The Artifacts of K'Panu, Part 5

I let my breath out slowly, matching what I was seeing with what my new self knew. I was tall -- five-ten in bare feet -- and built like, well, a stripper. 36DD, 24, 36, and all real. My legs were long, muscular and sleek, narrow waist emphasizing the swell of my hips and butt. I looked and felt every bit as athletic and limber as the old Steffi had been, but I'd sure jiggle a lot more when I ran. My nipples each sported a small silver hoop, with a single jeweled bead. I flicked one tentatively, and gasped at the sensation.

---

"And now, gentlemen, Tassels is pleased to present, the sexy lady we've all been waiting for, please put your hands together for Miss Stephanie Stardust!"

The hooting and applause rose to drown out the introduction as the first of my songs came up; I smiled brightly out across the crowded room as I stepped into view, not afraid to make eye contact, bold, challenging. I know you want me, but you can't have me. But maybe I'll let you watch.

The sexy navy officer's uniform was a real crowd-pleaser: tailored navy jacket with brass buttons and gold stripes on the sleeve, reaching to the top of my thighs, four-inch stiletto heels, my hair tucked into a peaked white officer's cap perched jauntily over one eye.

The cap was the first to go, lifting it high over my head to let my fiery-red hair spill down my back in a tousled wave as I strutted to the front of the stage, hips rolling, working the applause. I was having a ball, and it showed, and they loved it.

The guys crowded next to the stage were the big tippers, and I began to work them with practiced ease, looking for the lively ones and encouraging them, swiveling down onto my heels to let this one tuck a folded bill into my garter, licking my lips and blowing a kiss to that shy one, winking slyly and undoing a brass button for another.

Towards the end of the song, I'd run out of buttons to undo, and I left the jacket hanging open, teasing, until finally as the song came to an end I tore off the jacket and whirled it over my head to loud cheers and whistles, showing off my red, white, and blue micro-bikini top and g-string. I had them in the palm of my hand, and they were loving it, and I was loving them loving it.

For the next song I worked the stage, showing off my body, bending straight-kneed to touch my ankles then waving between my legs to encourage at some blushing young man in the front row, looking over my shoulder with a sexy pout and wiggling my ass for another, pressing my tits together delightedly like I'd just discovered touching them, all the while laughing and grinning and grinding my hips, and hooting right back at the crowd. Partway through the song I began to remove my bikini top, untying the back and holding in place with one hand, offering tantalizing glimpses of what was to come. At the end of the song, the top came off to catcalls and whistles, and general enthusiastic applause, and I paraded around the edge of the stage, shimmying.

The third song was slower, and I bent and stretched to show off my lithe body, sliding down into the splits and moving gracefully into suggestive poses, smiling archy and lifting my breasts to flick the nipple rings, making half-lidded 'Oooh' faces as the nipples crinkled and firmed into hardness. By the end of the set I had them crowding the stage to slip money into my garter, or for the bolder ones, the side of my g-string. I left the stage blowing kisses and waving to the applause.

That was my last set; I went back to the dressing room and changed, then counted my tips. It had been a very good night. I spotted Tiffany dancing for a rowdy group of college boys; I waved to her and pointed to indicate I was heading upstairs.

I handed the tip money over to Cliff, the night manager, to be split amongst the staff. I didn't need it, I owned the club.

~o~O~o~
I woke slowly, reluctantly, content to lie in bed and sleep in. Eventually I gave up trying to fall back asleep and stretched luxuriously, reveling in the freedom from pain, running my toes along the leg of the man lying next to me, my breath catching slightly as my fingers slipped between my legs, stroking myself to warm pleasurable wetness.

Freedom from pain? Why would there be pain?

I shook off the stray thought and ran my hand across his smooth chest, sliding it beneath the covers and grasping his cock gently, stroking it to hardness before straddling him and impaling myself deliciously on his shaft.

My belly tightened as I clamped down, sliding along his cock, slowly increasing in intensity, breasts bouncing as I pick up speed. The man writhed under me, eyes squeezed tight as he fought to postpone his orgasm, to maintain his erection even as I tried to steal it from him. Eventually my back arched and a small cry escaped my lips as the familiar intensity quickly overwhelmed me. I finally rolled off his still-erect penis, satiated, heart pounding, gasping like I've run a hundred-meter sprint.

When I could manage, I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "Good boy," then staggered on still-weak knees to the shower, pinning up my hair to keep it dry, and calling to Tiffany to give the man release, and then to untie him and get him out.

The shower was invigorating, one of those Euro-style multi-level spray things, worth every penny I paid for it. Roomy, too -- I briefly considered calling Tiffi in, but decided it wouldn't do to show too much favoritism in front of the others.

Others?

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself and unpinning my hair, shaking it free and letting it tumble across my shoulders, soft waves falling down my back and across my breasts.

Finally, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, and with a rush, I remembered. I staggered back blindly, until I found the edge of the sunken tub, then sat, staring blankly into space.

Jacobi stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, Tiffi's disk in his hand. Tiffi was calm, frozen, in the power of the disk; I was pushing myself as far up the bed as I could, heedless of the pain. The sight of Tiffi's disk made me uncomfortable, I wanted to look away, to getaway, but Jacobi blocked the only door. Finally, as if in slow motion, he withdrew his hand from his pocket, and I felt a calm lethargy come over me, and I became still, my eyes fixed on the strange double glow in the depths of my own disk. A part of me was still frantic to look away, to avoid looking at the disk; but that part was easily overwhelmed by the disk's influence.

Jacobi stepped inside and stood at the foot of the bed. His voice was low. "This isn't working out the way I'd hoped, and I apologize. Jake was... much, much worse than I ever expected. This is my fault. It could have been interesting, too -- if he hadn't been such a despicable son of a bitch. Oh, well, we learn as we go.

