Women's Health Issues 101 Ch. 05bycafetray©
Christine stopped at the gate and waited, knowing it wouldn't be long. It wasn't. The door to the guard shack opened and Jon, the day shift Head of Security, stepped toward the car.
"Hello, Ms. McCarver," he said after Christine rolled down the window.
"Hi, Jon. I thought I told you to call me Christine."
"You did, and your Dad wants me to call you 'Ms. McCarver', and he signs the checks," Jon said as coolly as if he were reading the phonebook. "You aren't on the list today."
"It's a surprise."
"Well, they'll be happy to see you," Jon signaled toward the shack and the gate opened. "Good to see you again, Ms. McCarver ... same to you, Lisa."
Christine watched as Jon walked away. An ex-Marine, he was tall, strong, erect, good looking. He was great at what he did. He was unfailingly polite and courteous but able to maintain his "my way or the highway" presence. There'd been a time, not so long ago, when she'd sent out every signal she could think of to let him know she was interested. He'd picked up on everyone of those signals and declined every opportunity because he was too professional to mix business and pleasure.
The thought of it sickened her now. She had nothing against Jon. She liked him as a person and she was grateful to have him protecting her family. But the idea of being with him, or any other man, was out of the question. Prof. Sawyer had seen to that, Prof. Sawyer had shown her the truth. As she shifted the car into gear, she snuck a look at Lisa, who'd taken a run of her own at Jon. The "what were we thinking" look on her face said everything.
The house was set hundreds of yards off the road. Christine parked in the space directly across from the kitchen and the two let themselves in. A tall, thin girl stood at the sink washing dishes.
"Hey Pam," Christine said.
"Hey!" Pam looked surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Just felt like a visit," Christine replied. "You remember my friend Lisa?"
"Sure. Nice to see you again."
Christine appraised the maid's daughter. As with Jon, it was with all new eyes. Only two years older than Christine, Pam was 5'10" with stylish black hair between short and medium length and green eyes. Her facial features were delicate, doll like, with high cheek bones, button nose and wide mouth. The neck was long and graceful. Her shoulders were broad and lean, the foundation for a pair of firm, upturned, separated breasts. The lines of her torso curved elegantly through her ass and into her legs. Christine liked what she saw.
"You Mom here today?"
Pam rolled her eyes, "Sick. She's got a cold but she's convinced she's got the bird flu thing. She probably spent the day making funeral arrangements."
Christine laughed, "So who is here?"
"Your Mom and Dad, definitely," Pam answered. "I saw your sister and some friend of hers earlier, but I have no idea if they are still here."
"Okay, we'll go find them. Later." Christine and Lisa stepped into the hall. "First thing's first ... inventory."
The two went through the house, confirming the only people in the building were Christine's Mom, Dad, sister Darla and Darla's friend Maggie, as well as Pam. That settled, the two retreated to the basement where the network room was located. The entire house had been wired for Ethernet and sound, with everything converging on a single server which stored music and data and routed all traffic. Christine withdrew the control sphere Prof. Sawyer had given her from her bag, connected it to the system with a CAT-5 cable, and turned it on. There was a phone in the room; she called down to the front gate.
"Jon, is anyone scheduled to come by today?" Christine heard a keyboard clicking.
"The charter school has a fund raising meeting scheduled with your Mom at 4:30p."
"She's going to have to cancel, she isn't feeling well. I'll call around and tell everyone, but if anyone shows can you send them home?"
"I'll need to hear that from your Mom."
"She's taking a nap right now," Christine replied. "Can I have her call you when she wakes up?"
"That would be fine."
"Thanks, Jon," Christine hung up and walked to the server. She pressed the button labeled "Master". The control sphere was now broadcasting to the entire house. Christina and Lisa moved to the TV in the game room and watched a "Simpsons" re-run. According to Prof. Sawyer, all they'd need is a half hour.
30 minutes later, Christine was more convinced than ever that Krusty the Klown was the greatest supporting character in the history of television. Christine and Lisa finished their Diet Coke's and made sure to clean up. There was no hurry, after all. Once everything was spic and span, the two went back upstairs.
But for the soothing hiss of the control sphere on the speakers, the house was silent. They glanced into the kitchen and though there were still dishes in the sink, Pam was nowhere to be found. The two searched the ground floor quickly, it was empty.
"Who do you want to check on first? Mom, Dad or Darla?" Christine asked.
"Save your Dad for last, I want to play a little," Lisa said. "Other than that, your house ... your prerogative."
Christine led the way upstairs. Darla's room was at the end of the hall. She and Maggie had been in such a hurry that they hadn't bothered to close the door all the way. Christine pushed it open. Clothing was scattered wildly on the floor, testament to the speed with which they'd been discarded. Darla and Maggie lay on the bed, mouth to pussy. Maggie was on top, her slim body covered with sweat and freckles, the wild shock of her red hair bobbing frantically up and down as she savaged Darla's twat.
