Regime Change Pt. 06

CUNNING

The tide was turning. The clock can be turned back. The revolution was happening in prime-time but in slow-mo. It was the morning after in America. People were choosing sides. Some men and women were standing-up for the past. The double standard was better than no standards.

Regrettably the Court of the All-Seeing Eye and the Patriarchs above them at times took their eyes off the prize and they coalesced into factions. Factions united in granting each other any means to the end-all and the be-all, but disunited by the eternal game of who will be the will and whom will be the will's instruments.

Agents' factions (Del Toro's was one of them) jockeyed for benches on the Court (which were launching pads for a seat on the Council of the Patriarchate).

The proof of an agent's success in regenerating their neighborhood was there for all to see on Whore-stoppers and its spin-offs. The hits received indicated high approval of certain agents' results compared to other...non-performers.

This encouraged the popular agents to expand into the neighborhoods of other agents who weren't up to the challenge, who couldn't perform in the spot-light.

Soon the best agents were competing over who would win the laurels for regenerating not just neighborhoods, but cities. This provoked measures, counter-measures, infiltration, ex-filtration, deception, misdirection, counter-intelligence.

Some of the factions in California were, predictably, rather...theatrical. One of the most theatrical factions seemed to come out of nowhere. It was formerly a Hindu-Buddhist meditation church, which secretly gave Kama Sutra lessons to a certain carefully selected few. Unbeknownst to the selected their lessons were video taped for pedagogic purposes. This church's HQ was known as "the Palace."

A year before the Sons of Liberty started taking back their neighborhoods, the mysterious leader (he was called Master Layman) of this church converted to American Evangelicalism. The meditation, his strange costume, and, still secretly, the Kama Sutra studies remained. The selected few expanded.

When the regime change started the videos of Master Layman's Kama Sutra study sessions were slowly, strategically, up-loaded to Whore-stoppers. Many of his students were prominent women in politics, law enforcement, the entertainment industry and religion. Plus a lot of rich men's wives. A surprising number of evangelical wives were whores. All the students got a failing grade from their boyfriends, husbands, congregations, employers and neighborhoods. Much to the approval of fans of Whore-stoppers. Master Layman was a force to be reckoned with.

***

The Japanese sliding door was painted with a cresting wave. The left panel of the sliding door slowly opened and a large figure stepped softly into the dimly lit room. Someone closed the door. The room was bare except for a large, low, white, square bed in the middle of the hard wood floor. The bed had no head board. On the bed a smaller figure with long auburn hair, in a diaphanous mauve nightgown, knelt towards the door, face down, arms out-stretched. Leilah Yumi was kowtowing.

"Thank you Master Layman for agreeing to meet me." Leilah's contralto was muffled by the mattress so close to her mouth. She had joined one of the Evangelical Meditation Palace's advanced classes. She had given her instructor an envelope with the words "For Master Layman's Eyes Only" written in elegant calligraphy. Two weeks later her instructor whispered to her that she would be getting a special lesson tomorrow at 6am.

When Leilah arrived at the EMP she was escorted to this bare, windowless room, lit by three long, red candles in three long, iron candle sticks.

She raised herself on her palms, keeping her head bowed, her straight, auburn hair covering her face and confessed: "I really don't have any beliefs other than self-protection." The thought "I'm empty" flicked across her mind.

"You're certain?" a deep voice asked above her.

"I'll be the perfect spy, I know the secrets of Del Toro's bedroom." She lifted her head and gazed with wonder at the figure looking down on her. He was tall, covered with a black silk cape, his face was covered with a white mask which left only a cruel mouth exposed. The mask had two, long, black, sharp horns.

"Your faction is so powerful and it's growing," Leilah's Persian eyes sparkled in the candlelight as her red lips parted.

"Why the perfect spy?" the deep voice resonated like an old church organ.

"Because Del Toro wants me," Leilah's large breasts could be seen through her diaphanous nightgown, "and because his wife is fucking me."

***

Leilah Pahlavi's family fled to Los Angeles from the Iranian Revolution in 1979. The Shah was a cousin on her father's side of her family. Leilah was born one year later. That was forty years ago.

Her family flourished, her many siblings included, mostly in advertising. When Leilah was 20 she surprised everyone by marrying a Japanese man. What didn't surprise anyone who knew her is that she married a rich man, a very rich man. Unfortunately Mr. Yumi was shooting blanks. And his sex drive petered out five years into the marriage. Fortunately for Leilah, Mr. Yumi--who was twenty years older than Leila--died of a heart attack in his sleep in 2010. Henceforth Leila was known as "the Yumi Widow."

