tagMind ControlLloyd's Angel Ch. 05

Lloyd's Angel Ch. 05


Lloyd's Angel: Girl Troubles

November 2010

Our day at the store was blissfully uneventful. Perhaps the would-be shoplifters had watched the evening news and decided they didn't want to mess with security that could take out armed robbers bare-handed.

Angela endured a fair amount of good-natured teasing, and some wags constructed a "bulletproof vest" from inventory in the lingerie department; she looked at it round-eyed and claimed it wouldn't fit beneath her uniform. Both of us told anyone who'd listen that if we'd known the perp had a gun, we would have held the doors open for him.

We had to take a break during the morning to pose for a picture that was promised for a write-up in the next company newsletter. The writer was dutifully impressed by Angela's history and efforts to improve herself, and by my, um, longevity. There was no media presence to worry about, as the company detailed a flack to intercept all inquiries and make sure no prospective customers were scared off by thoughts of gun-wielding bandits.

It was sobering to look at the young woman standing next to me and worry, not for the first time, what would happen to her if something happened to me. We were both single now, but I'd enjoyed 42 years of marriage -- and effectively foreclosed that option for her. Any man who tried to enter into a relationship with Angela would be in for a real surprise; although between both jobs that possibility was remote.

A laughing Angela punched me in the shoulder. "Why so glum? Cheer up, Lloyd! Did you buy a lottery ticket while we're still lucky?"

I was still feeling a touch morose when I clocked out at the end of the afternoon. My mood darkened when a young woman approached me just after I left the store. She was a looker, but I was already looking forward to Angel and didn't need another disruption to my schedule. I hoped she wasn't press; I'd already forgotten everything the company handler had told us about responding to queries.

"Are you Lloyd?" she asked, unexpectedly hesitant for whatever reason.

I was tempted to blow her off, but my parents had raised me not to lie. "Maybe," was the best I could do.

"Lloyd? Can I talk to you about Angela?"

Drat. "No comment," I mumbled, trying to look as forbidding as possible.

"What?" She looked confused.

"I said, 'no comment.' You have to talk to media relations if you want a story."

The girl shook her head. "No, that wasn't what I meant. You're Angela's friend Lloyd, right? I think she's in trouble -- can you help?"

"You have my attention," I said, stopping abruptly.

She took a step or two more alone, before realizing I wasn't there and doubling back. "Look, can we talk somewhere? Maybe get dinner?"

We ended up at Applebee's. Or Chili's. Or something; I don't know, they were all the same to me. I ordered coffee and a burger; she, iced tea and some high-concept salad.

"Talk," I suggested as soon as the waitress had left. "Start with your name."

"Oh!" A comical look of dismay flitted across her face. "I'm sorry; I'm Rose. I'm Angela's friend from high school, and now I live in the same building she does. I've heard so much about you, I forgot you might not know me."

It sounded worse and worse the more I heard. I'd done a bit of a check a few years back when Angel was born, so to speak, but I'd neglected to consider Angela might reconnect with older acquaintances.

"I'm pleased to meet another friend of Angela's," I assured her. "I apologize for the rocky reception; I'm just a crotchety old man. Now -- what's happening with Angela?"

"I think she's joined a cult," Rose whispered, looking around us as if she suspected cultists might be lurking nearby.

That wasn't what I'd expected to hear, but the good news was it sounded more like my problem rather than Angela's problem. "Really?" I asked, aiming for a tone of curiosity rather than disbelief.

"You know she's going to school in the evenings?" I nodded. "Well, I think she's lying about it. Look, her birthday was last month, right?"

"Yes; the fifteenth, wasn't it?" I asked. That was disingenuous; I knew it was. I had vivid memories of the wild party at Home Run where Angel had fucked 27 different guys -- one for each year. She'd been a tousled, creamy mess when all of them, including two who'd earned their Home Run pins that night, finished with her. I'd been first, of course. I could feel myself stiffening slightly just thinking about it. Shaking off the distraction, I returned my focus to the girl sitting across from me. "Did something happen?"

"Yes! I mean, no!" Rose's eyes sparked as my failure to dismiss her fears out of hand apparently buoyed her confidence. "Wait." She took a breath. "Okay, I was going to surprise her and take her out for a little party, just the two of us, so I dropped by the University that evening. She wasn't there at all!"

