Incest/Taboo High School Yearbook

For those new to this story or looking for a refresher, its protagonist is Bryan, senior editor of his high school yearbook. He programs a white noise machine to sharpen the enthusiasm of Bianca Richards, the disinterested albeit dazzling brunette appointed the yearbook's faculty advisor for the project and its editor. Meanwhile, at home Bryan's new stepmother Bree and stepsister Andrea, both striking red-heads, treat him with the disrespect they reserve for all people they label nerd. So, after his success with Bianca, Bryan gets Bree her own white noise machine. Could Andrea use one too?

Chapter 2 introduced Serena Pendergraft, state tennis champion and Andrea's rival for Queen Bitch of the high school. When a faculty member assigns them to work together on a project, Bryan, kindly volunteers to help. Meanwhile Bree, waking up horny in the middle of the night, heads for Bryan's room. Much fun is had and, spent and exhausted, the two of them slip into a deep sleep in his bed.

Which is where Chapter 3 picks up.

I thank all for the comments and favorites I received regarding the first two chapters. I want to specifically mention and thank Literotica member Fat_Rick, who sent several e-mails full of kind words and suggestions for future development. While what I have written here does not do justice to the breadth of his ideas - his e-mails contain enough for several complete stories (which I have encouraged Fat_Rick, so far unsuccessfully, to write) - I incorporated several of his suggestions into Chapter 3. Some of these are general, a tightening up of the plot, some specific, including details such as the photographs on Bianca's vanity, and some entire scenes. If you enjoy Bianca's visit to Principal Strickand or Bree and Bryan watching Malcolm and Marie with the family, thank Fat_Rick. If not, the fault is, I am sure, in my execution.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
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* * * * *​

Edward, looked around. Bree, his wife, was not in bed, but that was no reason to worry. She often woke up before he did. Feeling good — he'd slept well since Bryan installed the white noise machine in the bedroom - he stretched, then noticed something that wasn't there: the smell of fresh coffee. His wife made it each morning; he loved its dark rich aroma.

Putting on his robe, he headed for the kitchen. The coffee maker was ready to go; Bree had set it before going to bed. Perhaps she'd left for work early and, not wanting the coffee to grow stale before the family woke, decided to pick up a cup on the way to the office. Edward checked the driveway. Bree's SUV was in its usual spot.

Returning to the kitchen Edward poured himself a cup, added two sugar packets - Bree, who drank hers black, would wrinkle her nose whenever she saw him do that - took a sip, checked the countertop, table, and refrigerator. Bree had not left a note. Unplugging the charger from the wall he checked his phone: no text. Slipping the phone in his pocket he wandered the house's first floor, checked the garage: no Bree. Maybe she'd had trouble sleeping and concerned about disturbing him went to sleep in the guest bedroom. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, careful not to wake anyone, Edward checked. Still no Bree.
​

* * * * *​

North of town, out in the country, Bianca was also waking up. Like Edward, she was alone, but by choice. After taking Bryan as her lover her husband Roy had continued to share the bed with her when Bryan was not there. But as the affair intensified, then when Bryan's stepmother Bree was added to the mix, Bianca more and more came to see the bed as a private sacred place. Several weeks ago, looking at her husband Roy's slumbering form next to her, she realized he'd become an intruder.

With Bryan's approval, Bianca sat down with Roy. She was going to buy a new mattress and box springs, top of the line, and he'd have to sleep somewhere else. And while Roy had agreed, Bianca sensed resentment. Unable to identify exactly what about Roy's reaction bothered her, not sure if she'd read him right, Bianca didn't mention it to Bryan until she noted passive-aggressive behaviors in Roy. Nothing major - he'd pretend he didn't hear her when she called, he'd sulk and say he wasn't - but it surprised her. During the past year, as her life had come to center on Bryan, her husband had given her no trouble, accepting his place in the periphery of her existence. Maybe she'd taken him for granted? Perhaps she should go out of her way to thank him more often?

Bianca told Bryan of her concerns, who met with Roy. The basement would be converted into his living quarters; in the meantime Roy would use the guest bedroom and bath. Since then Roy had been good, dutifully filling the role in his wife's life Bryan assigned him.

