Misscalculation

Note: This is Part 5 of the Miss stories, after

MissPlacement (Part 1)

MissTake (Part 2)

MissJudge (Part 3)

and MissAppropriation (Part 4)

*

"See what I mean...with the hemline?

Standing in-front of Francis Allen, Judge Kowalski's on-call dressmaker, wearing what hoped to be her party dress, Kelli pointed out the hemline to express the comfort issue she brought up.

"See what I mean...with the hemline that's almost invisible as you barely follow it over the smooth material, feeling like silk to the touch, to the sound with my finger pointing it out."

In preparing for their most lucrative client, Francis allowed time for emergency alterations the day before the party. The morning of, he received the totally-unexpected emergency call, speaking of urgent need from a strangely-monotone plea.

"If you follow where my finger leads, you'll see what I mean...about comfort. The longer you look, the more you will...see what I mean...."

Requests like making emergency fittings for party plus ones, no matter how special guests were to the favored clients, were such an annoying burden, even with the compensation. The rushed timetable and annoyance seemed more like a background issue, far behind Francis as the finger towed the line of his attention, utterly hooked by the uniquely-decorated fingernail.

"See what I mean, about comfort. See what I mean, about following. It's instinctual, no need to give it any thought. Just...see what I mean."

The black-and-white alternating spiral seemed animated in the finger's movement, all too easy to follow. The dressmaker thought and hoped he saw what she meant; after speaking so long about the fitting that seemed perfect already, the repetitious plea of "see what I mean" took tailored eyes past supposed-perfection, and even past the material Kelli had been tracing as that fingernail hung in the space of his face, spinning like he could almost see the spiral spin.

"See what I mean, because all I mean for you is to see. And obey."

The fixating nail floated above his eye line, until it touched the crown of his forehead. Eyeballs threatening to roll back into their sockets until they received a reprieve of the nail tracing down all the way to the bridge of his nose, bringing his eyes and eyelids down with him as he fell softly for Kelli to catch him.

"Good boy Francis, such a wonderful tailor. It feels so good to be tailored to my instruction. The pleasure you get from following my designs, the growing need to continue to follow; you DO see what I mean after all," Kelli laughed, looking over to Rose Kowalski and her assistant Patrice who sat in their underwear, comfortable and smiling at the sight of Kelli hypnotizing another person, feeling their own perpetual trance deepen as they witnessed. They smiled all throughout the tailor's initial concerns about the suggested dress changes that went along with their slightly-altered personalities. The dressmaker thought they were intoxicated and ordering new dresses based on horny inclinations. Kelli being the "sober" one, she volunteered to get a more conservative dress ready, explaining the change in motivations effectively, until it was clear his female clients knew best.

"Just look at your other favorite clients over there sitting quietly, excited, waiting for your tailoring genius to reflect what they feel. Look at their beautiful bodies, their contented, jubilant faces, their grins growing lusty." Francis could see exactly what Kelli was talking about as her words dictated the judge and assistant's appearances. "They are women powered by their own beauty, radiating sensuality and magnetism. They're practically attracted to themselves," Kelli gestured with her spiral nail outwardly, and the women seem to take the suggested hint as their breathing grew deeper, and they started to look upon one another with hungry lust, slowly touching and embracing one another. "They want, they need dresses that help them radiate their sensuality. And so do you."

***

Inside the shop, the only noises present were Kelli's hypnotic crooning, sounds Rose and Patrice's moaning and French-kissing, and the dressmakers erection that started under Kelli's trancing, and screamed at the pornographic sight his customers were creating as if just for him, if his erection could make a sound.

Outside the shop, at a supposedly-hidden vantage point in the back of an inconspicuous black-tinted SUV, there were a few pairs of eyes watching the scene in the back of the shop. Both pairs needed binoculars to gleam at the target they were tasked with keeping a close eye on. Both young, ambitious men under Richie McClung, they never expected the perks of a rather pervy showcase of two women so into one another. Kelli was already a looker, especially when she was engaging her own targets with that interested, seductive, happily-controlling look. But seeing her direct two women who had to be coerced with something huge to find sexy company in one another left each gang-affiliated watcher in their own private fantasy, drooling and with bulges neither would confirm and do whatever they could to deny, whenever they had the capability of looking away.

