Concilium Ch 01

This was edited by my Redheaded_RockyMtn_cumslut . All errors are mine and not hers.

All the people are over the age of 18.

The series will be under Novels and Novellas; not because I have such high aspirations as to write a piece of worthy literature. My stories could be in any of several different categories. In the end I hope this is entertaining, and decently crafted.

Please vote in the end, using the stars. Any comments are welcome. Thanks, and enjoy it.

The tags for this story are:

BDSM, Noncon/Reluctance, Group, Mind Control, big tits, threesome, ffm, bisexual female, spanking

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It's the middle of October and for fucks sake snow has been falling for the last five hours at more than an inch an hour.

It was my night to close and the mall refused to close early. Something about the lease agreements with the anchors requiring the mall to stay open if they did. And of course they stayed opened. I looked up at the windows that constituted the roof and ceiling twenty some odd feet above me. Change the snow to rain and it reminded me of what I remembered of a night this past summer.

Just like today, a series of thunderstorms rolled up from the southwest and between each storm was steady precipitation. It sucked. I had closed that night as well and was walking home when I saw this old woman huddled near a bridge overpass.

She looked like a wet dog and less happy than said dog. I walked up, "Come on, mother, let's get you dry and warm."

She looked at me suspiciously and replied, "Some kind of serial killer, aren't you?"

I laughed, "No, just trying to lend you a hand."

She clutched onto my face and gave me a kiss on the lips. "Bless you, child, but it is not needed."

I shook my head, "Are you sure? I have a nice warm bed you can sleep in tonight and I will sleep on the couch."

Swear to God she cackled. "Bless your heart, but I bet your bed is probably just a mattress on the floor."

I laughed with her, "True or not, it is dry."

She eyeballed me then said, "Bless you again, son, but I am okay."

"Fine," I said. "How about dinner? It has been ages since I have had a dinner date. It would make me happy to have you as my date."

She swung her hips playfully left and right while saying, "A pervy little boy are you? Are you trying to live out some Oedipal fantasy? Well bless you, but no thank you."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. There was only $8.00 left from buying dinner. I handed it to her, "Take it. I am sorry it is all I have, but take it."

She paused before taking the $8. "Why are you trying to help me, young man?"

I shrugged, "The joy of helping someone."

"Bless you with all my heart."

She started shambling off, "Soon, you will not have to find an old woman to help." I watched her go wondering what she meant. When the rain obscured her to the point I couldn't make her form out, I continued the walk home.

Funny, I haven't thought of that old woman since then. But then we hadn't had precipitation like this since that night. However that wasn't all of the answer either. I couldn't put my finger on it, and shrugged it off. No sense in beating myself up without knowing why.

I closed the store, a jewelry store belonging to a local owner who I had never met, and stood at the door of the mall watching the snow continue for a few minutes. Lou had trudged off with mall security to make the bank deposit, freeing me from also walking there, at least.

Turning up the collar of my altogether too light coat I stepped into, which I would learn later, the blizzard. I live just over one mile from the mall and normally it is a quick easy walk.

Not today.

Stepping away from the protected area that comprised the entrance to the mall, the force of the wind became evident. Swirls and eddies of snow danced along the parking lot merrily. Tiny little snow devils celebrating the early release from their arctic confines. Visibility was near zero; the faint glow of the parking lot lamps providing a will-o'-the-wisp like guide. I remember thinking that with only a mile to go, it was unlikely that the ill intentioned sprites could do me harm.

Before I made it halfway through the parking lot my shoes were soaked through and the snow topped them anyway resulting in my socks being wet. I followed the poor glow of the lamps to find that, indeed, the modern replacement for the will-o'-the-wisp had led me astray. I was a good two blocks in the wrong direction from my apartment. By this time my hands had begun tingling with a fiery sensation, which seemed completely at odds with being cold.

As I worked my way to the sidewalk that would lead me past the bridge where I had met the old lady, I noticed the bottom of my pants legs were saturated, all the way to my knees. They were clinging to my calves and I could feel the heat leave as it was whisked away from me by the omnipresent howling, chaotic wind.

Snow blew in a dizzying manner, seemingly coming from all directions and none at the same time. For the first time I wondered if I had made a fatal mistake in walking home and not taking a cab.