I already knew where she was going, but I couldn't tell how much Rose knew and I needed time to think. I needed to do some damage control, at the very least. "Did she just skip class that night?" I asked, playing dumb, and started pushing. I want to help my friends alternated with I want to be discreet and I trust Lloyd.

"I don't think so," Rose reflected, unaware of the thoughts racing through my head. "I asked several of her classmates, and not one of them knew her -- or recognized her when I described her. I mean, how likely is that?" I had to smile at her indignant outrage. "I don't think she ever attended that class."

"Could you just have gotten the wrong room?" I wondered. I hate nosy people.

She nodded. "I thought about that, too." A trifle sheepishly, Rose admitted, "I started paying a lot closer attention to what she did. You remember that big flap with the electrical main at the end of the month?"

"The one where the worker accidentally blew the building transformer and blacked out the campus?" Something that colorful had made all the papers and news programs, of course; they'd had to cancel classes Friday and work all weekend to get the electricity working again.

"Exactly! Well, when I asked that weekend, she said she'd attended class as usual; she even made up details about the lecture. There was no way she could have been there. I know Angela lied to me about it!"

I stopped pushing and tried to work it out in my head. "I thought Angela didn't have any classes on Friday," I said slowly.

"She doesn't," Rose agreed. "That's not my point. The power went out Thursday night. Right after dinner. Before her class. There was no way they could have held it, in the dark with no light or heat!"

Damn, what a sloppy mistake. I'd skimmed the news coverage and gotten the impression -- obviously incorrect -- it had happened later in the evening. The problem was, Angela didn't believe she was lying, because the memory would be as clear as that of every other class she'd "attended" during the past two years, and Rose would never believe her friend hadn't lied. "That seems pretty suspicious," I belatedly commented after realizing Rose was waiting for my reaction.

"I thought so, too. So I've been trying to follow her."

My blood froze, and then rethawed. If Rose had succeeded, she'd hardly be sitting here talking to me now, would she? I trust Lloyd. I'd do anything to help Angela.

"I didn't have much luck," Rose continued, unwittingly mirroring my thought. "There's almost always this unmarked sedan that picks her up around the corner, and the few times I tried tailing it, I always lost it. All I know is that she goes somewhere in the direction of downtown."

I made a mental note to ask the driver if he'd ever noticed anything -- and if he had, why nobody had mentioned it to me.

Rose's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I even thought she might be moonlighting as a call girl," she admitted with uncanny accuracy. She blushed faintly and added, "I sneaked a peek in her room once and she doesn't seem to have any, you know, outfits." I nodded, knowing Angel kept her wardrobe entirely at Home Run.

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Rose concluded, "She's too straight-laced for that, anyway; that much hasn't changed. But there's something not right about Angela, and I can't figure out what it is. Please help me."

There was an unhappy silence while the waitress returned with our food, and I pushed another round of I trust Lloyd and I'd do anything to help Angela at Rose for good measure.

"I want to help you, Rose," I assured her when we were alone again. "I want to help Angela. But I need to think about this. Can I sleep on it, and contact you in a day or so? I promise not to leave you hanging."

"Certainly," she gushed, obviously relieved to have somebody she trusted helping her. "Let me give you my number!" Rose extracted a business card from her purse, scribbled a number on the back of it, and pushed it across the table to me. "That's my private cell on the back, or you can call me at the office number if you need to."

I tucked the card into a jacket pocket and we both addressed our meals in a more cheerful mood. Rose and I traded a few light-hearted Angela stories, and she was better company than I'd expected; it was easy to see why the two were friends. I was surprised to find myself tempted to fiddle more than I already had, but really, I knew next to nothing about this girl and I'd just had a refresher course on the perils of poor execution.

We parted later than I planned, and I headed home as fast as I could. I didn't need dinner, but I'd have to pass on the music and study this evening to have a hope of staying on schedule. Luckily, it sounded like Angela unwittingly was a lecture ahead of where she should have been anyway; I made a mental note to have Danny's contact at the University procure an updated lesson plan, if there was one.

As if to make up for the day, Home Run was a progressive disaster that night. I was late despite my best efforts, and Danny himself was cooling his heels inside the back entrance -- never a good sign.