"I've been thinking about the rules of the magic... it's all about connections. Anything that requires too many changes to reality, changes too many connections between you and the rest of the world, damages and weakens the disks, brings them closer to the time that they fail, like Isabella's did. Fame -- everyone needs to know you, that's too many memories to adjust, too many connections. Influence, political power -- same thing. Wealth -- money needs to come from somewhere, it has to be earned or acquired. It has a paper trail, the magic has to rationalize it all. So, it's very hard.

"Anyway, I think I can make this up to you, and maybe use the magic to do some good work, too. I'm not totally without a conscience." He grinned, and I shivered. "Corrupted a little, maybe, but not completely without redeeming features. And if I can benefit indirectly, well that's nice too." He frowned. "The rules are very clear, the disks cannot be used for personal gain. I think the disks were a means for the priesthood to bestow reward or punishment from K'Panu. The rules were intended to prevent the priests from becoming corrupt -- well," he chuckled darkly, " from becoming too corrupt. But they had a few hundred years to figure it out; I suspect one day they simply went too far, and K'Panu got pissed and wiped them all off the map." He shuddered. "I definitely do not want to piss him off... So. My options are limited. The disks are locked on you two, that can't change unless I lose the disks. I can't benefit directly. So," he shrugged. "We play, until I can learn more and come up with a better idea."

He straightened, and held the disks in his open palms. "To business -- oh, but you won't remember anything past this point." He grinned again. "I want it to be a surprise."

Yeah. Surprise, all right. I tried a mental self-test, tentatively probing my memories. Stephen? Still there, check. Steffi Burke? Check. Who am I now? Stephanie Laurent. Mrs. Stephanie Laurent, widow. Nathan died just over two years ago, and... I still miss him. I'm 29, the party was last month. And I'm a stripper, stage name Stephanie Stardust. Exotic dancer. Which paid for a Master's degree in Business Administration, thank you very much. A very rich one, thanks to Nate; I have my own strip club, and then some. I put aside the memories for now, took a deep breath, and stood to face my new self in the mirror.

Simon Jacobi, you are one horny fuck. I let my breath out slowly, matching what I was seeing with what my new self knew. I was tall -- five-ten in bare feet -- and built like, well, a stripper. 36DD, 24, 36, and all real. My legs were long, muscular and sleek, narrow waist emphasizing the swell of my hips and butt. I looked and felt every bit as athletic and limber as the old Steffi had been, but I'd sure jiggle a lot more when I ran. My nipples each sported a small silver hoop, with a single jeweled bead. I flicked one tentatively, and gasped at the sensation. Save it for later.

Even with the new chest, my hair would be the first thing anyone noticed -- it was a fiery, shimmering red, that draped across my generous breasts and flowed in soft curls down to the small of my back. I couldn't tell if the colour was natural because the carpet didn't match the drapes; I had no carpet. Electrolysis. Hurt like hell, but it was worth it. And yes, the colour's natural.

My eyes were shimmering green over prominent cheekbones, my lips full and expressive, with a slightly cruel twist. A face with a seductive, challenging expression, enough to make any man crave my attention, and worry that he might not survive it. Women, too.

"Tiffany! Come in here, please." My eyes widened, the voice I heard was dark and sultry, and incredibly erotic, like aural sex.

"Yes, mistress?" Mistress? Oh, well of course I'm a dominatrix. Thank you, Simon Jacobi. Tiffi's voice was light and bubbly; she spoke with a natural soft lisp that hinted at little-girl without being a caricature, her form was small, but very much a woman's.

"Is he gone?"

"Yes, mistress."

Well, we're not twins any more. The thought carried a sense of loss.

Tiff was as naked as I was; she was tiny, smaller even than the old Tiff, maybe five foot even. I knew she was a good deal younger than me. Twenty-two. Her full lips were slightly parted, showing a very slight overbite, and the effect was enchanting and completely natural. Her hair was tousled blonde, spilling across her shoulders. Of course her eyes were china-doll blue, and just a little larger than seemed fair, with long delicate dark lashes. Her breasts were high and full, and if I hadn't just seen my own reflection, I might have been jealous. Her figure was fit and trim, with a dancer's long legs, but soft, without her former athlete's muscles. Her nipple rings matched my own, except in gold.

She had stringy thread of cum on her chin. "Missed a spot." I wiped it off with my thumb and let her suck it clean. I did this and she accepted this so naturally, I got shivers.

"Thank you mistress."

Somehow I knew that she wouldn't remember unless I told her to. I grasped her shoulders and gently directed her to stand in front of me, facing the mirror. "Tiffany, remember."

Her eyes widened just a little, and she was silent a long time. Finally she breathed, "Fuck you, Simon Jacobi."

I pulled my dressing gown off the back of the bathroom door, and threw it on, not bothering to tie it as I led her dazedly back into the bedroom. It was a large room, with an entertainment console and living area at one end; I flopped on the couch and she climbed into my lap to cuddle, and I let her, without conscious thought.

"So, talk to me. Talking about what we know might help settle the new memories." I was still thinking, reacting as Steffi Burke, and I figured Tiffi was, too. I had a horrible thought. "Wait -- is Tom in there?"

Tiffi thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "He's here, there's no separation between us any more. I have his memories, as well as the old Tiffi's. Plus the new ones, such as they are," she added sourly.

"So, who's the new Tiffi?" I prodded.

"I came in looking for a job about a year ago. My ID said I was Tiffany Dupree from Des Moines, and I don't remember anything before that, at all. Probably because there is nothing before that, I bet the magic's cutting corners. No family, no missing persons report. Probably was a stripper before, though, because that's one thing I knew how to do well. I dance here, now."