Her toned body lithe and flexible, Bianca got out of bed, stretched, and moved to the vanity. Admiring the photographs she kept there, one of Bryan - he was so handsome - and a new one of Bryan, Bree, and herself taken on their recent beach trip, she noticed her phone blinking. It was the message Bree and Bryan forwarded her in the middle of the night. Activating the attachment, she watched as Bryan deflowered his stepmother's asshole until, fingers on her clit and nipples, Bianca could take no more. She checked the clock. It would be tight, but she had time. Texting Bryan and Bree, "SO FUCKING HOT, WISH I'D BEEN THERE," she went to the dresser, selecting a favorite butt plug and vibrator from the lingerie drawer.

Downstairs Roy heard his wife get in the shower. She was running late. Putting aside the omellette he'd intended to fix her, he cleaned her Nomad Travel Mug clean. At least she'd have a fresh cup of coffee on the way to work.
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* * * * *​

Back in town, Edward stood before Bryan's door. He'd peeked into Andrea's room: no Bree. This was the last place in the house she could be. He went to knock, stopped, reached for the door knob, stopped again. This was silly. He should just open the door. He was Bryan's father, the patriarch, leader of the family, but he didn't feel that way, hadn't in months. While his son had always been sober mature smart, over the past months his development had accelerated while Edward struggled with a moribund sex drive and deteriorating sense of his own masculinity. Bryan was becoming the man of the house, and he wasn't the only who saw it. Bree's eyes lingered on Bryan whenever he was around, followed him when he left the room. Conversations with his wife inevitably ended up on the subject of Bryan. She asked Bryan's opinion about most everything, deferred to his judgment, sat with him, touched his arm, straightened his hair, lay a hand on his back. They ran errands, did projects, hung out with Bianca Richards. His wife couldn't get enough Bryan.

Hell, even Andrea was starting to be nice to him.

Now, feeling he had no right to invade Bryan's privacy, Edward stood frozen before his son's door until he heard a buzz - it was Bryan's phone receiving Bianca's text - and Bryan reach for his phone. Deciding Bryan was awake, Edward knocked tentatively, did it again, a bit more forcefully this time, and said in a low voice, "Son, is it okay if I come in? I can't find Bree."

Bryan looked at the door. He knew exactly where Bree was, sleeping naked next to him. They'd fucked deep into the night, then fallen asleep and overslept. What to do? Bryan could deny Bree was there, find a way to get her out of his room unseen, confect an explanation for her disappearance and reappearance, but way too many things could go wrong with that rickety plan. Best to keep it simple. If you want someone to think you've done nothing wrong, act like you've done nothing wrong.

Pulling the blanket up so it covered both their bodies, moving his naked body against his stepmother to wake her, Bryan said, "Sure Dad, come on in, she's here with me,"

Edward hesitantly came through the door. Bree, suddenly awake, turned to Bryan, panic in her eyes, but Bryan slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. He was in charge, everything was okay. In a slightly befuddled tone, as if just waking up, he said, "Hey Dad, what time is it?"

"A little after 7:00."

"Crap. I must have forgotten to set the alarm. Bree had trouble sleeping last night, so did I, and when she heard me rummaging around my room she came up to say, 'Hi.' We lay down, chatted. I guess we fell asleep."

Picking up the cover story, Bree, the lawyer, adeptly changed the subject. "I'm sorry if I worried you dear. Is that fresh coffee I smell?"

"Yeah, I put a pot on."

"Thank you dear. I could use some; I'm sure your sleep deprived son feels the same. We're running late. Do you mind pouring us a couple cups?"

"Not at all."

Edward headed downstairs and Bryan and Bree popped out of bed. Pulling on gym shorts and a tee-shirt Bryan said, "Wait til you hear me talking to Dad in the kitchen, I'll keep him there. You slip downstairs, get a robe from your bedroom, grab a cup of coffee, and head for the shower. You smell of sex."

Smiling, Bree kissed her stepson, a light brush on his lips. "I smell of you, stud."
​

* * * * *​

While Bryan had been plundering his stepmother's virgin asshole the white noise machines had kept Edward and Andrea in the deepest of sleeps while opening their minds wide to suggestion. Until now those suggestions had been in the songs buried in the white noise, but last night there'd been something new. Bryan and Bree's taboo moans, groans, and shrieks did not wake Edward and Andrea, but they heard them, the machines channeling the sounds directly into Andrea and Edward's subconscious. And while the songs extolled Bryan's skill as a lover, Bree's voice, sodden with lust and desire, made you experience it. While the songs celebrated Bryan's dominance and the joy that came with submission, Bree's servile squeals let you live it.

