Part 6: The Fall of the Queen
"Rachel!" I cried.
She was wearing her black biker boots with six-inch stiletto heels, black leather pants, tight top, perky breasts and a black leather jacket. She had redone her hair, giving it kind of a punk-rock look. (I personally preferred her longer hair, but she still looked smokin' hot!) Her lips were bright red and she was wearing her patented Goth mascara. With her sunglasses perched on her forehead, she looked as good as new. Best of all, her devilish grin was back, too!
I ran over and gave her a big hug.
"Whoa... calm down, kid! Nice to see you, too!" she laughed.
My heart sank: A... kid?! Did she call me a kid? I'm 18! An adult! And I desperately wanted Rachel to see me as an adult... to see me as a man. But now was not the time.
"I'm just glad you're okay... after, you know... what those terrible women did to you," I croaked instead.
She nodded and playfully ruffled my hair. She pointed to Timmy.
"Your friend," she said. "Can we trust him?"
"Rachel, I, uh... I've always, uh, admired you," stuttered Timmy, his face blushing. "I've always, uh, LIKE-liked you. And - and I can't help who my mother is. I know she has it coming! And - and I just HATE those stupid, no good cousins of mine! I HATE them!"
The brunette beauty nodded again and then turned to Mr. William Yard.
"So what was that you were saying, Dave? Was it: 'spun from the enchanted loom of Aphrodite herself'? Ha! Did you pull that out of your ass or what?"
Mr. Yard (or was it Dave?) laughed, and then replied with a thick blue collar dialect, "Aw jeez, Rach! I thinks I heard it from one of dem rom-com movies my wife makes me watch. Pretty good though, eh?"
"William Yard is really... Dave?" I asked.
"These guys are all buddies from the pool hall," answered Rachel. "Get it? P.H. Society? Pool House Society."
"Yeah, kid," chuckled Dave. "And do youze get my name now? William Yard? The nickname of William is Bill. Get it?"
"Bill Yard?" I pondered. Then my face lit up: "Bill Yard! I get it! Billiard!"
"You're pretty smart, kid," Rachel complimented, ruffling my hair again.
(And once again, a tent popped up in my pants!)
"How - how did your pool hall buddies pull this off?" asked Timmy.
"Not just friends from the pool hall. I've got lots of family that do construction," said Rachel. "Their crew was commissioned to build on this property anyway. As a special favor to my family, they all agreed to build a bit faster, and make 'special modifications' to the building. Then they'll tear it down and build it the way it's supposed to be when we're done. It's all a part of our plan."
I looked into Rachel's eyes. They were usually sexy-cool, seductive and mellow - but now they were burning with hatred. I mean, they were practically blazing!
"And now, those BITCHES are gonna learn a lesson they'll NEVER forget!"
Dave pushed a normal-looking panel on the wall behind the salon chairs. A secret door popped open. We looked inside the room: There was a couch, a cooler with drinks and snacks, a box in front of the couch - and three big TVs that were showing hidden-camera videos and audio of EVERYTHING going on in the locker room!
"Kids, go inside and watch," ordered Rachel.
And so we did.
On the big TVs, we saw Rachel, Dave and the other guy tiptoe into the locker room. Dave was holding an empty garbage bag. Rachel had scissors and some sort of spray bottle.
First they went to Abby's shower. Arrogant Abby was singing to herself, oblivious to the intruders. Her dress was on a hanger, and her high heels and girdle were in the locker. (As she boasted, there was NO bra or panties.)
Dave swiped her girdle and put it in the bag! Her towel, too! Then Rachel made a snip to the center of her dress and sprayed it with her bottle.
Next they went to Yvette's shower. Her wardrobe was much more elaborate than Abby's: Dress, slip, pantyhose, gloves, shoes, hat, bra, panties... and two silicone falsies.
Dave swiped EVERYTHING she had and put it in the bag! EVERYTHING, except her towel.
Last, they went in Mrs. Lovington's private VIP suite.
I expected them to steal her things, too... but they didn't. Not a single thing.
Instead, they examined her beautiful "Winter Princess" formal gown: Rachel carefully snipped in a few specific spots with her scissors. She then sprayed the dress with her spray bottle and put it back. She did the same to Mrs. Lovington's high heels.
Then they went to her locker: Rifling through her things, Rachel found a big girdle - and grinned ear-to-ear!
So it was true - the Queen DID wear a girdle! (And it was an enormous one, too - significantly larger than Abby's!)
But instead of stealing it, Rachel again made a series of surgical snips and cuts, then sprayed the girdle with the same bottle. She did the same to Mrs. Lovington's bra in six different places... and Lord, I got to tell you: That bra was HUGE! It made Abby's bras look like training bras!
They continued sorting through her things: Rachel held an item that she didn't immediately recognize. The other guy whispered in her ear - and she covered her mouth to avoid laughing. I couldn't identify it either... but Timmy did:
"Uh, oh - they found Mum's fake bum!"
"Huh?"
