Member Article:gift Post Your Comment

Don't like So so Good Very Good Excellent

What do you think?




The following seven part story contains adult material. If below
the age of 18, go outside, get some fresh air and do something
healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is
about a teenaged boy who is forcibly feminized and transformed
into teenage girl sex slave by a white slaver through chemical
and pyschological techniques. It contains non-consensual sex
and b&d themes. Both the characters and occurences in this
series are completely fictitious.


by Marlissa

Smedley smiled as he heard the soprano voice float down the
staircase of his West Palm Beach vacation home.

Ninety-one, Ninety--two, Ninety--three---

He quietly crept up the stairs, his footsteps muffled by the
padding of the Persian rug. As unobtrusively as possible, he
craned his neck around the corner. As always, Rebecca's door
was open. He watched as the teenager sat in front of the vanity
mirror, nude and glistened from the recent morning shower.
Except for the fluffy pink towel drawn tightly from across the
petite bosom to just below the waist, Rebecca was nude and

Ninety--four, Ninety-five, Ninety-six---

The comb swept methodically down the thick chestnut trail of
the long straight hair, which now hung an acceptable four inches
down in back. Smedley sipped his coffee. My how THAT had
been an issue at one point! But Rebecca had seen the light and
stopped begging for a shorter haircut. Longer hair was just so
much more feminine and the resulting mane suited the teenager
far better.

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine---

The hands that drew the ivory comb were well suited to their
task and Smedley couldn't help but admire them. Hands were
ever so important and Rebecca's hands were perfect-- small
piano playing hands with fingers that tapered into perfect pink
enameled nails. The nails weren't too long-- there would be
time for that later-- but they were properly painted and cared for
and certainly long enough to pass Smedley's critical muster.
Hands were hard to do, but they could be done, despite what
was thought.

One hundred! Now those delicate hands tucked the long light
brown mane of freshly combed hair into a flower print cloth
elastic popular with most teenage girls. Rebecca examined her
self in the mirror, turning head right then left. No blemishes,
Smedley noted without surprise. Rebecca was on the strictest
diet, eating only the most healthy of foods and certainly nothing
that would cause any breaking out. No the face was fine. More
than fine. It was perfectly adorable. Wide blue eyes were
accentuated with thinly plucked eyebrows (ouch! Now that had
been a struggle!), a small slightly upturned nose (expensive but
the result clearly worth it) that offered puckish charm, high
colored cheeks (done with the nose), a small chin (also done
with the nose, though not as much of a job as was normally
necessary), and the small bow-shaped mouth with their pouty
lips. You couldn't do mouths-- they had to be right to begin
with. Oh, you could do the lips, and he had enhanced them a
bit-- not much-- but the mouth just had to be right. Rebecca's
had been.

The teen rose and walked to the dresser. The legs too were
perfect, but the real trick there was in training, not alteration. It
showed in the flowing rhythm of the slight sway and swing of
the hips under the pink towel. It was a true test, because it was
easy to mock the proper walk. But as he watched, Rebecca
glided with effortless ease, using the requisite toe-first step with
the small bare feet. The tell-tale swivel, not too obvious but
noticeable, resulted in a half-mince, half-prance that was ever so
ladylike. Smedley sipped his coffee soundlessly.

Rebecca was picking through the items in the top drawer, the
undies drawer. Without too much thought, a small strappy item
was pulled out, which was held loosely while there was
meditation on the second item. Smedley nodded in self-
congratulations. The long months of lessons and proper training
paid off in these small introspective moments. The teen was at
last well aware of the importance of decisions such as these--
like which panties to wear for the day. A decision was made at
last, the hot pink cotton panties winning over another unknown
rival, which would surely win on another morning like this.

With undergarments in hand, Rebecca stood in front of a full-
length mirror, ready to begin dressing. With a deft little yank,
the pink towel fell to the bedroom floor in a small fluffy heap.
Smedley took another long soundless sip of coffee, admiring the
taut teen body from his observation post at the door. Not an
ounce of fat on the five foot six inch body. The skin was fair
complected but smooth and shiny in the way skin gets only with
constant treatment or has naturally with the glow of youth.
Though pale, there were tan lines. The weather had been
cooperating lately, with sun forecast for the rest of the week.