Darla's technique was totally different. Her auburn tresses had been dyed jet black. Lisa approved of the new look, she liked how it contrasted with her pale white skin. Darla held her head still as her jaw worked. She looked like she was literally, literally, eating Maggie. Lisa thought back to her first time with Christine, who licked cunt more in the style of Maggie. Either way was okay with Lisa. Another difference between the sisters, she noticed immediately, was their bodies. Though they had similar proportions, their builds were entirely dissimilar: Christine was soft and round while Darla was sinewy and tight. Lisa watched closely, the cycle of those muscular lines flexing and relaxing really made her wet. She was looking forward to finding out all the other ways the sister were different.
"Fast learners," Lisa said. It may have come out loud enough to be heard, but that ultimately didn't matter. The two rutting women paid their audience no mind.
"Maggie's a spicy little Irish number," Christine giggled as they headed back into the hall. "We can catch up with them later."
The two walked to the other end of the hall, passing Christine's old room and all the guest rooms. The door at this end of the hall had been fully closed, and Christine worried for a second it would be locked.
But it wasn't. Christine's Mom lay nude on the bed, rolling across the sheets, one hand a blur as she desperately frigged herself, the other kneading one of her large tits. Lisa could see where Christine had inherited her build from. The two stood quietly as Christine's Mom grunted and panted and tried to bring herself off.
"Wow!" Lisa gasped. "Your Mom is really hot ... I never really noticed."
"Ewwwww," Christine groaned. "That's my Mom you're talking about."
"Well, she isn't my Mom." Unconsciously, Lisa cupped a breast.
"Let's go find Dad."
"You go ahead," Lisa took a step into the room. "I'm going to help your Mom out."
"Slut," Christine said good naturedly. "Just make sure she calls Jon in the next hour or so and says the meeting is canceled.
Lisa was already unbuttoning her shirt. Without bothering to look back, she aimed a distracted "Will do" at Christine. By the time she reached the bed she was down to her purple, satin panties, the ones she loved because they made her hips look so good.
In a moment of lucidity, Christine's Mom realized she was being watched. She froze, looked up, but her hand never left her pussy. Lisa stood there, wearing next to nothing, her nipples jutting out from crinkled areoles a shade darker than her black skin. Slowly she began to rub herself again. Lisa rolled her panties down her legs. Christine's Mom could see how wet the girl already was, how swollen and impossibly red her cunt was. She knew she'd beg for a taste of that pussy, that she'd debase and humiliate herself in any way just to run her tongue even once between those engorged lips. But she knew she didn't have to. Lisa wanted her as well. Lisa slid onto the bed and Christine's Mom caressed the leaking vagoo. It felt hot and wet and beautiful. Lisa's hand stroked her cheek, pushing the tangled hair away.
"Girl, I am going to make you feel sooooo good," Lisa whispered. They kissed, their tongues stabbed back and forth.
Christine went back downstairs. Her Dad's office was on the opposite side of the house. It was a long walk, but cutting through the kitchen would save a little time. As she passed the sink she saw a plate, still covered with suds, on the counter and a scrubber on the floor. Where ever Pam had gone, Christine chuckled, she'd been in a rush. Then she heard something, a thump, so soft she was sure she'd heard it at all until she heard it again. She crossed the room, to the walk in pantry.
And there was Pam, sitting on a stool, he back pressed against the far wall. And there was the thump again, the front legs of the stool slamming into the floor as Pam thrust herself against her fingers. Her t-shirt was bunched up against her neck, the cups of her bra pulled down. Her blue jeans lay in a pile by a jug of vegetable oil, one of the leg holes of her powder blue panties hooked around an ankle. She was biting on one of her fingers, stifling the mewling noises she made, as her other hand tried to find her release.
It was like a fire had been lit in Christine's pussy. She could feel her nipples fighting their way through her blouse. She reached up and gave one of the nubs a pull. It felt wonderful, but she turned away. She still had to find her father.
Christine turned back. Pam stared at her feral and wide eyed.
"Don't go!" Pam's fingers strummed her bloated clit.
"I have to find my Dad."
"Please," Pam's body jerked, "don't ... leave me ... like this!"
"But I ..."
"PLEASE," Pam begged, then gasped. "Help me!"
Despite herself, Christine stepped into the pantry. Pam stood, her back sliding up the wall as Christine dropped to her knees. She wrapped her lips around Pam's clit and began to suckle. Hard. Her fingers entered Pam's hole, she could feel the juices running down her palm as she began thrusting. Pam's hips lunged to meet the intrusion.
