Your name is Garland Gable. You are at the upper-middle-class home of Mrs. Helena Harrison with your three identical “brothers,” Gabe, Guy, and Gavin. You’re definitely the oldest of a set of quadruplets, but there’s a reason for that we’ll get to later, and no, it’s not a natural one.
You’re twenty-eight, six-foot-one, handsome, and in the best shape of your life, with thick brown hair in a business cut that the ladies love to run their fingers through, and you’ve got some stunning grey eyes you use for stunning those same ladies into giving you some extra loving, if you know what I mean. You’re of Irish and English descent, you have perfect teeth, and you have quite the fulfillment department in your boxer briefs, and there has never been a complaint there, not one, so you are at your prime.
Life has never been better!
Today, like most days, you’re wearing your light-blue, one-piece, long-sleeved, utility jumper, your work outfit, fitted neatly over your white tee and underwear, and you’ve got on your white ankle socks and tan work boots. This is what you and your “brothers” wear ninety-percent of the time, mainly because you’re working ninety-percent of the time.
But aside from all that, you have a job to do, a simple job, and that’s spring cleaning.
You see, you work for Q.C. Cleaners, owned by cleaning magnate Quincy Corman. Your three “brothers” are actually your three clones, though they have no knowledge of this. In fact, you can remember quite clearly the company process of extracting a bone sample from your right femur, the drawing of your blood from your left arm, and the shaving off of a slice of your skin from your right hip for your D.N.A…all for the explicit purpose of creating your clones.
Now, with your D.N.A. registered with the federal government’s Bureau of Cloning, you can be replicated over and over again, and this helps society in a tremendous way, considering robots and artificial intelligence are simply not as reliable as good old-fashioned human resourcefulness and creativity…and more importantly, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than constructing the artificials, so…ummm…capitalism ho!
Because you are an exemplary worker, and because you proved you are the best at what you do during your interview with Quincy Corman, himself, you are one of the few, the proud, and the most talented of cleaners who can handle even the toughest, messiest jobs, all backed by your invaluable clones, because society is all about progress, and what would any of us be without progress?
Unfortunately for your “brothers,” true cloning, the act of making an individual who lives an entire lifespan, is tightly regulated, but that’s okay, because your “brothers” aren’t meant to last long. At best, they may last up to two weeks, and then they will return to the pink primordial goo of progress from which they spawned.
You, of course, are the original, the real deal, the O.G., and the cosmic hand of their creation, so you’ve gotten used to the melting process and subsequent cleanup of your “progeny.” You are the best at cleaning, after all.
However, there are some rules you have to follow:
Rule #1: Your “brothers” are not to know they are clones. In fact, they are to never know they are clones. Relaying this information is monstrously inhumane and is a federal offense punishable up to no less than thirty years behind federal bars…no parole.
This is the one rule you absolutely will not break…You know better.
Rule #2: Your “brothers” have been told that there is a disease of extra-terrestrial origin that sometimes manifests inside certain D.N.A. strands. This disease has been given the ominous BS name of “Centauri Mitochondrial Regressive Devolution,” and the disease never progresses past the prodromal stage, as the onset of symptoms is fatal, causing near-instantaneous liquefaction into proto-genetic fluid.
In other words, they melt into pink goo. This lie is obviously told to keep clones from questioning why another clone just went the way of a strawberry ice-cream cone on a hot day.
Just like rule #1, you are to never call out this lie. This is another federally-punishable rule, this one up to ten years in federal prison…Once again, no parole.
Even so, because of Rule #4, this lie is a joke, because Rule #4 (which we have not gone over yet) pretty much nulls Rule #2, but you’ll see why when we get to Rule #4, so don’t get your panties in a bunch.
Rule #3: This is where it gets tricky. You see, each of your clones has been given the same memories, your memories, but you can’t tell them that. Yes, there are little differences in the memories that sometimes surface, but that’s normal for actual people like you, so typically, clones don’t argue about it, because they are, after all, facsimiles of real people.
What a cluster of idiots. Even so, this a maintenance rule. Seriously, don’t argue over your memories with your clones. It’s bad form. It can lead to violating the first two rules.
Rule #4: This is the fun one. Each clone is told they are the original and that everyone else is a clone. The fun thing about this is to watch the looks on their faces when they finally dissolve into a puddle that suspiciously looks like everyone’s favorite anti-diarrheal medication.
Oh, the laughs on this one! What a bunch of maroons!
Nevertheless, don’t inform your clones they’re going to melt, and don’t let on that there is no “alien disease.” This will violate Rule #2, and more importantly, Rule #1.
Here’s the thing, though: all of your clones already know there is no alien disease, but they play along because of Rule #4. It’s a psych-out kind of thing, a…a psychological-pick-and-prick of the brain kind of thing. They know there’s no alien disease, but they don’t say anything because they think they’re the original and everybody else is a clone, blah, blah, blah.
Unfortunately, though, it is federal law to inform clones that there is, in fact, cloning technology and that this particular technology is not only widely used…it’s been perfected. Thus, the underbelly reason for Rule #4.
Whatever the case, it’s been two weeks since you received your new batch of clones, so they’re due to liquidate any time now, so today’s cleaning has to be done quickly, because you don’t want to end up doing all of the work yourself…That’s what your clones are for!
This is the greatest job in the world!
Also, you’re getting really annoyed at them taking up space in your mother’s—God rest her soul—house, because the company paid for a renovation to make four separate bedrooms to keep up the charade, so once today’s up, you’ll get at least three days of the house to yourself before the replacements are sent.
Well, the impending liquefaction of your “los hermanos” has given Helena Harrison a great deal, because this job is 50% off, and because it’s only for one day, she gets what she gets and she can’t throw a fit…mainly because it’s in the contract. She gets a steal of a deal, “at risk,” and you are getting an upcoming paycheck regardless of how much of the work gets done.
It all works out in the end, pun intended.
Nevertheless, here you are with your clones outside of Mrs. Helena Harrison’s upper-middleclass home, and inside, it’s spring-cleaning time…The garage and the attic are going to take some extra time, so it’s best to start with them first and get those areas done quickly.
It’s a good thing it’s 8:00 A.M.!
Gabe has already parked the company van in front of the house (he gets to do the driving today, mainly because of his incessant whining about it), and all four of you have left the van in order to meet and greet Mrs. Harrison for the first time. She’s probably some old prune of a Karen waiting to nitpick the job, but whatever. You’ve got some money to make!
You walk to the front door with your crew, but naturally, Guy steps in front of you and rings the doorbell…Ugh…He’s such a douche. He’s always so obnoxious and entitled.
The door is opened a few seconds later and at the door is…
“Oh, it’s the boys from the cleaning crew!” says a young female voice.