Such was the plan effectively, as Detective Saffron quietly opened the front passenger door, taser guns in both hands. Sally smiled at how lost they looked, savoring the feeling she hoped to be rewarded for privately later. Quietly, removed the handguns from their holsters, belts, and even the glove compartment before knocking them upside their heads hard. They both cursed and reached for their weapons to retaliate, only to find the undercover officer leaning against the door, holding their guns on them.

"Hey fellas, sorry for the intrusion, but you're getting new marching orders from a leading lady, and we do know what's best for naughty boys," she smiled at the shocked mobsters, throwing in a bit of sexual language subtly added to her personality after a great deal of time under Kelli's influence.

"Now-"

"You mean this leading lady?" A voice interrupted from behind Sally.

***

From Ned Ryburn's vantage point, he was pleased to see things were going well. From the second floor of an empty office building across from the dressmaker's shop, Ned could see inside the shop, and down to the car that was also watching. Alternating between watching both proved somewhat difficult; he knew the plan very well, and trusted Sally and his Mistress to play their parts as he would his. Between them, he knew Kelli would have a much easier time with her task, but once he saw Sally step into the car, he believed her sneak attack would be wholly successful, and used the excuse of looking back to Kelli to make sure she was still safe. He had to laugh to himself, reminded of the fact that Kelli was often the most predatory person in any room she walked into.

The young hypnotist certainly proved it as the two women made out, and the male dressmaker drooled at the sight while Kelli observed them all. Looking to where she knew Ned was stationed, she gave him a wink, and he felt himself sinking towards wanting to be exactly where the dressmaker was. But instead of being turned on by the lovely lesbian sight before him, Kelli hypnotizing was the hottest thing he could capably conceive; it didn't matter that it was a known, suggested byproduct of Kelli's constant trances anymore, powerful, sincere arousal was the most automatic reaction he could have, and it only grew harder as he let himself imagine that he was in that room, and she directly fixated on his mind like he would her words.

The fantasy surging through him nearly caused him to drop his binoculars, and he righted himself to concentrate and look towards Sally in the car. Unfortunately, he found Tara Cunningham had shown up out of nowhere, and was pointing at her in a weird way. Her presence alone spelled trouble, and he would've been quick to act, if not for the feel of the barrel of a gun to his back. As his heightened senses sharpened, Ned more specifically identified it as the barrel of a silencer, meaning he could disappear without a trace if the assailant wanted. Hands up and stark still, curiosity overrode fear as Ned dared to turn his head to the side to identify the gunman.

"Darby," he sighed angrily, noting Richie's main hitman last seen at the stadium the day before, and a former cop.

"Ryburn," Darby replied back with a smile. The two knew each other strictly by reputation, Roland Darby overstepping every official and invisible line cops established for themselves until he finally found his true calling as a mob enforcer. Ned on the other hand, was a clever, diligent, honorable, cop, but always went for the hard routes, the long shots, and even treated once small fishes like Kelli Kennedy with priority.

The fact that Ned wasn't dead yet told him that Darby was either waiting for something, or was ordered to take him alive.

"How's the private sector treating you?"

"Better than being a public servant, that's for sure," Darby laughed. "You should've made the career change years ago.

"Better a public servant than a mobster's bitch."

"You're one to talk, being a petty thief's bitch," Darby threw back at him, not letting Ryburn goad him. "But like any random bitch or hooker on the block, making more in a month than cops could on any given year should put things into perspective. And when the highly-paid bitch has you at gunpoint, it's pretty easy to know which is the right side to be on."

"So what? You're recruiting me?"

"As if you would, and like I'd let some competition take a paycheck. No, you should just enjoy breathing while you can, until my generous employer figures out what he wants to do with you."

Stepping a few feet away with the gun still ready to shoot, Darby guided his prisoner out of the office building, to his car in the alley nearby. Once Ned took a seat, the ex-cop knocked him unconscious with the butt of his gun, and gingerly drove towards the next phase of his boss's plan.

