Chapter 12: In Denise’s Kitchen...

In Denise’s kitchen, sipping sweat tea, Ray-Ray smiled at her, “Mama sure enjoyed being with you. When was your first time with another girl?”

Denise hadn’t wanted to stop making out, hadn’t wanted a break. She was still aroused, still needy, sitting naked at the table with the boys. Danny Boy was still erect; he couldn’t take his adoring eyes off her. That necking session on the couch was the highlight of his young life.

Denise idly twirled one nipple, then the other, “Back in middle school, me an’ Charlene? Charlene Dubois? We used to do sleepovers. An’ practice French-kissing? Well, one thing led to another — you know how it is, Ray-Ray. Then there were four of us, once in a while, five.”

Her face was still flushed with passion. “We got real good at getting each other off — better than any boy could do.” Shrug, “Then I got knocked up, had to get married.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “I waited almost a month, then I snuck back to Charlene.”

She smiled wanly at Danny Boy, “Don’t get me wrong, I loved your daddy and never fucked another man ... but me and Charlene...” She shook her head.

Ray-Ray said, “Danny Boy, go out back and set up some cushions for the next video. I’ll bring Denise out when I’m ready.”

“Oh, sure. Okay.”

When they were alone, Ray-Ray placed his hand on hers, “I’m real proud of you, Denise. You’re such a good little cum slut.”

She beamed; felt like she was back in school being complimented by a favorite teacher. She whispered, “Thank you, Ray-Ray,” genuinely pleased with the compliment. Proud.

“I decided not to have Danny Boy fuck you today.”

“Oh. How come?”

The exact reaction he’d been expecting. No “How dare you!” No, “Why would you even think I’d consider doing that?”

Her reaction had been ... just curiosity. Kate had been so right; this girl was malleable, this one would do as she was told.

“Kate will want to decide who all will be there to watch you. Maybe Gigi and Jolene. Maybe even Marie Guidry.”

“Oh.” Denise thought about it, nodded, “Makes sense.”

“Now let’s talk about the money shot. Come sit between my legs.”

Instant compliance. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that. Now I saw you couldn’t get very much in your mouth. So use both hands at the same time.”

She nodded, picturing it.

“When he’s ready to cum, pull your head back, but just a couple of inches. I want him to cum all over your face.”

She mouthed the word, “My face,” to herself. Nodded again.

“An’ you know what to do when he’s finished cumming.”

Denise closed her eyes to concentrate. “Lick him clean. His cock.”

“And?”

She thought for a moment, then smiled like the sun shining through. She rubbed her fingers dreamily along her cheeks, “Swallow all his cum.”

God, was she aroused.

After Eulalie had taken a tour of Sabine’s life, had reintroduced herself to the charms and challenges of the Cajun Bayous, she began Sabine’s education, her indoctrination into a completely new life.

She had started with the chief of police who had come by to fix dinner, and to spend the night. “Rémy, this is Sabine Babineaux. She’s going to be working for me. Working with you.”

Rémy studied the little girl, who, physically, could be a first cousin to Eulalie. He was surprised at her composure. Her first time in the Guidry home, her first time to meet the chief.

Over shrimp gumbo, Eulalie said, “Sabine, I work for a man named Chase, Chase Windsor.”

“What does he do, Mr. Windsor?”

Eulalie had thought about that, many times, “He redistributes wealth.”

“I don’ even know what that means, me.”

Eulalie took her time, “Chase spots someone, or a group of someones, who have a lot of money. But no matter how much they have, they want more.”

Sabine nodded.

“And they don’t mind something a little shady, don’t mind cutting corners.”

“Okay.”

“So Chase, and now I’m helping him ... we find ways to relieve those greedy guys of some of their money.”

“He’s a flimflam man, Mr. Windsor?”

Eulalie laughed, “You could call him that. Or a conman. But he’s so much more. Sees the big picture, then an even bigger one.”

Rémy listened as Eulalie explained the facts of life, marveling once again at how intelligent, how quick she was.

