Retirement

See No Evil:

If any of this might offend you, simply stop reading now. If you are under the legal age for your state, or there is any other reason you should not be reading this, you must stop reading now.

Legalese:

All actors and actresses are over the age of consent, regardless of the ages of the characters they play. Proof of age is on file. This is an act of fiction. Any similarity of any character, event or place to any person or personage, living or dead, event or place, is purely coincidental. This is all fantasy -- do not try any of this at home.

Archiving:

You are welcome to discretely repost or archive this, just do not change it or claim credit for it.

Have fun!

* * * * *

Grant was transferring the contents of the desk drawer, contents that had resided in the same place for ten years, to a cardboard box, when the intercomm buzzed.

"Mr Blaine?"

Grant pressed the button to speak. "Yes, Rebecca."

"Mr Blaine, I know this is your last day, but Mr Lockhead, the Omega Corporation representative, is here to speak with you. Anyone else I would turn away, but you usually --"

"Yes, very good, Rebecca. Of course I'll speak to Mr Lockhead. Send him in."

A moment later, the office door opened, and a tall, dark-haired man in an Armani stepped in. "Mr Blaine! I hope they gave you a properly grand retirement ceremony!"

Grant grinned. "Douglass! Yes, of course they did. Shut the door and come in. How is the research going?"

Douglass shut the door and walked over to the chair in front of Grant's desk, sitting before he began speaking. "Well, sir, the detectives have been on surveillance for three months now. They feel that is a sufficient length of time to become familiar with the situation. The reports that you've been receiving each week --"

"Yes, yes, I know," Grant said, waving his hands impatiently. " We've been through the reports, I've picked out the ladies. What I want to know is, are the treatments finished?"

Douglass smiled proudly. "Yes, sir. Everything is in place."

"Excellent. Excellent. I've always been able to count on you, Douglass."

"Thank you, sir."

"A good man, a good man."

Douglass stood and smoothed his suit. "Sir, I -- we at the corporation, well, sir, we hate to see a man like you retire."

"Well, thank you, Douglass. I like to think I touch a few lives." He thought a second, then chuckled, "Well, I mean in the regular way."

Douglass laughed lightly too. "Ah, good one, sir. Not the treatments, but the regular way. Ha. Sir, we are all going to miss you."

"Thank you again, Douglass, but I want to get out in the world a little bit, enjoy it before I have to leave it. It's time to move on. And I've been separated from my family far too long."

"Well, sir, we at the corporation wanted to see you off with a gift."

"Douglass, I'm touched."

A little hesitantly, Douglass stepped forward and pressed the button on the intercom. "Miss Wilson, step in here, honey."

"Excuse me?! Mr Blaine, are you there?"

Douglass prompted Mr Blaine with a nod. "It's all right, Rebecca," Grant told her. "Please do come in for just a moment."

A moment later, twenty-four-year-old Rebecca Wilson stepped into Grant's office, with her ever-ready pad and pencil. Even dressed in a business outfit -- a white blouse, a brown tweed skirt, her long dark hair pinned up in a bun -- she was quite attractive.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, however. "Mr Blaine, I admire you, and I realize that today is your last day. But I resent being called 'honey' and I wish you would implore Mr Lockhead to correct his chauvinist attitude." She stood stiffly, awaiting the chastizement.

"Mr Lockhead, of course we no longer refer to administrative assistants as 'honey'."

"I understand, sir. There is no excuse for my behavior. Please forgive me, Miss Wilson."

"We work fully as hard as 'company representatives' like you, Mr Lockhead, and we like to be appreciated as professionals. Yes, I forgive you, but be more considerate in the future, if you will."

"Of course, miss. Now please strip."

Rebecca's eyes grew wide and she sputtered slightly. "Excuse me?!"

"Strip. Undress. Lose the clothes. Honey."

"Mr Blaine!" she complained shrilly as her hands moved up to unbind her hair.

"Douglass!" Grant said slowly, grinning appreciatively. "You did her!"

"What do you mean, 'did me'?!" She demanded as her hands reached down to unbutton her blouse. Her wrist lightly brushed one breast as she did so and sent a thrill up her spine. "Oh!"

"Yes, sir!" Douglass beamed. "We wanted to get you something special, and I knew you had been admiring Miss Wilson here."

"Douglass!" Grant said, grinning widely.

"Where is my bra?!" Rebecca asked as she dropped her blouse to the floor, shocked at the undergarment's absence.