"Jesus, Lloyd, why don't you answer your fucking phone?" he burst out the moment I made it inside the door.

"I'm too old to be a slave to a chunk of electronics," I told him. "Where's Angel?"

"Put that thought on hold, buddy. I need you to fix a problem first. We've got a situation in the gold suite that needs to be addressed ASAP."

I felt frustrated and wanted my Angel. I'm sure Danny, who knew me pretty well, sensed it.

"Lloyd!" He braced my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the face. "Don't worry about Angel; she's fine. Look, I switched her and Crystal, and she's in the lesbo lounge. You can't break in on paying customers, okay? You'll still be first in line when she gets out."

"Angel was okay with that?" I knew better than most she didn't really go that way.

"Yeah, that girl's a trooper. I told her it was a favor for me -- and you. Now can you just get upstairs and talk to Shannon before the wheels come off? Good man!" He clapped me on the back and pushed me in the direction of the stairs. "And come see me later when you get a chance!"

I stumped up the stairs muttering under my breath, but after the landing managed to force my mind back to business. If I recalled the schedule correctly, Shannon was supposed to be working a grand slam package for some guy's bachelor party. She'd done scores of them; Shannon looked younger than her age and had perfected an aura of corruptible innocence that drove the cradle-robbers wild. I couldn't imagine what the holdup would be on this one.

Sure enough, Shannon was pacing nervously in the hall when I got there, looking scrumptious in her Catholic schoolgirl uniform. In my day, anyway, the parochial dress code never included shoes like that, but hey -- I was in Loss Prevention, not Wardrobe. She looked desperately glad to see me.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, taking a quick glance through the peephole. I saw four restless, and doubtless horny, young men laughing together. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

"I know those guys," Shannon said. "Rob -- the cute one in the armchair -- he's going to be my husband."

Oh, thanks, Danny. I would have rolled my eyes but Shannon's nerves didn't need it. "You're entertaining at your own fiance's bachelor party?" I repeated, just to make sure I had it straight. She nodded. "Does he know you work here?"

In a small voice, Shannon said, "no."

"How about the others?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe Derrik; he's Rob's Best Man."

"Which one is he?" It would be interesting to see who had booked the engagement, and if Shannon had been requested specifically or not. Either way, it wasn't something she needed to be dealing with now.

"Derrik's really tall and thin."

"Okay, good. Now take a deep breath and calm down, Shannon," I told her, "everything is going to be just fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

She smiled hopefully at me.

"Now, don't think about them for minute; just think about yourself. How do you feel about doing this?"

"Good, I guess," Shannon decided. "I like fucking boys, and Rob makes me hot." More possessively, she added, "I'm kind of glad I get to do this for him and not some other girl."

That's fine. She was telling the truth. "Now, how do you think Rob will feel about this?"

Her face clouded over. "I don't know. We fuck a lot, and neither of us were virgins when we met, but he talks a lot about committing to each other and I'm worried he'll think I'm a slut or be upset I didn't tell him sooner."

I added "and when were you going to tell him?" to my mental list of questions that wouldn't get asked although I'd love to know the answers. "Don't worry, I think everything will work out great," I assured her. "He wouldn't be here if he wasn't up for this sort of thing, right?"

Shannon perked back up, overlooking the possibility that this was another "ambush" event -- some people took bachelor parties as a general license to torment the groom and push his limits one last time.

"Okay, Shannon, here's what we're going to do. You've got your act worked out, right?" I got a quick nod. "I want you to go in and do your thing, just like you planned. Now, Rob might seem to get upset, but remember, he's got to look tough for his friends, right?" I cobbled together the best approximation to I love it when Rob shares me with his friends I could manage, and pushed it into her head.

Shannon nodded again, but there was an uncertain look on her face. "Are you sure?"

"Almost positive! Look, just stay by the door when you first go in. He might shout and say things that sound hurtful, but one way or another he'll come over to you. You've been around enough men, Shannon, to know if they're turned on or faking it. Check him out; if you drive him wild like I think, have a good time! If you still have doubts, just step back out the door and I'll be right here. Can you do that?"

"I know I can," she asserted.