“So, Sabine, one of your assignments is to get to know Sausalito — Rémy will help you there. Learn who the players are, where the power lays.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Take your time; I won’t have you making any moves for, oh, probably two or three months.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“But, I do have one immediate task for you. Pussy. My friend Chase likes ‘em young. As young as you can find down there in the Cajun Bayous.”

Eulalie and Rémy could almost see her mind working. Not through the morality of the assignment, but directly to the pussy. She was going through her mental Rolodex of Cajun families.

She looked directly at Eulalie, “No problem. I kin think of three little girls right now.”

“I don’t want any sneaking around. I want their mothers to know. In fact, I want their mothers to be there, the first time at least.”

Unfazed, she asked, “Does Mr. Windsor want virgins?”

“Good question. Unlike a lot of men, Chase doesn’t get off on popping cherries. He certainly won’t mind if you bring him a virgin, but that’s secondary.”

“Young.”

“Young.”

“When?”

“I’ll give you at least a week’s notice. Now here’s your first lesson. I know I don’t have to tell you to listen carefully, but I will anyway.”

Sabine frowned in concentration.

“I could pay those Cajan mothers money for their little girls. A lot of money. But I’m not going to give them a penny. Now, why not?”

Sabine took her time, realizing it was a key question. She thought about the economic poverty in the bayous. About the power that Eulalie and Marie Guidry had. She thought hard. Then, “You want them mamas to want to give you they daughters.”

Eulalie beamed, “You are so on the right track, honey. But take it one step further — I want those mamas to want to give you their precious babies.”

It was like dawn breaking over Sabine’s face. Now she understood Eulalie’s plans for her, understood what her part in the pantheon of the Sausalito power elite would be. She looked shrewdly at Eulalie, “What about little boys? For Mr. Windsor?”

“That would be fine. Once in a while. For a change of pace.”

“Okay, I got me three little girls and one boy.” She started to name the families, but Eulalie held up her hand, “I don’t need to know the details, chère. Let Rémy know and he’ll check out the mothers.”

Rémy nodded, “You won’t have any blowback, Sabine, I’ll see to that.”

She looked at Eulalie for a long moment, “Pussy is just the start, right, Miss Eulalie?”

“Just the start.” She smiled at Rémy, “Speaking of which, you want some?”

Rémy rose from the table; Sabine held out her hand to him.

LuLu Sheet received two more responses from her targeted authors. More than perfunctory, but less than engaging. All three had eventually written back to her, but none had encouraged further dialogue. Carl Moonbeam. Mickey Luck. G Older.

Eulalie told Chase, “My mistake was contacting them as an unknown reader. One of probably dozens, maybe hundreds.”

“Next step?”

“I’ll start posting a sex story. Several chapters over the next few weeks. Then I’ll reach out to the boys again.”

“Who’s going to write your stories?”

Even if Eulalie had had the time to compose the tale, she knew she didn’t have the talent to craft a very good narrative. And that bothered her not at all. Chase had long ago schooled her on using experts —”They can do it better, faster, more professionally. Use them — techies, jewelers, cops ... whoever has the expertise and experience you need. It costs a little more upfront, but it pays out in the long run. Here, call Gwen, tell her you’re working with me.”

So, Gwendolyn Parsons. A 76-year old retired linguistics professor from Michigan State. One of Chase’s many collaborators.

“What is she like?”

Chase considered the answer. He understood that Eulalie wasn’t asking about personality, about qualifications. The first didn’t matter; the second was a given since he had recommended the woman.

“She’s a wordsmith in the old fashioned sense of the word. Her articles and stories are like a letter written to her family. Intimate, knowing, non-condescending. She’s a tart, acidic observer.”

“Okay.”

“She can take a subject, any topic, ingest it, riff on it, make it her own. But draw the audience in at the same time. Making it a shared experience among trusted colleagues.”

“Like Nora Ephron?” Chase had recently had Eulalie reading biographies of female American authors.