The sound of Bryan and Bree's lovemaking confirmed the songs' wisdom with unmistakable irresistible clarity. The impact on Edward, who slept downstairs, half a house away, was significant. The impact on Andrea, who slept a few feet away, who heard every gasp, gulp, and wheeze, every howl, hoot, and hiss, every change in inflection and tone, every creak of the bed, was far more powerful.
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* * * * *​

Andrea, still in bed, heard her Mom and stepdad outside her room. That was unusual, Bree and Edward rarely visited the second floor at all, much less firth thing in the morning, but still it was no reason to get up. Andrea turned off the alarm and snuggled under her thick cotton blanket, but couldn't go back to sleep. She was horny. Stroking her breasts, focusing on her nipples, she considered masturbating, but decided to wait. She and her boyfriend Todd had second period free and there were several places at school they could get it on. And if he wasn't available, there were girlfriends always ready to help.

Fifteen minutes later, stepping from her room into the upstairs hallway, she noticed Bryan's door was wide open. Bree hadn't thought to close it when she'd scooted downstairs. Curious to see what Nerd-land looked like, Andrea stepped inside, saw the requisite computer and electronic gizmos and then, noting an unusual scent, took a deep whiff.

Olive oil?

Taking another step inside she saw the bottle of olive oil on Bryan's desk. She picked it up; oil coated its surface. Someone had been using it. What did you use olive oil for in a bedroom? She pulled back Bryan's blanket, found oil stains on the sheets.

Her stepbrother masturbated; at least the nerd had a sex drive.

Returning the olive oil to the desk, she saw - WTF - high heels, her mother's high heels, in the corner. Her stepbrother had a shoe fetish? What to do with this opportunity? She considered leaving them there, for when mother found them there'd be a shit storm. But what y did that get Andrea. Bryan would be in trouble, which was generally a good thing, but her mother's improving relationship with Bryan had made the house a less unpleasant place to live. Why screw with that? On the other hand, Andrea imagined how freaked out her stepbrother would be when he came back upstairs and found the shoes gone.

Picking up the shoes - they were hot, she was surprised by Bryan's good taste - Andrea stopped at the top of the stairs, listened. Edward and Bryan were talking in the kitchen, her mother was in the shower. She headed downstairs, but in the master bedroom saw her mother, out of the shower studying her image in the bathroom mirror. Andrea could see why. Her mother had always been beautiful, but in these last months she and Bianca Richards, her new best friend, had become devoted work-out buddies. She couldn't remember her mother being this trim and fit.

Ditching the shoes in a jumble of clothes at the foot of the bed, Andrea backed out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen.

Her stepfather was alone. "Hey Edward, got a cup for me."

She knew she wasn't supposed to call him that, but at the moment she felt bullet proof. She had something on this guy's kid.

Inwardly bristling at her choice of words, in his emasculated condition Edward said only, "Will in a second Andrea, I'm brewing a fresh pot."

Curious about the noise in the hallway that morning - was it connected to the shoes — Andrea said, "I heard you and Mom outside my door this morning. Anything going on?"

"I hope I didn't wake you. When I got up your mother wasn't in bed. That's not unusual, she often heads for the office early, but her SUV was in the driveway. It turns out she spent the night with Bryan. She woke up in the middle of the night, couldn't get back to sleep, heard Bryan in his room, went upstairs to chat. They lay down together and fell asleep. I found them tucked in bed, happy as two peas in a pod. Good, it's done. Here's your coffee."

Trying to keep her surprise off her face, Andrea picked up the mug, said, "Thanks," and headed for her room.
​

* * * * *​

Andrea closed her bedroom door, took a sip of coffee, then another, realized she'd tasted neither, told herself to calm the fuck down. Placing the cup on her sink she hung up her robe and turned on the shower. Her mother had slept with her stepbrother? Edward might think it innocent, but what innocent sleep-over includes olive oil and high heels? Shit, there had to be an explanation.

Taking a long breath and another swallow of coffee, she got in the shower. The warm water felt good, calming her, helping to settle her racing mind. There had to be an explanation.

Soaping up a wash cloth, she started working her body, but her scrubs became caresses as the arousal Andrea felt when she woke up returned. Thinking this was nuts: how could she be playing with herself minutes after discovering her mother and stepbrother were sleeping together, she stopped, but as she shampooed her hair she turned her hips towards the spigot, letting the warm water splash on her sex. Giving in to her desires, she ran a finger across the mouth of her vagina, through the valley of her vulva, onto the hard nub of her clit. She lay a hand flat on a breast and caught a nipple between two fingers.