She was set for life and took life by the horns and lived it to the fullest. She had a banquet before her and carefully chose a few spicy dishes. She preferred quality instead of quantity.

Her green eyes, slightly hooked nose, her pointy teeth a little too big for her vivid red mouth, would be flaws to some. But her wealth, widow weeds and large, full, round breasts made her desirable to all and sundry. That and her narrow waist and perfect grooming: her vibrant auburn hair was always long, brushed straight back; her eyebrows, eye shade and lipstick a delicate perfection; all the hair below her neck removed except for a tantalizing flame-shaped little bush above her vulva. Her beautiful skin was unmarred by tattoos or piercings, not even her ear lobes.

Four years ago Leilah decided to try a different section of the buffet. Her network had praised Pilates, in particular a studio named Compass Rose. Even though she most certainly was not out of shape (she was moist certainly in shape) some of the praise for the Compass Rose piqued her interest.

When she sashayed into the main studio filling with women in their 30s and 40s, who unrolled their mats and giggled and gossiped, her eyes were drawn to the tall raven haired blue eyed beauty greeting each arrival with squeezes, caresses and a few delightfully long kisses. Leilah kept her distance from Darlene Fontaine, the owner of the Compass Rose. Leilah sat at the back of the crowd, furthest away from Darlene, who was wearing tight black short-shorts and a tight little red top.

After watching Darlene strengthen her core for an hour Leilah came to two conclusions: 1, she had no further interest in Pilates; and 2, she had quite a lot of interest in Darlene. She sashayed up to Darlene and invited her to what Leilah jokingly called her "Purdah" for Darjeeling tea. This invitation charmed the panties off of Darlene.

Their slow motion kissing accompanied their mutual strip teasing until they both floored each other.

Leilah sat with her thighs spread open season, her smooth purple hewed pussy egging Darlene on, oyster on the half shell coloured carpet. Leilah closed her dark eyes, held her slow auburning hair back with her right hand, flared her nostrils, and struck a pose with poise. Her breasts were large, saggy, with aureoles the size of sand dollars, the nipples pink buds. They were so suckable.

Darlene nearly came at the first sight of them. As Darlene began to suck Leilah's breasts, she purred, "I'm going to take you to each point on the compass rose."

So began their monthly frolics, working out the knots going from room to room in the Yumi mansion: the kitchen, the mini-theatre, the dining room, the showers and so on. Darlene would push Leilah against the glass shower door and while the Yumi Widow's tits got squeaky clean, her Farsi pussy got down and dirty from Darjeeling's fret working over time.

Leilah refused to let Darlene introduce toys to their bed. "I will not be toyed with," she said archly. End of Discussion. Darlene laughed at her seriousness. "And I think your tattoo is vulgar," sniffed the Yumi Widow. Darlene laughed louder.

Many a time their long, lascivious kisses and strokes and caresses would climaximum exposure in what became Leilah's fav position: the 69, with Darjeeling on top.

These monthly frolics were as regular as her other monthly visitor for exactly a year until Darlene disappeared for a month. She then reappeared in the form of a wedding invitation in Leilah's mail box. Leilah tore the invitation in half, threw the pieces on the floor and stomped on them with a stiletto heel.

The Yumi Widow then called (she had the number in her cel) the best dress store in California and ordered the most haughty of haute couture.

The high light of the wedding for Leilah was watching the Maid of Honour eye fuck the groom while he exchanged vows with the bride.

Two months after the wedding Darjeeling called Leilah's land line as the Yumi Widow lay in her boudoir, her silken body betwixt silken sheets, rubbing the remnants of dreams from her eyes.

"Have me over for lunch," purred Mrs. Del Toro, sounding both contrite and concupiscent.

Two hours later they came into each other's tongue twisting lurid mouths, getting a face full of pussy. They did a real number 69 on each other. It had started with Leilah screaming at Darlene. It slap happy ended with them primal screaming into each other's creaming cunt on Leilah's silk sheets.

They lay in the aftermath slowly licking the juices, Leilah cuddling Darjeeling's perfect ass, eye-balling each other's thoroughly licked pussies. Their favorite Niyaz songs played on the MP3 player in the bedroom.

"My husband gave me permission to have sextracurricular activities," Darlene said sheepishly.