Rebecca took the soft, strappy item and gently drew the straps
up over each shoulder. With unconscious grace, the small
hands cupped the petite breasts into the soft cotton cups of the
dainty white cotton training brassiere. As Rebecca's hands
sought the clips in back, the small bra'ed pair of buds were
thrust forward. Rebecca's bra size had reached it's maturity--
32A. Many tears had been shed over the petite, perky pair over
the last few months-- too many perhaps given the final product.
They were more nipple than breast-- like a tangerine cut in two
with the flat end facing down. Rebecca would never need
anything more than a training bra really, Smedley thought, with
that small a set. But of course, the feminine preoccupation with
breasts would lead to more enticing garments than this simple
thin-strapped training brassiere, of that he was sure. Push-ups,
bustieres, the Wonder Bra at least-- so much energy would be
expended trying to enlarge those two less-than-handfuls to a
more alluring bustline.

Now the panties. Rebecca looked down between those long
legs and the sight caused a frown on the pouty lips. Smedley
looked down at the object causing such distress. It was
Rebecca's chastity belt, the thin metallic mesh cloth that
captured and imprisoned the boy's (yes, Rebecca was still
technically a boy Smedley reminded himself)hairless penis and
testicles. The organ was never referred to by either of them
now except as the mischief-maker. When Rebecca hadn't yet
learned to control his feelings and thoughts, he had begged for
Smedley to release it. But that was unthinkable. Other than a
medical emergency, there was no reason to! After all, Smedley
had used the device for years and knew how effective it was.
The design allowed Rebecca to relieve himself without
difficulty and it gave the midsection a clean smooth line without
the ugly lumpy look. Which was apparent even now as
Rebecca swallowed hard and drew the hot pink cotton bikini
panties over the device. With the panties hugging high and
tightly on the girlish hips, you couldn't tell that Rebecca
possessed a penis at all!

Smedley heard the dull thud of the paper landing on the
doorstep and went to retrieve it, turning quietly away to let
Rebecca continuing dressing in true solitude. He opened the
door, waving to Ted, the paperboy, who returned the wave from
the other side of the high gate and cycled away. Wonderful
how he managed to throw it on his doorstep from so far away, a
feat which Smedley rewarded with a handsome tip every week.
For ornamental reasons, the entire house was bounded by a
short wrought iron fence-- not uncommon in a neighborhood
like this. He was a good kid, the Peterson's boy, Smedley
thought. He shut the door, the morning chill now entering the
house. Though February, it was warm and the sky bright and
blue. It would be a wonderful day.

Why just the other night, he had run into the boy's parents at the
country club. How admirable it was for people so well off (you
never used the word rich in West Palm--- it just wasn't done)
to teach their boy early the importance of hard work, he had
said. Then they had been kind enough to buy him a drink.
There were enjoying themselves when that writer and his wife
had come over and Smedley had ordered a bottle of champagne
to celebrate the author's entrance onto the New York Times
bestseller list.

At one point Peterson had asked what Smedley did. You
know we've known you for years and I've never asked! he said,
surprising himself.

Oh, me? I'm in training and development. I do most of my
work outside the area though, he added, quick to cut off the
inevitable kindly invitation to do work for a friend's firm. Such
generosity of spirit was exactly what endeared old New Canaan
to him. It had been a perfectly enjoyable evening.
With paper under his arm, Smedley sought the sun of his
solarium. He loved the room, an addition he had put on after
doing a particularly difficult job for an overseas client a year
ago. He shuddered as he recalled it. Nasty piece of business
that, but it had paid for his beloved solarium. It was a bright
room facing the west overlooking his two acre estate, filled with
flowers and appointed with comfortable old wicker furniture. It
was ideally designed to grow flowers. He was an amateur
horticulturist and enjoyed the many permutations and variations
he could precipitate in his private garden. Beyond the garden
was the walkway that led to the ocean, the surf booming an
invitation to come swim.

He was proud to own such a stately home in such an exclusive
community. Not bad for someone who grew up in the worst
part of Miami. Or someone who had a criminal record. Or
used to have a criminal record, he thought as he smiled widely.
Not all his clients paid by check. He opened the paper.


Smedley shook his head. You worked so hard and others
wanted to take what you had rightfully earned and give it all
away. he made a mental note to contribute to the Governor's
Reelection Fund.


Smedley liked Frothingham too. A good anti-crime man. He
would send him a thousand dollars as well. He flipped through
the paper, checking the stock quotes and looking at the Society
pages. As an afterthought, he turned to the Metro pages.


Smedley scan the article with interest.