Images of Bryan and her mother flashed through her mind. Nothing too graphic - gentle kisses, sweet touches, bodies entwined - but still very hot. Trying to drive those thoughts from her mind she leaned against the back wall of the shower and imagined Todd, but what came to mind was the reality of her boyfriend, clumsy, immature, inexperienced.

Desperate, she called up images of Ty, Serena's on-and-off boyfriend. He was trouble, a bad boy, but the best looking guy in school and while by reputation sadly deficient in the foreplay and cuddling departments, a big-dicked pile-driver when between your legs. Working a bar of soap on her cunt, pulling on her nipples, soon, sheets of light flashing before her eyes, she came, the orgasm leaving behind a sweet warmth in every nerve in her body.

Her mind clear, toweling herself dry, Andrea's thoughts returned to her mother and stepbrother. She'd eyeball them, figure out what was going on. Pulling on jeans and a matching shirt, Andrea hurried downstairs. She'd put on make-up on the way to school.
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* * * * *​

Looking at her stepbrother, who was sitting at the kitchen table spreading a light cover of cream cheese on a bagel, Bree said, "Hey, where's Mom?"

"She and Dad are moving something from her car to his; they'll be back in a sec."

"Bagel looks good."

Something was up. He often had a bagel for breakfast; Andrea had never asked about it. In fact, she rarely acknowledged, much less talked to him in the morning.

"It is. If you want one there's another in the bag in the refrigerator."

"Thanks, maybe I will..."

"Hey kids."

Edward and Bree came through the door, and wow, her mother looked good. Andrea knew the rule - red-heads shouldn't wear white - but in a cream-colored calf length dress with a small slit Bree was stunning. Was it the boldness of the look: bright red lipstick matched bright red hair matched bright red heels, or was it that her mother was fricking radiant, like she'd been..., been fucked all night, fucked real well.

"You look good Mom."

"Thanks, I have a hearing today before Judge Pendergraft, the mother of your friend Serena. You like the look?"

"She's not my friend and yeah, but you still look great."

Feeling emboldened after last night's events Bree said, "Thank you dear," and stepped behind her stepson, placing her hands on his shoulders. Kneading the muscles of Bryan's neck she turned to her husband and said, "Honey, can you fix me some coffee to go," as she slid her hands down the front Bryan's body. Her chest now pressed to his back she said, "Bryan dear, could you do Mommy a favor? I need to go by the dry cleaners, but I also have some phone calls to return. Would you ride with me, go inside and get the laundry. I'll drop you at school."

Her hands shielded from view by the table, Bree ran a finger on her stepson's erection. Not visibly reacting, Bryan swallowed a mouthful of bagel and said, "Of course. I'll find someone to give me a lift home," and, giving his dick a final squeeze, Bree said, "Thank you," kissed his cheek, and ran her hands back up his chest. Edward, also thanking his son, handed Bree a tumbler full of coffee. Cradling it in her hands, Bree took a long whiff. "Thank you honey."

Bryan grabbed his backpack and Bree, wishing everyone a good day, folded her arm into his and walked with him to her SUV. There Bryan held the passenger door open, then walked around to the driver side.

Coming downstairs looking for some explanation for the shoes, Andrea found her mother and stepbrother acting like a couple. Her mother had been happy, real happy, the past few months. Andrea had attributed it to her daily work-outs - all those endorphins - and friendship with Ms. Richards. But could it be Bryan? Bryan?
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* * * * *​

As the SUV pulled onto the street Bree, hand on his thigh, turned towards Bryan and said, "Thanks for remembering the shoes."

Confused, but not wanting to seem so, Bryan said almost too nonchalantly, "Shoes? What do you mean?"

"In all the excitement this morning I forgot about them, left them in your room. When I got out of the shower I saw you put them at the foot of my bed. Thanks."

Knowing he hadn't, maintaining a poker face, Bryan said, "Oh, yeah, no big..." and was grateful to be interrupted when Bree's phone buzzed.

"It's Bianca. She wants to know if this is a good time to talk. I'll call her."