"Beautiful titties, Becky. I mean, I'd imagined them, but I never knew they were quite this lovely. Douglass, you could not have gotten me a better gift."

"Titties?" Rebecca asked, her voice wavering, unsure. Her hands, however, were quite sure. They moved to cup them and present them towards Grant. "Baby mounds, sir ... pillow titties. Oh, please come suck them, sir. Oh lord, why am I saying this?! Mr Blaine, please don't come suckle me. Please don't come fondle my breasts! Please don't squeeze my boobs! Please, I've got to stop this! I am a professional! And my titties are ... are only ... for squeezing and sucking ... by my supervisor." She smiled, happy to have worked out that little bit of logic. "Oh, Mr Blaine, come suck my nipples!"

"He will, Tittie Toots. But finish stripping."

Rebecca looked down and saw that her skirt was still on. She unfastened the button, and as she lowered it over her hips, she started gasping.

Douglass beamed. "We gave her clitty a hair trigger, sir."

"Douglass! You've outdone yourself."

"Oh! Yes! Yes! Yeeessss!!" Her skirt dropped to the floor as she clasped herself, revealing she had also come to work pantiless today. If she were in any condition to do so, she would have been shocked at the brazenness. Instead, she was still in the throes of the biggest fucking orgasm of her life.

Finally, it dulled to a diffuse tingling. Rebecca saw her own juices running down her thighs, and she stood up straight again and covered herself as best she could with her hands. "Ohgod, what's going on? What have you done to me?!"

"Just fixed you up to be Mr Blaine's retirement gift. You should be proud, baby doll. Now tell Mr Blaine what you want him to do to you."

"To do to me?!" Her eyes widened. "I don't -- I can't -- I -- do you mean like ... like ... like I want him to take that goddam huge pecker of his and jam it into my soft, wet, mewling cunnie? Oh fuck, what am I saying?!"

Douglass smiled. "That's a girl."

"Like ... I want him to come lick my clittie until it screams, and to push his fingertips up my tight fucking asshole until I beg him to bring me, to make me cum until I'm some senseless bitch whore cunt?"

"She's wonderful, Douglass."

"How do you feel about being called 'honey'?" Douglass asked her, still a little resentful.

"Call me a slut! Just come fuck me! Now!" Her right hand was kneading her own breast, while her left hand was rubbing circles over her lower abdomen, afraid to venture lower lest it set off another set of fireworks.

"That's my barbie doll," Douglass complimented her response.

Suddenly, Rebecca froze. "Please! Mr Blaine! Grant! I --" She turned to Douglass. "Mr Lockhead! Please! Don't make me do this! I can't ...."

"Nobody's making you do anything, honey," Douglass informed her.

"Please! I can't do this. I am a college graduate! A professional administrative assistant! I can't do this! It's not proper! This is something a *bimbo* would do!"

"Don't give yourself airs, bitch," Douglass told her. "You're not good enough to be a bimbo. You're just a slut little cunnie."

"Please!"

"Come on."

"Please!"

Douglass just looked at her.

"A ... slut ... little ... cunnie ..."

"And ..."

She spun around to face Grant. "And I need your pecker in my slimy little cunt-hole! Please, Mr Blaine." She sank to her knees and crawled to him, then leered up at him as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his zipper. "I'll make it feel gooooooood for you, baby. I've wanted you. Sooooo bad. Ever since I brought my tight little bitch ass traipsing in here. I've wanted to tease you, to make you hard for me. Did I make you hard, baby?"

"Never as hard as right now, cunnie."

"Ooooohhhh!" she grinned. "Baby! I'm so soft for you. And wet -- lord, I think I'm almost pissing all over my legs. That's what it feels like, lover. Let me suck your prick. Let me suck the juice up out of it! Please!" She nuzzled her face in his crotch.

"Tell him how long you've been waiting for this."

"Oh, Mr Blaine! You know that I sat in that office out there diddling myself just thinking about you, don't you? Do you have any idea how many times a day I would look at you and soil my panties? Ooohh, sometimes I would have to bring a dozen pairs to work, just so I'd have dry ones to wear after you talked to me and made my cunnie drool! I want to make you feel that good! That hot! Oooohhh, baby!" She had managed to free his cock from his underpants, and she started licking the head now. "Let me make you feel goooooood!"

"Happy retirement, sir. The corporation and I are at your disposal whenever you need us." He started walking toward the door when Grant called him back.

"Douglass, come here. She's fixed for two, isn't she?"

"Sir, this is your retirement. She's fixed for anything you want."

"Then come take her backside while I poke her pussy."