Okay, now this is completely unexpected, because this absolutely gorgeous angel is five-ten, in her late twenties, has long black hair and striking blue eyes, and has a distinct Australian accent, and that last touch of Down Under makes her hotter than the Sahara Desert. True, she’s married, but that’s never stopped you in the past.
This beautiful work of art is wearing a comfortable, dark-blue, very lowcut blouse, that blouse draped over a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans, her perfect feet wrapped in dark-blue tennis shoes—color coordinated!—obviously spring-cleaning clothes, but the bouncin’ knockers on her chest are just a barely hangin’ in there, and those puppies are a barkin’ and definitely wantin’ out to play; you can tell.
“Uhh..urb…urrr…Y…Yes, ma’am,” stammers Guy.
Shoot, even Guy is flustered, and he’s a giant loudmouthed headcheese you can’t stand. He’s never been one for holding back.
“Come in, boys,” grins this magnificent case study in female anatomy. “We can start in the garage because it’s the messiest. We have a triple garage here, but it’s not orderly by any means. My husband tends to just leave things lying around, but that’s okay. That’s what you boys are for.”
Everybody nods and grins and agrees, though those stupid grins only have one thing behind them, and that’s playing doctor without a license.
You grin as well, but at least your grin is friendly and honest and not stupid and lecherous, though you would definitely jump on the flotation devices this woman has stored underneath that blouse.
This perfection of creation named Helena Harrison—we’ll just nix the “Mrs.” for now—leads the four of you through the large house to the interior garage door, opens that simple white door, and waves one hand toward the spacious garage beyond the doorway, all with a beautiful smile on her porcelain Aussie lips.
All of you walk into the garage, and honestly, it’s not that bad. Yeah, there are some things lying around here and there, some trash too, but nothing too bad. You’ll have to work around the big grey SUV and a big red truck, but that’s fine. Obviously, the husband took the third vehicle to work, but whatever.
“Once you boys finish in here, we’ll hit the attic,” smiles Helena Harrison.
She knows the up and up. She clearly knows what has to be done first.
Unfortunately, she turns and addresses Guy directly.
“Oh, and before I forget…” she says coyly. “What’s your name, or should I just call you ‘shy guy’?”
“Close,” says Guy. “I’m Guy.”
“I need your help upstairs to sort through some things, Guy,” grins Helena. “I’m throwing out some knick knacks and keeping some others, so we should get started on that while the other boys are down here.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” grins Guy.
“You can show me how you boys get things done,” says Helena. “I can’t do the garage right now anyway. I have a package I have to wrap…Come on, Guy. Let’s head upstairs, and I’ll uhhh…I’ll wrap that package.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replies Guy, but the eagerness in his voice is almost obscene.
He walks back through the interior garage door with him, and this irks you to no end.
“Why does he get to be the lucky one?” whines Gabe. “It’s not fair!”
You shake your head and roll your eyes. The royal douche gets to hang with the goddess, and naturally, Gabe has to whine about it.
“I should kick the snot out of him,” frowns Gavin. “He’s always doing this.”
You shrug. Gavin’s the angry one, always has been. You do see his point, though.
“Come on, guys,” you urge. “Let’s get this job done for the lady. We can chew on Guy later.”
There won’t be a later, of course, but these poor saps don’t know that.
The three of you get to cleaning the garage, but it’s not fifteen minutes later when you hear a loud thumping from directly above the garage.
“What is that?” asks Gabe as he moves a plastic bucket into an unoccupied space beneath a work shelf.
You can quite clearly hear Mrs. Harrison’s rather loud and rather startlingly-orgasmic cries of ecstasy from straight up over your head. They sound as if she is having a very, very good time.
“That son of a…” glowers Gavin.
“She’s wrapping a package, all right,” you frown.
“Why does Guy have all the fun?” whines Gabe.
“It’s because he’s a douche,” scowls Gavin. “Just wait until I get ahold of him…”
All of this was distracting anyway. You needed to finish the job. This was just wasting time.
“Listen, mi compadres,” you say. “Let’s get the work done, get paid, and we’ll deal with Guy later.”
“Yeah, all right,” says Gavin unhappily.
“It’s not fair…” says Gabe.
“Life isn’t fair,” you say. “But, hey, we’ll make it fair, and that’s why we’ll ‘educate’ Guy later. For now, let’s keep on task, guys, and we’ll handle this in the immediate future.”
You subtly direct them back to work. Besides, you know women. There will be time for sloppy seconds later, specifically with you. Guy’s a clone anyway, so it’s not like someone else’s D.N.A. is swimming around in her. The most important thing right now is the job.
You continue with the garage cleaning, and Guy and Helena come down an hour later. Guy’s hair is mussed, and there’s a definite filth-eating grin on his face, but you’ll wait until Helena is gone before you and the boys jump him.
As for Helena? The glow around her? The absolute radiation of “I just had an awesome rodeo”?…Man, you know she’s going to want to dip into all the flavors, so all you have to do is wait.
“Well, boys,” grins Helena. “Well, I’ll be in the kitchen for about an hour while you boys finish the garage. Sorting through my old things was exhausting, so I need a little time out before I start again, okay?…Wrapping that package wore me out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Gabe in his whiney voice.
He’s clearly disappointed, but he’ll just have to live with it…for…however long he’s going to last.
Helena walks up to him and runs one hand down his left cheek, her slender fingers stroking his baby-soft skin. You think “baby-soft,” because that pretty much describes Gabe to a T. He’s always been the whiney emotional one.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she says gently as she gives a mock pout with her perfect lips. “Are you okay? You sound a little sad…”
“Oh, uhhh…N…No, ma’am,” stammers Gabe.
“What’s your name, or should I just call you ‘sad eyes’?” asks Helena.
“I…I’m Gabe,” replies Gabe.
“Well, after I’m done resting, Gabe, I’ll come get you,” says Helena. “I have a few more tasks I have to complete, and you can tell me all about what’s bothering you, okay? I like the conversation, and besides…I have a stocking to stuff. Christmas has come a little late for me this year.”
“Y…Yes, ma’am,” grins Gabe.
You roll your eyes yet again as Gavin mutters something under his breath. Guy looks on with a knowing smile, that smile ingrained upon his lips, in his eyes, and certainly all over his crotch.
Mrs. Harrison walks off and leaves you and your clones to finish the garage.
You immediately turn to address Guy’s behavior, but naturally, Gavin has Guy by the front of his utility jumper, clutching it with an iron grip in both white-knuckled hands, lifting him slightly into the air, but Guy already has his hands raised, palms out, that terrible filth-eating grin never leaving his face.
“You son of a—!” begins Gavin, but Guy cuts him short.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, tough guy!” grins Gavin. “Before you get all chargin’ bull on me, I’ve got some information for you.”