She took a breath. "I was in love with you from the start, I was delighted when you let me become one of your girls. Over the past year I've become increasingly submissive, dependant on others to direct me, control me. To be fair, you tried to help, to get me to take some control back, but none of it helped; basically, I've become your pet. Your happy little bimbo fucktoy pet. And God damn Jacobi, I love it, I love you, mistress. I know he made me this way, and I can't even feel angry. You can't imagine how good it feels just to sit here with you."

I had automatically wrapped my arms around her when she crawled up, and was stroking her hair, like petting a kitten. "My memory says there's more?"

She sighed. "Jacobi really must have been pissed at me. Mentally, it's hard to think, to string two thoughts together. I can do it, but I can't hold it for long, it's just easier not to try. I know should be screaming at what he's done to me, but I can't seem to feel anger, or even sadness.

"I can't read or write, mistress, not even with the old memories. And... I can't go outside, without company. I get anxious if I'm alone, out there. Frantic."

I could feel her becoming agitated just thinking about it. "Shush, Tiffi," I soothed, and held her close until she calmed. I kissed her on the top of the head, and frowned. "You're sucking your thumb."

She blushed, very beautifully, and popped the thumb out long enough to answer. "I... like to suck... things," she lisped softly. "I mean... really like..."

I sighed and let her continue. Simon Jacobi, you have much to answer for. "Okay, my turn."

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the new memories. "I was born Stephanie Alison Terante. Parents divorced, father left us when I was a kid, mother died while I was in college. I started exotic dancing to put myself through school. I was good at it, I enjoyed it, and it paid well; enough that I kept at it all the way to an MBA degree. I met Nathan Laurent when I was an undergraduate, we were married shortly before we started our grad degrees.

"Nate's specialty was market analytics, the ability to predict the financial and commodities markets, and he was brilliant. He went to work as a trader for one of the big brokerage houses, made his first million in commissions in eighteen months. Then he up and quit; he had his stake, now he wanted to put his talent to work for himself. And he did. He focused on market derivatives, that's basically betting on specific parts of the market, rather than on the rise or fall of a particular stock. He made his second million in three months, and he never looked back. I kept dancing, first to keep us fed, and later just because I could. Nate liked the idea of having a stripper for a wife, it was a turn-on for him. He'd come watch me strip, and pay me for private dances. He liked me to dance for him in front of other men, and I loved it." I smiled wistfully at the new-old memory.

"When we found out he had cancer, the doctors gave him six months. He became driven, desperate to increase his net wealth, to leave his legacy. He put everything we owned into the market, when investments paid off he'd just roll them into new ones. We were living on my income from dancing again -- despite the fact that on paper at least, he was a millionaire a dozen times over. I had to beg, plead, threaten him to make sure he went for his chemotherapy sessions.

"The chemo didn't cure him, of course, but it bought more time. He lasted another six months, and he worked almost all of it. His dying was... very hard." I had to stop a moment, struggling through the grief that suddenly came over me. I sniffled, and choked out a bitter laugh. "I know in my head he probably never even existed, and I still miss him so much..."

"In his will, he left detailed instructions for liquidating his investments, and moving the money into low-risk investments, managed by a small investment house according to his directions. It took awhile to liquidate everything, but it turned out he'd made about two hundred and fifty million dollars... and I'd have gladly traded it all just for another month with him.

"Anyway, one of his bequests was hefty annuities to various departments at the university, including Social Science -- some of that will eventually trickle down into increased Archeology grants, maybe better salaries, so there's Jacobi's indirect benefit. I contribute several millions to women's and children's charities every year, as well -- shelters, legal aid, health clinics, small business loans.

"So, Jacobi's found a way to use the magic to create wealth -- Nate made all his money sitting at a computer at home, gambling with numbers on a screen -- no employees, no shares in any companies, no businesses to own, no investors, no bank loans, hardly any paper trail. And with the charities, he is helping people, even if he does make us live his personal porno fantasies.

"Of course, the other thing I did with the money was to open my own club. I couldn't have cared less if it made money, I ran it for the dancers. I let the best dancers work here, the ones who genuinely love to dance for a room full of men. And son of a gun, it makes money hand over fist. Which I don't need, so I share it with the staff, on top of a health plan and retirement savings. Even some strippers are better off, thanks to Jacobi."

I rolled my eyes. "And of course, I seem to be a domme. Which reminds me, I suppose it's time to meet the rest of the family."

Tiffi climbed reluctantly off my lap and we left the bedroom, stepping into a wide hallway, with several other bedroom doors hanging open. At the end of the hall was an open living space, divided between a comfortable-looking living room and a dining area. Beyond the dining area was the kitchen, the source of some very delicious smells, produced by two women giggling and bustling about, dressed only in bib aprons. When they spotted my approach, they hurried to take the pans off the heat, and knelt facing me, welcoming smiles on their faces. Tiffi hurried to join them and knelt, also smiling. This was a routine they enjoyed. "Good morning mistress," they chorused.

I couldn't help but return the smiles. I finally got around to tying my robe, then ran my fingers through my new flaming hair, brushing it out of my face, and crossed my arms under my breasts, studying them. The new me was quite comfortable with the greeting, the old Tiffi was uncomfortable, but intrigued. I think Stephen was drooling, sigh. "Good morning, girls."

Lucia and Marielle weren't related, but looked enough alike from across the room they could have been sisters. Curly dark hair, big brown eyes, tan skin, and similar builds, graceful and athletic. Up close, Luci's features were strongly Hispanic, Marielle's showed a hint of Native American heritage. Both were very pretty. They were very nearly the same height, but still a couple of inches shorter than I was.