"With other...men?" asked the Yumi Widow, suspiciously.

Mrs. Del Toro laughed wryly, "There are no other men after Lance--no, he gave me permission to have a special girl friend."

"I'm your girl friend, we're going steady?" Leilah had Darlene on the tip of her tongue. She made Darlene squirm.

"Ye, ya, ya, yyyyesss!"

The Yumi Widow pushed Mrs Del Toro off her scrumptious body and took Darlene in her arms. She gave Darjeeling a full throat-ed French Toast kiss, their respective taste and scent commingling.

"Come over to my husband's Casa for dinner tomorrow", Darlene gasped out between smooches, "He's invited you--you can eat me for dessert."

It was an offer the Yumi Widow couldn't refuse.

***

They hit it off. Over a finger licking dinner served by two maids, one a Filipina with suspiciously large breasts, the other a bubbly bouncy athletic brunette who made eyes at an aloof Del Toro, the Yumi Widow and her lover's hubby got on like a house on fire. The three of them had a rip roaring time. And when the dinner was over Darlene silently took Leilah by the hand and took her to the Master's Bedroom and closed the door behind them as she squeezed Persian ass.

Once a week for two months this went on. They were laying in the Del Toros' canopied four poster bed cuddling when Darlene announced, "He wants to watch us."

Leilah laughed, "He wants to join us," remembering Lance looking at her at dinner, his eyes railroading her tied to his one track mind.

Darlene sat up, looking serious. "He wants to watch us go down on each other."

"Never," the Yumi Widow snapped. End of Discussion.

"You know my husband is a very powerful man."

"He certainly name drops a lot." Leilah twisted her oh so kissable lips in sarcasm. End of Discussion.

Two days later Leilah texted Darjeeling: I'll let him hear the music.

When the next dinner was over, Darlene silently took the Yumi Widow by the hand and Del Toro followed their swaying asses into the Master's Bedroom. Beside the bed was a new chair. It was white, padded, with a very high back, with gold trim and large circles at the end of the arm rests.

"A gift from me," Leilah smiled smugly. Darlene pointed at the chair and said to her intrigued husband, "sit." Del Toro smiled slightly and sat down. Darlene picked up two handcuffs which had lain unnoticed on the bed and said to Lance, "a gift from me." She handcuffed her husband's wrists to the arm rests of the white chair.

Then giggling like teen-aged girls they jumped on the bed and up on their knees and started kissing, their mouths open, their tongues twirling. After five minutes of escalating frenching, smiling devilishly, the women untied the curtains of the canopied four poster bed and then without so much as a by-your-leave closed the curtains. They ignored Del Toro's strangled cry of outrage.

Then ever so slowly they threw out items of clothing through the slit where the curtains met midway on the side of the bed the cuffed Del Toro faced: high-heeled shoes, dresses, garter belts, stockings, their bras, and finally panties, one white, one red. And then they made very loud, very dirty, music together. "Eat it you dirty bitch!" Leilah commanded at many points. Del Toro had to face the music. They ignored Del Toro's curses.

"Thanks a lot," Darlene said when Leilah answered her cel phone the next morning.

"My pleasure," Leilah laughed.

"After you left, after I uncuffed him, he made me go down on the brunette maid while he hate fucked me doggy style."

"You're welcome." Darlene and Leilah laughed.

"You left your red panties in my bed."

"What did you do with them?"

"He stuffed them in the slutty maid's mouth." They laughed.

"I'm worried my husband is going to rape you," Darlene said, half-jokingly.

Leilah arched an eyebrow, closed her eyes and sighed wearily: "That's what maids are for."

Darlene and Leilah laughed.

***

Their dinners were reduced to once a month. After listening to Del Toro rant about how decadent America had become (Leilah would nod politely and say "certainly the working and middle classes are deplorable") the women would play music to him.

Once, when she was gyrating on his wife's face, she peeked through the curtains at Del Toro. He was still cuffed to his chair but kneeling in front of him, her head bobbing up and down, was the half naked Filipina maid, her long black hair spread out over her bare back.

Del Toro was staring hard at the curtains. Leilah moved her eye away from the gap between the curtains and sighed deeply, "Yes Darjeeling, perfection."

***

The text was from an unknown number. It said: The Dawn Breaks. And there was a link. Leilah hesitated. What if it's a virus? she thought. But something made her click the link. The site was Whore-stoppers. That's when the Yumi Widow saw how powerful her lover's husband was becoming.