“And what’s that, Guy?” asks Gavin as he puts a heavy emphasis upon Guy’s name.
“Mrs. Harrison is bored, lonely, and as horny as the Devil Down Under,” nods Guy. “If you haven’t noticed already, this house doesn’t need much cleaning. She is ready to pop a lolly, whip some cream, and take a turn with all of us…You noticed what she said to Gabe, right?”
Your heart skips a beat. If what Guy says is true, your ascension into Heaven on Earth is all but guaranteed. I mean, it’s not like you couldn’t have gotten into her panties, but…
Gavin looks confused at first, but then a smile slowly creeps across his face.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“By my calculations…I’d say Gabe is next,” nods and grins Guy. “It’s pot luck after that…Let me tell you…that woman is voracious. There’s no way I could quench that thirst. She is lookin’ to sweep the lane; I’m tellin’ ya.”
Gavin lets go of Guy and then stares straight at you.
“What do you think, Garland?” he asks.
You grin and nod your head as well. You already know the answer to this one.
“Hey, I can see it,” you say. “Anybody with eyes and an I.Q. above room temperature can see it. All we have to do is work a little, wait, and then ‘Giddyup, partner.’”
Gavin grins as he nods back at you.
You, Gavin, and Guy all turn to look at Gabe. Your whiniest clone turns red but then shines forth a wide grin.
“You’re next, my awesome dude,” grins Guy.
“Oh, yeah,” says Gavin.
“Giddyup,” you say.
You motion back toward what little is left to do in the garage.
“Okay, well, playtime’s over,” you say with a clap of your hands. “Come on, let’s finish this, and if we still have time, we’ll take a bucket of water, a sponge, and some of that car soap and take to the truck and SUV. We’ll all get our freak on soon enough, so let’s get back to work.”
“You think so?” asked Gavin.
“Oh, yeah,” replies Guy with that filth-eating grin of his. “It’s Christmas dinner with that hot momma…We may even get seconds.”
“Yeah, all right,” grins back Gavin. “I like the sound of that. Let’s get to work, then.”
Everyone breaks off from this little pep circle to finish a separate task, but alas, your cleaning of the garage and the vehicles will have to wait.
Guy shakes, lets out a little whine, and then his eyes roll back in his head so that only the whites are showing.
“Guy?” asks Gabe.
You watch in slight horror and fascination as Guy begins to melt, first at his feet, then up his legs, then up his crotch, up his abdomen, then up his chest, and finally up his entire head. The whole process takes less than ten seconds, and by the end of it, he’s just a bubbling puddle of pink goo surrounding his work outfit and boots.
No one says anything. You all just stare at the bubbling pool of pink slime that used to be Guy.
“G…Guy?” stammers Gabe.
You shake your head. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. I mean, you haven’t even had your ride on the Helena Express yet…
Ugh…This complicates things.
“Dammit,” you hear Gavin mutter under his breath.
You weren’t supposed to hear that, but you did.
You know, you know, Gavin knows what’s really going on, and you know, you know, Gabe knows what’s really going on too, but you have to keep up the ruse…and so do they. More importantly, however, you now have to somehow justify having incredibly awesome and divine sex with one of the hottest women another, less-awesome woman has ever reproduced, and you’ve got to look both diplomatic, compassionate, and somehow moral…Man, that last one’s gonna be tough.
“G…Guy just melted,” says Gabe in visible and audible horror. “He…He’s dead…”
Gavin lowers his forehead into the palm of his right hand and then shakes his head, clearly frustrated at this development, just as frustrated, you imagine, as you are.
“W…We have to call an ambulance,” says Gabe in a shaky voice. “We have to call an ambulance, right?”
You sigh, a very-audible one, but you try your darndest to at least look compassionate.
“Why?” asks Gavin. “What are they going to do? Bring out a little medi-vac and suck him up into a bag? I don’t want to sound cold, but there ain’t no comin’ back from that.”
“Gavin’s right, even if he lacks tact,” you say.
“But…But he had C.M.R.D…” says Gabe in slight horror. “Our…Our D.N.A…We could all be infected. They’ll have to quarantine us!”
You and Gavin exchange knowing yet annoyed stares. Gabe is really hamming up the acting on this one.
“Company policy 463, section 8, paragraph 2 explicitly states that, and I quote, ‘Employees are not to contact authorities in the event of a C.M.R.D. death of a Q.C. Cleaners employee, on the job or otherwise,’” you explain.
“I know that, but—” starts Gabe, but Guy cuts him short.
“If you know that, then why are you arguing about it?” asks Gavin.
“Because it’s—” begins Gabe, but this time, you cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter what your reasoning is, Gabe,” you say quickly.
“H…He was our brother!” stammers Gabe. “Yeah, he was a douche, but he was our douche…What I’m trying to say is…is that…he was our brother!”
“I know,” you say firmly. “The reason the company does this is because C.M.R.D. is not contagious, mainly because the virus is present in everyone on the planet. Also, there is no known cure, so even if we all have it, which we do, the conditions must be right for us to…to go the way of the ice-cream cone on a hot day, and poor Guy, obviously…somehow…fulfilled those conditions, and considering what we know about C.M.R.D., those conditions could have been building up for months.”
“You know what Guy was like,” frowned Gavin. “He was always into those sex dolls, you know? It was probably that weird foreign lube he was using.”
He turns, nods his head, and points at you.
“You remember that gunk, don’t you?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah,” you frown and nod in return. “Poor Guy. We told him not to use that gunk on his junk. This is the end result of it.”
“But it sounds so heartless,” whines Gabe. “He was our brother!”
“Yes, and we’re going to have a proper funeral for Guy,” you say with a sympathetic look. “Right now, though, we can’t let on what’s happened to him. We have to clean up his mess, because we can’t alarm Mrs. Harrison. It’s company policy. We have to do the right thing and protect our client from any psychological or emotional harm.”
“Yeah, what Garland said,” nods Gavin. “You don’t want to cause that beautiful lady any trauma, do you?”
“N…no,” says Gabe unhappily.
“That’s right,” you slowly nod. “We have to protect her, and it’s also company policy to ‘remove the infected remains.’ We have to store them in the Rad Cooler right now, and then we’ll contact the company…after we’ve finished the job here.”
“Yeah,” nods Gavin. “That’s also company policy. Get the job done first, get it done right, and then we contact them and tell them we lost Guy…Besides…what did you think the Rad Cooler was for, anyway? Storing drinks?”
“I know,” says Gabe in a sad tone. “I know what it’s for; I just never thought it would happen to one of us.”
Great good gravy was he hamming it up! He had to have practiced.
“Look, we have to finish this job, and we have to finish all of the job,” you say firmly.
“Y…Yeah, I know,” says Gabe. “I know that. You just said that.”