State authorities, faced with looming budget deficits, have
trimmed back programs including the Runaway Outreach
Program. State Social Services Director Maria Molina called
the cuts understandable but shortsighted. These kids need our
help, she claimed. The teenagers coming into the Miami Bus
Depot alone number in the hundreds daily. They are alone,
vulnerable and easy prey for the street hustlers. Many wind up
as drug pushers, junkies, gang members, prostitutes or worse.
There is a certain element found only in the city which takes
advantage of these kids. When asked if she would resign over
the action, the political appointee answered she would not.
The Governor appointed me and I will stand by his decision.

The phone rang and Smedley went to the parlor to get the call.

Smedley residence. Justice MacDonald? Yes, sir, I have in
deed heard of you-- you do yourself an injustice! And yes,
Senator Frothingham did tell me you were calling. A domestic?
Light cleaning and cooking? Yes, sir. And other duties-- of
course, Judge MacDonald. Yes, Washington is a lonely place.
No need to get into details over the phone, your Honor. May I
suggest we meet? Oh you're a member of the Colonial Club--
I've never been there! Love to! I'll be flying up early
tomorrow. I have an engagement in New York in the afternoon,
so I'll just hop the Delta shuttle and meet you there tomorrow
evening, if that's convenient. I'm just finishing up a project and
I'm ready to take on another custom job, so you're timing
couldn't be better. See you then-- yes, my pleasure. Have a
nice day, Judge.

Smedley put the receiver down and returned to his paper. Just
as he was getting comfortable again, Rebecca made his way
down the stairs, head shyly bowed whenever he entered a room
now. He minced over to Smedley.

Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir? he asked respectfully,
spinning around as taught to give Smedley a full appreciation
for his outfit. The feminized boy looked at the floor nervously
chewing his full lower lip as Smedley carefully examined him
from head to toe.

Smedley did like what Rebecca had picked out. It was a
thoroughly appropriate outfit for a properly brought up teenage
girl. First he positively noted the use of make-up. Foundation; a
bit of rouge for coloring to give the high cheeks a slight flush;
mascara giving the batting lashes body; lips shiny with red
lipstick and, was it strawberry or cherry that he smelled?, lip
gloss; and finally a slight spritzer of Chanel Eau de Toilette.
On the delicate pierced lobes were gold studs. All enough to be
feminine, not enough to be garish or call attention. Very nice.
Rebecca had learned so well.

He liked the ribbed midriff tank tee-shirt Rebecca had picked
out. The robin's egg blue tee showed off Rebecca's trim tummy
and was emblazoned with white letters that read Palm Beach
High Cheerleader. Not with those little boobies, you're not,
though Smedley. He noted that the tank tee shoulder straps
properly hid the wispy band of Rebecca's training bra. That was
good. The other day Rebecca had learned the price for letting a
bra strap stray into public sight-- a well deserved paddling over
Smedley's knee! Today the teen had made sure to tuck the strap
away and out of sight. Rebecca's denim miniskirt was so tight
he could make out the panty lines underneath. Smedley had
purposely bought all the teenager's clothing a size too small,
except her undies. Rebecca wore a simple pair of low heeled
open-toed pale pink sandals. His toenails were painted, like his
fingernails, pale pink.

You look very pretty today Rebecca. He noted the boy-girl's
tense expression soften gratefully. There were days that
Smedley hadn't declared the teen sufficiently pretty. Poor
Rebecca had been reminded of his fashion duties on those
mornings with sound bare bottom spankings.

Do be a good girl and cut some flowers for the table before we
sit down for breakfast, Smedley directed. Do a little
arrangement for me like you learned from your tapes. He let
his hand cup the small rounded rump of the miniskirted boy and
patted him.

Rebecca nodded and skipped off. Smedley watched the teen
from the solarium, picking posies, pansies and roses and placing
them in a small basket some fifty yards away. He loved
watching the sun bounce off the long brownish gold ponytail as
the teen thoughtfully chose flower after flower with which to
make the table bouquet. No doubt trying to remember the taped
lesson on flower arranging he had watched not long ago.
Rebecca was nothing if not a quick learner though. He had
picked up his lessons from the tapes well-- all kinds of proper
feminine duties and whimsies like cleaning, sewing, cooking
and the like. Smedley had used the tapes for years and found
the auto-suggestion and subliminal messages worked wonders.
No wonder advertisers weren't allowed to use the technique