I stepped up to the first in the row, placing my hand under her chin. "Good morning, Lucia." She rose and gave me a very firm kiss and a hug. "Good morning mistress," she repeated. Her breast peeked out from behind her apron, and I could see it was also sporting a nipple ring. All my girls had nipple rings, I realized.

"Good morning, Luci's boob." I tucked it back behind her apron, and she giggled. "I smell bacon." She nodded. "Better get it back on the heat, then. I'm starving." She grinned and I patted her naked backside as she hurried back to the stove.

I stepped up to the next in line, reaching down to stroke her cheek. "Good morning Marielle." She rose and gave me an enthusiastic kiss and hug. "Morning, mistress."

I brushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled down into her face. "Go help your sister." She nodded and scampered back to the kitchen.

I took a deep breath and stood in front of Tiffany. She looked up at me, smiling, her big blue eyes showing no sign of uncertainty or doubt. "You don't have to do this..." I whispered, but she shook her head. "I want to do this. It feels right. It's what makes me happy, now," she lisped softly.

I smiled sadly and stroked her cheek. "Good morning, my sweet little Tiffi." She stood and I had to bend over to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard, then put her lips to my ear as she hugged me, whispering, "I love you, mistress. Please don't be sad."

I kissed her again, tears in my eyes. "I love you too, baby," I whispered. "Go help your sisters." Tiffi smiled and hurried into the kitchen, shamelessly claiming affectionate kisses from her sisters.

"Good morning, Mari!"

"Good morning, Luci!"

"Good morning, Luci's boob!"

We all laughed at that one.

After breakfast I sent Lucia to get Tiffi dressed; the new me was aware that Tiffi was simply dysfunctional when presented with too many choices. Besides, the girls loved to dress her up like the dolly she seemed to be, and Tiffi loved the attention. As an incentive not to dawdle I told her she could help me choose an outfit, today. Choosing other people's outfits, that was easy. As women, neither Steffi nor Stephanie found that contradictory at all.

I waited for Tiff curled on the sofa with the morning paper and another cup of coffee, as Mari attended to the cleanup. Luci and Mari didn't dance at the club, instead they took care of all the household duties. I watched Mari over my paper as she puttered around the kitchen, the picture of domestic bliss.

Face it, she seems happy. They all seem happy. Even Tiff.

But they're not real. Tiff is real. Realer. I think.

Whatever. She's as real as her sisters. You can make the new Tiffi happy, or you can try to assuage your guilt with the old one, and neither of them will be happy. Then you won't be happy. Then none of them will be happy, because what they want most, is for you to be happy. And you won't be able to tell them why. And let's face it, you aced out, this time around -- unspeakably sexy, fabulously rich, surrounded by beautiful, sexy, submissive women that love you. If you can't be happy in Jacobi's little fantasy, you're broken.

But it's not fair to them!

Those girls are every bit as damaged as the old Steffi was. Did Jacobi create them, or did the magic just find them and put them here? You can't fix them, regardless. Do you honestly think they'd be better off out there? Here, they are safe, cared for, get the domination they crave, and they love you. And you love them right back.

I sighed. Yes, I do.

I was interrupted at that point by the return of Tiffi, dressed in skyscraper heels and a tight little cream minidress that said 'Sweet Thing' across the front, with a picture of a cupcake. I made her strike several poses, while I pretended to consider; it was clearly not made for a woman with Tiffi's curves, and seemed to be struggling to contain her. "I love it!" I enthused, and her face just lit up with her smile and she practically ran down the hall to my room -- not an easy feat in those heels. I smiled and gave a thumbs-up to Luci, who was watching from the kitchen, and her face lit up the same way as she turned to help Mari.

By the time I arrived in my room, Tiffi had it all laid out for me: a very short black leather miniskirt, and --

"Awww Tiffi, not another corset? What is it with you and corsets, anyway?" She giggled madly, knowing my protest was only token, in fact I owned a lot of corsets. I guess it came with the territory. More accurately, it came with Jacobi's fantasy world.

This corset was a green satin number that highlighted my eyes and accented my red hair. Tiffi was holding a matching green satin thong, waiting for me to step into it so she could slide it up my legs, determined to dress me, if I'd let her. I sighed, and let her. "It's going to be Das Boots, too, isn't it?" I pretended to mourn.

She giggled again. "Yes, mistress."

I stepped into the skirt and let her zip me up, then pulled the corset over my head, made sure it was comfortable, and straddled my dressing table chair so that she could tighten it. It was only a decorative corset, not a serious one, but it was still a little restrictive. Worth it, though, for the way it set off my already narrow waist and displayed my impressive chest.

I handed her my hairbrush and let her brush my hair. I had a LOT of hair. It was an incredibly pleasurable experience, and watching Tiffi in the mirror I could see she was enjoying it at least as much as I was. Finally it shone like a cascade of new pennies, and I set about putting on my makeup as Tiffi pulled out the boots. Some dangly silver earrings, plus a green satin choker to match the corset (or my thong, depending on how the day went) and I was ready for them.

Das Boots were black thigh-high four-inch stilettos, incredibly soft, buttery leather. I had boots that zipped, boots that buckled, boots that you just slipped on. (I had a lot of boots, for the same reason as the corsets.) These ones laced. A lot. All the way up the back, ankle to thigh. They were Tiffi's favorites for me to wear, probably because I needed her to tighten them properly. They were indescribably sexy, and it saddened me to know that I could be responsible for the very happy, very sudden deaths of any boot fetishists who happened across my path today.

I was standing, straight-legged, leaning on the back of the chair for support. I turned to look over my shoulder at Tiffi as she knelt to lace me in. "You're not developing a boot fetish, are you, Tiff?"