While Bree provided her sexy best friend a blow-by-blow account of last night's sex and the morning's near miss, Bryan focused on the shoes. Neither Bree nor he brought them downstairs. Neither had his Dad; Brian had been in his father's company from the time he'd gotten out of bed until Bree re-appeared, freshly showered. Bree could have mistaken one pair of shoes for another - he'd double check when he got home - but that was crap. Bree loved her shoes; she wouldn't confuse one pair for another. That left Andrea, the only person who could have brought the shoes downstairs. How had she'd known about them? Why bring them downstairs? Was she telling his father about them right now? Was there some stepsisterly blackmail pending? He'd have to keep an eye on her.

By the time that Bree hung up the phone they'd passed the dry cleaners, but neither Bree nor Bryan minded. It would give her more time for one of her exquisite blow jobs in the school parking lot. Bree could pick up the laundry on the way home.
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* * * * *​

In that happy place men go after great sex, Bryan sat behind Bianca's desk, watching her touch up her make-up - first mascara, then rouge - after their lunch-period quickie.

"I need a favor."

"Of course stud, what is it?"

"Serena and Andrea were going to get together at my house after school to start work on Hodgson's project, but now Serena says too inconvenient. Andrea felt like she was sending a message: we're not good enough to have her over. She also said her house was unavailable, no reason, just unavailable. Serena suggested a coffee shop in her neighborhood, but late at night because it fits in her practice schedule. Andrea says no, it will cut into her social life. I'm not sure either cares where they meet, they just don't want the other to choose. Can you offer them the Yearbook room after classes get out? It fits both their schedules, is convenient - they're already here - and since the offer comes from you neither can claim they won. You and I can work on the yearbook guide while I monitor their progress on the intercom."

Smile seductive, Bianca said, "So tell me stud, when do you plan to start fucking your stepsister?"

With a grin that gave lie to his weak denial, Bryan said, "And why do you think I'm going to do that?"

"Why? Because you've been going out of your way to help her lately. Because Andrea's a hot little number, because every guy fantasizes about doing a mother and daughter. Because you love taboo sex, and the way that arrogant little bitch has put you down, it'd be fun to turn her into your cock hungry slut. And, if you're going to rule your house like you rule mine, your sister has to learn her place."

Smiling at the response - Bianca had given this some thought - feeling the energy flowing back into his body, Bryan rolled his head on his shoulders and said, "Those are good reasons. Would you be jealous?"

Applying lipstick, pressing her lips together to smooth it out, knowing he knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway, Bianca said, "Jealous. No. I'm not sure why, what it is about you, but I seem incapable of jealously. I desire you more than any man I've known. I'd do anything, be anything you ask. I'm also happy, more than happy, sharing you with Bree or any other lover you choose, especially when you share your lovers with me. It feels natural, it feels right, and is the most fulfilling thing I've ever done. Plus the sex is great, better than I thought possible. Why do you ask, other than liking to hear me say it."

"That's about it."

"Then I'll say it often. Now stud, if we're going to stay after hours I'll need Strickland's permission. Getting it won't be a problem, but he'll want to meet with me."

"Why's that?"

Checking her lipstick in the mirror she said, "Whatta you think?"

The beautiful brunette picked up her phone, punched in a short text to Strickland, then texted Roy. She'd be working with Bryan after school; he shouldn't hold dinner for her. Moments later her phone pinged. Strickland wanted to meet with her.
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* * * * *​

It didn't happen often, but at times like this Aleksandra Ola hated her boss. Was hate too strong a word? No, it was the right word. Most of the time, almost all the time, Principal Strickland was a boor, an unimaginative pencil-pushing do-it-by-the-book, fat, middle-aged bureaucrat, but around a pretty woman he could be a pig and he was oinking right now. Strickland had buzzed Aleksandra to let her know Bianca Richards was on her way to his office for a meeting, but he was about to make a very important phone call. Aleksandra should ask Bianca to wait in his outer office. Aleksandra knew there was no important phone call, Strickland wouldn't know an important phone call if it fell on him. No, the important phone call was a ruse and the outer office a place where Strickland could, he thought, surreptitiously check out Bianca.

Not that Aleksandra faulted the impulse. While Bianca's clothes, hair, and make-up were always professional and appropriate, this beautiful woman oozed sex. It was, Aleksandra knew, no accident. Bianca looked exactly the way she wanted to look. Aleksandra, in her own way, did the same, except not wanting Strickland and all those high school boys' leers on her all day long she dressed down, hiding her model's figure - 33 ½ - 23 ½ -35, "C" breasts - in baggy clothes, her short dark blonde hair in an uninspired style, and facial features, including large green eyes, with minimal make-up.