What was that? Rebecca was looking at back at him through
the window, then away quickly. Strange. On a hunch, he put
the paper down and pretended to sleep. Rebecca looked back,
then around the garden. Smedley pretended to snore. Through
hooded eyelids he watched Rebecca as the boy dropped the
flower basket and scan the path leading to the front of the
house. Smedley watched the softened face as it estimated the

With a determination stolen from desperation, the boy
scampered rabbit-like toward the path. Smedley watched in
amusement as the boy-girl made his dash for freedom. Hair
flowing, Rebecca's face was filled with expectation. He was
getting so close, Smedley knew he could taste the life beyond
the small wrought iron fence.
The shock hit the teen as soon as he tried to step over the fence.
The pretty face grimaced in pain, the blue eyes bulging.
Gasping for breath, the feminized teen rolled onto his back,
denim skirt flipping up to reveal the hot pink panties

Smedley shook his head wearily. They always made the
attempt but somehow he thought this one might be unique.
Rebecca had been so good, so well-behaved. He thought the
little thing had even accepted his new fate. Oh well, it really
didn't make much difference. The end was always the same.
And besides now it was out of the way. After experiencing the
pain of the invisible fence, they never considered escape again.
The fence worked on the same principle as the ones used for
dogs, the receiver built into the boy-girl's chastity belt. When
attempting flight, the receiver sent a massive electrical shock
throughout the subject's body. He put the paper down and went
to retrieve the boy-girl, now shaking violently with the effect of
the shock and nearly unconscious.

He gently threw the sobbing teen over his shoulder and brought
him in the house, gently tucking Rebecca into his bed. Two
hours later, the terrified teen stood in front of him, swearing that
SHE would never, ever pull a stunt like that again. SHE gave
him such a scared kittenish look that Smedley believed the teen

I--uh, like know what I am, Sir. I won't ever try to run away
again. I was just being a silly airhead, the teen's soft voice
broke and sniffled, then finished shamefully the sentence they
both knew had to be uttered before forgiveness would be
granted. I was just being a silly airhead GIRL, Sir. Rebecca
looked up, tried to hold tears back. I promise, cross my heart,
and the teen made the gesture, drawing his pretty pink painted
nails over his petite bosom, I won't ever run away again.

No, you won't Rebecca, Smedley agreed, tacitly accepting the
apology. Now that we've got that nonsense out of the way,
why don't you be a good girl and change into your swimsuit?
It's peak tanning time and you need some sun.

Rebecca nodded and turned. SHE was back down stairs in ten
minutes, modeling HER suit for him.

Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir? SHE asked anxiously.
SHE pirouetted in a lime maillot suit. Why had he even given
the teen a one-piece? He sighed disgustedly. Rebecca would
require much management in the future.

No, I don't, Rebecca. Now get up there and put on a bikini,
like you knew I wanted. Don't, he added darkly, make me
correct you again.

Five minutes later Rebecca presented self in the suit Smedley
wanted the teenager in.

Do you like what I'm wearing, Sir? the teen asked per the
required formula. This time he nodded. The sissified boy
looked scrumptious in the neon orange thong bikini. The top
snuggled the little boobs tightly and the nipples poked against
the fabric. The thong covered the chastity belt entirely and
hugged the girlish hips like the proverbial second skin. It was a
suit that would paint the most intimate tan lines in the most
sensitive of places.

Very nice. Now be sure to use plenty of sun block-- I don't
want you getting sunburned!

Rebecca nodded, threw the big beach towel over his shoulder
and grabbed the lotion on the table. With a copy of
SEVENTEEN in one hand and two cucumber slices in the other
the shade the eyes, Rebecca pranced out into the heat of the late
morning sun. Smedley watched the two orange buns as they
jiggled tautly in the skimpy orange thong with a growing
appetite, an appetite he suppressed. This was business after all.

Smedley rounded out the morning by making some calls and
writing some letters. The mail brought new inquiries and he
responded to these in turn till he noticed the clock on his desk.
It was almost 2:00! He rose and leaning out the window, called

Rebecca! Come inside now! It's almost time for your soap

Rebecca scampered up from the private beach. Smedley noted
the goldening tone of the teen's skin with satisfaction. SHE
smiled prettily for him as she entered the house.

Thank you, Sir. Do I have enough time to change? she asked

He shook his head, eye on the long hand of his wristwatch.
No. It's on in less than a minute. He aimed the remote at the
television and the screen blinked on. Rebecca scrunched up on
the couch, hugging his knees expectantly as the announcer's
voice introduced the daily dose of female silliness.