“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “You don’t understand. In a little while, Mrs. Harrison is going to walk back in here to come looking for you…specifically you.”
Gabe pales and opens his mouth in a horrified “O.”
“I can’t do that now!” he gasps.
Okay, this was too much. You’re now beginning to think that Gabe isn’t acting. He definitely knows the score, so he really must be that whiny, emotional, and sentimental.
You’ll be damned if you’re going to let Guy’s dissolution and Gabe’s effeminate emotions keep you away from the best sex you’ll ever have in your life.
Thankfully, Gavin helps out with this one.
“You gotta do it, man,” says Gavin with a thin-lipped frown and a shake of his head. “You cannot cause that woman any trauma, and if she’s expecting a Gabe stocking-stuffer, then you need to go all Santa, and you need to do it right. Make her feel it, man.”
“Gavin’s absolutely right,” you agree. “That poor woman cannot learn someone just horribly died in her garage…What do you think that’ll do to her?”
“Plus, it’s what Guy would have wanted,” follows up Gavin.
Man, Gavin is on a roll today! Normally, he’s just mean and a complainer…Hrmm…He must really want some nooky. Honestly, you can’t blame him.
“Do it for Guy, Gabe,” you say in your best sad voice. “I know I’m going to. It’s what Guy would have wanted…He’d want us to do it, and he’d want it done right. I know I’m going to give that poor woman the best orgasm of her life. Gavin’s going to too, right Gavin?”
“Darn Skippy,” nods Gavin. “I don’t want to disrespect Guy’s memory, and not satisfying that Aussie bombshell’s needs is like spitting on Guy’s grave…You don’t wanna spit on Guy’s grave, Gabe…do you?”
“Noooo…” says Gabe unhappily.
You grip Gabe by the shoulders and look him in the eye with your most serious look.
“Listen, you cannot let on what’s happened,” you say firmly. “When she comes for you, you’ve got to go with her, stuff her stocking, and make sure Christmas finally comes, okay? We have to complete this job, all of it, and we have to do it for the company, but more importantly, much more importantly, we have to do it for Guy, understand?”
“O…Okay,” stammers Gabe. “I’ll do it…I’ll do it for Guy, but I won’t like it.”
“You have to,” snorts Gavin. “It’s a major insult to Guy if you don’t.”
“Gavin’s right,” you nod. “You’ve got to enjoy it. Guy would be disappointed if you didn’t, and Mrs. Harrison’s going to know if you don’t give it your all. You’ve got to etch a permanent smile on that Venus de Milo, man.”
“I…It’s just…I…O…okay. All…All right,” agrees Gabe.
Finally. What a whiney little frikkin’…It doesn’t matter. You need to get back to work.
“Come on,” you say firmly. “We have to go get the Rad Cooler and the Insta-Vac. Guy’s clothes have to go in a seal bag too.”
“Yeah, and then we have to finish the garage,” nods Gavin.
You let go of Gabe, give him a reassuring, if sad, smile, and then clap your hands together.
“All right!” you say enthusiastically. “Let’s get going!”
That may have sounded a little cold, but if Gabe protests, you’ll just chalk it up to you trying to cheer him up…It’s not like you’re sad…
Ding, dong, the douche is dead!
You try not to smile, but doggone is it difficult. Eh, he was a douche, but Guy did give you some hot-ticket information on a gorgeous horny housewife, so he wasn’t all bad. Still, that’s one little thorn in your side who’s been plucked out, and now there’s only two more to go!
Aside from that…wheeeelp, it’s time to clean up Guy.
You head out to the van, take out the Rad Cooler and the Insta-Vac, and then you head back into the garage. Gabe turns aside as you suck up Guy’s remains while Gavin uses some heavy-duty cleaning gloves to remove Guy’s outfit to put in a seal bag. It all goes into the Rad-Cooler, but you roll your eyes and shake your head at Gabe’s horrified reaction…What a weenie.
With that done, you take a little extra time to clean up the rest of Guy’s “stain,” and then the three of you take to giving the vehicles a scrub-down. That takes about an hour, so by the time the three of you have finished, your smokin’-hot client walks back in, ready for Round 2, this time with her surrogate Santa, a giant tampon named Gabe.
He’d better not screw this up…He’d better just screw, and he’d better do it right, because if he’s a disappointment, he could ruin your shot at Heaven, and if that happens…so help you…
“There you are,” says Helena Harrison. “You boys have done a fantastic job in here. I’m thinking you should do the attic next. It’s not like there’s anything I need thrown out up there, but I would like it dusted and sorted…That’s not hard, is it?”
“No, ma’am,” all three of you say at once.
“Oh, good,” smiles Helena. “Well, I have a stocking that needs stuffing for my late Christmas, and I could use some help. Come on, Gabe. You can come help me.”
“Y…Yes, ma’am,” stammers Gabe.
“Now hang on,” says Helena. “Weren’t there four of you?”
You and your two “brothers” exchange knowing, worried glances, but you quickly save the day.
“Uhhh…Guy got called away to the office,” you say.
“Oh…” says Helena with a disappointed frown. “Well, I was hoping to see him again…Oh, well. This shouldn’t be a problem.”
“No, ma’am,” you say. “We’ll get the job done.”
She studies the three of you for a second and then nods toward the open interior door of the garage. Her usual gusto returns in a flash.
“Well, it won’t be hard for you two boys to sort out the attic,” says Helena with a smirk. “However, I’m betting it’ll be hard for Gabe to stuff my stocking, so we’d better get going, shouldn’t we, Gabe?”
“Oh, for crying out…” mutters Gavin, but he was heard, and not just by you.
The change in Helena is instantaneous, like a Jekyll-and Hyde-transformation. She walks up to Gavin, puts her hands on her gorgeous hips, and stares him straight in the eyes.
“Is my work funny to you?” she asks him, and her tone is not nice.
“N…No, ma’am,” replies Gavin in audible alarm.
Your dark eyes widen. It sounds like Gavin is in trouble, and even he doesn’t know what to do about it, because he’s almost never flustered.
“It sounds like you have a chip on your shoulder…ummm…What is your name?” asks Helena.
“It’s…It’s Gavin, ma’am,” says Gavin.
“Well, Gavin…” says Helena, and she puts some extra spiteful emphasis on his name.
Gavin just stands there as white as a sheet. Man, you sure are glad you didn’t say anything to set her off.
“Well, I think you did say something mean, so it looks like a little discipline is in order,” continues Helena. “As soon as Guy is done helping me, it appears I’ll have to come and get you. I think you need a lesson in manners, Gavin. Do you think you need a lesson in manners, Gavin?”
“N…No, ma’am,” says Gavin with a shake of his head.
