Part 4: The Empress Strikes Back!
It was high noon. (Actually, it was 11:00 a.m. But it amounted to the same thing.) Timmy and I sat nervously in our chairs at Josephine's Boutique, the clothing store and beauty salon for the super-rich, located in the heart of Middletown's business district. Mrs. Lovington was pacing impatiently, constantly checking (and rechecking) her Rolex watch.
"Where is that puny bitch?!" fumed the Empress.
At around 11:15 a.m. the unmistakable roar of a Harley engine filled our ears. Timmy looked at me and I looked back - and our hearts skipped a beat. Could this really be happening?
Moments later, our questions were answered: The door swung open and the bright sun shined in, almost blinding our eyes - and surrounded by the sunlight, looking like an avenging angel from heaven, was none other than Rachel Trovolli!
She calmly strutted down the center of the store. Our eyes refocused and we could see a bit more clearly: Rachel was wearing her patented black leather boots with six-inch spiked heels, tight leather pants, a snug top (showing the curvatures of her perfectly-sized breasts), leather jacket and jet-black sunglasses. Her long dark mane flowed behind her, almost like a superhero cape.
She saw us and flashed a devilish smile; her fire-red lips glistened with mischievous glee. Then she winked. (Even though I knew Mrs. Lovington wouldn't approve, I smiled back. She was SOOOO hot!!) Rachel was 23-years-old and I was only 18, so there was no way she'd ever date a younger kid like me, but in my dreams, well... in my dreams we were lovers. And we had been for a very long time!
Using her middle finger, Rachel pushed her shades up her pretty face, so they balanced atop her dense brown hair. Mrs. Lovington emerged from the shadows, greeting Rachel like they were Best Friends Forever:
"Oh, Rachel dear - there you are!" boomed the MILF, holding a clipboard. "So lovely to see you again! Exquisite day, isn't it?" She tapped her watch. "Not quite a stickler for punctuality, are we? Hmm?"
Rachel shrugged her shoulders and surveyed her surroundings: Dozens of mannequins, all dressed in the trendiest Bourgeoisie fashions, crowded the windows, and racks of women's clothes lined the center of the store. A long red carpet - almost like a runway - stretched from the front door to the back. And in the corner was a very fancy salon chair, complete with a large sink, a collection of scissors, a hairdryer and all kinds of hair products. There was also a scale - the kind of scale you might find in a doctor's office.
"Hi Lacy. So... awesome to see you again. Um, cute little place you have here."
"Thank you, dear. Josephine is a family friend. Such a nice woman. Well, are you ready to become a Queen?"
The leather-clad beauty burst into laughter. "I'm not really into that pageant-stuff, no offense, Lacy. But hey, if you want to crown me Queen of the town, that's cool. Anyway, I'd really like to pick-up my check for $5K, if you don't mind."
Mrs. Lovington enthusiastically bobbed her head. "Certainly, my dear, certainly. You just need to sign the contract here..." The much-taller blonde pushed the clipboard into Rachel's hands.
Not bothering to read the contract, Rachel scrawled her name on the dotted line and handed the clipboard back.
"Great. Now where's my money, Lacy?"
"First things first, dear! You and me... Rachel, we got off on the wrong foot. You made mistakes, I made mistakes... yada yada. Let's toast our new friendship! Let bygones be bygones!"
Sitting on a nearby countertop were a bottle of Champagne and two glasses - already filled. Mrs. Lovington handed Rachel the glass with the red rim, taking the glass with the blue rim for herself. (I couldn't help but notice that Rachel's drink was darker and cloudier than Mrs. Lovington's.)
"A toast to... fresh starts! Cheers!"
Rachel looked quizzically at the voluptuous older woman and shook her head.
"That's really cool of you, but I'm more of a beer and whiskey gal than a Champagne-sipper. Not my style."
A brief look of frustration filled the Empress' eyes, but she expertly masked it with a façade of indignation:
"My dear! I pulled strings to crown you Queen! I'm making an effort to bury the hatchet! I'm writing you a check for $5 thousand dollars, straight from the City's coffers... and you won't even join me in a simple toast?! I'm... HURT!"
The brunette rolled her eyes and took the glass.
"Fine, Lacy, fine. Here. Cheers."
Rachel downed the bubbly in one prolonged gulp, while the MILF slipped slowly - her sinister smile widening.
"Ack! No offense, but that was the foulest-tasting drink I've ever had! Don't know how you rich people drink that stuff!"
"It's an acquired taste, dear. For the sophisticated palate. Much more refined that the backwater filth YOU PEOPLE are drinking."
"Whatever. I wasn't aware that a drink that tastes like ass was considered 'refined.' But like I said, no offense."
Mrs. Lovington put her hands on her womanly hips, arched out her large chest and flashed an exaggerated smile.
"Quite frankly, a skinny little pixie like you should be... more cautious of what she puts in her body. I've heard stories about you, dear. You might drink and smoke and curse like the men do, but you've still got the metabolism of a woman. Well, let's face it: The metabolism of a girl. Of a very, VERY little girl!"
