This choice: Ask Barbara to take off "her" skin • Go Back...Chapter #18The Counterfeits Three by: Nostrum   You wrap your arms around Barbara, trusting on Quentin to do the job. “Hey, Barbie... Ashie's gonna take some time. How about we have a little fun before?”
She groans, yanking your arms off. “Really. All you ever think of is sex?”
“Don't you?” You grab her breasts – by now a Wright trademark, big and soft and juicy – and rub her groin slowly through her pencil skirt. “C’mon. Don’t tell me you haven’t played with her pussy at least once. You’d be an idiot not to!”
Barbara pushes you away and snorts. “Yeah - can't say I haven't.” She squeezes her breasts and rubs her ass while biting her lip. “Killer way to deal with stress, for one.”
“And less expensive than an ounce of weed,” you taunt her.
She doesn’t take it nicely. “You know I can’t do drugs of any kind. If my bosses figure it out–”
“I was just ribbing you!”
“Perhaps you see it as a joke, but it's not one to me.” You’re stiff as a board as Barbara rebukes you – has Quentin managed to screw you up that badly? It shouldn't, because Quentin kept Cassie’s tradition to pester Barbara with Ross (except Cassie wouldn't ever taunt her with drugs or sex).
“You should take things less seriously, man. Mom's not here. It's just the two of us, alright?”
Barbara sighs, grabbing her forehead. “Sometimes I wish I had your fucking enthusiasm, Quen. Young and without a worry in the world.”
“We could always switch,” you propose.
“Can't risk it. You'd fuck things up.” She moves away, the twitch in her fingers telling you she’s going straight for a cigarette.
“You’re gonna fuck your lungs if you keep smoking,” you rebut, drawing on Cassie's emotions to appeal to them. “Condoms're cheaper than fags, y'know.”
Barbara chortles. “I'd grill you for that, but I'd be a hypocrite.” She still goes for the cigarette, taking a good whiff before smiling. “God, I hate being a bottom.”
You draw the pens – a risky maneuver, but Ross found them in the first place – and propose a deal. “You could always take her off. Play with her, get your manhood satisfied, show her who's boss--”
“Yeah, that sounds right...” Barbara gives you a very approving look, which feels strange. “Sometimes you got crazy good ideas, Quen.”
“You know what'd make it better?” you say as you accompany her to her bedroom. “A li'l snuff. Set her on the bed, with some handcuffs, then you stick it on me and we could–”
Barbara cackles, mocking you. “Jesus, Quen – you really went full faggot?”
“Hell no. I think I’m definitely bi, though – can't stop thinking about the pussy. Why d'you think I gave you the idea?”
“I was just ribbing you,” she says as she takes off her clothes. You undress, but the black pen's still on your hand. “Strange that I'm stepping in your business.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“The head pharmacist's hot for this bitch,” she confesses as she takes off her underwear – God, Barbie’s ass's so big and tight! “Helps that Barbara finds him hot – and that he's got a big cock to ride.”
“Welcome to the club, sis.”
“I wonder what'd happen if he knew...” Ripping off her skin from the back, Ross reveals his dark skin and shaved head, readopting his cocky nasal tone. “...he's fucking a guy with a cock bigger than his.”
This is your chance. His skin's exposed, and his back's turned. No time for clever quips – you point and click, and Ross yelps as his skin deflates. Then, and only then, you satisfy your urge – with a huff to the pen's point. “He'd probably rip your skin apart.”
You do satisfy your curiosity as you make the call to your contacts. “Eagle? Lovebird here. Target's secured. And jeez – that guy's loaded!”
--
You meet agent Silva and Ashley on the street after Barbara's replacement – one special agent Timothy Renner, specialized in undercover jobs – finishes dressing. “You alright, Renner?” she says as she notices him.
“Still dizzy, Silva. Two minds're a double whammy.” He slaps your denim jacket – the one you wore alongside the sleeveless white tank top you chose to replace the sweater – and snorts. “Clever to play him up that way, kid.”
“What way?” Ashley asks, mortified.
“Ix-nay on the uck-fay,” you say, only to recall too late that Ashley knows her Pig Latin. She doesn't unleash her fury until you're all on Barbara's sedan, while agent Silva follows you behind.
“What's all that about fucking?”
“Hey - I was just playing him! I was gonna shoot at him as soon as he stripped off Barbie, y'know.”
“Made me blurt out something,” the new Barbara says, burying you. She takes her phone and calls the agents behind, adopting a cold, professional tone. “Silva? This plan's working better than expected – William McCallum's an accomplice. Marquand slept with him to keep the extra cash flow safe.”
“How did you get that?”
