Lawyer, Lawyer Pt. 01

Andy quickly learned what it had taken me years to master, how to keep Karen on the edge of ecstasy without letting her fall over the other side. While Karen sucked my cock, he used his fingers and tongue to keep her writhing beneath me on the bed. While I fucked her, he toyed with her breasts. And then while I lazily sat and recovered, watching love and ecstasy play across her face, it was Andy's turn. He'd warned Karen that he wouldn't last long, and with good reason. He reminded me of, well, me, the first time I'd had Karen.

"Jesus, Andy," Karen moaned. She'd climaxed at the same time, the result of all the preparatory work he and I had put in. "Merry Christmas to me. When was the last time you got laid?"

"Well, you know." He turned aside. "Couple of weeks."

"Couple of weeks, bullshit," Karen said. "I got so many little Richardsons in me right now they could hold a convention."

I looked over at Karen with alarm, and she just winked back at me.

"Come on, Andy, give," she said.

"I, um," he started. "Last time was probably this woman who --"

"Don't lie to me, Andy," Karen interrupted him.

So he apparently decided not to say anything.

"Jesus, Andy, I was the last girl you fucked, wasn't I?" she said quietly. "In doll form, anyway."

"You haven't gotten laid in fourteen years?" I stammered.

He looked over at me.

"If you'd treated women the way I had, wouldn't you stop if you could?" he asked.

"Well, sure," I was flabbergasted. "Maybe. I mean, the strength, the sheer willpower. On second thought, no, I don't think that -- no, I'm sure I couldn't have done it."

"You didn't have Andy's motivation," Karen said. "Speaking of willpower, though, how much longer until you're ready to go again, Andy?"

"Twenty minutes?" he guessed. "Why?"

"I'm gonna go take a shower and get myself nice and clean," Karen said. "When I come back, I wanna see you sittin' on this bed, Jason Thompson, with a nice, hard lap for me to sit in. And then, Andy Richardson, I'm gonna let you be the first guy up my ass."

Andy was ready before the bathroom door closed, but the shower delayed us another fifteen minutes.

Later that night, I asked my sated wife if she wasn't worried about the lack of protection.

"He hasn't done it in fourteen years," she murmured while Andy was in the bathroom. "What kind of diseases do you think he could have?"

"Not diseases," I said. "All those little Richardsons."

"I have the surefire defense for all those little Richardsons." She smiled at me.

"What's that?"

"A little Thompson already guarding at the gate," she touched my cheek. "I hope it's a boy this time. Now go to sleep, honey."

**********

We arrived in Iowa City, Iowa in the middle of the afternoon the next day, after a stop in the Chicago area to confirm that, as Karen suspected, Lana Tuttle no longer had the doll she'd been given when she lived in Hardwood. She and her mother still lived in the same location, although Mr. Tuttle had been killed in a hunting accident several years ago by a single shot through the heart. Neither woman could recall seeing the doll after that.

"That would no doubt be a Catholic hunting accident," I said when we were back in the car, and Karen had begun her turn at the wheel.

"Oh, they were definitely Catholic," Karen said. "Did you notice all those religious paintings and crosses?"

Drew nodded. He was sitting in the passenger seat while I took my turn in back.

"Some of the earlier videos," he said, "were clearly a different guy than in the more recent ones I've seen. And also nowhere near as sophisticated. If I had to guess, I'd say that Dan Tuttle started out making these films on his own, then got a little too chummy with some of his Opus Christe buddies. They decided to take over, he put up a fight, and he lost."

It was a much quieter drive after that.

We had no sooner parked the car in the driveway of a house in the suburbs of Iowa City than the door burst open, and a tall, beautiful, dark-complexioned woman ran down the sidewalk and threw herself into my arms.

"Oh, God, it's good to see you again," she whispered, her heart pounding inside of her chest. "I can't believe you made me go this long without a Jason Thompson fix."

"It's good to see you again, too, Gail," I smiled, looking at a smiling Karen and a stunned Andy over her shoulder. "Where's the professor?"

"In the house," she said as I let her find her feet. "He knows not to interfere with this. Who's the broad? Thank God she brought another guy, huh?"

"Anderson," Karen said, shaking her head, "you are so full of shit. Do you remember Andy Richardson?"