And now, welcome to the steamy world of strong men and
beautiful women, where all your dreams will come true-- the
world of The Young Lovers!

Smedley couldn't stand this idiocy, but it was a staple for
Rebecca. It was the one outlet the boy-girl was allowed, the
one place he-she could escape to. Since being brought here
some months ago, Rebecca had become hooked on the soap.

Oooh look, Sir! Derek Dirk is having an affair with Jaymi
Desire! What a tramp she is! Rebecca was completely
immersed in the show now, chin on knees as he pressed his
small bikini'ed breasts against them.

Smedley snickered as he left the room. Derek Dirk was far
from the stud he portrayed on television. In deed, it was
commonly known in the circles where such things were known,
that the six foot tall, one time college football player and all-
around hunk was thoroughly gay and had no interest in the
women he seduced on The Young Lovers. Too bad, Smedley
thought. What a wasted opportunity. Ironic he should enjoy
such on-screen company without as much as a spark of desire
for the opposite sex. That was life!

An hour later, Smedley returned to make sure the television was
off. The Young Lovers was the ONLY show Rebecca was
allowed to watch EVER and he didn't want the teen abusing
privileges. Rebecca watched with resignation as the teevee was
shut off for another day.

Three o'clock, Rebecca. Time to do your exercises.

He jumped up obediently. Yes, Sir. Without further
instructions, the bikinied beach bunny was off to change into a
spandex leotard and work out on the exercise equipment in the
house gymnasium. Smedley left the femme alone for a bit, then
poked his head in an hour later to check on HER.

SHE was puffing, sweet sweat trickling down the soft cheeks.
The big dirty blonde mane was tucked under a red headband
and the red unitard showed perspiration under the arms as the
boy-girl worked away on the exercise cycle. Rebecca looked
up, face flushed hotly. Smedley knew then what the pretty
wench would look like in the throes of passion. He left quickly,
removing temptation. It was too close now, too close to ruin.

Dinner in an hour, Rebecca, he muttered.

Dinner was silent till Smedley began to question Rebecca about
her show. Rebecca answered his questions about The Young
Lovers with thrilling excitement. It was the only thing SHE
was really an authority on.

And Jaymi was such a b--I mean tramp, Sir, I'm sorry! She
was a tramp and Derek found out and--

How would you describe Derek, Rebecca?

The feminized boy looked into his plate. I don't know how
you mean, Sir.

Oh, I think you do-- I mean, a pretty girl like you. I bet you
have a crush on him, don't you?

I'm not a g-- he shut his pouty mouth then, and continued
bravely. I'm not a girl, Sir. Chin trembling, but there, he had
said it.

The response was laughter-- withering, devastating laughter.
Oh, really? Then why do you look like a girl? Why do you
dress, act, feel, THINK like a girl? Huh, Rebecca? Funny, I
never meet a boy who was named Rebecca!

The teen's eyes grew damp. You made me this way! You
made me into a g--

GIRL! That's right, Rebecca! Say it! GIRL! Pretty, sexy
teenage girl!

Rebecca looked away in shock. No, no, he whispered
weakly, please, no!

Oh, yes! Yes indeed, Rebecca! Smedley insisted.

You said you would help me at the bus station, that you

Take care of you, Smedley completed. And I have. Now,
back to Derek--

But Rebecca was sobbing inconsolately now. May I be
excused, Sir? May I go to bed...please, please, Sir? he
pleaded pathetically.

Smedley looked at his watch. Tomorrow would be a big day
for Rebecca and he nodded. Yes, you may Rebecca. But I
want you to say your prayers first.

Rebecca nodded, wiping tears away. He closed his eyes and
brushed his lips against Smedley's cheeks goodnight. Smedley
patted the boy-girl's backside and told HER to run along.

You'll feel better tomorrow, Princess.

Smedley enjoyed his evening coffee at the table, listening to the
water running in the bathroom. Rebecca was getting ready for
bed. He would wait a few minutes then check on HER.

Rebecca splashed the water on the yellow facecloth, careful to
remove the tears and makeup. Residue makeup could cause
pimples and Sir wouldn't like that. As mad as he was (he still
thought of himself no matter what Sir said), he didn't want to
cross his kidnapper. Sir was only too happy to take him over
his knee for a good hard spanking. And before Rebecca had
calmed down it had been a lot more that spankings! Sir had
layed into his butt with canes, riding crops, and paddles until he
had accepted his new identity as Rebecca.

