some credit for dedication to duty, for sure. Not sure I could be so work focused with that thing up my ass. And stark naked, too.

Still. What to do now? How much did we care that the sex crazy machine was out of the house? It was, after all, Barbarossa problem now. And Rosalie and her partner, Raven. Whoever they were. We'd barely been introduced, to be honest. Well, Amber had. In the most intimate way possible, and god knows, I'd wanted to introduce myself more specifically, too. Well, bits of me, anyway.

Did we care? Did I care? Did I truly understand any of what was going on today? It was supposed to be a sting to deal with that asshole boss of Amber's, and look where it had ended up. And who knows if it was ended? I wouldn't have been surprised if the Avengers Thor showed up at this point. Or a meteor hit the house. Or that Hilary Clinton had actually won the presidency, and Trump was all a practical joke. Anything seemed possible at this point.

We'd had blowouts before, for sure. Amber and I had a great marriage. We trusted each other, and allowed each other to have adventures, as long as we were honest with each other, and always came together at the end of it. I valued what I had with her above all other things in life, but the events of the past two days would put a strain on anyone's credulity.

What, in the words of my favorite author, in the eternal fuck is going on?

As if in response to my thoughts, something exploded just out past the tree line. We felt it where we were standing, and thankfully, we were far enough out that we barely felt the pressure wave.

"You okay, Babe?" I said, turning to Amber, who was staring out at where the small mushroom cloud was rising. My first concern, always the wife.

She looked up at me, and nodded, her hand over her forehead shielding her eyes from the sunlight.

"What the hell do you think that was?" she asked, craning her head to try and make out more.

"At a guess, I'd say those Albanians just got hit by something that disagreed with them." I shrugged. I had no real idea, it just seemed like it was more likely than not, particularly with the events of the day.

"What about you guys?" I said, turning to Raven and Rosalie.

I needn't have bothered. They were bickering. "I told you it was sensitive!" said one: Rosalie, I think?

"I know it was sensitive!" argued Raven back. "That's why we needed it hold it. I know what it's capable of. Those idiots," she said, gesturing at where the smoke cloud was starting to thin out in the wind, "have no fucking clue."

"Well, that's us not getting paid, then. Fuck!" exclaimed Rosalie, clearly upset.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, then Rosalie shrugged and said to Raven, "So, wanna got get smashed and stoned?"

"Hells yes," replied Raven forcefully.

"Wanna join us?" they said, together, turning to face Amber and me.

"What about me?" screeched Logan, clearly apoplectic.

"Well, you can come, too, if you want?" I offered.

He just spluttered, and then took off down the path to where the explosion had occurred. It was fairly comical, watching the tail out of his backside bounce back and forth as he did his best to run. Why he didn't just stop and pull it out I'll never know. I did at least have the presence of mind to dig out the phone and get some video. Probably make a few bucks on the internet with that, I thought. Might even be a series in it. Pony boy, or better yet, pony girl!

I suppose we should have gone to investigate, but whatever had happened was outside my property line, and frankly, I was tired. It had been a heavy day, and there had been lots of ups and downs, some of them even good ones, and if we never saw that briefcase again, then I was fine with that.

I did briefly consider that the only people we hadn't seen from the local services was the fire department, and the explosion was almost certain to bring them to the door, too, but what the hell. Why not, right? Everyone else had been by today, why not them?

Fuck it. I turned to Amber and the other two girls and found them already trooping back to the house. Rosalie had one hand around Raven's waist, and the other around Amber's. It was an attractive sight, for sure, and while the spirit was willing on my part, the flesh was weak. I was already two explosions— well, three— down, and I didn't think my solider was going to salute for a little while longer. Getting old sucks. My advice is, don't do it, but don't go to the alternative either. You know what I mean.

I wandered back into the house and looked around. Macaw was still there, sitting opposite Bubbles, and they appeared to be re-enacting that scene from Indiana Jones, the one in the first movie, with the drinking competition. Instead of turning the shot glasses upside down, they were throwing them in the fireplace. I was just lucky they were all plastic.

The lawyer was watching them, and the pizza delivery guys— I noticed the third one had shown up again, with his pants on backwards—were taking bets from Teresa and Bobbie Sue and the pony girl and the black voodoo woman. I really did need to figure out who they were. There were who I assume to be various law enforcement people around, some conscious, some not. All were in some state of disarray or undress, and most had been handcuffed to at least one other person or piece of furniture.

It was a comical sight, to be sure. I mean, as I said, we've had some parties in the past, but nothing remotely like this.