My hug came to a quick end.

"Andy Richardson?" Gail asked, staring at him.

"Have we met?" Andy asked hesitantly.

"Oh, come on, Andy." Karen laughed. "We're reliving all our old memories. How many other people were on stage during that debate?"

"Miss, um, Miss --" Andy stammered.

"Ms. Dodge," Gail corrected him. "Although now I go by Mrs. Anderson, Mr. Richardson. And I hope I don't have to hear any more of that language of yours, either."

"No, ma'am," Andy said.

Gail Dodge was the first woman I'd helped using the dolls, and the first woman I'd had sex with (although I had practiced with the dolls first, of course, so I had actually lost my virginity to the woman who'd ended up becoming my sister-in-law). Sixteen years ago, Gail had been a substitute English teacher about to take her life rather than suffer through Thanksgiving dinner with her abusive family. I had invited her over to my fortuitously parentless house instead. I'd somehow maneuvered her into my bed, and she had thereafter made a remarkable recovery, culminating almost exactly a year later in her marriage to Chris Anderson. Karen had been her bridesmaid, and I'd given her away. She was still as gorgeous as ever, despite having to ride herd on her three little hell-raisers -- Helen, Sue, and (the worst of the bunch) Jason.

"Professor!" I yelled out as we entered the house.

"Jason!" Chris yelled back. "Finally come to learn how to write?"

"Very funny," I said. Chris was the director of the renowned Iowa Writers Workshop at the University of Iowa, and asked me the same question every time we saw each other. "You cracked that bestseller list yet, or you still writing that artsy stuff?"

"So why are you here?" Gail interrupted our byplay. "That was a very mysterious phone call."

"Yeah, well...," I said with a look at Andy, "it's kind of like the less you know, the better you are."

"Tell me it's not about those dolls again," Gail sighed.

Andy whipped around to look at me.

"Does everybody know about these dolls?" he demanded.

"Heck, no," I said. "Me, Karen, Julie, Shelly, Steve, Julie's step-mom, Gail, Chris I guess?"

"Only for four or five years," Chris said. "One of her uncles tracked her down and tried to push his way in, and after I had him taken off to the hospital and then the police station, she told me the story."

"Seriously, though," I said, "you guys don't want to know. Let's just say we don't want anyone knowing where we are. We need rooms for a few days, and then we'll vanish just as quickly as we came."

"And then you'll send me a postcard explaining everything?" Gail looked from me to Karen.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I'm an FBI agent," Drew showed his badge to the skeptical couple. "I really do have to ask you to keep all of this very quiet."

The FBI badge gets a lot of respect in the Midwest -- certainly more than it does around my household -- and Gail and Chris showed us to our bedrooms. That evening we entertained Chris with the embarrassing high school adventures of one Andy Richardson.

"I'll admit I was surprised to see him here," Gail said when we were done. "Particularly with you, Karen."

"I've forgiven him. He kept my husband out of jail. I think it'll take Julie a little longer."

Operation "Kidnap Julie Pinsky to Free Julie Pinsky" turned out to be fairly simple, with one small hitch. We spent several days timing her runs, learning exactly when she'd be at the spot closest to the road. Andy finally spotted her guards, two men watching from the monastery and another who typically took a walk in the park at the same time.

When we finally had her routine down, Andy took a long, thin cylindrical device out of one of his bags.

"This is a directional antenna with a built-in megaphone and microphone," he explained. "You can use it to talk to one specific person, up to four hundred yards away, and to hear that person talking to you. You can use this with a headset, which I have, or a cell phone, which we can buy at Wal-Mart. Now this has to be done on the fly; we drive the car up, she jumps in, we take off. We can't wait there because I'm fairly sure that these guys have guns. If they see us there too long, looking like we're waiting for Julie, they may start shooting. At a minimum, they may be able to call her off. So we have two choices. The first is, we can talk to her tomorrow and tell her we'll pick her up the next day. The second is, we talk to her tomorrow and make the pickup at the same time."

"If we give her extra time, there's a good chance she'll freak," Karen said. "It has to be the same day."

"I agree," Andy said. "The problem is we can't use this antenna in a moving car. It has to be stationary, pointed at the person you want to talk with. First off, who is she most likely to listen to?"