Rachel lowered her sunglasses with her middle finger and smiled right back.
"Quite frankly, Lacy, a BIG girl like you should be cautious of what she puts in her body, too. 'Cause if you gain any more weight, not even that girdle you're wearing will be enough to cinch-up your belly! It looks like you might explode out of your dress!"
"I - I don't wear a girdle! How - how DARE you!"
The younger woman grinned her devilish grin.
"Sure you don't! WE believe you! Anyway... I'd like to pick-up my check. Where is it?"
With a loud cackle, Mrs. Lovington replied, "Why, Rachel! We still need to take your measurements for your outfit! Did you forget? After all, we need to make sure everything fits."
Rachel crossed her arms and shook her head.
"No dice, Lacy. I'd like my check first."
"The contract you signed mandates that YOU must get measured and fitted FIRST! Otherwise, you're in breach of your contract, dear - and if you read page 3, clause 4B, you'd note that the penalty for breach of contract is... oh my, $25 thousand dollars!"
"$25 grand?!" protested Rachel. "My family doesn't have that kind of money! We'd - we'd be ruined!"
"Then I suggest you cooperate, young lady."
"Fine," sighed Rachel. "Where's Josephine?"
"Josephine couldn't make it today. But don't worry: I'LL take your measurements for her! ALL of them! We rented out the studio for the hour. It's just you and me, Rachel. Well... it's just you and US!"
Mrs. Lovington pulled out her tape measure and cackled again.
Out walked Abby and Yvette. Mrs. Lovington had allowed them to wear their normal clothes: Yvette was walking briskly, freed from that horrible diaper she had to wear at home. "Mature" Yvette was once again looking as mature as she normally did, wearing a drop-dead-sexy power suit that clung to every curve she had... as well as a few she didn't have, since she was once again sporting a pair of perky falsies. Abby was clearly back to using her girdle, and I had to admit, her clothes now fit PERFECTLY: A sexy-tight skirt, shapely hips and a hot red top that accentuated her (seemingly) tight contours. It was like she had lost 60 pounds overnight!
Timmy and me looked at each other once more. So THIS was her plan! An ambush! But little did we know the extent of it...
"Hi, Rachel," cooed Abby, shaking her big tits and arching her chest like a supermodel on a photo shoot. "Remember us?"
"Yeah!" added Yvette, who was once again the epitome of feminine class and grace. Her firm breasts pointed forward and she could've easily passed for a young executive in her early 30s. (I mean, it was hard to believe that only the night before, she was flatchested and weepy-eyed, sitting naked on a training-potty and farting!) "Remember us? How's life, you immature little dwarf?"
"Sure, I remember you two," said Rachel. "It's Fat Ass and Tiny Tits!"
We started snickering from our chairs. Mrs. Lovington glared in our direction, so we covered our mouths and tried to keep quiet.
"Go to the corner, dear," demanded the Empress. "Go to the corner and disrobe. I'm losing my patience."
Abby stood in front of Rachel, trying to look as intimidating as possible. And with her big tits and tall, womanly frame, she WAS an intimidating woman. (Well, she used to scare the hell out of me - at least until we saw her naked, shaved and crying, and made her pee herself in the bath tub!) Yvette circled all the way to the front of the boutique and fiddled with the front door. But Rachel didn't budge, standing firm and confident, not showing an ounce of fear.
"I'll tell you what, Lacy: If you want to take my measurements over my clothes, go ahead. Knock yourself out. But if you think I'm gonna strip naked for you, you're fucking delusional!"
Suddenly Rachel's eyebrows lifted, and a strange new look appeared on her face. She gripped her lower stomach with one hand and pulled off her sunglasses with the other.
"Um... where's the ladies room?" she asked.
"Is there a problem, dear?"
"Where is it?!"
Mrs. Lovington cackled again, gazing over to Rachel's empty Champagne cup. "This is a boutique, dear - not a restaurant! There aren't any public restrooms. Yes, Josephine has a private bathroom in her office, but it's very small. She trusted me with a key, but I promised I wouldn't let anyone else use it. She's very particular."
"I... I gotta get out of here!" stammered Rachel.
She slowly backed away from Abby and then sprinted as fast as she could to the front door. But -
"It's locked!" she cried, banging with her fists. "Open the door! Open the fucking door!"
"No, dear. Per our agreement, Josephine asked us to keep the doors locked while you were fitted. Lack of security during business hours and all. She has a lot of expensive merchandise. Is there >snicker< a problem?"
Rachel was now holding her lower stomach with both hands and walking gingerly.
"Fuck! J - just let me use her private bathroom! Please!"
"Certainly, dear," smirked the Empress. "But you must take those gaudy, ugly boots off first. Josephine is adamant about footmarks in her private area... germ-phobia, you see."
"Fine! Qu - Quickly! It's an emergency!" Rachel cried, hopping on one foot and then the other. In record time, she removed both boots, standing barefoot on the floor.
"Ha, ha! Aunt Lacy, look how TINY she is!" laughed Yvette. "Without her high heels, she's the size of a little kid!"