She looked up at me, wide-eyed. "Oh, no, mistress."

She smiled mischievously and turned her attention back to her work. "It's a mistress fetish."

I had to laugh. "For that, little flatterer, I'll let you wear your collar." She squealed in delight as I reached over to my dressing table and grabbed a cute little rhinestone pet collar. When she had finished with my boots, I turned to face her. She held her hair up out of the way as I fastened the collar around her neck. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved in the tight dress, her nipples threatening to poke holes in the thin fabric, the nipple rings plainly visible. The old Steffie knew the arousal Tiffi was feeling, and was a little envious.

The matching leash was also on the table, I clipped it to her collar. At six foot two in the boots, I towered over her, even with her own heels. In this outfit, I felt powerful, a sexual force of nature. I used the leash to pull her close for a kiss, then without a word I led her out of the bedroom and strode down the hall, hips swaying, long fiery hair flowing behind me, the leash held negligently in my hand, deliberately forcing Tiffi to hurry to keep pace.

That was part of the mistress gig, I realized. Obedience had to be hard sometimes, or the currency was devalued. I had to challenge my girls, but not task them beyond their abilities. If I went too quickly, and she fell trying to keep up, or she lagged, tugging the leash from my grasp, it would be my fault, not hers. She was entrusting me with total control, and thus with her own safety. It was a responsibility I took seriously.

Lucia and Marielle were just finishing in the kitchen when I breezed in, Tiffi in tow. "No lunch for us today, I have some business in town. Whose turn is it to drive?" I could drive myself, but the girls would sulk for days.

Mari stepped forward, clearly pleased. "My turn, mistress."

I nodded. "I'll need the car in about an hour. Come along, Tiffi."

We took the elevator downstairs to the club. The day staff was busy getting ready to open for the lunch crowd. I'd seen the club a million times before, but at the same time, this was the first time I'd really seen it. It was spacious, large but not huge, holding about three hundred customers on a good night -- and most nights were good nights. The decor wasn't exactly tasteful -- it was a strip club, we weren't pretentious about it -- but it wasn't sleazy-looking, and it was definitely high-end. The main stage was augmented by two smaller stages on the sides of the room, and there was a short hallway to a VIP room to the right of the main stage.

We were the best strip club in town to work at -- my dancers knew it, the dancers at the other clubs knew it. We drew the big spenders, because we had the friendliest, most desirable girls. We never had any problems finding dancers. In fact we rarely had any openings, so the auditions this morning had drawn a number of applicants.

Marcus, the day manager, was at the bar, reviewing some applications with a few of my dancers. New dancers had to be vetted by current staff; after all, who better to judge a stripper than another stripper?

"Morning, folks. How's this batch look?"

Marcus greeted us with a friendly smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Laurent, morning, Tiffany." Marcus was a stocky bulldog in his mid-fifties. He preferred to keep a slightly professional distance, but he was a sweetheart, very protective of the girls, and the staff loved him.

The dancers were more familiar, greeting us as two of their own. Tiffi was on leash rules; she knew not to speak without permission. She responded to the greetings with a smile and a little wave, and the women respected that. All the dancers at the club knew of the relationship between myself and my girls; some didn't understand it, a few were jealous. One or two had hopes of joining my family, and I hadn't seen fit to discourage them yet. All of the staff were open-minded about it, if they weren't, they didn't remain staff.

"We narrowed it down to these five, yesterday." Marcus slid five eight-by-ten glamour photographs across to me, I glanced through them and passed them to Tiff. "Sarah's in the dressing room with them now." Sarah was one of the lead dancers, sort of like a shift foreman. The prospective dancers would be getting changed for the first of their ten-minute sets; three songs of their choice, choreographed. The second set would be three songs of the club's choice, to see how well they were able to improvise.

I gave Tiffi permission to discuss the dancers with the others, and we stayed for all of the choreographed sets, then I had to leave. All the dancers had been very good; one in particular had caught my eye, a cute little sandy-haired woman that reminded me a lot of Tiffi. I slapped down my acquisitive mistress desires.

I wouldn't impose my preferences on Marcus, hiring decisions were Marcus' alone. I didn't manage over my manager's shoulders, but... I could improve the odds. "How many are you planning to hire?"

"We have two spots. I could probably manage a third if it was a really difficult choice."

"They're all good. If you still like them at the end of the day, hire them all. We can afford to be overstaffed a little, and we can shift another dancer or two to from afternoons to the evening lineup. Any of them could be headliners at another club, I think two of them already are. If they're working here, another club can't have them."

He chuckled, a low rumble from deep in his chest. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that."

I led Tiffi out through the back of the club to the garage. The club was in an industrial mall; I owned the whole property, the club at one end with our apartment over top, then my private garage, then a strip of spaces I leased out to a variety of tenants. I had a condo in one of the fancier towers downtown that I used only occasionally.

Marielle was waiting for us, next to the Lincoln, dressed in the chauffeur outfit the girls had insisted on putting together for themselves: grey skirt, with a navy blazer over a shirt and tie. She held the door for me, and I let Tiffi get in and slide over before I got in. My leather skirt wasn't inclined to slide easily over the leather seats, and I needed a moment to straighten myself out, before I nodded to Marielle and she closed the door, hurrying around the car to take the wheel.

"We're going to the lawyers', that big tower at Bay and Clifton." Mari nodded, and the car surged forward. I unclipped Tiff from her leash, we didn't flaunt our relationship to that extent in public; but with her anxiety I knew she'd stay close. In a closed space like the car or an office area she was perfectly fine, as long one of us was nearby, and I knew she enjoyed accompanying me on these trips.