"Me," Karen said firmly.

"Why you?" I asked.

"She's an eighteen year old girl," Karen smiled. "Andy's her jerk boyfriend, you're a geek she just had sex with -- in her world -- and I'm her mistress."

"It should be Karen," I told Andy.

The next day Karen and I were walking in the park, holding hands like young lovers. Karen's cell phone rang, and she started talking and sometimes arguing with whoever she was talking to. I directed her over to a park bench, and she continued her conversation with her head down and her hand in her other ear. Without my sweetie to occupy me, I started looking around, paying particular attention to the nubile young thing in jogging attire, albeit winter jogging attire, who had appeared at the other end of the park. With a quick glance at Karen to make sure she was still busy, I gave the pretty brunette a closer look, following her with my head and, more important, with the antenna that had been sewn into the right leg of my pants. I nudged Karen, and she pressed the cell phone as if she had another call coming in.

"Julie, I want you to keep jogging and not to look afraid," she said. "This is your mistress, Karen McCarthy. Do you understand? Say yes or no."

I could only guess at Julie's responses from Karen's end of the conversation.

"Do you remember me, Julie?

"Julie when you reach the road, you'll see a car approaching from the right. It will slow down and the back passenger's side window will open up. Do you understand?"

I could see Julie's body tighten up, but she didn't stop running.

"Julie, I want you to run toward that car and when it stops, I want you to jump through the back window. The car will drive away. The driver works for me, and I want you back, Julie. Do you understand?

"Good. I'm going to stop talking to you and you're going to do exactly what I told you, right, Julie?

"Good. You don't want your mistress to be angry with you, do you?"

Karen pressed another button and continued her fictional argument. As I watched, our SUV approached and slowed to a near stop. Julie jumped in the open window and behind me I heard a loud pop as the car's tires squealed and it sped off.

"Those fuckers took a shot at my -- oooff!" I began.

Karen dug her elbow into my side as the guard who had been walking through the park and had taken a shot at my car saw us and came running over.

"Did you see that car?" he panted.

"Yeah, what was that about?" I said. "The car comes up, that cute girl jumps in the open window and zoom, off they go."

"She was kidnapped," the guard said, looking at me to see my reaction.

"Kidnapped!" I exclaimed. "Wow! Right in broad daylight. But you know, I got the license number."

"Give it to me." He grabbed my arm, and I did my best to look offended.

"Please, sir," he said anxiously, "please give me the number."

"It was an Illinois plate," I said reluctantly, staring at this incredibly rude man. "CEL-100."

"A black Lexus, right?" he said.

"Actually, I thought it was a dark green Ford," I suggested.

He ran off without thanking me, the ingrate, and Karen and I slowly strolled down the road to where we'd left the car we'd borrowed from Gail.

"So whose plate number was that?" she asked me with a grin.

"I have no idea," I said. "One hundred degrees Celsius is the temperature at which water boils."

A little over an hour later, we all found ourselves a motel outside of Hannibal, Missouri. Karen and I had dropped off Gail's car at a shopping center, and I'd phoned Gail to thank her and let her know where it was. Andy had picked us up in the Lexus and Karen had gotten in back with the doll while I rode up front with Andy.

This time Karen got us two hotel rooms.

"All right, honey," she said to the doll. "It's okay. We're here to help you."

The poor girl had been nearly catatonic for the entire trip. Apart from an occasional whimper, she resisted every attempt Karen made to get her to unroll from the fetal position that she'd assumed when she first jumped into the car.

"Just bring her upstairs," Karen said, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. We sat her on our bed, and Karen knelt on the bed in front her, with Andy to her left and me to her right to prevent her from rolling up again.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked, gently brushing one of the doll's brunette bangs out of her eyes. "I know it's not Julie."

She slowly brought her head up, tears in her eyes.

"You're not going to hurt me?" she asked.

"No," Karen smiled. "Now what's your name?"

"Sandy," she said.

"Hi, Sandy," Karen said. "I'm Karen. Karen McCarthy Thompson. That's Andy Richardson. And that's --"

Sandy was staring at Andy, and then suddenly drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. Andy was so stunned, he lost his balance and fell backward off the bed.