“Well, I think you do,” says Helena as her perfect nose scrunches up with obvious distaste. “I think you’ve been a bad boy, so when I come back, it looks like I’m going to have to teach you a lesson in manners.”
“Wh…What?” asks Gavin.
He looks truly out of sorts…or maybe just confused. Actually, you have no idea what’s going on here.
“Oh, yeah, I think you need a time out,” smirks Helena. “I’ll have to lay down a little discipline, I think. I’ll have to play teacher here, because I think you need a hard…hard lesson taught to you.”
“A hard lesson?” asks Gavin stupidly.
“Oh, yeah,” nods Helena.
She has slight smile on her perfect lips.
“You know what they say,” she says confidently. “They say ‘spare the rod, and spoil the child.’ Well…I think a rod is in order here, and I’ll take it a step further. You’re going to supply that rod, Gavin, and that rod’s going to be a long…hard rod. I think using your own long hard rod will make this punishment more memorable, don’t you?”
Both of Gavin’s eyes widen, as do yours. You know what’s going on now, and it’s a surefire bet Gavin does, too.
“Y…Yes, ma’am,” says Gavin, but he’s trying hard not to grin; you can tell.
“Good,” replies Helena. “Now you boys get up to the attic. I have to stuff my stocking with Gabe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Gavin.
You and Gavin leave the garage without another spoken word. You quickly locate the stairs, walk up to the second floor, and find the pull door for the attic. Gavin pulls down the collapsible attic ladder just as Helena and Gabe walk past you.
Helena stops and nods in your direction.
“Do a good job, boys,” she says.
She walks up to Gavin before you can say anything in reply. She grips the front of his utility jumper with her right hand, pulls him down to her eye level, and stares him straight in the eyes again.
“And you!” she says firmly. “I’ll be seeing you in a little while. Make sure you have that rod ready, because you’re going to receive a hard, hard lesson.”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Gavin with wide eyes.
She leads Gabe off down the hall and into another room, probably her bedroom, by your estimates.
You climb the attic ladder, and Gavin follows you. As soon as he’s fully in the attic, you turn and give him the best filth-eating grin you can.
“Oh, man, have you done it now!” you say.
Gavin turns red as his lips tighten into a thin line.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but you can tell he’s resisting a return grin.
“She is gonna discipline you,” you say with wide eyes as you slowly nod, that Guy-esque filth-eating grin never leaving your face.
“Eh, shaddup,” says Gavin as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“Man, you sure are lucky,” you whistle. “Guess you stumbled into that one…Oof…She is gonna tame the beast!”
“Whatever,” retorts Gavin. “Let’s just get to work. We have to clean the attic.”
“Oh, I know,” you smile.
You look around at the attic, and it’s fairly large, but it’s mostly already organized and mostly clean.
“There isn’t that much to do up here,” you say as you nod your head. “It looks like our ‘job’ isn’t so much cleanin’ house as it is cleanin’ pipes.”
“You think?” snorts Gavin. “This is like the best job we’ve ever had!”
“Here, here!” you say in open excitement.
There’s no reason to hide it now. That weenie, Gabe, is on the second floor with Helena, so it’s not like you need to keep up any so-called “grief” about Guy with Gavin. He knows the score.
Speaking of Gabe…
You hear a loud thumping from the floor below, and then Helena’s cries of ecstasy start up soon after.
“Right on cue,” says Gavin.
“Yep,” you say knowingly. “Looks like our little whiner is actually doing something right for once.”
“Yeah, now hopefully he completes the job,” says Gavin. “I haven’t received my ‘punishment’ yet, so he’d better not screw this up. I swear, it’s like that boy enjoys crying in his panties…What a tampon.”
You chuckle at that remark. That’s what you secretly call Gabe in your own head. It appears Gavin simply voices that insult out loud.
You get to work in the attic, sorting things, dusting here and there, but there really isn’t much to do. All the while, of course, you can hear the pounding and the cries of ecstasy, and after about a half an hour of this, there comes a signature, loud, loud vocal explosion from Helena Harrison that can only mean one thing…
“Well, it looks like someone crossed the finish line,” you say.
Gavin shakes his head and give you a knowing smirk.
“I didn’t think he had it in him,” he says.
“Well, you know where tampons go,” you shrug.
Gavin lets out a loud guffaw, and you follow suit with your own laugh. You both chuckle over this, but one look around tells you that you’re finished with the attic anyway.
It’s not ten minutes later when you hear Helena’s voice calling from below.
“Come on down, boys!” she orders. “Let’s all head to the kitchen!”
You and Gavin head out of the attic, head downstairs, and walk into the kitchen, following both Helena and Gabe. All of you enter the kitchen, a big spacious kitchen at that, with white-tiled flooring and black-marble countertops, but Helena directs you toward a round oak table surrounded by some simple wooden kitchen chairs.
The woman opens up a chrome-colored fridge, removes an energy drink, pops the tab, and gulps it down. Her hair is mussed, as is Gabe’s, but this is to be expected. It’s clear their stocking stuffing was a little rougher on the body than first estimated.
Helena pitches the empty energy drink can in a chrome trash bin and slams the lid shut. She tromps over to Gavin, grabs him by his left ear with the pinched fingers of her right hand, and drags him off by his ear out the kitchen archway.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” cries Gavin.
“I’ll be back, boys!” calls out Helena. “I have to teach Gavin here a lesson!”
You stare in amusement as Gavin is led under the kitchen archway and into the living room.
“Hey, that hurts!” you hear Gavin hiss out.
“Would you like me to grab you somewhere else?” you hear Helena say.
“Yeah, that’s really starting to sma—” begins Gavin.
You hear a loud, high-pitched, male, Gavin-sounding yelp that ends up as a squeal. That squeal dies down to whimpering as that unmanly sound vanishes up the stairs.
You shake your head and roll your eyes. You guess she grabbed a little low.
You sit down at the table and stare at the sandwiches there. There are some sandwiches wrapped in wax paper along with some energy drinks. Next to them is a note that states, “Here’s a little energy for my famished young men. Enjoy!”
You shrug, unwrap a sandwich, and take a bite out of it. Hmmm…Ham and cheese. Not too bad, if not a little plain.
You look up toward Gabe, but he simply stands near one of the kitchen counters. He looks a little peaked, a little pale.
“Come on and sit down, Gabe, my man,” you urge him. “You look like you could use a bite to eat.”
He wobbles a little, whines, and his eyes roll up in the back of his head. He’s a puddle of pink goo about ten seconds later.
You sigh. At least he melted on the kitchen tiles. You’ll have to vac that up in a bit, but for now, you’re going to finish your sandwich.