I looked around and saw that Amber had sunk into the long leather couch, with a woman on each side. From somewhere, god knows where, they'd produced a joint, and had lit it. I could smell the particular sweetness in the air and I frowned. I wasn't allowed to have a cigar in the house, but she could light a spliff?

She caught me looking and laughed, and the gestured around and said, "Seriously, all this and you are worried about a joint? C'mon. Take the stick out your butt."

I was going to make some comeback about putting a stick in her butt, but honestly, I just didn't have the energy. Whatever.

She knew it wasn't my thing— I prefer a good cognac and/or a Cuban cigar personally— but I don't deny her when she wants to. She doesn't do it often, and hell, it had been that kind of day.

Plus, the way they were getting cozy, I could see where that was going. It was turning out to be quite a Sapphic day for the wife. As I said, we have a good understanding. I know which bed she's going to want to get into, plus, she knows I enjoy a good threesome, and I was pretty sure that if it went that far, she'd come find me.

For my part, I left them to it, and took a good long look at our great-room. And it was a mess. Bottles, glasses, plastic cups, plastic plates, balloons, I mean everything a good party leaves behind, right? Except, of course, anyone to actually clean it up. Well, might as well get a start. Maybe some of these ne'er-do-wells would get the hint and either help, or, for preference, just fuck off.

I wandered off into the kitchen to get some garbage bags and start bumbling around, picking up whatever it was right to throw away. I couldn't fit some of the people in the bags, unfortunately.

I also grabbed the box all the samples came in and started picking up those, too, although with tongs. I have no idea where some of those had been, and even worse, with some, I had a damn good idea.

I got about twenty minutes in— and four bags full, which should give you some idea of how much crap was lying around— when the doorbell rang.

Well not such much rang, as whinnied. Yeah, we have a programmable door chime, and it can be programmed by any iPhone on our wifi network. Someone had obviously been playing with their technology!

The fire department was here at last, to round out the numbers! Perhaps they'd brought the CIA with them?

I went to the door and started the end of life as we know it. I opened the door to see the most nondescript person I've ever seen. Average height, average weight, average skin, average hair. The man was so average, he was decidedly abnormal. He was the kind of man who, when you look away, you can't remember what he looks like because he looks like everyone.

Except for the eyes, they were the difference. The eyes, I have heard, are windows on the soul. In this man's case, 'soul' means 'fucking huge room in which all of history is stuffed'. His eyes had seen everything, done everything, recorded everything and there he was, on my door step.

"Mr. Graham?" he asked, politely.

"Who's asking?" I replied, slightly belligerently because it had been a long day and frankly, I was tired. And I could see a fucking bulldozer in my pool and I knew I'd be the one paying to get that out.

"I am," he replied patiently.

There was a moments awkward silence.

"And you are?"

"About to make your day a little better, I suspect. May I come in?"

Even though I was standing in the door way, and this guy hadn't even given me his name, somehow, he was suddenly past me and in the house.

There was something in the way he looked around, taking in the scene, a weariness, a seen-it-all-done-it-all-ness about it. This was a man who had lived life, and seen everything. He didn't look around with judgement, just... experience. This was a man for who there was nothing new.

I saw his eyes narrow as his gaze stopped on... oh, it was the Ringmaster. And the gum chewing, process serving blond! I hadn't realized they'd re-entered the house. Obviously, they'd been caught up in recent events, since she was now nattily attired in his red frocked coat, and hat— and nothing else— and he was wearing, well, her clothes. And they really didn't suit him. He'd be far better off in a pencil skirt - $39.99 for the fetish ultra-tight one; yes we carry that stuff, too, and wrap top, that was for sure.

Our stranger caught had caught his eye, and he stared at her, stone faced, till she noticed him. When she did, she suddenly sat up, eyes wide.

"Pauline," he said, nodding.

She stared back. "Errr... hi Bob. Long time no see."

"Not since college, right?" he said, staring at her and not blinking.

"Look, I..." she started to say, when he held up his hand.

"Nothing to say. You warned me. It's nice to see you again."

With that, he carried on his examination of our great room, our process serving circus mistress now forgotten.

Well, at least I knew his name, now. Bob, but Bob What? Who was this guy?

His unwavering attention stopped again when he spied Amber sitting in the long couch, between Rosalie and Raven, giggling like a school girl. The spliff looked to be down to a nub, and there was also various rubbing and touching and nuzzling going on. It didn't look to be a full on all female threesome yet, but I could tell it wasn't far off.

They were off to one side, and not really noticing us till "Bob" coughed, loudly.