I hoped I could hold up my end of the bargain; if Rob moved quickly, I would have very little time between when he entered my effective range and when he reached Shannon. I prepared my mind, glued an eye to the peephole, and whispered, "You go, girl!"

There was a brief rustle beside me and Shannon was inside the room. "Is this the detention study hall?" she chirped in a bright voice.

Events started to play out as I'd suspected they would. "Shannon?!" Rob jerked erect in his chair, absently spilling his drink on the floor. Two of his friends were equally stunned, but the tall one, Derrik, brayed a nasal laugh and I didn't like the look of his body language.

"What are you doing here?" stammered Rob; I put him at about 50% embarrassment and 50% anger.

Derrik was quick with the unnecessary answer. "Dude! Your girl is here to fuck all of us for money. She's a fucking hooker, man!"

Shannon gamely soldiered on. "This is so unfair! They gave me detention because I didn't wear their stupid white bra. I mean, you can't even really see it, can you?"

My angle was all wrong, but I knew she was arching her back to push out her chest, and that anybody with eyes would have no problem seeing the frilly black lace -- and her berry-tipped tits -- through the extremely thin white blouse.

Rob stood up. "What the fuck, Shannon! What kind of slut are you?"

"I'm not a slut; I'm just misunderstood," she simpered. "Sluts don't wear underwear; I do. See?" At this point she'd be raising the front of her tartan skirt, displaying plain white panties just as thin as her blouse, and probably pulled tight enough to form a camel toe against her mound.

Here he came; my eyes lost focus as I concentrated on the other side of the door and found the rushing haze of his mind. I pushed frantically, alternating lust for Shannon and sharing Shannon makes me feel powerful as quickly as I could.

Bodies crashed against the other side of the door and Shannon shrieked; I was afraid I hadn't been fast enough.

"I still think you're a slut," Rob said, but more quietly and in an entirely different tone of voice.

"It feels like you'd like to find out," Shannon replied, and I breathed out a silent sigh of relief. There was some barely audible rustling, and then another soft thud against the door; it was accompanied by a feminine "oh!" of satisfaction.

I put my eye back to the peephole, and was pleased see the other young men were approaching. I couldn't see Rob and Shannon, but by the sound of it he was giving her a stand-up fuck right against the door.

"Maybe -- I am -- a slut," gasped Shannon.

"Maybe you're just easy," countered Rob, doing something that made her moan. "Maybe you're just hot for me. That doesn't make you a slut."

"Come on, man," Derrik complained. "Use your head, Rob!" He was almost in range. "You think she just walked off the street, that this is her first time or something? Shannon fucking works here! I've seen her pull trains, man -- she's a whore! She walked into this room planning to fuck us all blind. How can you pollute yourself with this filthy puta?"

Rob paused. "Is that true?"

"Yes, I was planning to fuck you all. I will, if you still want me to." Clever girl, Shannon, for having the common sense to compose a selective answer in, well, distracting circumstances.

Rob started pounding her again, evidently aroused by the thought. "Does that make you a slut (thud) or a whore? (thud) Is it the money? Would you fuck them if I asked you to?"

"What's the diff?!" shouted a frustrated Derrik. "She's already paid for!" He finally took the last step I needed.

I love Rob-Shannon-couple. That was easier than it sounds to express, and unsurprisingly met with significant resistance when I pushed it into him; I guessed Derrik might be carrying a torch for Shannon, although I couldn't be positive. I could have stopped there, but this bozo had screwed up my evening and come close to screwing up the lives of his two "friends." I wasn't sure it would take, but I did my best to ensure he'd never cum again unless he was getting sloppy seconds from Shannon.

"I'd fuck anybody for you," Shannon sighed, heedless of my work on her behalf.

"Anybody?" challenged Rob. "You'd fuck Fat Eddie?"

"Another girl," suggested one of the other boys, getting into the spirit of it.

"Her brother," drawled Derrik; the pace of the pounding on the door abruptly increased.

"You'd fuck Connor for me? Your own brother?"

"Yes! Yes! All of them!" she gasped raggedly.

"That's sick," Rob grunted, but he obviously found it as arousing as she did. "I bet you'd even take my dog!" Apparently he had unexpected depths.

Shannon started to say, "only if you wa-" and her voice suddenly rose an octave as the door slammed in its frame and Rob grunted explosively.

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