You take another bite out of your ham and cheese as a loud thumping picks up from the second floor. You hear Helena’s cries of ecstasy a moment later, but you shrug this off. Your turn will come soon enough. Besides, you don’t want to interrupt Gavin’s “punishment.” He deserves a good spanking.
You finish your sandwich and your energy drink, and then you head out to the van. You get the Rad Cooler, the Insta-Vac, and a seal bag. You go back into the house and back to the kitchen. You quickly take care of Gabe’s remains, shake your head at it all, and then deposit everything back in the van.
Shew! That was a little bothersome, but at least it’s out of the way!
All of that took about forty-five minutes, so now is the time to relax until given further instructions. Helena’s orgasmic buildup and release assaults your ears just as you make the decision to relax, so you don’t know exactly how much time you have to actually relax.
Oh, well. You’ll figure it out.
Unfortunately, by the time you sit down, Helena comes down from upstairs and enters the kitchen. She appears jittery and a little shaky, and her beautiful blue eyes flit back and forth in a nervous manner, as if she’s thinking hard about something.
You stand up and lean your head to the right as you study her.
“What’s wrong?” you ask. “You look a little out of sorts.”
“I…I…I need you to come with me,” she stammers.
“Yeah, all right,” you shrug. “Uhhh…Gabe got called away, so it looks like it’s just me and Gavin now.”
“A…About that,” says Helena. “You…uhhh…Gavin…uhhh…It’s best if I just show you.”
You follow her up the stairs, head down the hall past the attic entrance, and enter the master bedroom, but one look around tells you that Gavin is nowhere to be found.
“I…Well…It’s Gavin…” says Helena as she stumbles over her words.
“What about Gavin?” you ask.
She leads you to the bathroom of the master bedroom and waves one hand toward the open door.
“He…He went into the bathroom, and…uhhh…” she stammers.
You stare inside the pristine, white, really-frikken’-nice-looking bathroom and see the puddle of pink slime on the white-tiled floor. You turn and see Gavin’s work clothes and his boots on the brown-carpeted floor near the huge king-sized bed.
“Aww, crap,” you curse.
Well, there goes your ticket to the Helena express…and you so wanted to ride first class. At least he’d walked into the bathroom in the buff. That makes vacuuming him up easier.
“I…I did a bad thing,” says Helena. “I didn’t think…I didn’t know he’d…he’d uhhhh…”
Normally, with your “brothers” out of the way, you could have your ride and then have seconds, even thirds, but now…
“Dammit,” you mutter.
Now you’ve got to play into the act…Crap. Leave it to your idiot clones to screw even this up.
“I…I can’t let my husband find out about this…” says Helena in a quiet voice.
Whelp, time to permanently sabotage your turn. You have to play into the act, so it’s time to turn on the anger.
You turn and shoot Helena your best enraged look.
“That was my brother!” you exclaim. “I don’t care about your damned husband! What did you do to Gavin!”
Helena flinches and backs away from you.
“I…I…We…We…uhhh…I…I guess I punished him too hard…” stammers Helena. “I didn’t know he had C.M.R.D.!”
Time to act like a clueless idiot. You have to ham this one up anyway.
“We all have the virus,” you scowl. “That doesn’t mean…Wait…Why are his clothes there? Was he naked in the bathroom?…What the…? Did…Did you…Did you have sex with my brother?…Did you have sex with my brother!”
Helena’s beautiful face turns red. You see, your acting is first rate, because only a first-class moron could have heard the thumping and the orgasmic cries from upstairs and downstairs and think “Gee, they must really be working hard.”
“I…I…I…” stammers Helena.
Time to get a little rough. You can leverage this scandalous situation for some extra cash on the side, and you know she’ll cave, because she doesn’t want her dear hubby to find out.
You step forward, grab Helena’s shirt, and lift her up a little. She lets out a little shriek as you yell in her face.
“I should call your husband right now!” you exclaim. “I should call the cops and have them haul your sorry butt away! He can pick you up from jail!”
“N…No!” cries out Helena. “I didn’t do anything wrong!…I…I did, but not like that! I just had sex with him, that’s all!”
You push her back onto the bed and she lands on her back. She sits up on the edge of the bed and shakes her head in clear visible denial.
“All I did was cheat on my husband!” she says unhappily. “I know that’s wrong, but I didn’t kill anybody!”
Time for the leverage and the blackmail…Hey, you know what? This is an added little bonus you can use in future jobs. She really believes she’s in trouble.
“I didn’t know he had C.M.R.D.,” pouts Helena. “Once C.M.R.D. is in the final stages, it’s too late…He was going to die no matter what I did; can’t you see that?…I’m the one who’s damaged here, you know…Besides, at least he got to have a wonderful time with me before he went, right?”
You scowl and nod your head a couple of times, and then you use your world-class acting to soften that scowl.
“Yeah…Yeah, okay,” you say unhappily. “I just lost my brother, and now I have to go get the Insta-Vac and vacuum up my own brother according to company policy. I never thought I’d have to do that…I thought that policy was a joke…”
Helena stands up, walks forward, and gently lays her left hand on your right shoulder.
“I’ll…I’ll help you with him,” she says. “I know it must be hard to have just lost your brother, but I’ll help you…”
You gently remove her hand and shake your head twice in recognition of her earnest desire to help you “remove” Gavin’s remains.
“That’s my job,” you say in false unhappiness. “I’ll clean him up, and then you and I are going to have a talk.”
“Pl…Please, don’t do this,” begs Helena. “You can’t call my husband.”
“We’ll talk after I’m done cleaning up Gavin,” you say. “I haven’t decided what to do yet.”
You leave that little breadcrumb out there for her. She can stew on that while you go get the Rad Cooler, the Insta-Vac, and a seal bag.
You trot downstairs, exit the house, head out to the van, grab your things, and head back in. You quickly get the job done as Helena watches in nervous silence, and then you exit the house again and put everything back in the van.
You walk back inside and close the front door. It’s time to extort Helena anyway…
You stop as Helena walks out of the kitchen. She is fully nude, and your eyes widen to the size of moons as you are nearly blinded from the magnificence of it…
Holy monkey stars in a basket with hotcakes! She is built like a perfect pinup, with a tiny waist, a big butt, beautiful full breasts with gorgeous chocolate-brown nipples…Great gravy in a load of mashed potatoes!
She walks forward as you are gaping in awe over her exquisite and insanely-perfect nude figure.
“You don’t have to turn me in,” she says as she runs the fingers of her right hand across your chest. “My husband doesn’t need to know. He’s a loser anyway.”
She pronounces “loser” as “loozah” in that incredibly-hot Aussie accent that automatically shifts your stick from neutral to drive.
Sproing!
She reaches down, feels you up, and then grins as you both realize your body has betrayed you.
“We both know what you want,” she says. “More importantly, we can both give each other what we need…so let’s just talk this over, okay?”