"You're the bastard who drugged me," Sandy said. "And then you and your friends . . ."

He'd gotten back on the bed and she slapped him again.

"Sandy," Karen tried to calm her. "Andy used to be a very . . ."

Then Sandy slapped Karen.

"What the hell was that?" Karen yelped and fell back on the bed.

"You're the bitch who sent me in to be drugged and raped," Sandy spat. She lunged forward after Karen. I grabbed both her wrists from behind and tried to stop her from struggling.

"And who the fuck are you?" she said as she struggled in my hands.

"Jason," I panted, desperately trying to keep her under my control and receiving absolutely no help from my friends. "Jason Thompson."

She stopped struggling instantly.

"Doll-size. Life-size. Naked."

Before I could react she had shrunk herself out of my hands, regrown herself, magically lost her clothes, and turned to straddle my lap.

"Hello, Jason Thompson," she purred.

"Um, hi," I said.

I glanced over her shoulder, watching Karen put a finger to Andy's lips and pull Andy back into a chair on the other side of the room.

"Do you remember October 23, 2004?" Sandy asked, in as sultry a voice as the eighteen-year-old Julie Pinsky's body could manage.

Before my eyes the doll metamorphosed into Shelly Johnson, my future sister-in-law, sitting naked on my lap. I'd obviously used the brunette doll to summon her that day. As Karen had said, normally I used the blonde. But that first weekend, when I'd finally learned the dolls' secret, and taken advantage of my parents' unexpected weekend getaway, I had turned the blonde doll into seven different actresses, one after the other. Toward the end, I'd used the brunette doll to summon Shelly to clean the house. Although I did manage to cum one more time that day, when Shelly blew me. After all, I was only eighteen.

Sandy pushed herself back down the bed and eagerly reached for my pants.

"Uh, Shelly," I started. "I mean, Sandy, this isn't the best time to, uh --"

She looked up at me with such incredible pain in her eyes that, God help me, I looked over at Karen sitting in the chair and gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh, go ahead," Karen laughed. "She probably hasn't had a good fucking in fourteen years either."

Sandy didn't wait for me to relay the message to her. She already had my belt off and my zipper down. Taking my dick in her hand, she lowered her mouth to it and lovingly began to lick the length of my cock.

I couldn't keep track of the rest of the changes. At one point, the actress Kirsten Dunst was sucking my cock. A few minutes later, Jennifer Aniston was doing the honors. They wereall women I'd summoned before with that doll, and I couldn't help wishing I'd used the brunette doll a few more times when I was younger.

"It's too bad you didn't bring Carrie," Sandy said.

"Carrie?" Karen asked from behind her.

"My little blonde friend," Sandy said over her shoulder.

Karen and Andy traded looks, and Karen just shook her head. But she reached into her purse and pulled out the blonde doll.

"Sandy?" she said.

The brunette turned and Karen tossed her the doll.

"Knock yourself out, kid."

Sandy squealed with delight as she caught the blonde doll.

"Carrie, wake up," she whispered. "Life-size."

The doll metamorphosed into an attractive blonde that I'd never seen before. The two dolls looked at each other and squeaked together, "December 22, 2004!"

Sue Waggoner and Gail Dodge were suddenly squabbling over which one was going to get to mount me.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Karen shook her head. "Fuck it, Andy. I'm goin' to bed. You coming?"

"I, um, I guess," Andy said as he got up to follow Karen.

"Don't worry," she said, just before she pulled the door shut behind her. "You will be."

I got to sleep about ten-thirty four that night, after Sandy had turned Carrie back into a doll. Sandy was riding me as a young Gail Dodge, from the night of Gail's bachelorette party, when I'd used the doll to "take" Gail's virginity before her abusive uncles did. Suddenly, on the verge of yet another climax, she looked down at me and smiled.

"May 30, 2005."

An eighteen-year-old Julie Pinsky was swaying atop me.

"Oh, fuck. That was incredible."

She fell forward in a faint.

*

To be continued...

For those interested in reading more about living dolls, your public library recommends "Living Dolls" and "Living Dolls: The Director's Cut," both by MarshAlien, available by clicking on his name at the top of the story, and then clicking on "Stories/Poems."