At that moment Bree, flashing a dazzling smile - the woman had perfect teeth - entered Aleksandra's office.

Bianca was radiant. Her black knee length designer dress, white blouse, and black jacket complimented her curvy figure, her sleek leather Hermes purse was spectacular, and she wore a necklace whose pendant, an understated diamond, hung between the top buttons of her blouse, which Bianca had left undone.

Bianca, enjoying the way Aleksandra's eyes lingered on her - she'd long noted the principal's secretary was much prettier than she let on - said, "Afternoon Aleksandra, I'm supposed to see the boss."

Casting her eyes at Strickland through the two glass partitions, one separating her desk from his outer office, the other separating his inner and outer offices, Aleksandra said, "Yes, he told me you were on the way. Unfortunately he said he is on an important telephone call, a very important telephone call. He asked that you wait in his outer office."

Bianca, noting the sarcasm Aleksandra packed into the word "very," said, "He's always seems to get those when I come by."

"Yes, quite the coincidence."

Gesturing to her purse Bianca said, "Luckily I brought my I-pad. This will be the perfect opportunity to review the School Board's most recent missive. I'm sure its fascinating."

Smiling - she liked this woman - Aleksandra said, "They always are. Can I bring you a cup of coffee, or tea?"

"Tea would be perfect."

Opening a desk drawer Aleksandra said, "I have lemon, mint, Earl Grey. What's your preference?"

"What do you recommend?"

"This time of day, Earl Gray, definitely Earl Gray."

"Earl Gray then."

Aleksandra considered asking Bianca to join her in the kitchen while she fixed the tea. But while that would serve Strickland right, it would also put him in asshole mode the rest of the day. No, Bianca Richards knew what she was doing; she didn't need Aleksandra to protect her.

"Good. You can wait in his outer office. I'll be right back with the tea."

As Bianca stepped into Strickland's outer office Aleksandra's eyes flashed to her tush - great ass, great wiggle - and breathed in the brunette's perfume. Elegant and posh, its subtle, slightly citrus, scent would linger in her nose the rest of the day. Aleksandra looked to Bianca's left hand. The wedding ring, like the pendant, was classy, understated, and expensive. The buzz around school was Bianca - she certainly couldn't afford all this on a teacher's salary - had married well.
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* * * *​

In Strickland's outer office Bianca turned her eyes to the principal, held his gaze, smiled. Strickland, who had been slouching, let out a long exhale of air and sat up straight. Bianca imagined his pulse jumping a couple beats. Scanning the room, Bianca choose a chair in the corner, knowing Strickland would have to slide to the end of his desk, an uncomfortable spot without leg room, in order to see her. Out of the corner of her eye Bianca watched him do so.

As Strickland pretended (poorly) not to watch, Bianca put on a show. As she leaned forward to retrieve the I-pad in her purse her thick black tresses covered her face. Sitting back up she placed the I-pad on the chair next to her, shook her head, then ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it. Waiting for the device to boot-up Bianca idly caressed the soft skin of her chest with her diamond pendent, held it as it swing back and forth, and then I-pad ready, lay the pendent between the open buttons atop her blouse, crossed her toned legs, and started reading, moving from page to page with a flick of a fingernail painted a deep dark red.

On the other side of the partition, holding a cup of tea on a mismatching saucer - it was the best the kitchen had to offer - Aleksandra watched Bianca, watched her boss watch Bianca. Whatever this sexy brunette wanted, she'd get. Aleksandra opened the door.

"I have your tea Bianca."

Laying the I-pad down Bianca said, "It smells wonderful, Thank you," and leaning forward, took the cup and saucer from Aleksandra, noting the way Aleksandra's eyes flashed on her cleavage. Not that she minded. Bianca enjoyed being looked at and, unlike Strickland, Aleksandra's barely perceptible glance was respectful, classy. Bianca brought the cup to her lips, took a sip, then another. "It's wonderful. You're right, the perfect way to start the afternoon."

"I'm glad you like it. When you're done or when," gesturing to her boss, "he's ready, leave the cup and saucer here I'll get them."

Taking another sip, deciding to undo another button of her blouse - a reward for Aleksandra's thoughtfulness and bait for her boss - Bianca said, "Will do. Is it the tea or is it getting warm in here?"

"Not the tea, unfortunately. This part of the building heats up in the afternoon. The genius who designed it decided the west facing wall should be made of glass."