You, of course, know exactly how to talk this over.
“That’s a good start,” you say in a grim tone. “I think a little ‘punishment’ is in order, just like the punishment you gave Gavin. It’s the least I can do for my brother.”
You grab her by the shoulders, spin her around, and give her an openhanded swat to her beautiful bare bottom. She cries out, jumps a little, and then you take her by both arms from behind and lead her up the stairs.
The bedroom awaits.
*****
You walk inside the kitchen, Helena in tow. The last hour has been a banger, literally, and you are now armed with the knowledge that you are an incredible stud, something you already knew, but it doesn’t hurt to prove it over and over again.
You are back in your Q.C. Cleaners outfit, Helena is back in her off-day clothes, and both of you now face each other for one last standoff.
“I still have to report to the company that my brother is dead,” you say firmly.
Helena gives a warm smile and shakes her head no.
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to do that,” she says slyly.
“And why would that be?” you ask.
“I’ll take care of that,” she replies. “I’ll just tell my husband I was out and about town when it happened.”
Clever. Displace the blame on being out. Still, you have a solution for this, one that should net you some more disposable income.
“Well, considering I’m the one who has to live with the loss, I think a little tip is in order,” you say. “I think a net profit of…ooooh…six-hundred should make some nice pocket change.”
“Oh, you do?” asks Helena.
She steps forward and swirls her right index finger in your outfit, right along your sternum.
“Well, you’ve already given me a tip,” she says coyly. “A rather big one, I think. Do you really want me to pay you as if you were a common prostitute?”
“Loose lips sink ships,” you shrug.
“Oh, wigglebum,” she says, “I don’t think I need to do anything.”
“And why would that be?” you smirk.
She cocks her head to one side and gives you that sly look again.
“Do you know what Q.C. Cleaners stands for?” she asks. “Specifically, the ‘Q.C.’?”
“Of course,” you snort. “It stands for Quincy Corman, the old man who owns the company. I’ve met him myself. He personally hired me.”
Helena walks over to the central kitchen countertop and picks up her smartphone. She walks back up to you and shakes her head.
“This was all a game, my honey bear,” she smiles. “My husband really is a loser, but I knew he had the comfort and security I was looking for the moment I met him at the Mingle and Come Lonely Hearts Bar.”
Wait…The Mingle and Come Lonely Hearts Bar? Isn’t that the place where…? Does that mean she’s a…?”
Your thought is cut short as Helena shakes her head and messes with her phone.
“Here’s a picture you need to see,” she says with a wide grin. “No, you can’t fool me, Garland. That’s your name, isn’t it? I know, because there were four of you hotties on the list when I ordered you on discount, because I knew having a good root would speed up the end result, so the way I figure it, your time is almost up. I got all four of you on discount, and you gave me something my loser husband never could, a red-hot root. This has been the best deal of my life.”
“Wait, what?” you ask. “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t play stupid, Garland,” says Helena with another shake of her head. “All of the BS is over. I know your ‘brothers’ never got ‘called back to the office.’ They melted just like Gavin did.”
You don’t like where this conversation is going.
“Are you saying…?” you trail off.
“I’m saying I don’t have to pay you a damned thing,” shrugs Helena. “The company’s already been paid, and they’ll be out to pick up their company van soon enough. You see, ‘Q.C. Cleaners’ is a play on words with Quincy Corman’s name, but the ‘Q.C.’ doesn’t stand for ‘Quincy Corman.’ The whole company name is ‘Quick Clone Cleaners,’ and apparently everybody knows this except you and your…‘brothers.’
“The old man, Quincy Corman? Do you actually think you met him? That’s just the fantasy they put in your head…Here’s a picture of the ‘old man’ himself.”
She holds up the phone, and your heart stops. There’s an ad for Q.C. Cleaners on her phone, and on the phone is the smiling face of Quincy Corman, the man dressed in a black three-piece suit and grey tie, standing in front of a light-blue background. He has both of his hands up in closed fists with the thumbs up in the classic “thumbs-up” sign.
The ad states, “I’m Quincy Corman, and at Q.C. Cleaners, my clones satisfy your needs!” Those letters are all in fancy white curves, but that doesn’t matter because…
He looks just like you. He looks just like you, and it never occurred to you to ever check a job ad for your own company. Of course, that could only mean…
“I guess you weren’t so clever after all,” says Helena.
Your body shakes as you feel the liquefaction process start from the feet up. The pain is absolutely horrific as you stare up into Helena’s beautiful blue eyes and her smiling face, and you’re staring upwards because your head melts last before it hits the spotless-white kitchen tiles beneath you.
*****
Your name is Helena Harrison, and you’re living the dream…Well…almost.
Your husband is a monumental loser, but since he’s gotten you a permanent residence in the United States, that means you don’t have to move back to Australia. You were living in poverty there, but you did manage to come to the States in a desperate bid for something better, and that paid off, though you’re still stuck with a goat-faced sailboat of a husband.
Still, he’s not all bad. He’s a lawyer, and that’s a definite plus in your book, but his little winky never has and never could satisfy you. What you need is a good root, so you went and got it, though it was under the guise of some quick clones.
Now your goat-faced husband is back home after your long exhausting day of “cleaning the pipes,” so you’ve got to play it cool. Your balding, red-haired, goateed, and chubby lawyer you call a husband, Benjamin Harrison, is finally back from the office.
Now both of you are standing in the kitchen, but you’re nonchalantly resting against a kitchen countertop while sipping on an energy drink.
“Hey, honey,” says Benjamin.
He sounds forlorn, off. Something’s not right. Of course, it’s not like you care about his personal problems—he is just a means to an end—but you need to keep up the game. He doesn’t need to know your ass end just got rammed by four different track toys.
His plain brown eyes are downcast.
“What’s going on?” you ask. “You sound like you’re having a rough go.”
“I don’t know how to say this,” he says in a sad tone. “Ummm…I hope you enjoyed the cleaners who came by today.”
Your heart skips a beat. There’s no way he could know that you’ve done what you did…Is there?
“Wh…What do you mean?” you ask.
“The cleaners we hired,” says Benjamin. “I saw who you selected, and we don’t really need things particularly clean, even during Spring Cleaning, so I know why you hired who you hired. I…I have cameras set up around the house, secret cameras you don’t know about.”
Your brain is on fire. As much as you despise your husband at times, you really don’t want to lose the life you have with him. You certainly don’t want to go back to the Aussie sticks.
“Now…Now, listen, hon—” you start to say, but he cuts you off.
“It’s fine, Helena,” he says unhappily. “I…I just wanted you to have a good time before…well…”
“Well, what?” you ask nervously.
You’re suspicious now. You have the feeling he’s going to give you some awful news, like the big bad “divorce” kind of news.