“Very good, Eulalie, quite like Ephron. Her contemporaries ... oh, Joan Didion and Susan Sontag ... they turned a gimlet eye on the world and described what they saw. Often with a sort of chilly detachment. Ephron wrote with a ... a sort of conspiratorial intimacy. Like she was sitting at the bar with you sipping martinis.”

“Parson’s who I need.”

“She’s who you need.”

“What should I offer her?”

“Up to you, it’s your project.”

Eulalie Guidry. LuLu Sheets. Belinda Bennet. Gwendolyn Parsons. Eulalie had created Belinda as a LOST reader. And then created Belinda’s nom de plume, LuLu.

This Gwendolyn would, if she agreed, craft a story under Belinda’s byline. And then start contacting the three authors. The project was becoming a A Matryoshka nesting doll. With no profit in sight. Eulalie booked a flight to Detroit.

When Eulalie came out of her shower — and she was an early riser — Sabine had chicory waiting, potatoes frying in the grease from the county ham, and slices of sourdough ready to toast.

She was sitting on a kitchen chair, cheerfully sucking Rémy’s cock. Eulalie poured herself a cup of coffee, sat beside Sabine, blew on the chicory to cool it.

After Rémy exploded in Sabine’s mouth, he thanked her, and left to get dressed. Sabine winked at Eulalie, “I bet he don’ like to hang ‘round when his cock gets soft.”

Eulalie laughed, “So true. Typical.”

Rémy returned, added a bunch of eggs to the cast iron skillet, and served the girls. As the three of them ate, Eulalie said, “Sabine, your mother and Hawk.”

“Yes?”

“Chase likes that sort of unusual activity. Now, put your thinking cap on, and try to figure out why.”

Sitting there naked, Sabine pondered the question. She had already figured out that when Eulalie posed something, she didn’t always expect a straightforward answer. Her mind was complicated, nuanced, and ... it was like she could think around corners.

But Sabine had never met Chase Windsor. Knew only that he was an international conman who liked young pussy. So she approached it from the sex angle.

Eulalie waited patiently — it was taking a long time for Chase to educate her, and it would be the same, perhaps multiplied, with Sabine’s own learning curve.

Rémy watched with considerable interest. He himself wasn’t sure he knew the answer. Plus, he and Sabine were going to be partners, working for Marie and Eulalie, mostly Eulalie.

Sabine frowned, “I dunno, not exactly. But does it have something to do with kids? With young pussy?”

“Very good! Better than I expected. You see, your mother’s fucking her son signifies different things. It’s illegal of course. And, to most people, immoral. But to Chase, and now to me too, it also means a different family structure, a unique relationship, a willingness to flaunt convention.”

“Okay.” A little doubt in her voice.

“Now, let’s imagine that Hawk was Magnolia’s oldest child.”

Sabine was already nodding, “Mama might be open to giving Mr. Windsor her youngest.”

“Exactly right. But since you’re the youngest, and she has no control over you ... and besides you’re too old for Chase...”

Sabine was squirming eagerly in her chair, “But Mama know ‘bout every mother in the bayous. She knows a lot of ‘em pretty good.” She nodded to herself, having an internal dialogue as Eulalie and Rémy watched with interest. “I kin get Mama — no, not jess Mama, but Jasmine an’ Fleur and Mama working for Mr. Windsor! If they’s any young pussy in the bayous ... I mean any pussy that he could have, them three ladies will know about it. Or find out about it.”

“Very good, Sabine, very, very good. Now remember, you’re not paying for pussy.”

“I know, Miss Eulalie. I’m gonna make this mama and that mama want to give me they little girls.” She regarded Eulalie solemnly, “I don’t know how I’m gonna do that — maybe it’s different with every family.”

“You’ll figure it out, dear.”

The conversation drifted to other topics. Both girls noted with amusement that Rémy kept stealing glances at Sabine, and was beginning to stir in his chair.

Eulalie said, “Back to young pussy — and this is just a tiny part of your job, a fun part — but little-girl pussy, that’s one reason I had Kate put on those cocksucking contests.”

