Victory Tour (Part 230) (Patreon)

As Marie and Lupita did their thing in the kitchen, I pulled out my phone and called Erin. Time to check on another project involving refugees from Matamoros.

"Hey, gringo," Erin chirped perkily upon answering. "About time you called."

"I had a couple of things to deal with," I said. "Listen, I don't have much time. I'm about to eat, then I have to get home and study. Have you talked to your dad for me?"

"As soon as he came in from work," she said. "He's interested, but he has to run it past the rest of the council. I don't know if he's called your dad or not, though."

"I guess I'll find out when I get home," I said.

"It's ready, Daddy," Marie called out.

"Who's that?" Erin asked. "You said you weren't home yet, so it couldn't be Kacie fixing something for your dad. Doesn't sound like her and that girl can hardly boil water in the first place."

I didn't realize until that moment Erin was unaware of the nature of my relationship with Marie. They'd spent a good chunk of time together, particularly two weeks ago when we'd had to move the futon because my teammates were hogging the apartment. And no one like Kacie or Morgan had let that little tidbit slip? Hard to believe.

"That was Marie, the housekeeper," I admitted.

"Uh-huh," Erin grunted suspiciously. "And why is she calling you Daddy?"

"It's ... complicated," I said. "Maybe we can have lunch this weekend and I can explain it then."

"Oh, you can count on it," Erin snarked. "You haven't gotten her pregnant, have you? That's supposed to be what happened with the Gonzalezes' housekeeper."

"No," I said, wondering who the Gonzalezes were. "I'll tell you when we can have some privacy. I'd better go."

I disconnected the call at the risk of pissing Erin off even more than I already had as Marie carried a plate with two sandwiches on it.

"Who was that?" my pet asked, setting the plate in front of me.

"Erin Aguilar," I said. "You've met her. Arlene suggested we get her to help with a little project."

"Uh-huh," Marie grunted, sounding unconvinced. "She's not trying to sneak in an extra turn, is she?"

What is it with all the suspicious women, all of a sudden? Didn't I just give a big speech on the need to cooperate?

"Not that I've noticed," I said.

"You wouldn't notice until she was sliding down your dick," Marie scoffed.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think somebody's buckin' for a spankin,'" I growled.

"Not in front of Lupita," my submissive bitch husked as a nostril flared. "I don't want her to go off the rails like Rhonda did yesterday. Maybe Friday after your game."

I just shook my head and looked at my plate.

"PB&J?" I asked with a snort, lifting up a corner of bread to reveal the nut-brown paste.

"We don't have any jelly," Marie said as she opened the fridge, "so I used honey. I thought peanut butter would be easy enough for you to stomach. It's a good source of protein and we put enough on there to fill you up."

That'll have to work, I thought as I took a big bite. The alternative was to fix something myself, which would probably just get me in more trouble with Marie. And my stomach.

Marie filled one of those quart tumblers with milk and brought it to me.

"Thank you, baby," I mumbled as the peanut butter made it difficult to speak.

Milk was definitely the preferred beverage for PB&H, but I felt like a 4-year-old whose mommy had made his lunch. At least I wasn't the type to complain about the crust still being on the bread. Made it easier to contain the gooey mess.

I must say, it was tasty and filling. It just required a sip of milk with every bite to keep my mouth from being stuck shut. This was almost as bad as that custard dessert Chef Maurice had served at the country club the night Karen got drunk. At least my teeth didn't rot just looking at it.

Soon enough, I had it polished off, saving enough milk in the glass to clean the last of the peanut butter out of my mouth. I still ran my tongue along my gums in search of any hidden remnants. There were a few.

"That was very good, ladies," I said taking the plate to the sink. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"You're welcome, Daddy," Marie said, leaning in to steal a smooch, which just happened to prevent Lupita from getting too close. "You'd better get home. Will you come by tomorrow?"

"Probably not," I sighed, bringing frowns to two very pretty faces. "Elise wants to get together to study for Chemistry and we'll probably get something to eat."

"¿Quién es Elise?" Lupita asked.

"One of his girlfriends," Marie answered for me. "One of the few he hasn't taken to bed. Yet."

I don't know how much of that Lupita understood, but her frown deepened.

Marie, with Lupita following closely, proceeded to hustle me out the door without so much as a hug, let alone saying she loved me. I did manage to wave at our refugee, getting a little wave in return. Just seemed rude to not even acknowledge her existence.

I heard the door lock as soon as it closed. I don't know what Marie's problem was tonight. It wasn't like I was going to take the girl's virginity while she was on the rag. Arlene would surely have reason to complain if I did and I needed the redhead's help on too many fronts.

At least the trip home went smoothly. I fully expected things to change once I walked into the house a little before 7.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to find no one but Dad in the kitchen. He was enjoying a takeout barbecue plate from Cookshack.

"Where'd you go so early this morning?" he asked as he lifted a forkful of potato salad to his face.

"To get some breakfast," I said, setting my backpack on the table. "There wasn't much to eat here, so I went to FB.'

"Yeah, sorry about that," he grunted, stuffing more brisket into his mouth.

No, you aren't, I thought to myself.

"How'd practice go?" he asked.

"It didn't," I said. "Too many guys out sick and Mrs. Johnson gave all who were there a dose of her remedy during athletics. Took most of the afternoon for it to do its thing on everybody. Good thing we're playing a team we could beat even if I have to play quarterback."