"Fuck ... fuck ... fuck," Pam chanted in a wavering voice until she came screaming. She pulled Christine up, kissed her, tasted her discharge on lips, tongue, teeth, loving it. She licked Christine's face clean, then spun around. Now Christine was against the wall. Pam ripped Christine's blouse open, buttons popping off the cloth. Pam undid the front clasp of the bra and Christine's tits were now free. She slid down, licking and sucking at the soft orbs, feeling their weight and heat against her face, feeling completely free and liberated and out of control. All she cared about was Christine's gratification, which she received in the form of a vulgar groan. Now Pam wanted more. Her mouth drifted down the heaving belly, leaving a trail of saliva, until she was on her knees, tearing at Christine's pants. Christine's legs moved, then came free, her panties gone as well. Finally Pam could see the prize between the trembling legs. She gave it her mouth, its thickness and w armth and taste leaving her almost faint. She swept at it with her tongue over and over. She could just hear Christine through the pounding in her skull gasping, cursing, calling her name, the smut billowing forth spurring her on. The Christine froze, then shuddered, and Pam was drenched with something like ambrosia. Pam fell back onto the hard floor. Christine was atop her. They kissed, deeply but gently, their bodies entwined.
On rubbery legs, Christine stumbled out of the pantry. Pam had licked her to more wonderful little cums, and the only way she'd been able to break away was to promise the servant girl they'd meet upstairs as soon as her errand was done. Christine laughed at the irony because she was now a servant also. They both served Prof. Sawyer.
Christine's Dad was in his office, his back to the door, sitting in his chair. She approached. His head rested on his chest, which rose and fell slowly. Prof. Sawyer had explained that the control sphere helped women realize that lesbianism was their true nature, and increased their sex drive so they could enjoy that realization. Christine certainly enjoyed that part. It made men logy and malleable, so they could realize their true nature as drones for the women.
As she kneeled down next to her father, it never occurred to Christine to wonder how malleable the control sphere had made her.
"Daddy, can you hear me?"
This time, her father made a noise like acknowledgement.
Slowly, Christine began to explain everything Prof. Sawyer required.
Special Agent Mara Hunt had based her career around one unique skill. She wasn't much of a marksman, she was in fact barely proficient, which was a source of never ending mirth to her colleagues. She wasn't a great tactician, nobody brought her along to raid the meth labs. And she was a terrible forensic investigator. Internal organs squicked her out.
What she did have was an appreciation and an aptitude for the ridiculous. Whenever people said something was impossible, Mara more often than not was the one who showed it was not only possible, but more than likely probable. She was the one who saw the things everyone either missed or discounted. It wasn't X-Files stuff, more like proving the town's leading citizen was, in fact, heavy into kiddy porn or that the local paragon of virtue had, sad to say, ripped off the senior center.
And the file she was reading now was ringing every warning bell in her brain.
A friend at the SEC had copied her on a report about some really weird stuff that was going on at Mericon. The report concluded the board had recently been "lax in exercising their fiduciary responsibilities" (translation ... there's be hell to pay at the next shareholder's meeting), but nothing illegal was happening. The writer had been bothered by the company's inability to explain why they'd vested so much money, power and resources in one Prof. Karen Sawyer, as well as their total lack of interest in even offering an explanation, no matter how feeble.
Sawyer ... Sawyer ... Karen Sawyer. Mara was sure she'd heard the name before, and she had a vague idea where. She knew someone over at Homeland Security. She gave him a call and asked to see whatever they had. The courier arrived three hours later.
Then Mara remembered. Sawyer had been the lead scientist on a university bid for non-lethal weaponry. She'd proposed a mind control device ... wild, freaky stuff. The people evaluating the bid had called it totally, completely, utterly insane. And the background check had revealed the Professor was a lesbian, which was the Kiss of Death in this Administration.
Not that Mara had a problem with that. She had a husband and two sons and she loved them dearly, but she'd learned in high school she was bi. She enjoyed a little discreet fun with a pretty and willing female every now and again. And they certainly enjoyed her!
But even if Prof. Sawyer had turned out to be as straight as the deacon's daughter, it was unlikely she would have won the bid. The background check had revealed more. Rigidity of thinking, arrogance to the point of narcissism, voracious sexual appetites. Everyone agreed she was brilliant, no one was convinced she was stable.
And now she was all but running Mericon, one of the Department of Defense's "go to" companies. Karen Sawyer, the possibly crazy woman who clamed to have a mind control device. Nope, Mara didn't like it one bit.
But even with her reputation in the Bureau, there was no way she could sell this case. The experts all said mind control was a pipe dream, Davies McCarver at Mericon was one of the most respected CEOs in the nation, and the S E freaking C said nothing illegal was going on.
But Mara knew someone who'd listen. She wasn't in government so things could stay nice and plausibly deniable. Best of all, she was the person who'd first demonstrated to Mara, all those years ago, that the impossible was often times reality.
Mara picked up the phone and dialed.
* * *
This chapter concludes the "Women's Health Issues 101" arc. The storyline is picked up in the new "Worlds Collide" series.