He pulls out his smartphone and messes with it. You don’t know what he’s doing, but you don’t like where this is going. He is a lawyer, and he can have you in rags in a heartbeat, stranded in a foreign country at that.
You really don’t want to have to earn a living by selling yourself online. Most of the girls who do that really don’t want to. They’ve been suckered into it, but you know better. Of course, you might have to if…
“Listen, I can explain,” you say. “It’s not that I don’t love you; it’s just—”
“You don’t love me,” he frowns as he cuts you off. “I know you don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for what I’m about to do.”
Beg. Maybe begging will work.
“Please, don’t do this,” you say as you blurt out your most heartfelt plea. “Please? It was one mistake! It won’t happen again!”
“Helena, dear, it isn’t about that,” says Benjamin in a sorrowful tone. “I just wanted you to have a good time before you go.”
He holds up his phone and shows you an ad. The ad is for a company with the name of “Grow Mates,” and its slogan is “Quick love for the discerning man!” That’s disturbing enough, but it’s the picture of the woman on the ad that causes your breath to stop. The ad displays a rather pricey tag and the personalized slogan for the “Get a good root from our new Australian model, the Beauty from Down Under!”
It’s you. It’s a full-on nude image of you, complete with your smiling face.
“I…I really enjoyed our time together, but our two weeks are up,” says Benjamin. “I thought the boys from Q.C. Cleaners would finish the job. I thought they’d wear you down and give you the time of your life, but it looks like you were a little tougher than them…You wore them out first. That’s why telling you is really hard for me. We aren’t actually married, hon. You’re just the flavor of the month.”
“No…” you say as you shake your head. “No, I’m…I’m from Melbourne, and I was forced to move to the sticks when I was five! No, this is a trick, Benjy, and it’s a really sadistic one! I came here to the States looking for a better life, and we met at the Mingle and Come Lonely Hearts Bar!”
“That’s the Grow Mates Bar, Hel,” says Benjamin. “It’s where buyers like me go to ‘pick up’ our product.”
You want to scream at him that you are not a “product,” that you’re a living breathing person, but the pain coursing through you causes you to do nothing but shake and whine. You stare up at the devastated look in his brown eyes as your once-perfect and flawless neck meets the kitchen tiles, because your head is the last thing to melt into a bubbling puddle of pink slime.
*****
“Honey, are you okay?” you ask as you step into the kitchen.
You’ve been waiting in the car in the garage, just like he told you to, but your husband has been taking a little while to get back to you, and waiting for twenty minutes is a little excessive in your eyes.
You’ve both come home after your yoga workout, because he just picked you up after finishing some minor legal work at his office.
You’re in the kitchen, but something is off. Your husband, Benjamin, has an Insta-Vac in his right hand and is currently setting that appliance down on the kitchen countertop.
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” he replies. “Thank you for asking.”
He wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head.
“I just had a bad day,” he says sadly.
Your name is Henrietta Harrison, and you’re married to Benjamin Harrison, and to be honest, you don’t really care if he’s down or not, but you know which side of your bread is buttered, so you know better than to rock that money boat.
“Well, is there anything I can do?” you ask. “You don’t have to clean the kitchen, you know. That’s my job.”
“I could…use a little T.L.C.,” says Benjamin in a hopeful tone.
Ugh. Having to do your “wifely duties” with this pig is…ugh. You’ll do it, though. It’s not like you haven’t done it before. Besides, the happier he is, the more of his money flows into your pockets. You’re a twenty-seven-year-old, blonde, blue-eyed, bombshell, and you’re ready to explode once you get the chance to knock boots with a real man, but for now, you’ll just put up with Benjamin…You know better.
“Okay, hon,” you say softly. “Let’s go upstairs to the bedroom, and I’ll give you a nice long massage and some tender loving care…How about a naked massage? We can both strip down.”
He smiles at you. His mood has picked up in an instant.
“There’s the smile I’m looking for,” you say in mock eagerness. “You know I can’t say ‘no’ to you, honey. I’ve never been able to do that, not since we first met at the Mingle and Come Lonely Hearts Bar.”
BONUS STORY…THREE’S A CROWD
Kayla could sense the hardwood floor beneath her but could not feel it. She could not breathe, nor see, nor hear, but she knew that she was still alive, and she knew that she could sense everything within the house anyway, and that included her roommate, Ashley. Ashley had stuck her in the back of the neck with a needle, and then there was pain, pain like nothing Kayla had ever felt before, and then this…oddness.
Kayla remembered melting, remembered her skin and bones and flesh dissolving into a puddle of pink goo surrounded by clothes, and then she remembered Ashley laughing as the woman stomped on that puddle with a viciousness that Kayla had not realized her roommate had ever possessed.
Now Kayla was this…this puddle of pink goo…but she was still alive. She could still sense what was going on to an extent. She could still understand sound, though she had no ears, and she could still sense everything in the room, though she had no eyes, and what she sensed was both disturbing and wrong.
“She’s dead,” said Ashley into her phone. “It worked just like you said, although she screamed her head off as she melted…What? Are you serious? You can’t back out now! You said you loved me! Just get over here. Get over here and help me clean up this mess!…Ugh…I have to get a new roommate, and I don’t want the hardwood stained…I don’t care, Nicholas! You gave me the formula, so you’re in it now, too!”
Nicholas? Nicholas was her boyfriend, Kayla’s boyfriend, and this information sparked a fury in her like no other. She bubbled and slithered toward her treacherous roommate, moving herself forward by sheer will, and even in her current form, she could sense the shock and surprise on Ashley’s face as Kayla formed a slimy pink tendril to wrap around her traitorous roommate’s bare ankle.
Ashley screamed as she dropped her phone. Kayla felt herself push through her roommate’s skin, felt the weirdness of her roommate dissolving just like she did, and then they were together, one big amalgamation of pink goo, and it was…weird.
“What just happened?” thought Ashley, confusion in her thoughts.
“You killed me!” thought Kayla in anger. “You murdered me over Nicholas! I thought you were my friend! Why would you do that! I’ve never done anything to you!”
“Nicholas loves me, you Jezebel!” replied Ashley. “He never loved you! You were only holding him back…He would be the lead researcher at Angle Biocraft if not for you!”
“You did something to him!” accused Kayla. “You turned him against me!”
“He loves me!” thought Ashley in a mental scream. “Me! He never loved you!”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” scoffed Kayla. “We’ll just ask him when he gets here!”
Q.C. Cleaners Copyright 2025 © bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
Three’s a Crowd Copyright © 2020 100 More Tall Tales Matthew L. Marlott
Three’s a Crowd Copyright © 2025 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
Note: The image for this story was generated via artificial intelligence courtesy of OpenAI and modified courtesy of Canva.com.