“Last few minutes of conversation between Hawk and Lovebird.”
“Interesting.” Silva seems more than amused – giddy, even. “We're gonna bury these fuckers in no time. How’s Ashley doing?”
“Nervous,” she reveals. “I’m not sure if I'll be able to fool them.”
“You've got a couple days' training, Miss Wright. You'll do fine.”
You stare at Ashley, driven by curiosity. “What's that about fooling them?”
As she stops on a red light, she looks at you with a very dark glare, sneering. “Telling missus Wright – or I should say, 'Mom' - it’s all done.”
You shiver as you hear her words. Quentin knows a bit about Trevor and how he talks – and that's scarily close.
“That's giving me the chills,” Barbara says, rubbing her shoulders to feign feeling cold.
“As long as I don’t puke my guts out while at it... God, that motherfucker's twisted!”
“You're pulling off that 'motherfucker' bit a bit too good, Ash.”
“Yeah, and that's what's creeping me out.”
“But, how do you know everything if you're not wearing a skin?”
“Seems you don't have to wear the skin to get the memories,” Ashley reveals. “Only to keep contact with it. I've been touching that asshole for hours, telling them all they need to know. Then they asked me to act as him, recorded it, and showed it to me. I've been trying to pull that off for about a day.”
You snort. “If that's a day's work, imagine what would be a week! You're good, Ashie!”
“Not as good as you,” she says, and you feel she’s trying to fight the swelling bile on her throat. “I'm starting to think you're just as much of an asshole like the guy you're wearing.”
“It's getting easier,” you confess. “Which reminds me – Renner, is it?”
“Yeah,” Barbara responds.
“Remember you asked me how I do it? I got the perfect allegory. It's like floating – you need to ride the wave...”
--
The three of you stop at a beautiful, if unassuming, two-story wooden house on an upper-middle class neighborhood. You understand what Quentin says about modesty – it's a little weathered, could use a new coat of paint, but it's very well kept. The lawn's neatly trimmed – you know Cassie's mom pays the neighborhood kids good money to maintain it – and the garage has a four-year-old sedan in very good conditions.
You pound the knocker – Cassie's mother never relied on door bells – and wait as the door opens. You give one glance at Ashley and squeeze her hand while smiling, hoping this quells her out. Soon, you see a woman whose beauty defies explanation.
Tessa Wright redefines beauty and elegance. She's better endowed than her daughters (only Barbara can match her breasts and Ashley her hips – Cassie lost the jackpot on that one) and age doesn't seem to mar her. She shares the same blond hair than all of her daughters (with, again, Cassie having a darker hue than her sisters), tied in a neat bun from which two side bangs twist and fall. But it's her stunning green eyes, the unbuttoned blouse pushing up the soft skin on her cleavage, and that relaxed, big and disarming smile that mesmerize you.
And she's very happy to see you – especially the little surprise. “Ashley! It's been so long...”
“Hello, Mom.” She's cold and stiff, and you can see the grimace even from behind when her mother hugs her. Then, she greets Barbara, kissing her. “So good of you to visit your mother, Barbara.”
“Been busy at work, Mom.” The two kiss each other at the cheek, leaving only you to greet her.
“Cassie! I expect good news.”
You step in, close the door, and grin. “Mission accomplished, Mom.” You slide towards Ashley's back and squeeze her breasts. “Sis is in better hands now.”
“Is it so?” the woman asks, and you check Ashley's reaction.
The sneer in her face is uncanny. “Yes, missus Wright. I'm finally in.”
“Mmm...” Tessa rubs Ashley's chin, grinning. “Magnificent. How are you adapting?”
“It'll take some time,” she says, readopting her usual persona, “but Cassie's helping me on that.”
“Good to hear.” Tessa leads you inside, sitting regally in her couch seat – almost like a throne to her. “When will we commence operations where you live?”
“Missus Wright, I'm still getting started! Give me a couple months, and I'll get enough experience and contacts to start a shell company.”
Shell? You put your hand near the purse – near the black pen you still have – and discreetly unzip it.
“Good,” Tessa claims, satisfied. “You'll have the investment money wired in from one of my secret accounts.” She then looks at you, smirking. “Now, to tie off the loose ends.”
“Loose ends?” you feign, but you suspect the worst.
“A little birdy told me the Feds are trying something daring.” She draws a gun from her purse, while Ashley draws the other black pen from hers. Her voice becomes cocky and taunting. “Trying to trick me by becoming what I hold dearest.”
Your heart races as Ashley pulls off her head, revealing Trevor Lachlan to be inside. “Except we got the scoop. They never suspected.”
“And now...” She points the gun at you. “Time to take her off. Or I may do something I'll regret.”  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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