"Really, sir?"

"Of course, Douglass! You're one of -- no, you are *the* best person I have in my employ. Come take her ass! It's the least I can do." He pulled a jar of vaseline out of one of the boxes and handed it to Douglass.

Douglass grinned. "Thank you, sir! It will be good to ream the little tightass some manners. 'Chauvinist', indeed!"

Douglass stripped, then took one of Rebecca's ass cheeks in each hand and guided the submissive girl until her pussy was positioned right in front of Grant's cock.

"Shall we do her simultaneously, Douglass?"

Douglass grinned.

Then Becky came. And came again. And again. And again and again and again ...

*************************

Davy Phillips stood with his mother by the airport terminal window as they watched the plane land. It had been a while since he had been up in the air himself -- not since that time ten years ago when his whole family had flown to Boston to see Grandpa Blaine. That was the Christmas when Grandpa and his mother had gotten into such a big fight, and they hadn't seen him since.

Now he was coming to live with them. Davy had helped his mother clear out the sewing room and install a bed in there so that Grandpa would be comfortable.

The plane taxied around and approached the terminal.

Davy wasn't sure how this was all going to work out. He had barely seen his grandfather as he grew up. And all he could remember was the yelling when mom would fight with him. When they flew up for Grandma's funeral -- Davy was eight at the time -- Mom even slapped Grandpa. Davy had been playing in the other room when he heard it, then the silence that followed it. Then Mom came in, took him by the hand up the stairs, and they packed and left.

Now that Grandpa was retiring, they were all supposed to live together without any yelling? Davy looked at his mother. She was stiff, tense. Then he looked back out the window. He gave it six months, tops, before Grandpa walked out. And Davy didn't really care one way or the other about Grandpa coming to live with them -- he didn't really know him well enough to like him or hate him -- but it just seemed such a waste to change the house and their lives when Grandpa would be going away again in just a few months.

The passengers were beginning to unboard into the terminal, and Davy and his mother watched for her father. He was one of the first off, having ridden in first class.

Daphne Blaine-Phillips walked up and stood eye to eye with her father. "Daddy," she said quietly.

"Daphne. How have you been?"

She nodded her head. "Good, Daddy. And you? How do you like retirement?"

Grant smiled for a moment, then nodded. "It's ... good. Different. It'll take some getting used to. No more rising early in the morning. No more million dollar deals. It's ... different."

"You'll get used to it. You just have to find other interests."

"Aren't you right. And is this young buck here my grandson? Good lord, last I saw you, you came up just past my waist. And what a build! You play football, boy?"

"Soccer, Grandpa. At the college."

"Well, give me a hug, boy. You're already making the Blaine line proud." The two hugged. "I'll bet you have a flock of young fillies following you around."

Davy smiled. "I only wish, Grandpa."

"You will, you will, boy. You're a Blaine."

"Daddy, leave him alone. That caveman-and-jane stuff went out a generation ago. And good riddance."

"I was just teasing him, Daffy."

"Don't, Daddy."

Grant made a face. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just my way of saying I love you."

"I do *not* like that name, Daddy."

"Okay." Grant nodded, his voice strained. "I'll be living under your roof, I'll call you however you want to be called. If you want to be called the 'Royal Queen of England', I'll call you that. Anything for peace, right?"

"Uhm --" Davy interrupted. "It looks like the bags are starting to come out over there. We may want to wander over and get them."

Father and daughter stared at one another a moment before Daphne responded. "Yes, let's."

They located Grant's bags, and Davy carried them as they walked to the car. Grandpa was asking him what he was majoring in -- Business Admin -- and where he planned to work after he graduated -- he wasn't sure yet.

"Don't pressure him, Daddy."

"Honey, I'm just curious. I mean, what's the boy going to do without some type of plan, just lay around the house a couple of years? If you don't have a plan, Davy, you haven't got focus. And that's what the whole nation lacks right now. Everybody's sitting around whining, 'Tell us what to do.' They need a leader, a Blaine, to come around and inform them what --"

"Well, Dad, you've just got a solution for all the ills that ail us, don't you?"

"I can't help it, it's true. You need goals in order to make something of yourself."

"Dad, I'm not going to let you push him like you pushed me."

"I never pushed you to anything, Daphne! You wouldn't let me. If I said go, you came to a halt. If I said --"

"Dad! You're pushing me right now!"

"Listen to her, boy! She's crazy. Crazy that she might do something that someone suggested she do. You know the reason she got herself knocked up at seventeen, don't you? She was trying to spite me!"