The meeting at the lawyers' was largely a number of routine matters -- it seems paperwork generates spontaneously in the vicinity of money -- and I spent several informative hours, discussing the operations of the several charities that I funded. None of them had my name on them, and they each had their own administrator, but nonetheless, I made the final decisions.

I took Tiffi out for lunch, which entailed walking down the street a few blocks to a small bistro I apparently favored. The autumn sunshine was warm but the wind, cool; I wished we'd brought jackets. Tiffi was nervous on the crowded sidewalk, and insisted on holding my hand; the two of us were quite a scene, turning more than a few heads on the way. The new me loved the attention, head high, shoulders back, stiletto boots clicking, breasts bouncing, hips swaying, long red hair flowing in the breeze. Tiffi calmed a bit and I could tell she was working it, too. We shared a secret smile.

After lunch Marielle picked us up and drove us towards the university side of town, dropping us off at Mulligan's. It was well past time we spoke to Isabella.

I'd deliberately timed our arrival for the slack time after lunchtime crowd; Bridget was wiping down tables in the empty bar as we came in. We selected a fairly private booth, where we'd not easily be seen from the bar. I whispered Tiffany permission to speak to Bridget.

Bridget called to us across the empty room as we seated ourselves. "Afternoon, ladies, what'll it be?"

"Two club sodas, with lime, please. And a few minutes of your time, if you can spare it?"

Bridget arrived with the drinks in short order, looking puzzled at the request. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in my little blonde Tiffany, snuggled up to my arm and sucking her thumb again, watching Bridget closely with her startling blue dolly eyes. I'm afraid we were a little out of young Bridget's experience. "How can I help you?"

I tsk'd at Tiffi and pulled out her thumb. "Just some information -- would you like to sit down? I'd be happy to buy you a drink."

Bridget shook her head cautiously but perched on the edge of the seat. "Ummm, no, thanks. I'm good. What do you want to know?"

"I'm Mrs. Laurent. I own Tassles, on the other side of town." Bridget's eyes widened slightly, apparently she knew the place, or maybe she just realized that these women who dressed like strippers probably were strippers. "Anyway. I'm looking to invest in the university area, not a strip club this time, just a good old student bar. This bar. I don't want to buy a place, yet, I just want to understand the business a little better -- running a strip club is a little different," I shrugged modesly. "So I'm looking to take a minority investment. Do you know any of the owners?"

Bridget looked cagey. "Well, I do, but maybe you should just leave your card. I could ask them to call you..."

"Isabella, remember."

Bridget stopped in mid-sentence, blinking. Finally, a cautious, "Okay, who are you?"

I sighed. "I was Stephen." I indicated Tiffany. "This was Tom."

She studied us for a while. "Well, you seem to have done pretty well for yourselves," she observed bitterly.

I scowled. "You mean, aside from the fact that we used to be men, Tiffany here can't read or write, or even go outside alone without a panic attack... and has a rather stubborn oral fixation." I pulled her thumb out again, "and I was Steffi Burke..."

Isabella paled, her eyes going wide. "Nooooo... Steffi?" she gasped, then glanced at Tiffany. "And Tiffi?" We nodded, grimly. "But... oh, God, you're dead. There was a service... y-you were flown back to Texas yesterday. There was going to be another service there, and you'd be buried next to your ma. My dad" -- she rolled her eyes and corrected herself -- "Bridget's father went back home on the plane with yours. Your dad... well, you can imagine..." Her voice trailed off.

I had half-expected it would be something like that, but even knowing it was coming did nothing to soften the blow. The thought of Daddy, grieving over the graves of his wife and now his daughters, was too much to bear. Oh, Daddy, we're so sorry...

I wrapped my arms around Tiffi and she buried her face in my shoulder. Tears were welling in my eyes. I managed to get out, "H-how?"

Isabella looked uncomfortable. "S-steffi... she got beat up, badly. She managed to get back to the dorm, and she slit her wrists. She died before they could get her to the hospital. Tiffi was out of her head about it. She blamed Jake, confronted him the next morning..." She stared at the table. "He... pushed her. She fell, hit her head. Died the next day. He said it was self-defense, she attacked him, her fall was an accident. There was no proof, one way or the other. The police couldn't do anything. They're charging him with the assault on Steffi, but there's not a lot of evidence there, either."

I glared at her. "You did this. You told Jake about Steffi. Jacobi told me."

She looked startled, and seemed about to deny it, but instead her shoulders slumped. "He made me do it, I had no idea it was you! Who could have known how it would turn out?"

"He threatened to use your disk again. Change you into something else. Something worse."

She nodded, glowering. "He turned me into a ticking baby bomb. The day I'm married, the fuse is lit." she spat. "That's bad enough. But there's lots worse, if he'd wanted to do it."

I shook my head earnestly. "He can't. Your disk was destroyed when you were changed. Tiff and I both saw it. He has no hold on you." Tiffi nodded in confirmation.

"So... I'm stuck like this..." She went quiet, staring off into space for a few moments, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I swear, I had no idea what would happen! It seemed like a harmless prank, I thought he was getting set up, that Steffi'd slap him silly if he tried anything and he'd be embarrassed in public." She scowled. "Jacobi laid it on pretty thick, though... I guess I should have wondered... "

Isabella thought about briefly, but then shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, but to be honest, I'd have done it anyway. I thought he had my disk. I never expected anyone would die. You know what Jacobi could do. What would you do to avoid pissing him off?"

I sighed and sat back. It was a damn good question. "Jacobi never expected it either. Nobody knew Jake was such a vicious bastard." I changed the subject. "What's happened to the wedding?"