By the time I made it to the bridge I was soaked, and freezing. I couldn't feel my toes any longer. The rest of my feet, and legs to the kees were burning and tingly. My arms were in a similar situation, up to my elbows. The pain so intense in my fingers I could no longer distinguish any particular digit from the others.

Snow melted from my head and neck, seeped down my back and started soaking my shirt. The little protection the light jacket I was wearing was subverted by the cold water soaking it and my shirt from the inside. I could feel the heat now radiating from my core into the snowy night. The only part of me not wet was the lower part of my abdomen, and that was rapidly at risk of becoming as wet and cold as the rest of me.

I stopped at the bridge trying to find a place out of the wind and snow. Looking up the slope towards the support that held the tracks above me I saw tens of concrete pyramids, each about six inches tall.

I had no idea my fair city treated its indigent population so shittily. The only purpose of those little pyramids was to keep homeless people from getting comfortable. As if being homeless was a comfortable place. I mean really, what harm could they do up there? Looking around, there was nowhere that I saw to try and get out of the snow storm.

I realized that standing there was doing no good. I was shivering and shaking nearly uncontrollably; and the wind was being funneled through the opening for the street and seemed all the stronger for it. My body was trying to generate heat yet I was getting colder, if not wetter, so I started trudging my way home again. I became so tired, it felt like it took every ounce of energy I had to just put another foot in front of the last one. The cold was sapping the heat and motivation out of me faster than I could generate either. The involuntary shivering continued as I walked.

Snow was collecting along the sidewalk and curb to the street to such a point I could not tell where the sidewalk stopped and the street began. Footing was precarious and I started taking shorter and shorter steps until I was shuffling my feet. Which just shoved more and more snow over the top of my shoes. A gust of wind slammed against my body with a squall of ice and snow that completely obscured my vision. The smooth soles of my shoes provided no traction and I slipped in the snow, ass over tea kettle, as I found the street suddenly.

My head slammed against the curb and stars danced slowly and dimly before my eyes. I tried to cajole myself to get up and seemed to lose the argument. The inertia of my body was greater than my will to rise. I rested my eyes, trying to get the splitting headache I just acquired to subside. It wasn't long until I started to feel a little warmer. Something I nearly remembered from basic training almost made me feel alarmed. That feeling warm when this cold was a very bad sign.

I woke on my mattress the following morning, not knowing how I got there exactly. My head was pounding, like kettledrums in an altogether too small a space, and I felt nauseous. Had I really given myself a concussion on my way home?

For that matter, how did I get home? I had no recollection of my journey after leaving the partial coverage of the bridge.

I sat up slowly and looked around after my vision stopped swirling around. I could see a trail of clothes from the foot of my mattress to the door. Tee shirt, shirt and sports jacket, underwear, pants, belt, socks and shoes were all in a perfect line. I clearly hadn't deviated from the path from the door to bed.

Which means I hadn't brushed my teeth. Gross.

I made my way to the bathroom. My hair was a mess; the collar length black hair all in one giant tangle that I didn't look forward to straightening out. I had two black eyes somehow, or maybe the worst case of bags ever. I shivered as a tsunami of cold crashed over me. Overall, I felt only slightly worse than I did after getting shot while in the Army. Which is saying a lot. Getting shot sucks.

I started the shower after brushing my teeth and stepped in, letting the hot water soak into me and warm my core temperature. As I warmed up, I relaxed against the wall and considered drawing a bath to speed the process. Something about that maneuver sounded wrong, but I couldn't remember why it was bad to do. Memory of my ill advised trek home started filling in and I recalled picking myself up out of the snow and walking the rest of the way to my apartment. What struck me as odd is that the memory of my walking home I recall that my stride was quick and purposeful, unlike what it was immediately prior to falling.

After my shower I called my boss, Rhonda. "Hey, I need you to close today," I said when she picked up.

"Why?" She responded tersely. "Why should I work a double for you?"

I was annoyed, in the six months I worked for the store, I hadn't missed a shift and was promoted twice. The only reason I didn't get the job as manager when the previous manager left was that Christmas was coming and I had never worked a retail Christmas season. So they brought Rhonda in.