"Mum's fake bum. She wears it under her panties. Supposed to make her tush look good. She's terribly secretive about it."
I squinted my eyes and stared again... and it DID look like a round, hollow female butt! Like a butt-cap!
The other guy took something out of his pocket and rubbed it on the inside of the artificially ass. They then carefully put everything back and left.
Moments later, the secret door popped open. Rachel looked in, smiling her devilish smile! She then sat right between Timmy and me, grabbed a beer from the cooler and took a long swig. (Since Timmy and me were only 18, we were drinking Pepsi.) She propped her black leather boots on an empty brown box that had the word "Sybian" printed on it and sighed contently.
"What were you doing with the scissors and spray bottle?" I asked.
"You'll see," laughed Rachel. "But I'll give you a hint: The spray bottle is a transparent, limited-holding superglue. It works on contact, then loses its stickiness. But it only works for half-an-hour, tops. Then it evaporates. Poof! Builders use it to place lightweight items vertically, so they can see what it looks like before they install 'em. Works great on clothes, too. Can't even tell when you've used 'em! Unfortunately, it doesn't last very long...!"
I began grinning.
"I think I get it!" I grinned. "But what was Dave's friend doing with Mrs. Lovington's... er... her... um..."
"You mean her fake ass?" laughed Rachel. "It's a delayed-reaction silicone lubricant. More toys from the construction yard. Takes about 30-minutes to get going, but then it gets greasy-slick."
"What about all the shampoos and conditioners?" asked Timmy. "Did you tamper with those? You're not going to make them bald, are you?"
"I'm not that cruel. No, I didn't tamper with Abby or Yvette's shampoo. Fucking with a girl's hair is... the lowest of the low."
Rachel absentmindedly touched her much-shorter locks, and her face turned pink. There was the brief sting of embarrassment swelling in her eyes, but it quickly faded.
"Well, what's in store for 'em will be MORE than enough, trust me! But for Lacy? The Queen Bitch? Well, let me put it like this: If she's really a natural blonde, she had nothing to worry about. But if she isn't... we'll know! EVERYONE will know!"
I had one last question. I pointed to the brown box she had been resting her feet on.
"Rachel, what's a Sybian?"
"It's a, er... female pleasure-product. Kid, don't ask me to explain! You'll see soon enough: We secretly placed it in the Queen's on-stage throne. Dave installed it inside the throne's cushioning. Heh!"
"I - I'm not a kid," I tried to say, sitting up in my chair to look as tall as I could. "I'm 18! Just... just wanted you to know that I'm, y'know, not a boy... but a man."
She playfully squeezed my knee and then stood up.
"C'mon... big man! Time to get back to the main part of the building. Keep your mouths shut and enjoy the fireworks!"
We did what we were told and closed the secret panel. Rachel, Dave and the other guy headed for the front door.
"Wait - you guys are leaving?" I cried. "What about the styling and makeup?"
The other guy looked at me like I had rocks in my head: "Yo, kid! I operate a frickin' bulldozer for a living. I know nothin' about no hair-styling!"
"Just watch!" laughed Rachel, blowing us a kiss. "When the bitches emerge from the locker room, tell them the P.H. Society gentlemen had an emergency, but will return later."
And then they left.
For what felt like an eternity, Timmy and me waited.
And waited.
And waited and waited. The anticipation was KILLING us!
Mrs. Lovington came out first. She was wearing her beautiful gown and high heels. There was no makeup on her face and her hair was damp, which was unnerving; it was only the second time I had ever seen her bare-faced. But "Mr. Yard" was right: Her skin WAS glowing. She looked good. Damn good.
(I studied her ass with a newfound suspicion. I concluded that her butt-falsie must be flawless, because her rear-end looked PERFECT! Nobody would ever suspect a thing.)
"Where are the girls?" asked the Empress. "Still in the shower? That figures."
She looked in the mirror: "My word! I look... BEAUTIFUL!! Those oils REALLY work! Oh, mirror, mirror on the wall: Who's the fairest of them all?"
"You are, Mum," sighed Timmy. "You are."
"Damn right I am. Now... where's William Yard, Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones? I'm ready for my hair and makeup!"
"They said they had an emergency and will come back later," I said.
Mrs. Lovington looked at her Rolex, then gazed longingly at the dazzling assortment of makeup and hair items by the mirror.
"Hmm... there's really not any time to dillydally. As the Queen, I can't afford to be late. I'm the most important one. Well, I guess I can do my hair and makeup myself... but the P.H. Society owes me a raincheck!"
Within minutes, the Queen had brushed and styled her long blonde hair, reapplied her makeup and placed her crystal tiara back on her teased blonde locks. She truly did look like royalty!
"There!" she exclaimed, fully satisfied with her appearance. She looked again at her Rolex.
"Timmy, dear: Tell your gorgeous cousins to join me at the Festival when they're finished. And when you see Mr. Yard again, please thank him on my behalf. Now, ta-ta! It's time for the Queen to accept her crown! Now tell me, how do I look?"
"You look beautiful, Mrs. Lovington," I said.
