The premise of this story was fun, but after nearing the end of this sequel, I questioned the value of making it into a series. Probably not, so I hope it's left on an interesting note. Feedback is always appreciated, even for these highly-fantastical, silly romps.
Quick warning. There are elements of this story that may be incestuous in nature, so if that's not your bag, please avoid. However, I don't want to place it in the Incest category, as that is not the theme. It was always intended to have an exhibitionist bent, with a few hardcore elements. I'll leave it to admins to decide if it's appropriately left here.
Cheers!
*****
"Sexual Tourettes."
That is the best way to describe my boss' condition. Suffering from a mental disorder similar to tourettes, Mr. Henry Tovall voices almost every fleeting thought that enters his mind. I might be exaggerating - but only by a little - when I say that Mr. Tovall proves the theory that men think about sex every seven seconds. He will often blurt out lewd, sexual comments during the course of any conversation. It doesn't help that I have big tits. They draw attention, whether I want them to, or not.
Serving as Mr. Tovall's personal assistant over this past month thrust me into an interesting world. I stayed on his island, where I had my own office in his mansion. I hesitate to call it a real mansion, but it did have at least eight bedrooms, multiple living and recreation areas, two kitchens, and plenty of bathrooms. As Mr. Tovall is a billionaire, we had every amenity one can imagine: tennis, bowling, an enormous pool, two hot tubs, the the beach (of course). We even have great cell phone reception. It was like living on holiday all the time.
Technically, my office was Miss Patricia Marsh's office. She was Mr. Tovall's long-term PA, but needed a replacement while undergoing a series of surgeries on a bad leg, back on the main land. It was a Wednesday morning when I got up early, and rather than heading to the shower like usual, I threw on a short robe and zipped over to the office, located on the opposite wing of the property. I needed to print out a string of emails before Henry arrived. I'd start it up, and come back to shower and dress, before officially starting the day.
Henry and I meet every morning at seven sharp to discuss each day's itinerary. That gave me almost a half hour, but just as I flicked on the computer, the purple line rang. Mr. Tovall has two land lines, and the purple one indicates 'pick up at all costs'. Very few people have that number. Without hesitating, I snatched it up and answered, "Mr. Henry Tovall's office. May I help you?"
"Pat? It's Mona," said the voice on the phone. She was speaking loud and fast, not pausing between words or sentences. "Tell Henry I'll be there Friday before lunch. I'm only staying the weekend."
Immediately, sirens went off in my head. Mona Tovall is Henry's mother. From what Patricia told me, Henry loves her like any son would, but she drives him crazy, often trying to interject herself into his affairs. "Miss Tovall, this is Lucy. Lucy Landers. I'm filling in for Miss Pa-"
"Great, Lucy. Tell Henry I'll be there Friday. Probably before lunch."
Before I could respond, the line went dead. Frantic, I rushed to pull up the call-back number, but it was unlisted. I checked the Rolodex and tried the number I found there. There was no answer. I opened up old emails in Patricia's inbox to see if I could find any communication from Henry's mother. I had to find a way to reach out, with an excuse to disrupt her intention of coming here Friday.
In the short month I'd worked with Henry, I knew such a short-warning stressor was a bad thing for him. When stressed, his thinking gets scattered, and his sexual tourettes issue only gets worse. I bet his annoying mother knew that, too. I had no luck with finding anything in the emails, and was about to try the phone number again, when Henry barged through the door. Surprisingly, he was already dressed, a look often reserved for later in the day... or not at all.
Did I mention that? The folks around here, on this secluded island, sometimes go naked, and Henry does it more than the others. When he does dress, it's surprisingly stylish. He looks more like a GQ model, than a tech billionaire. Today, it was slim-fitting slacks and a spotless, solid-blue shirt, looking utterly handsome in his attire. Regardless, I'd be lying if I didn't say I preferred seeing Henry naked. Some guys just got it, and while I hadn't crossed any sexual lines with Mr. Tovall (unless you count that bizarre incident on my first day), I enjoyed his body for the eye candy, if nothing else.
"Holy shit, you're already here!" exclaimed Henry. It wasn't quite ten minutes to seven. Henry scanned me up and down in my short robe, and I realized half of my left breast was practically pouring out. I immediately adjusted, as I knew it would get comments. He started right in with the first one, "I am so glad I wore pants today. I'll get hard looking at that. Should I leave the door open, or closed?"
"Come on in, Henry," I said, waving him forward. It looked like my shower would have to wait. "I have disturbing news for you."
"What is it, and why are you such a prude? You wear too much."
He was staring at my tits, but considering they were barely covered by the robe, it was understandable. Like any man who sees a bit of flesh, they want to see more, and Henry just had to voice that opinion. He struggled to look away, yet that only led him to my legs, where the robe barely covered my crotch. He had seen me naked a time or two already, yet here I struggled, contemplating which action might be more lewd: sitting or standing? I didn't want to set his condition off any worse than it was, and telling Henry his mother was coming to visit wouldn't help. I breathed in. Here goes. "I just got off the phone with your mother."
I could see the blood immediately rush out of his cheeks. "Jesus Christ, did she say she was going to drop in unexpectedly?"
"Yes," I said.
"Of course she did. I bet she KNOWS Patricia is out. Somehow she must have found out. She never tries that shit with Patricia around." Henry was tightly closing his fists and clinching his teeth. "That bitch."
Based on what Patricia told me, Henry never says the cruel and harmful (or sexual) things, in any meaningful way. Again, it's just passing thoughts that we all have. Poor Henry just lacks the filter we all possess. I explained, "Your mother, at first, called me Patricia. She acted like she does this all the time. Dropping in. Miss Marsh warned me, though, and I tried-"
"And Mom talked all over you." Henry crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I want to milk you like a cow."
I looked down, noticing my robe was open slightly again. I shifted, fixing it. "Yes, she wouldn't let me get a word in."
"Not at a worse time. I intended to work on the Hobart project this weekend. Now she's going to make me cater to her every fucking whim. Godda-"
"I'll stop her when she lands," I exclaimed. "They can rest and refuel, but I will tell her you are buried in an important project. It's the truth."
"It isn't good enough, sugar tits. You try telling your mom, that work is more important than her. Then try telling MY mom that."
Henry had a point. My mother was furious with me right now, for leaving the city so suddenly to come work here. It was one of the reasons I avoided calling her. I hadn't visited, either, since taking the job. In fact, it was Mom who reached out to me first.
**
It was five or six days after I had started, when Mom's number came up on my cell. Mr. Tovall and I were in his back office at the time and he allowed me to take the call. "Hello?" I answered.