"I fell last night on the way home, you have to work all day."

Rhonda sighed, "This is really inconvenient, Hugh."

I hated being called Hugh, and Rhonda fucking knew it. The difference between Hugh and Hugo was kind of like the difference between Rhonda and Ronelda. "I don't care Rhonda, this headache is killing me; I think I gave myself a concussion when I slipped last night."

She sighed heavily in annoyance and I blurted, "For all I care you can come over after work and I will kiss your ass in thanks."

She replied, "Okay," and hung up. Did that seem almost chipper? Nah. Couldn't have been.

I plugged the phone into the charger, made coffee and loaded a bowl. I smoked it while waiting for the coffee to percolate. Sue me. Percolated coffee tastes better than drip or French press. As far as the marijuana goes? I would much rather be stoned at home than drunk on the road. Besides it was a better painkiller than aspirin.

Besides, there are not many better ways to spend a Saturday than drinking coffee and partaking.

I picked up the trail of clothes and tossed the washable stuff into the hamper and hung the dry clean items up to deal with another day. I don't remember much of the day after that.

The next thing I remember is at 9:30 a knock on the door roused me out of whatever fugue had taken me over. On the way to the door I realized that I put on lounge pants at some point, but nothing else.

Opening the door, I saw Rhonda standing there.

Rhonda stood around five feet four inches tall. She had an enormous body. In heels, her legs were nice enough, I guess. Good lines from her ankles all the way to where they disappeared beneath her skirt, gray today. Nice wide hips with a fat soft ass that sat behind a belly that, while she hid with great skill, was bigger than some islands in the Bahamas. Her breasts were on the ridiculously large side of things, each one the size of a watermelon. Bottle dark brown hair reached about half way down her breasts. Her face was pretty, not model pretty, but would be a pleasure to wake up to, at least once. Then again, she probably would make a decent plus size model.

Wait, what? Why the hell would I think that? Yeah she was pretty, but also my boss. All manner of reasons not to be thinking about waking up with her. Like her size and she's my fucking boss. And she generally was pretty bitchy. I doubted we both could fit on my queen mattress anyway. And half the time she was stone cold personally.

It wasn't like we had a close relationship. It was perfunctory and cordial. We weren't friends from my view. And I wondered idly how she knew where I lived.

She pressed passed me and headed toward the couch. As I was closing the door, I asked, "Rhonda, what are you doing here?"

I heard a zipper and whirled around so fast I gave myself a moment of vertigo. When it passed I saw, in the middle of my floor, laid a gray skirt. My eyes traveled up along Rhonda's legs.

She was wearing a black garter holding her sheer black stockings up. She performed a slow pirouette as I stared and I could see the black panties she was wearing were thongs. The thin material of the back disappearing between her large soft butt cheeks. Who knew they made thongs that large?

It took two or three starts before I could blurt out, "Rhonda, what the fuck are you doing?"

She looked at me like I was the dumbest mother fucker ever, "You said you would kiss my ass in thanks. I am here collecting."

I stood there jaw hanging low and my cock stirred in the lounge pants I was wearing. "Seriously?"

Rhonda nodded, "Absolutely."

I pulled the coffee table out a little and pointed to the space between the couch and the table. "Stand there, bend over and grab the table after I sit down."

I sat on the edge of the couch, my knees between hers, and said, "Okay, bend."

I don't think I had ever seen anyone take so long to bend over to 90 degrees. I watched closely as her ass cheeks spread apart slightly revealing the black fabric of her thong.

Rhonda wiggled her ass at me, giving me a whiff of her scent, and said, "Well come on." I had to admit she smelled a lot better than I would have guessed. Kind of sweet, kind of earthy, but not acrid at all.

I slapped her ass with enough force to leave a bright pink hand imprint. I growled, "I will damn well do this when I am ready."

She replied, demurely, "Yes, sir." I blinked as I stared at her wide ass trying to reconcile the tone with the person in front of me. I don't think anyone would have ever accused Rhonda of being demure. I sure the fuck wouldn't have.

I began unhooking the belts attached to the stockings one by one. It probably took longer than I normally would have spent, but her skin was dizzyingly soft. Or maybe it was the concussion playing hell with me. As the last one came free I heard Rhonda whimper, "Please, sir."

