The hole in the manor's bordering hedge was exactly where the Sally Wu's source had said it would be. Sally Wu -- town-renowned college coed detective -- had been investigating the conglomerate CEO Barbara Jones for the past five weeks. Jones had fingers everywhere, redirecting city funds, dissolving investigations, even cowing her staunchest opponents in the legislature. Jones' well-oiled machine of corruption, bribery, and blackmail -- it just made Sally mad! And tonight, Sally was going to infiltrate the Queenpin's lair.
She'd gotten a tip off a week ago in her mailbox, supposedly from one of Barbara Jones' maids. The package contained a plan of the manor, its camera blind spots, and a handwritten collection of computer login details. The letter that came with it convinced Sally that, maid or no, the sender had inside knowledge.
Sally had entered the estates grounds, and now she just had to reach Barbara Jone's personal study. The second leftmost window to the ground floor drawing room was, as promised, unlocked. With just her index finger, Sally pushed the window open, ready to dart if an alarm rang. The pane swung inwards without a squeak.
It was a narrow window, and Sally was a curvy girl. She started shimmying through sideways. Her pillowy bottom squeezed over the wooden frame, and she had to hold down her breasts with both hands. The tight squeeze wasn't helped by her thick, mauve wool sweater.
It was an autistic thing she had though -- she couldn't feel comfortable unless she wore this exact outfit. A thick mauve sweater -- only a D-cup bra beneath -- a bright purple, pleated skirt that stopped at the middle of her thick, tapering thighs, long knee-high socks, and black buckled shoes. The town had seen this outfit many times on the news, whenever she cracked a case against crime rings, insurance scams, etc.
She popped inside the drawing room, and her boobs and bum jiggled now nothing constrained them. Sally Wu wasn't impressed by the drawing room, even though it was bigger than her dorm room, had medieval armour in each corner, and had paintings on the wall that could pay off her student loans. Sally knew that every flake of gold-leaf on Jones' artisan lamps had been diverted from a homeless fund.
Jones' study was upstairs. Sally took off her shoes to avoid thudding down the upper corridor's wooden floor. The study door was locked, but Sally used the duplicate key that came with her informant's package.
The study was all mahogany and crimson velvet, bookshelves to the ceiling, filing cabinets here and there, and yet somehow spacious and uncluttered. There on the other side of the room, just in front of the wall-width windows was a desk that looked like it had been carved in the 18th Century, and a computer that looked like it had been made in the 22nd.
Sat on the desk's leather-cushioned seat, Sally booted up the computer. The computer asked for login details. Sally copied them off the scrap of paper. Sally held her breath until the screen said:
"Welcome".
Sally cheered, before immediately covering her mouth. She'd hacked in!
"Welcome," the screen read, and the text faded into a new message:
"You've done so well, Sally Wu."
As her stomach dropped, Sally pushed the chair back, ready to smash through the window behind her. As soon as she lifted her butt from the seat, the screen pulsed, strobed, flashed. Her butt plopped back down on the seat.
Sally was relaxed. She panicked, but she relaxed. Her brain was in full flight mode, but her muscles were tranquilised. With each pulse, strobe and flash her brain forgot it needed to fly. She tried to look away, but the screen was the only light in the dark room. Soon she forgot why she needed to turn her head away. She forgot she was even sitting there, slightly leant towards the beautiful lights, one arm flopped over the side of the armrest. Her thighs melted apart, and up her skirt, between her plump inner thighs, you could see her plain white panties.
Sally did not -- could not -- notice the hours pass and the dawn pour through the window behind her. Morning now, the computer's light was less all-encompassing, but Sally didn't even know what "looking away" was.
The door to the study clicked open. Sally heard it but the sound meant nothing to her. Barbara Jones stood in the doorway. Her navy blue bathrobe, its silk belt untied and dangling, hung open, her large, firm black breasts half-exposed, and her dark skin still steamy moist from her shower. Her wide mouth with its large, ruddy lips smirked. She lay her steaming mug of coffee on the desk right in front of Sally.
Barbara gently swivelled Sally's chair left and right. Sally's body moved, but her dazed face stayed facing the screen.
"I think we've left you in the oven long enough," Barbara whispered.
"Mistress..." It was a nervous, desperate, eager voice from the hallway, just outside the doorway.
Barbara swung around, her smirk hardening to a sneer, her back straighter, shoulders taller. "Yes, Emma, what is it?"
The maid had her petite hands clasping and unclasping in front of her lap. As she addressed Barbara, she kept her face towards the ground. If Sally's brains had any thoughts or memories at all, she would have recognised that Emma was a hotshot legislator. Emma had been a viral sensation and a pebble in every billionaire's shoe. Just five months ago she had almost maneuvered through a law that would cap political donations at half a grand. But, suddenly, her momentum -- poof! -- vanished. She was still a legislator, still posting viral shorts saying billionaires would know their place, but now she was just making excuses to her base.
"Mistress," said Emma. "I sent the girl the plan, the map, the letter, the key..." She swallowed and her breath grew quicker.
"And I suppose the little lawmaker demands a treat," said Barbara.
Emma's skin prickled. Her mistress owed no one anything.
"Mistress, I would never--"
"Don't try to take it back," said Barbara. "You are insatiable! Fine."
Barbara turned her back to the maid and lifted up her bathrobe above her hips.
"I'll allow you the privilege," said Barbara, "of kissing my ass."
Emma the lawmaker's knees buckled She crawled, mouth gaping, across the million-dollar rug, to her mistress' big, firm, black butt. She kneeled before that perfect ass, the ass she'd worshipped ever since Barbara Jones had shown her the glorious light of plutocracy. This billionaire's bum was worth far more than an uppity pleb like Emma.
Emma should respect the butt, only give it a light peck, but she was overcome with ecstacy. She smooched and smooched Barbara's ass, still moist from the shower and soap-scented. After five minutes, Barbara dropped her bathrobe on the lawmaker's head.
"Enough!" She looked down on the kneeling maid. "It's more than you deserve. You know, I think you're indulging too much in your little legislator hobby. I have been finding lint on my jackets, and scum in my showers."
"You're right, mistress, you're right." Emma kowtowed. "I have been neglecting my duties. I will cut down hours at the office--"
"No, you've done all you can for me as a legislator. You're no longer a useful distraction. You are to retire and become my full-time, live-in maid."
Emma's cheeks went bright red and she smiled like a puppy. "Oh, mistress, thank you, thank --"
"Is my bed made, you little socialist?
"No, mistress! Sorry, mistress!" Emma scrambled to her feet and scurried out the door, tripping twice.
Barbara returned to the little detective. Barbara sat on a corner of the desk facing Sally, one leg crossed over the other. Her open bathrobe had fallen back enough that you could see her whole left haunch. This girl detective, who had been interrogating Jones' employees and snooping in her warehouses, stared saucer-eyed and drooling at Jones' computer screen.
"Let's turn this down to a simmer." Barbara pressed a button on the keyboard. The light show became less overwhelming -- slower, dimmer. It was still enough to render even the strongest-willed brat into a suggestible puppy. Barbara didn't have to worry about the lights getting her. Her R&D had given her contact lenses that simulated severe colour blindness -- a weakness in the brainwashing program was that colour blindness impaired it. With the contacts, the world was greyer, but Barbara could watch both the detective brat and the brainwashing screen.
Sally's mind began to whir with the weaker lights. Thoughts had room to pop up here and there. She even had the brainpower to remember that she was sitting in a chair, in a room, that she was Sally Wu, and that she had come here to --