Sabine nodded, “First for the mothers — it’s sort of like with Mama and Hawk — it ain’t ... usual for moms to ... for everyone to know how many cocks they sucked.”

Sabine thought some more, “And then the teachers’ contest. Let’s see ... all the kids in their classes thinking ‘bout they teacher swallowing cum.” She frowned in concentration, then laughed, “I bet you had Miss Kate fix it so the winner was in grade school.” She nodded to herself, “Makes sense.”

Eulalie was quite pleased with Sabine’s intuitive leap.

Sabine looked pensively off into the distance. Eulalie and Rémy waited patiently, curious about what was going on her mind.

“They’s two elementary schools, Sausalito, right?”

Eulalie nodded, “Carver and Sausalito Elementary.”

“And Miss Kitty’s has Ladies Night on Mondays?”

Eulalie clapped her hands in delight, “Yes! Ladies Night for elementary school teachers only. On the house — free drinks and snacks.”

Sabine smiled to herself, “But up on the stage? Only the elementary-school teachers who already strip at Miss Kitty’s.”

Rémy frowned, “I don’t get it.”

Eulalie, “I want — we want — those ladies in the audience to see their fellow teachers naked, deep kissing each other, finger-fucking each other. We want to permeate the atmosphere in both schools with sex, sex, sex. Some of the talk, some of the ... permissiveness, will trickle down to the kids.”

Sabine spoke softly, mostly to herself, “Young pussy, young pussy.”

“Yes, that’s one of the intermediate goals. But think bigger picture — Chase has me practicing the art of manipulation. In this case, many of the teachers aren’t the brightest people in the world. It wasn’t difficult to steer them in a certain direction. But what I learned in the process, the techniques, the strategies, can be applied to more consequential, more lucrative projects.”

Sabine thought: Fuck, have I got a lot to learn. She mouthed the words to herself: The art of manipulation.

Eulalie continued, “To oversimplify it, we want to make the abnormal normal in Sausalito.”

Marie Guidry was delighted with, but not surprised by, the Denise and Danny Boy Aubert sex tape. She took a quiet pride in her initial evaluation of the woman, in the accuracy of her assessment. With no leverage, financial or otherwise, she had the 27-year old woman jumping through every imaginable sexual hoop.

One morning Marie stopped by Denise’s house. Denise was flattered and a little flustered. Everyone knew Marie; everyone respected her or feared her.

Sitting in the kitchen, Marie went right to it, “I enjoyed seeing Danny Boy cum all over your face.”

As expected, she took it as a compliment, “Thank you. It’d been a while — 8th and 9th grade, back before I married Matt. He never liked to do it.” Shrug.

“I was surprised you didn’t fuck Danny Boy.”

Monday morning coffee klatch conversation.

Another shrug, “Ray-Ray tole me not to.” Denise leaned back, composed and comfortable, “I wanted to, me. Wanted it something fierce.” She looked thoughtful, “Still do, some nights.”

“But you do what Ray-Ray tells you to.”

Denise looked startled, “Acourse.”

A couple of weeks after Sabine met Eulalie, and Eulalie had returned to the East Coast, Sabine was exploring Sausalito. Trying to see it through fresh eyes, through Eulalie-eyes.

She had taken a small apartment on Main Street a couple of doors east of Miss Kitty’s. Eulalie had opened a suite of banking services for the girl — checking, savings, debit card, credit card. And, Eulalie was depositing $2,000 a month in Sausalito First for her new employee. New friend.

It was around 8 on a Saturday morning, the temperature was already approaching 100 degrees. Sabine was wearing her new sneakers and a pink teeshirt. She was getting used to shoes, but hadn’t seen much need for underwear. She certainly didn’t need a bra, and found panties to be a nuisance.

Sabine wandered through the weekly farmers market admiring the bounty of fresh fruits and vegetables. The sellers were constantly spraying their products with water, and they sparkled in the sunlight.