As he peeled off his clothes, he looked down at the humiliating
thing on his Mischief-maker. It didn't hurt so much now,
since he had stopped thinking about girls THAT way. He was a
girl now, that was what Sir said, so thinking about girls THAT
way didn't make any sense did it? Rebecca hadn't answered. I
mean I can't even remember what I was called before Rebecca,
can I? he thought furiously.

Have you combed your hair yet, Rebecca?

I'm about to do it, Sir! he cried back promptly. He fished in
his drawer for something to wear to bed. He picked out a baby
blue cotton teddy that looked comfy, slipping into it. Then he
drew off his hairband and sitting in front of his vanity, began the
hundred strokes of the brush required nightly, counting aloud so
Sir might hear. When he had reached one hundred, the stairs
creaked. Sir poked his head in.

Say your prayers, Rebecca.

Rebecca dropped to his knees, closing his eyes and folding his
hands in prayer. He hated that Sir was watching over him, but
he was required to say all his prayers before getting into bed.

God, please bless Mister Smedley who has been so nice to me
and trained me to become a little princess. Please help me to
make my face prettier, my breasts bigger, my butt cuter and my
waist smaller so that boys will like me. Please help me to
remember that I am a girl and should act, think and feel like one
all the time. Please make my Mischief-maker behave. And
please forgive me for trying to run away today. It was very
naughty of me and I won't do it again.

Rebecca looked up at Sir questioningly. He smiled. Good
girl. Now get your beauty rest for tomorrow.

Rebecca snuggled into his bed, pulling the sheets to cover his
chest and closed his eyes. He felt Sir kiss his forehead and then
the door was shut and locked. Then Rebecca thought about The
Young Lovers. Why had Sir asked him about Derek Dirk so
much tonight? It was a question that was soon forgotten as
thought turned to slumber.

Smedley checked the door lock again, an old habit, and dashed
down to get the ringing phone.

Lila? Yes, how nice to hear from you. Yes, everything is
quite all right. Yes, sixteen-- isn't it wonderful? I loved your
idea for her birthday to be on Valentine's Day! What a
wonderful combination of events to celebrate every year! I
know it's been a long wait, but well worth it, I assure you. You
got the photo? Well, she's developed since then. I think you'll
be very happy.
Yes, I have obtained the proper papers for you. Oh, quite legal-
- all of them. I have, ah, friends who do this for me all the time.
Rebecca will be your young cousin, your uncle's daughter. No
one has to know you don't have an uncle, Lila! You'll be the
legal ward with complete authority over her. Relax Lila, you're
not my first customer, you know!

No, she's not at all, in fact she's very flat-- the way you think
Derek would prefer wanted her to be! A 32A in a training bra!
Yes, the little thing is locked up for good. Rebecca will be
catching all Derek's pitches so to speak, unable to throw any
of her own. Oh, I think you'll be quite pleased with her ass,
Lila. Quite tight and thoroughly virgin---until you give her to
Derek tomorrow I assume!

Yes, she's a big fan of the show. I'm sure that in time she'll
learn to love him. If not, there are other ways of enforcing
discipline and affection, ways I'm sure I don't need to elaborate
on. Believe me, Rebecca is quite familiar with them.

Did the technicians show up to install the invisible fence in
Derek's apartment? Good. I'll give you the mobile control too,
in case he wants to bring her out and show her off. It fits on a
keychain-- very unobtrusive.

Yes, this is a nice solution. It should eventually dispel all those
nasty rumors about your client. He'll continue to be the hunk of
The Young Lovers and everyone will think he's completely
straight when he marries Rebecca in a year or two. In the
meantime, he can train her to her new duties as teenybopper
soap groupie.

Yes, the money was deposited in my Caymans account-- thank
you! Goodnight Lila. See you at the party tomorrow. Of
course I know its a surprise! And may I say that I am thrilled to
be of service to you. If I were Derek and MY agent gave me
such a wonderful birthday gift, I'd be delighted too!

Smedley put the phone back into the receiver cradle. He so
loved his work and the money was so good. Another job
completed, another satisfied customer. That's what it was all
about. Suddenly he felt like a veritable Santa bringing gifts to
good boys everywhere. Ah, but Santa didn't live in West Palm,
did he? And he didn't leave pretty packages like Rebecca no
matter how good a boy you were. Good thing I'm around,
thought Smedley and smiled.

Post Your Comment | Mark As Favorite

Member Responses Post Your Comment

No responders found