Chapter 3: The Plan

Two weeks later, with everyone's new awareness becoming more routine, our little plan was set in motion the day after Marie had her tube-tying surgery. Remarkably, she was able to lay comfortably at home to let the pain in her surprisingly small incision heal. Kelly had hers done as outpatient surgery the first of the week and the twins whining about being left out, but unlike Marie and Kelly, I wasn't looking to be their principal source of sex.

Marie was fine. But when Mom called the school, Marie was sick -- very sick. Mrs. Giancotti, the cheerleader sponsor and a confidant of Marie and Kelly over the years, caught the gravity of Mom's vague call and brought the squad together.

"Pray for Marie Wright," she told them. "I don't know how serious it is, but it is serious."

So a succession of teary-eyed cheerleaders approached me during the day, outwardly wishing her well but dying of curiosity. But only Candice Pryor, Mickey DiCapra and Holly Young were told Marie wanted to see them.

"Why me?" Candice groused to Mary Meyer as they stretched their impossibly long legs. "I barely know the bitch."

"God, Candice, can't you care just a little bit?" Mary hissed. "Sounds like she might be dying."

"Hope it's not contagious," she replied in an offhand way. "Hey Mickey, why us?"

"Don't know. Just hope she's okay," the tiny but stacked Italian-American bombshell said with a shrug. "I always trust her to catch me cleanly."

"And you don't trust me?" Candice asked. The silence that followed embarrassed her, so, the warmup continued in silence.

The three girls would be showing up at staggered times during the day and Holly Young -- who was once a close friend of Kelly -- came first, since she already knew where we lived. While her boobs dwarfed her teammates', I made a personal decision not to bring her into my plan because she had her little brother with her. It turned out that her father was dead, her mother worked and she was a sole lifeline to the five-year-old boy. We thanked her for coming and sent her on her way, confused but still in control of her life.

I wondered how much longer I would still have a conscience. The answer came with the ringing of our doorbell.

Arriving next was Candice. The legendary Candice Pryor was only a sophomore, a classmate of Marie's, but she was a veteran of the pageant wars. She was the reigning Miss Teen Daytown and owner of a half-dozen others. Her hair and makeup were always Hollywood worthy, as was her smile. Her body was beyond words -- boobs perfect for hanging any kind of dress on, long legs, golden hair, blue-green eyes. Perfect.

As someone who had performed her entire life, she was appropriately red-eyed when she arrived at our door. Having had some close contact to a raw onion -- I, too, was red-eyed.

"Thanks for coming, Candice. I'm Michael, her older brother," I said, sniffing.

"Oh, I know you -- Slacker Mike, right?" she said, eyes reflecting a totally phony naivete. "I appreciate your asking me over. I really like your sister. We're really close." Marie had already confirmed that was nowhere near the case, but once a phony, always a phony. I merely nodded, complementing how together she looked right after cheerleader practice.

"Oh, I got a pass from working out today. I wanted to look good," Candice said, perhaps oblivious how full of shit she sounded. "I will be able to see her, right?"

"Oh, sure," I said apologetically. "We wanted a friend she could trust, so she could relay her true condition to the other girls." Damn, this girl was making me very, very hard.

"Here, Candice. Have a glass of my special home-brewed lemonade," my Mom said right on cue. Candice took the ice-filled glass off a sterling silver tray, and since we jacked up the heat in the house, it was an irresistable lure. Candice swigged down half the glass and held on to it in order to finish. Everyone but me left the room in order to properly program her when 15 minutes passed.

Much of that time consisted of Candice nervously talking about herself -- her favorite subject, no doubt. But after about 12 minutes, she looked at a clock and became even more nervous.

"When can I see her?" she asked.

"Soon. Finish your lemonade, and that's an order," I said, but smiled when I said it. I also winked (I never wink, WTF?).

She finished it and soon fell silent.

"Candice Pryor. You are a sex slave to Michael Wright, and also live to serve the entire Wright household. This makes you very happy," I began.

"Yes, master," she said with a voice like honey. But inside her head, she was having a different reaction. Slave? In your dreams, limp dick! But why can't I say that at loud? I can't connect with my mouth?

"Call me sweetheart, Michael or lover, depending on who is listening," I said.

I'll call the cops, lover ... wait, what? Why am I sitting her listening? And nodding?

"At school, you will happily pretend to be my girl friend and nothing more unless I command it or we are alone. You will allow me or my family to touch you any way we desire. You cannot resist and enjoy any sexual attention from us. You will immediately get or continue birth control until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sweetheart. Thank you," she said, actually looking me in the eye and smiling.

This shit really works.

"You love your body and displaying it in beauty contests and will go on to do swimsuit contests with the intention of becoming a supermodel," I added. "You enjoy walking around and sleeping in the nude. You are not shy about sunbathing nude because you love your body. You will continue to be a total professional about contests and the same dedicated cheerleader, student and daughter. You love giving head to me or anyone else in our group. You swallow come and love it. You love sex in all its forms."