Bianca, catching Strickland in her periphery vision - his eyes remained locked on the two women - said, "Well good, it's not me. I guess no one will mind..." and as if focused on her conversation with Aleksandra, the button an afterthought, Bianca drew out the process, working on the button then slowly and deliberately pushing it through the matching hole in her blouse. When finished, giving Aleksandra the opportunity to peek, Bianca glanced at Strickland, who clumsily averted his gaze.

Deciding that unless he got Bianca Richards into his office right now his balls might burst, Strickland hung up his phone and, wanting to seem important, buzzed his secretary. "Aleksandra, you can send Ms. Richards in now."
​

* * * * *​

It was, he was sure, his best serious look; he practiced it at home in front of a mirror. Hands clasped together, leaning forward on his large, theoretically intimidating, desk, Principal Strickland said, "What can I do for you today Ms. Richards?"

Bianca started, "Well," then paused, as if concerned she was about to say something inappropriate, before finishing, "Is it alright if I call you Tom?"

Glancing around, as if someone might hear him, as if maybe what he was about to say was a wee bit out-of-line, he said magnanimously, "Of course."

Leaning back, Bianca rewarded the principal by crossing her legs, then slipping a finger around a long curl in her hair, continued.

"Thank you, Tom. I want to keep Bryan Danielson, his sister Andrea, and Serena Penderdgraft after school today, perhaps several more times over the next few weeks. Bryan and I are working on a guide for publishing high school yearbooks. He did such a wonderful job this year, I thought it would be useful to have him prepare something for future editors. If it is as good as it's shaping up I wouldn't be surprised if we found an academic press to publish it. Serena and Andrea are working on a joint presentation for Mr. Hodgson, and with Serena's practice and training schedule it's hard for them to find time. Letting them meet on campus after class solves a lot of problems."

As they talked Bianca played with her hair: running her fingers through it, curling it, twirling it, tucking it behind an ear, flicking it away from her face. Strickland, who couldn't take his eyes off her hair and fingers, nodded his head in silent agreement with everything Bianca said. Then, suddenly realizing he'd lost control of the meeting, in an effort to re-assert his authority said, "You know there is a policy..."

Employing a conspiratorial tone, Bianca leaned forward, drawing him into the plot. "I know Tom, two teachers supervising at all times. That's why I came to see you. You're the boss, I'm was hoping you'd make an exception. They're good kids."

Trying, unsuccessfully, not to look down her cleavage, unwilling to admit he lacked the authority to make an exception, Strickland said, "Can I have your promise you'll keep an eye on everything."

"Of course Tom."

"Well, okay."

Bianca smiled, a smile that occupied her entire face, including the corner of her eyes, and said, "Thank you," stood, and stepped forward.

In response Strickland struggled to his feet - the unfavorable comparison with Bianca's effortless movement inescapable - took Bianca's extended hand, held it, realized he'd held it too long, hurriedly let go. "And be sure to lock up."

It was neither funny nor witty, but Bianca laughed. It made him feel good.

"I will Tom. I'll ask Aleksandra to come in so you can prepare a note for my personnel file memorializing our talk."
​

* * * * *​

Aleksandra had watched them. Whatever this stunning brunette wanted, she'd gotten. Now, stopping at Aleksandra's desk, Bianca thanked her for the tea and told her that Strickland wanted to dictate a note for her file. Taking a final peek at Bianca's shapely behind as she left, Aleksandra grabbed a pen.

"Ms. Richards said you wanted me to make a note for her file."

Other memories of the meeting occupying his thoughts, it took Strickland a moment to recall the note. He didn't want a written record giving Bianca permission to stay after school with students, but saw no way out. "Yes, yes. Ms. Richards, will keep Bryan Danielson, his sister, what's her name, and Serena Pendergraft after school."

"It's Andrea, and that you approved it sir."

"Yes, yes, I approved it."

Knowing Strickland couldn't approve this breach of school policy, Aleksandra carefully recorded the date and time before entering the information in Bianca's file.

Why had Bianca gone to this trouble to keep three students late?