***

The drive up to the judge's house was worse than expected; Rick Porter, the unofficial treasurer of Judge Kowalski's campaign arrived at the mansion, wondering what the big emergency was. He was finally enjoying one of his rare work-free Sundays, hanging out with friends at a sports bar, when he got the call from Patrice. His boss was insistent that he come as soon as possible, even during her big fundraising party; the timing alone told him how dire the circumstances might be, even if it was devoid of further explanation, or the kind of emotion he'd expect from his boss during a potential crisis, despite the insistence. With sounds of the party starting in the background, he could only assume Patrice was trying to seem calm for all the patrons.

Leaving the bar and rushing home to get his laptop case and into a thankfully-unwrinkled tuxedo, he drove well-past the speed limit to arrive around gathered cars. Parking a distance away instead of trying to bother with valet, he ran down the street before people could see him casually walking into the party. Thankfully no doorman was present he'd have to give a long-winded explanation to, so he could slip in and look for his boss. Nothing seemed out of place around, but he was surprised Patrice hadn't stopped him on-site yet from some perched place. Eventually, he spotted her, but had a hard time believing it was Patrice.

She was as pretty as usual as she was at most functions, with subtle make-up and her hair in a fancy up-do, but the dress was what made her stand-out. Exactly like the sparkling champagne she was holding, her dress was the same color, long and shimmering. Just like other pairs of eyes surrounding her, he stared intoxicated at how form-fitting it was, showing off curves she usually tried to be modest about. And how the dress showed off her cleavage was something classy yet outdid some wardrobe choices of the sexual fantasies Rick had starring himself and Patrice; the hemline stopped just below showing the nipples of her moderate-sized breasts, as the straps crossed and was covered in thin mesh, balancing a razor-thin line between suggesting and showing. She was talking and regarding with the grace of a rich, philanthropist's wife, without a care in the world, happily to let everyone around her stare and even fantasize.

It was in the middle of Rick's unceremonial, across-the-room staring that a firm hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him to face a different direction. Eyes and senses quickly adjusted to the change of staring at a different young woman. There was a beautiful, smiling face behind brown, nerdy-looking glasses, and light make-up. Peripheral vision barely had to look down to notice her beautiful dress with the spiral-jeweled broach off on one shoulder was more conservative, covering almost to her ankles in brown velvet. Even her silk gloves were a light brown, matching curly hair done up in a back bun.

She laughed lightly while turning her face from one side to the other, as if making sure no one else was looking for either of them. Turning to face him, her smile shrunk halfway to a more serious demeanor.

"Rick Porter, treasurer for Judge Kowalski's campaign, right?"

"W-who are you?" he asked concerned, and even more confused.

"Kelli Danvers, IRS."

"Excuse me? Don't-"

"You're not excused Mr. Porter, none of you are until we get certain matters resolved. But right now, you're going to pretend that we're old friends. As of right now, I might be the only friend you have anyway."

Kelli talked like what he'd expected of an agent, but she still acted liked they really were old friends catching up, maybe more the way her gloved hand lingered on his arm.

"Last I looked, IRS don't conduct stings like this."

"And last I looked, judges weren't involved in such extreme corruption that such preamble was needed, so you're just going to have to cooperate now," Kelli smiled inwardly.

"By doing what?"

"By telling me whatever you can tell me about irregularities of campaign donations you've noticed lately, or of any donor that would give you any cause for concern now. But don't look or even be concerned as I talk. Don't just act like we're trusted friends, embody that fact for now. In fact,"

Out of the brown purse hanging from her elbow, she produced a thin, round golden object. Rick easily mistook it for an oversized pocket watch, until she clicked the crown open, and it opened up to reveal a powdering pad and mirror inside. He was impressed by the interesting accessory kit, just like how smooth the compact's surface was, seeing a flash of himself and golden, reflective light when it opened, and again when she closed it, each time with a satisfying, fastening snap.

"I'm going to keep doing my make-up in like this, in a rhythmic fashion, and you're going to watch attentively, pretending to look to see if my make up is off. We'll blend in with the mundane actions of the passerbys, and you'll do this if you're seeking any kind of immunity," Kelli spoke while laughing in her thoughts of the irony.