Daphne gasped. "Daddy!! For gods sakes!"

"She even --" Grant froze a moment, then sighed slowly. "You're right, Daphne. I am a bossy sonofabitch. And I can't do that anymore, can I? Not while I'll be living under your roof. I apologize. And David, I apologize to you too. I shouldn't be maligning your mother or ruining all of our afternoon."

Daphne opened and then shut her mouth twice, unable to come up with anything to say. Finally, "Are you my father? Or did we grab the wrong passenger by mistake?"

Grant grinned and started walking again. "It's the new me, Daphne. We both have to change if we're going to be living together. But I'm going to have to change the most." He chuckled. "I'm going to have to transform from a reptile back into a human."

"I -- I don't know what to say, Daddy."

"Uhm ..." This was Davy. Father and daughter turned around to see him about six paces behind them. "The car's back here, guys."

"Say that you can recognize your own car, Daffy."

Daphne smiled and echoed him, "You can recognize your own car, Daffy."

She opened the trunk and they deposited the luggage there. Then Davy drove the three of them home to start a new life together.

*************************

The four women sat in Daphne's living room, supposedly planning events for the PTA fundraiser, but other, more interesting, topics kept coming up.

Caroline, a gorgeous redhead, was sitting back on the couch, wearing a pink bikini top and a wraparound skirt. She got a naughty look in her eye and asked, "So now that you've had two weeks, how is this 'Dr Lizardo', as Amy likes to call him?"

Daphne sighed. "Well, I suppose he's trying, but he's still the same old Daddy."

"Always will be, if you ask me," Amy responded. "That dried old goat is so stubborn that he could win a game of blinks against the devil."

"He is trying, though," Daphne said.

"Honey, you're deluded. I've known the man since you and I played with dolls in your playroom. He'll never change. He doesn't want to. He thinks he's perfect just like he is. He's just trying a new approach to bullying you. That's all."

Daphne sighed. "I don't know, Amy. I think he *is* trying to do better. But he does seem to still boss everyone just as much as he ever did. Maybe more politely, but still just as much."

"How is Clark taking it?" Sarah Milsford asked. She was a schoolteacher, with a pretty, straight nose and brown hair that reached down to her waist.

Amy guffawed loudly. "Oh, hubby will do anything his little daisy might ask him to do. Won't he, Daphne?"

Daphne blushed. "Clark and I discussed Daddy coming to live with us for a long time."

"... and he said he'd do anything his little daisy wanted, right?"

Daphne tried to suppress a smile, but it burst forth anyways. "Yes, that's exactly what he said, Amy."

"Of course. And that's why he's going to be useless when you have it out with the old man."

"You don't think there's any way for us to live together, then, Amy?"

"Sure, if you throw away who you are and become his personal robot. Short of that, no. He is a dominating old geezer that wants to control everyone and everything."

A bleak silence hovered for a few moments, then Sarah, the schoolteacher, stood and said she had to be going. Amy started packing her things up as well, needing to meet her husband before dinner.

Caroline stood and fluffed the pillows on the couch. "I've got the whole afternoon free, I'm afraid. You and I could keep on working if you want, Daphne. In fact ..." she grinned mischieviously "... if you want to, we could lay around your pool and get an early start on our tans at the same time."

"Sure, I think I could use a little fresh air and sunlight right now."

"Great!" She unwrapped her skirt to reveal a pink bikini bottom to match the bra. "I'll get us two lemonades out of the refridgerator while you change. Meet you out there."

It was a very warm spring day, one of the days that previews summer's coming, so Caroline filled the lemonade glasses with a lot of ice, then headed outside. Davy was already there, sunning himself in one of the lawn chairs.

"Hello, Mrs McLure."

"Hi, Davy. How's the water?"

"Probably warm. I haven't been in it yet, though."

"Well, I think I'm going to wade in for a few minutes."

Davy admired her figure as she walked to the steps, then down into the water. She was almost his mom's age and married, but, boy, was she a looker. The sun made her red hair glisten with highlights.

"She's a beaut, isn't she son?"

Davy jumped, startled. "Grandpa! Uhm, what do you mean?"

"The red-headed tart. Of course you were looking at her. Something would be wrong with you if you didn't. Besides, why do you think she's wearing that hot pink scrap of cloth? She wants men to look at her."

"Mrs McLure? But she's married."

"Sure, but the guy isn't man enough to keep her. If he was, she wouldn't be traipsing around like that, advertising for some man that *could* keep her happy."