I paused, sitting with my nose a couple of inches from her asshole and pussy. I breathed in her scent deeply and asked, "Please what?"

Her hips bobbed up and down as she replied, "Please kiss me there."

I swatted her other ass cheek just as hard and growled, "Say one more thing and I am just going to spank your ass and send you home unkissed. Understand me?"

I saw her black hair lower and rise as she nodded.

I ran my hands up her legs starting at her ankles. The texture of the stockings sending small jolts of electricity up my arms, down my torso and to my cock. As my hands got to bare skin, I almost came.

Her skin was so fucking soft. Like she bathed in moisturizing lotion all day long soft. I groaned out, "Fuuuuck."

Rhonda reached back and grabbed my cock through my lounge pants and gave it a firm squeeze, "Fuck the kiss, put this monster in me and fuck me hard."

Fucking bitch I thought. She just had to ruin my vibe and the moment. Had she just done as instructed, kept her yep shut, I would be fucking her sooner than later.

But nope. She had to talk.

"Bedroom," I said as I stood.

She scurried happily to my bedroom. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a wooden spoon before following her in. She was on her hands and knees looking back at me expectantly.

I walked up to her side after grabbing my belt and asked, "Do you remember when I told you I was going to spank you if you said anything and send you home?"

The lusty expectant look on her face faded to shock and fear as she nodded. I continued, "You said twelve words in all. I am going to give you twelve stripes with my belt. The stripes from the belt are for denying me the opportunity to taste you. Then I am going to give you twelve shots with this wooden spoon which are because you have denied me the opportunity to fuck you. Agreed?"

Rhonda shuttered as she sighed and nodded, "Yes sir that sounds fair."

I swung the belt twelve times turning her ass pink as the swats got harder and harder. The room reverberated the sounds of leather on ass. With the first stroke of the belt Rhonda gasped and by the sixth she was moaning with each stroke and thrusting her ass back in anticipation of the strike.

She likes this? What the fuck? How could she like getting whipped by her employee who was some twenty years her junior. Baby boy issues?

What I had not anticipated was my reaction to spanking Rhonda. I had gotten hard in the living room when I was exploring her ass and legs; and said hard on slackened as I grabbed the belt and spoon. But by the time I could see how slick her thighs were, my cock was so hard it ached like nothing I had experienced before.

When I finished with the belt I dropped it by her face so she could see it. I also paused a moment to remove my lounge pants and tossed them to the side. No sense in soaking them with precum. Besides I might fuck her anyway.

Grabbing the spoon I swung it and the wood smacking into flesh made the most satisfying sound as the bowl of the spoon indented her ass by about a half inch on impact. It also left a lurid red spot immediately. That shit would hurt.

I swear to God my cock and balls felt like they were going to blow like Chernobyl. Why the fuck was this turning me on so much?

Eleven more times the spoon rose and fell, leaving a total of twelve inch and a half diameter splotches that would bruise all over her ass. It was the most beautiful fucking sight I had ever beheld. Even better than Heather Munn in high school; and, I was willing to die after seeing that slice of heaven.

I decided there was no reason to punish myself as well as Rhonda, so I collected some of her copious juices off of her thighs then wrapped my fist around my cock, and three strokes later fired my pent up orgasm all over her fat ass. For the last squirt, I held the head of my cock against her anus and applied it there.

I plopped down on the mattress next to Rhonda asked in a tremulous voice, "Sir, how may I make this up to you? May I come over after work tomorrow and service your needs?"

I reached over and swatted the big fat tit closest to me and replied, "That is something you will have to earn, slut." I immediately regretted not taking her blouse and bra off to see the mountains unfettered.

"How sir?" She pleaded.

I sat there and thought for a minute. Up until tonight I had never lusted after Rhonda, but that clearly changed. Her friend though? The blonde? The certified milf? "That blonde friend of yours, Laura or something like that. Bring her over sometime. If she lets me fuck her, then I will fuck you, assuming she is a good lay."

That's when I realized that I felt good. My headache was gone, my vision clear, and I wasn't cold. How the fuck did that happen?