"Because I have a target or two in-mind," she snapped the case open again, seeing another flash of light and himself before he could see Kelli's almost twinkling eyes behind the glasses, looking around, then directly at Rick's.

"And you'll soon tell me if they are the targets I should have in-mind or not," and she snapped it back to flash light followed by her whole face, a little less stoic, probably happy about whatever surveillance plan she had going well.

"Because what's on your mind, is what should be in-mind," another snap, flash, and reflection of himself as he stared at her eyes over the case.

"And what's in-mind is what's on your mind," and another reflection, flash, and snap, revealing her face looking more focused on him.

"What I have in-mind is how valuable your mind is." Snap. Flash. Reflection. Kelli's eyes.

"Worth valuated in gold for how important what is in-mind." Reflection. Flash. Snap. Kelli's face, looking slightly pleased.

"Weighed in gold like burdensome thoughts falling away." Snap. Flash. Reflection. Kelli's eyes.

"Smooth like gold, like an unburdened mind, something very in-mind." Reflection. Flash. Snap. Kelli's face, looking rather pleased.

At some point since talking with Kelli, Rick might've wondered where the time had gone if he could be concerned with anything but the ruse he subjected himself to, where the rhythm of Kelli's sentences, and the opening and closing of her golden compact, grew somehow more rhythmic. Between every assuring explanation, every snap contained a reflection and a flash of light without fail, until just the sound gave his senses the impression of gentle golden light in his eyes, and his expression naturally growing more pacified as Kelli's grew more satisfied.

"Gold is what you have in-mind, Rick." Snap. Kelli's eyes.

"Golden light is what you have in-mind," Snap. Kelli's smile.

"Silenced thoughts worth gold what you have in-mind." Snap. Kelli's eyes.

"Spoken suggestions worth gold making up what you have in-mind." Snap. Kelli's grin.

"Your golden self, smooth, polished, reflecting thoughts in-mind." Snap. Kelli's eyes.

"Kelli owns gold, makes you smooth, polished, reflective of thoughts I put in your mind." Snap. Kelli's smirk.

"One extra opening for you. Not needed, but I know you have pleasing me in-mind." Snap. Kelli's eyes.

"But as far as the IRS is concerned, considering is case closed..." she snapped the case close to Rick's face, "is what we both have in-mind," Kelli giggled.

Slipping the make-up compact back in her purse, she pulled out a lighter that was also in it, momentarily toying with flicking it open like she would've loved to with the case. Thinking about improving her skills further later, she guided Rick to the next phase of her plan.

***

"You look very nice tonight, Rose," Bart Sunder commented. He expected his voice to falter as he paid Judge Kowalski the compliment, as out of character the almost revealing dress was, but his libido kept his speech smooth and sincere.

"Thank you very much, Bart. You're looking quite dapper yourself," Rose practically purred back.

The older man, with greying hair circling a bald top, wished he'd worn a toupee, despite everyone knowing what he looked like, just for the sake of impressing the provocatively-dressed, slightly more bubbly than usual judge he gave hearty donations to. Conversing amongst the other principal donors and herself, Bart could silently see in the faces of his wealthy peers that he wasn't the only one to notice the change.

The first assumption they all had was copious amounts of alcohol being consumed prior to the party, except whatever it really was seemed different, and infectious as her assistant Patrice wasn't that far off with near-identical attire and affect. All the donors being self-proclaimed distinguished gentleman certainly didn't mind their looks tonight, even with their wives conversing in the same room. The alcohol explanation made sense with having to preside over a big part of a known gangster's case soon.

Rose herself seemed oblivious to the concerns they didn't voice yet, at least not out in public. She seemed to be floating on air, giving the surrounding men fantasies of what could happen on cloud nine.

"I hope you all are enjoying yourselves tonight."

"We are," Bart replied, the group's unofficial spokesman, as he had been for these kind of parties in the past. "It seems like you are...too," still looking for the right word but unable to think of anything, he left it at that, especially as his eyes glanced at the mesh-covered cleft during his pause.

"I'm glad the prospect of tomorrow's events aren't getting you down. Being a judge for a dangerous, influential criminal, but you look like you just one the lottery," one of the other men commented.