Back at her desk, with her boss' mind on Bianca Richards, Aleksandra knew there'd be little work the rest of the day. She removed a small case from an inside pocket of her purse, opened it. It was her favorite vibrating egg: pink and oval, it fit inside her perfectly and could go for hours. She could slip it inside. After an afternoon surfing the edge she'd hurry home to her big black dildo and spend the evening drilling her sweet angel-wife while imagining it was Bianca Richards' legs tightening on her back. But no, too dangerous and as aroused as she was she'd be plenty ready when she got home. She put the box back in her purse. Another day.
​

* * * * *​

As Bianca was meeting with Principal Strickland, Bree was across town in court, summarizing her client's position. She'd started the day behind - Judge Pendergraft had been sympathetic to the defendants throughout the lawsuit - but knew she was making up the ground she needed. If she won today, if she defeated the manufacturer's summary judgment motion, the lawsuit would settle. The manufacturer would never let a jury decide a case with such a sympathetic plaintiff, mother of three, who'd suffered such gruesome injuries.

The lawyer for the manufacturer stood. "Your Honor, if we could have a five minute break before presenting our rebuttal, it will help organize our argument."

Bree knew this meant the manufacturer sensed, as did she, its argument slipping away.

The Judge turned to Bree. Bree wanted to say, "Hell no, don't give the bastards the chance to re-think this," but knew the Judge would grant the request.

"No objection, Your Honor."

"Court will reconvene in ten minutes." Judge Pendergraft stood, disappearing through the door behind her podium.

As the manufacturer huddled with its lawyers Bree turned on her phone, read, then re-read Bianca's text describing her visit with Principal Strickand. She turned off the phone when a knock announced the Judge's return.

The manufacturer's argument, focusing on technical fabrication issues, started slow, wandered a bit, then started to congeal. Bree knew it was the weakness in her case, but to date the Judge had shown little interest in the complicated issue. Now she was paying attention. Was she finally getting it?

Bree considered objecting, trying to break the lawyer's flow and the Judge's concentration, but that would signal Bree's concern. She had to appear confident.

That was when Bree thought of Bianca's text. Two could play the distraction game.

Bree had heard the rumors; every lawyer in town had heard the rumors. Ever conscious of the electorate, Judge Pendergraft made sure to play the devoted wife and mother and a pillar of civic virtue. And while she worked hard to maintain her good looks into her fifties, in public her presentation was regal and classy, just the right look for a judge. But the word was when out of town the Judge still indulged her taste for the ladies, preferring them beautiful, younger, and paler, just like Bree.

Bree didn't doubt the rumors, for in her own younger wilder days Bree had often seen Eleanor Pendergraft, years before she first ran for judge, at a certain local music club on the wrong side of the tracks, a place where the better people didn't go. There the future judge would let her hair down, flirt with a waitress, or with the lady behind the bar, and after a few drinks slip off with them to the private bedroom the club's owner kept for preferred customers.

What would Bianca do? As if absorbed in his argument, Bree rotated her chair so that she directly faced opposing counsel. Bree's dress was professional and its slit small, but not too professional and not too small, and as she crossed her legs she exposed a calf and a foot garbed in a spectacular red leather high heel. Noticing the movement out of the corner of her eye the Judge glanced at Bree, did it again, tried to turn her attention back to counsel, but looked back at Bree, losing the thread of the argument as she did so. Sensing this, the manufacturer's counsel back-tracked, repeated himself, but Bree reached down, straightened her shoe, rotated her foot.

Five minutes later, knowing he'd lost the Judge, the manufacturer's counsel sat down. Over drinks that night he, his co-counsel, and their clients would argue about what went wrong. None would mention the importance of a well-formed calf.
​

* * * * *​

That afternoon after school, Serena and Andrea worked on Hodgson's project in the Yearbook room while Bryan and Bianca met in her office a few doors down the hall to work on the editors guide while monitoring Serena and Andrea over the intercom.

For Serena and Andrea things started tolerably. The girls, both late, exchanged a kiss on the cheek and the expected civilities, but with an edge to their voices. Then, despite the songs in the white noise machine urging then to get along, things went downhill. After forty-five minutes Bryan picked up his computer. "Bianca, can I have three of those powerbars you keep in your desk. I'm going down there."

Knocking on the Yearbook Office door, stepping inside, Bryan said, "Hey guys, with all the brainpower working in here I thought you could use a snack."

Annoyance flashed across Serena's face. She addressed nerds; they did not address her. But before Serena could say anything Andrea said, "Yeah, good idea, we could use a break."

Laying the bars on the table Bryan said, "Take your pick. How's it going?"

Serena, not interested in discussing the project with Bryan, issued a non-committal, "Okay," but Andrea, reacting to Serena's patent disinterest in her stepbrother, said, "A little slow so far."​