She watched with mixed feelings the impalement of her neighbour Sandra Smith. She was shocked but not surprised. Sandra had a low character. Nor was she surprised that Darlene's Maid of Honour was a whore. After watching their sentencing (Leilah had no inkling that Alexis Almodovar had been edited out of that vid) she knew what she had to do: carve a niche in the new America.

She invited the Del Toros over for dinner. She treated them to a chicken recipe that had lots of cranberries, sumac and saffron and basmati rice. The Yumi Widow told Del Toro that Whore-stoppers filled her with joy. She was glad to see that some American men had what it takes to reform this great country root and branch.

"I want to be part of this positive change", she exclaimed. "I will do two things to prove it." First she gave Del Toro a list of names of her nieces, friends and neighbors who were Tinder-hearted whores.

"And the second thing?" Lance asked, his eyes flashing like melting glass, as he slipped the folded paper into his breast pocket.

"The Pahlavi advertising agency is at your disposal," a dolled-up Leilah smiled brightly at the astonished Del Toros.

"Oh you can take my maid Tamara home for dessert, I know for a fact that she's a whore." Leilah had hired the sumptious 20-something South Asian bimbo for this sole purpose.

When the vids of the names on her list were uploaded to Whore-stoppers the Yumi Wido didn't bother to watch them.

***

Some nights when studying the updates on Whore-stoppers the Yumi Widow would re-watch that cow Nubia get fucked in the bed Leilah knew so intimately. Leilah would lay stark naked on her silk sheets, watching Del Toro drive his stake into Nubia on the giant screen TV in her bedroom, two fingers kneading the need betwixt her smooth labia.

Leilah had never had a taste for such...adult entertainment before the Sons of Freedom had began taking back America.

Leilah never saw the concubine and the two prisoners when she came over for dinner at Casa Del Toro. (Darlene had told Leilah about Alexis Almodovar's place in Del Toro's harem.) But she heard them.

She would be in the passionate embrace of Darjeeling when loud moaning or screaming would come through the floor below. Lance had stopped listening to their music and started making his own punk rock.

"He's so competitive," Darlene rolled her eyes as she started rolling her tongue over Leila candy pink nipples.

"He's really giving it to that poor girl Alexis," Leila said distractedly. Darlene cocked an ear and listened intently.

"That's one of the whores getting reformed," sneered Darlene patriotically, her normally happy-go-lucky eyes turning cold. Then she started sucking Leilah's large breasts.

***

It was a cool LA noon in August, 72 Fahrenheit, when Leilah got a text from Whore-stoppers: Cappadocia in 10.

Wrapping an elegant flowery robe around her voluptuousness, Leilah put on sandals, clutched her smart phone and walked to the end of her drive way and looked to the left up the street. The Smith mansion was further up the hill. She'd been looking forward to her neighbor's Walk of Shame.

Alexandra Cappodocia--her divorce brand spanking new, she no longer had the right to call herself Mrs Smith--came into view.

She was walking down the middle of the road, miraculously keeping her balance on bright red stiletto heels, her arms handcuffed behind, her bastard bloated belly jutting out, her jiggling saggy tits swollen with the milk of human unkindness, her aureoles a deep brown the skin rough, her nipples sharp points. Her pussy was covered by a black bush. Sandra's eyes were down cast.

Two uniformed LAPD police officers, one white, one black, with mirrored sunglasses, walked either side of the naked woman about six feet behind her.

Their duty was to ensure that nothing was thrown at the former Mrs Smith but insults. Leilah saw her neighbors up the hill on the curbside. She heard some of their catcalls: "I'm a fan of your breeding videos!"; "you deserve it whore, you deserve it!"; "fool's gold digger!"

Leilah looked up and saw at least three drones hovering. Fox News was live streaming Sandra Cappodocia's Walk of Shame.

As the pussy posse was about to pass by the end of the Yumi driveway, Leilah stepped into the street holding up her smart phone--she wanted pictures of Del Toro's handiwork. Looking at Sandra's fat tits and belly, she laughed and thought: Cockiwork more likely.

Just as she passed Leilah the clicking of the Yumi Widow smart phone snapped Sandra out of her inward looking trance. She turned her head towards Leilah. Their eyes met. Sandra was startled to see someone she knew, had met before, had gone out for lunch with, taking pictures of her degradation.

(The picture Leilah took at this moment was later used in the Pahlavi Advertising Agency campaign "Does this Birthday Suit Make my Ass look Fat?")