She sighed. "Well, obviously we're postponing it. We'll probably have a much smaller wedding in a month or so. Bridget doesn't even love Tony so much as she loves the idea of being a bride. And especially having a honeymoon. He was just the first to ask." Isabella rolled her eyes. "She's horny as hell, poor thing. She has no idea what's going to happen to her."

"With Tony, at least, she'll be sure of a half-decent husband... except he's supposed to hit her."

Isabella laughed. "If he does, he's in for a shock. Bridget would kick the shit out of that scrawny weed. When she was done, her dad'd start. It wouldn't happen more than once."

Tiffi spoke up in her soft lisp, "What if the wedding was called off?"

Isabella shrugged. "Bridget would take some convincing. She's desperate to get laid, and she's stuck being a virgin till her wedding. So... the sooner the wedding, the better, as far as she's concerned."

I frowned in thought, worrying at Bridget's problem. "What is she thinking of the two of us?" I indicated Tiffi and myself.

She chuckled darkly. "Bridget is curious as hell about you two. She went to a girl's school, everyone experimented with a little girl-on-girl, but... she doesn't really understand the attraction. But after looking at the two of you, she'd like to understand it... you do know how hot you look, right? You're making me horny, and I'm strictly into men."

I crooked my finger at her. "Slide in here, next to Tiffi, where nobody can see. I want to try something, if you're willing. I think you'll like it."

Isabella looked suspicious, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her. She slid along the bench until she was close to Tiffi. Nobody would see us from the bar or the door, without giving plenty of warning.

She was wearing a low-cut top, which would make it easy to test my idea. "Pull out your breast, and let Tiffi suck on it," I suggested in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice. Tiffi didn't need to be asked twice, her thumb popped out and she was eyeing Isabella's breasts eagerly.

Isabella looked shocked and made to get out of the booth. "Are you crazy?. I told you, you're hot, but you're not my type. Not happening!"

I hurriedly explained. "Remember the spell? You'll love having your tits sucked. I bet it doesn't have to be a baby doing it..." I raised my eyebrow, and stroked Tiffi. "I can tell you, first hand -- Tiffi is amazing. Aren't you just the least bit curious?"

I could tell from the way her nipples announced themselves, she was more than a bit curious. She looked at Tiffi, then at me. Then at Tiffi again. Then around the room, making sure we wouldn't be seen. Finally, almost of its own volition, her hand pulled her shirt open, and she popped a generous breast out of her bra, the nipple already firm.

Tiffi wasted no time in latching on, and Isabella's reaction was immediate. Her lips parted in an astonished "Ooooooooh", her eyes fluttered closed, and her head shot back against the wall of the booth. Her breath quickened, until she was gasping for air.

I left Tiffi at it, my hand reaching between her legs from behind. She was already wet. I slid my fingers along the crotch of her panties, letting my thumb slide inside her while my fingers massaged her mound, and teased her. I was rewarded with a low moan from Tiff, and a whimper from Isabella. When Tiffi was very close to a climax, I pulled her off Isabella and whispered "Good girl" in her ear as I gave her nipple a little tweak. Tiffi's orgasm was instantaneous, and spectacular.

I watched the two women, amused and a little envious, as they sat in the booth, struggling to catch their breath. Tiffi took my hand and licked her own juices off of my fingers.

Isabella's hands were shaking as she tucked her breast out of sight. "Breastfeeding doesn't seem so bad anymore..."

I took a deep breath. "Maybe we could do this again. It could be a regular thing, we could help each other. If we found a way... would you help us to recover our disks from Jacobi?" I wasn't about to tell her she was the only one who could touch them; not until I could trust her. Which maybe meant never.

Isabella looked startled at the request, her eyes flicking nervously back and forth between Tiffi and myself. "Hold on... I don't even know if you're telling the truth. He could still have my disk, you could be setting me up... He could be using you, like he used me... or you could be setting me up, for revenge..." She chewed her lip, considering the angles. Finally, she straightened up, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just can't. If he has my disk, it's too great a risk. If he doesn't, he can't fix me anyway. The safest thing for me to do is keep as low a profile as I can." She looked down at the table. "I wish you luck, though."

I slid out of the booth, Tiffi close behind me. "He's already used the disks on us again. If he had your disk, don't you think he'd have come for you by now?" I asked bitterly.

She looked miserable. "Don't... don't wake me again. I know you meant well, but you wouldn't be doing me a favor."

I stopped at the door, took a business card from my purse, and wrote "Come see me" on the back. I smiled tightly. "I'm not inclined to do you any favors." I stuck the card into her cleavage, and we left, forcing Isabella into the background, and leaving a dazed Bridget to try to figure out what had just happened.

The poor girl was going to have some interesting memories to sort out. She'd probably remember what happened, but not why. Maybe she'd be interested enough to come by the club. To be honest, I didn't have any clear idea what I'd do if she did show. I'd probably want to keep tabs on Isabella, since Jacobi had woken her once already. I'm not sure I could trust anything she said, though. She was terrified of Jacobi, she'd do anything he wanted her to do. I suppose that was punishment enough.

On the trip home, my thoughts returned to poor Daddy. For all the good Jacobi might claim to have done this time around, all of it together couldn't offset the grief of that one poor man, burying his daughters, and left all alone in the world.

Tiffi huddled into me, both of us looking out the window without seeing anything. Marielle sensed our mood, and didn't intrude. I explained to her that we'd expected to meet with one of the owners, but he was out of town, at the funeral of his nieces. I explained about the deaths of the twins, and how the coincidence of our names had made it seem more personal. All true, as far as it went.

Once home, I needed Tiffi to help me get the damn boots off, and sighed with pleasure once my feet were released from their stylish leather prison, massaging the crisscross lace marks all up the backs of my legs. I ditched the rest of the outfit, too, trading it all for a comfortable old bra and cotton undies under a loose tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Even dommes need lounging clothes. I reclaimed Tiffi's collar and sent her off to get changed. She reappeared a second later, in nothing but her lingerie; she'd just kicked off her heels and peeled out of her dress.

