Chapter 116

2130 hours, local time,
Monday, 21 July, 2014
Michaels Residence,
Hinton, West Virginia

Suffice it to say that Taylor Swift took only about five minutes to adjust to the new situation, probably because Celia, Nadine, Sonja, and Olivia Michaels fed her better than anyone else since her abduction. She apparently had things a bit worse than the Farmiga sisters, who were able to relate or pretend to relate to the Geralds without sounding smug, patronizing, and arrogant. Taylor turned out to have been pimped out by her captors, the Smythe Syndicate, not merely turned into a glorified maid and used carefully in preparation for sale to the highest bidder.

The Geralds didn’t want it obvious that they fucked the Farmiga sisters, so were careful not to breed them at any rate. The Smythe Syndicate, on the other hand, served a rather different clientele, who didn’t care that Taylor had been used forty ways to Sunday. If they could enjoy her for an hour at a sensible price, given that it was clearly the real Taylor Swift, they would keep coming back for more. The Smythes also used her musical talents, including to sing to their “soldiers” and “associates” in order to improve their morale.

“I guess that they’ll be in your next big song, then, if you can ever get it recorded, with the current state of the music industry,” I teased Taylor while fucking her over the supper table.

We had just eaten a fantastic meal, courtesy of Celia, Nadine, Sonja, and Olivia, of course. I made a note to fuck them again, right after supper, in gratitude for their work. They wouldn’t be the only ones, of course. The Harrises, Dauds, the Corcorans, Charlene, Cagney, Rayanne, Helga, Samantha, April, Albert, Sabrina, Agnes, Lisa, Makino, Richie Ray, Rachelle, Douglas, Teresa, Joanna, Rhiannon, Roxanne, etc. would all get their turns, as would my own tribe. I was going to be very busy tonight, with just three nights and two full days remaining in my stay in town.

“Oh, I don’t think that I’ll bother singing about a bunch of pimps and rapists. I’d rather sing about my hero, the Prophet, and my heroine, the angel Jeanette. And my many, many new lovers. Can I stay in this town? I hope that you’ll visit me, of course, both of you, but I want to stay with Celia and Nadine and Sonja and Olivia ... as their wife. I’ll sing about them, too, even if I don’t sell any more albums or make any more money doing it.

“I know that my old lifestyle is kaput. I don’t fucking care. I want to stay here in Hinton, help your Elders run your new church, make love to everyone in town, get fucked by God, angels, and a certain demoness, maybe teach music in school, sleep with the Michaels most of all, and generally just become a local. Go native, you know. Who would ever even come looking for me here? I’ll think that I’ll be a nudist, too. Can I be a nudist? I’ll even jog in the nude and skinny dip, of course,” Taylor suggested, much to everyone’s astonished delight.

“Certainly. I’m game for it if God is. And everyone else here, of course,” I told Taylor, “you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and I have no idea who the father is at all. The Smythes only made me do bareback for those who paid enough, but to do me that way ... at the risk of sounding arrogant or whatever, plenty of guys coughed up the extra dough. I’m four months along, in case you wondered. This baby’s due some time around Christmas and New Year’s.