Rosalie glanced up and went rigid when she saw him. She stopped involving herself in the hijinks and her partner in crime noticed, looked over and had every bit the same surprised and terrified look on her face.

Amber was left alone grabbing Rosalie's boob, and giggling, until it just ran down as she realized neither of the other two girls were into it.

"What?" she said, a little bleary eyed. "What's going on?"

She noticed Bob, and said, directly, "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Bob, mam."

"Bob what?" Amber demanded, noticing me and gesturing at our guest.

"Oh just Bob, mam. Just plain Bob," he replied smoothly.

"Bob, look, it isn't our fault," started Rosalie, babbling.

"They took it. We did our best to find it..." interjected Raven.

Bob looked unimpressed. He turned to me and said, "Well, these two aren't worth anything. Want a job done, do it yourself."

"What the hell is going on here? Rosalie? Raven? What is going on? Who is this guy?" I wanted to know, getting in on the demanding action.

"Raven?? Rosalie?" laughed Bob, right at me. "Is that what they told you their names were?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "It's not like I was checking driver's licenses."

"Just as well," grinned Bob. "Neither of them have one. I did ask them to do something for me, and I would do something for them, but since neither have come up to the task..."

"Oh C'mon Bob. You've made our lives miserable enough..." insisted Rosalie, rising to her feet.

"Yeah. I was happy. He was happy. You fucked it all up," hissed Raven, also standing.

Bob gestured at the girls. "That one is Ari," he said, nodding at Rosalie. "And the other one is Penny. They are... experiments. One offs. Looks as if I was right in my original assessment. Girls, time to go back where you came from."

"Oh please, Bob. We'll be good. There must be something we can do," purred Rosalie. I mean, Ari. "You know I can be soooo good."

In response, Bob just pointed at the door, and Rosalie/Ari, glancing only at Raven/Penny in disgust, started walking.

I caught a couple of comments from them as they left. "Just wait till Joe hears about this. He'll be swinging from the chandelier," Ari said, and I got "Harry will hear about this," muttered from Penny.

"Harry? Friend of yours?" I asked Bob. He regarded me for a moment, trying to decide what to say.

"Not really. Just an acquaintance who tends to have very resolute and often expressed opinions. Not always ones I share. Hardly ever, in fact. He lives out in the great state of Maine I think. Or was it Virginia?"

"What is going on? Where are the girls going?" interrupted Amber, now groggily pissed off. I'd seen that before, and it wasn't pretty. When Amber isn't happy, not nobody is happy.

"Oh, I'm sure we can work it out, dear," I said, placatingly, walking over to her and gathering her up in my arms. Physical contact when she's like this. Lots of it. That's what works. Well, that and another whiskey sour, if we have one handy. We didn't—more's the pity— but when it comes to physical contact with Amber, well, I'm always up for it. If you get the drift.

Bob watched the girls go, and the turned to Amber and said, "I'm sure I can replace them. I've got over eight hundred to choose from." He was smiling in a 'it doesn't reach his eyes' kind of way.

"Now, Mr. Graham. I'm actually here to take something off your hands. I believe it's..."

And he just turned and walked away, to the kitchen. Two seconds later, he was back. With something suspiciously familiar in his hands.

"I thought they'd got that?" I asked. "Logan was sure?"

He held The Briefcase in his hands. The one with the glow inside. The one responsible for, well, everything, I was sure,

"Oh, you thought there was only one?" He said conversationally, checking the flip locks and then spinning it over and checking out the hinges. "There are three, actually. One is under lock and key, back at my base, The Landing Strip. There's this one, and one other. That's the one the Albanian's took."

He put the brief case on the pool table and looked at me. "Yes, it is quite capable of taking care of itself should the need arise. As you've witnessed."

I took a step back. "It's a bomb?"

"Reeeelax," he drawled, "it won't do that unless under very specific circumstances. Hell, you had a sex party in here. No, two, in fact. And no one was in any danger. You have to go some to set this thing off."

"Then how..." I wanted to know.

He shrugged. "Those Albanians were not going to take no for an answer."

He rubbed his jaw and said, "Yeah, miscalculated there, a bit."

"So, what exactly is that?" I said gesturing at the briefcase. "It's sure caused a lot of trouble around here."

Bob stared at it for a second, and then said, "A failed experiment. Something concocted because I thought it would fit in with some plans I'd made, but... it all got out of control. Still, if you imagine that this is trouble..." He gestured at the case, "Think about this. A version of this that affects an entire town. Or a city. Think about that. I did. That's when I decided it was too, well, preposterous is too mild a word. Just...no."