I rolled my eyes and glared balefully at her, which she pretended not to notice, and I padded barefoot down the hall to relax on the living room couch. It was only midafternoon; and I wanted to think about what we'd learned. Tiffi managed to insinuate herself between me and the back of the couch, threatening to land me on the floor in the process. "You're worse than a cat!" I scolded, and slapped her bottom affectionately.

Tiffi popped her thumb out of her mouth long enough to give me an agreeable "Meow".

Not surprisingly, we were joined a minute later by Lucia and Marielle. They at least knew better than to try to squeeze onto the couch, and instead chose to sit on the carpet, leaning their backs against the couch and each other. Tiffi, discovering someone else in danger of being comfortable, clambered over me to join her sisters on the floor, squirming her way between them while they complained good-naturedly. I turned on my side, using one arm for a pillow, absently stroking my girl's heads with the other hand. "I can't help but think about the father of those poor girls. I just wish there was something we could do for him."

Lucia had a thought. "Well, it's not a great idea, and I know it sounds crass, but... could you maybe send him some money? To help pay for the funeral, at least? Maybe pretend there was some kind of insurance policy?"

I sighed. "I'm afraid that's the only idea I had, as well, but I can't see how we could manage it so that it didn't sound like, 'So sorry for your loss, will this check make you feel better?'"

"Well, rather than hand him some money, how about do something nice for him, or in memory of his girls? Maybe there's something he'd like to do, but can't afford..." Marielle suggested.

I mulled on that one, nodding slowly. "I think that has potential... What do you think, Tiff?"

She spoke slowly, carefully. I could sense she was trying hard to fight her curse, and think coherently about the problem, for Daddy's sake. "You could donate money to a worthy cause, in their name... maybe to the hospital? Or a scholarship?"

I blinked, astonished at how perfect the idea was. I clutched her head and bent over to give it a kiss, unbalancing and sliding off the couch and into the girls, forming a tangled, squealing heap on the floor. "Oh, Tiffany, I love it! You are brilliant!" I delivered kisses all around to my brilliant team of giggling advisors, then I held up my hand. "Phone!" I demanded imperiously, and one of the girls slapped the portable phone into my hand, receiving a kiss in return. I lay there on the floor, my head somehow managing to wind up in a lap, as I dialed the lawyer.

"Max, It's Stephanie Laurent, I hope your voicemail isn't limited to short messages, this will be a long one. Call me on my cell if I'm cut off. I found out today about a man named John Burke, of Calamina County, Texas. He had twin daughters in school here that were murdered last week, twins, named Stephanie and Tiffany. It's a long story, but that makes it kinda personal, and I want to do something for him and for the girl's memory..."

I closed my eyes and tried to marshal my thoughts. "Okay. One, establish a college scholarship in the names of each daughter, Tiffany and Stephanie Burke... for academically qualified young women from the girl's high school, or failing that, the county, who cannot afford tuition. Any college that has accepted them, up to Ivy League. Full tuition, books, and living expenses, for four years. Two scholarships to be granted every year. You can add the bells and whistles. Do it through the women's shelter charity, don't put my name on it, write him a letter to tell him.

"Two. In the same letter, inform him that if he chooses, you will proceed with legal action against Jake Karides... he's the one who murdered his daughters... okay, 'allegedly'... the cops don't seem to be able to pursue it... You'll need to get the facts yourself, hire an investigator... but it's his choice. I'll pay for it, through the women's legal fund, but only if he wants it. If he'd rather let it go, that's his choice."

"Three. Offer him twice the market value for his farm. The offer is open for as long as he wants to think about it. Years, if necessary. Do it through an agent in Texas, I don't want it connected back to you or me." I shared a look with Tiffi, she nodded. We didn't want Daddy living out there on the farm, all alone. It would do him good to move into town.

"Four. Contact the hospital, set up a meeting. I want to know how they might put a half-million dollar bequest to good use. Something relevant to young women and abuse. It will be in the girl's names."

I was on a roll, now. "Five. There's a bar near the university, a place called Mulligan's. It's popular with the students, does a good business. A man named Brian O'Shaunessy has a share of the ownership. Offer him fifty percent above market value for his share. If he asks, assure him I'm not looking for control of the bar, he can continue to work there if he chooses, and I'm content to let him control my share if he wants. Put it in writing. Tell him I'm considering a larger investment in the bar scene around the university, and just want to get my feet wet." It was a stupid excuse, but hopefully Uncle Brian would let me do him a favor.

"That's it, send me an email to confirm, but I want the letter to go out to John Burke tomorrow -- wait, that's Saturday -- by end of day Monday, then, but courier it, for delivery Tuesday. I'll expect to hear from you between now and then to clear up any questions."

I disconnected and tossed the phone in the air for one of the girls to catch. It wasn't a lot to help Daddy directly, but I knew he'd feel better knowing Steffi and Tiffi were remembered. I felt an enormous weight off me, doing that much for him, at least. "That is about all we can do, I think. What do you think, Tiff?" She answered me by plastering my face with kisses, which rapidly deteriorated into an all-hands tickle fight, during which I was horribly outnumbered, wickedly betrayed, and brutally overwhelmed.

Some dominatrix you turned out to be. Yeah, well, bite me. Real mistresses are missing out.

When I'd caught my breath, I announced, "Turnabout night, tonight!" My girls cheered excitedly, but quieted as I held up a cautionary finger. "But... It has to be an early bedtime. Tomorrow, we're going to the farm." The cheering recommenced, only louder.