"Yeah, the only thing worth bettin' on this week is when they'll start runnin' the clock," Dad snorted.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the folder with all the college info I'd gathered and dropped it in front of him.

"I'd like to apply for early graduation," I said when he looked at me questioningly, "but I need parental permission."

"Your mother will need to see this," he said, wiping his hands with a paper towel before flipping through the papers. "She's finally home, but has already turned in. That virus really hit her hard."

"Or we could cut a deal right now," I said, getting his full attention.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Robinson and Son Development," I said. "I thought we could make it a division of GDR with you as president at a salary commensurate with your abilities, definitely seven figures, probably eight. What'll it take to buy you out? $200,000,000? Half a billion?"

My father gulped when he realized I was serious.

"I can't give you an exact figure right now," he said. "I'll need to check on things. Lemme think about it."

"Time's a factor," I said. "I have to turn that in by Friday."

"What brought this on all of a sudden?" he asked, closing the folder but not giving it back to me.

"Figured I'd better get started on managing my assets," I said. "I can also take enough college courses online to make Mom happy. Has Marty Aguilar called you?"

"Was he supposed to?" Dad asked. "What, ya gonna offer to buy him out, too?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but it's not a bad idea," I said. "No, Erin had a suggestion about what to do with the girls coming from Matamoros. Holy Trinity has a convent building that's no longer being used and is big enough to house them all. Mr. Aguilar is on the parish council. I'm willing to buy it outright or take a long-term lease that would cover everything the parish is paying to maintain it.

"Which brings up the next point of business. I need to get Bill Richards started on setting up my philanthropic foundation. We could put the convent under that, call it a women's shelter or something. And we'd have to hire somebody to oversee it. My only involvement would be to authorize Mr. Patterson to spend the money."

"You're just full of ideas tonight," Dad snarked. "Your grandfather's on his way over to watch the game. I'll run it by him."

"Be sure to bill the corporation for your time," I said.

"Your mother wants me to make sure if you have any homework," he said.

"One assignment in Creative Writing and studying for the English exam," I said, grabbing the backpack.

"Better get on it, but keep the noise down," he said. "Kacie's in her room. Have you eaten?"

"Marie fixed me something when I stopped by the apartment," I said. "The sooner we get going on the convent, the sooner Lupita can stay there instead of the apartment. Too many women are convinced I'm going to do something with her. It'd help to remove the temptation."

"For you or her?" Dad smirked. "Go study. Looks like I've got some calls to make."

Before I could even unpack my stuff and get set up, Grandpa arrived. Just as I was pulling out the laptop, he stuck his head in my room.

"I hear ya got some bidness to do," he said. "Why don't ya join us out here so we can discuss it."

It was a command, not a request.

"Yes, sir," I said, following him out to the family room, seeing that the game was just about to kick off.

Before anyone could ask me questions, the doorbell rang. Dad went to answer and came back with Bill Richards, George Patterson and a bottle of Jack.

"What is this latest brilliant plan of yours, young man?" Mr. Patterson asked.

"I learned Holy Trinity Catholic Church has a facility capable of housing the girls coming from Matamoros," I said. "I'm willing to buy or lease the property and cover expenses. Marty Aguilar is on the parish council and could advise us on the best way to proceed as far as the property's concerned."

"We need to get The 320 Foundation going so it can be listed as the entity in charge. It will receive a grant from GDR, Inc. to finance it."

"I'm not hearing anything objectionable, so far," Mr. Richards said.

"The girls are supposed to be on their way, so we're facing a time crunch," I said. "Right now, the only other options seem to be stashing them at Gladys Osborne's house or putting the ones under 18 in the foster care system. I'd like to avoid either of those if possible."

"How many young ladies are we talking about?" Mr. Patterson asked.

"Carla Johnson said 16 girls between 14 and 18 were found at that school," I said. "I think it worked out to four from each high school grade. She also suggested we have Lupita Garcia and Chanda Ramakrishnan stay with them. My main worry is keeping CPS from becoming involved, but they're going to have to know what we're doing sooner or later. I'd like everything to be legal when they do."

"You don't make things easy on a feller," Grandpa snorted. "The deal on the house might close this week if we're lucky, but we have agreed to everything in principle. Mrs. Osborne's already packed for that cruise you're payin' for. Are ya sure we can get this convent?"

"Erin Aguilar said the parish has been looking to unload the property for a while, now," I said. "If I understood everything, it's where the nuns who ran the parish school lived. They moved out when the school closed."

"I'll be out of town tomorrow," Mr. Patterson said. "It's election day and I'll be at the governor's campaign headquarters. The good news is I'll have the governor where I can put the screws to him as far as the state agencies are concerned. Get ready to make another contribution to his campaign fund."

"We'll need to get someone to administer the foundation," Mr. Richards said. "I know some folks who specialize in family law. One of them can point us in the right direction."

"While you're at it," I said, "I'd also like recommendations for corporate counsel. They could dedicate themselves to this in the short term, but I am thinking of adding some divisions under the corporate banner. I already see the need for a person in property management to deal with the hay farm and Mrs. Osborne's house. That'll just become more important as we acquire more properties, like the place in the Caymans."

"You gonna have time for all this?" Grandpa asked.

"I've decided to apply for early graduation," I said. "I need a recommendation from a faculty member or an administrator and parental consent. If your son will sign the application and everything else works out, I can devote time to this after Christmas. The semester ends Dec. 21."

"Go do your homework," Dad groused, seeming a little perturbed at me putting him on the spot like that.

As we talked, the locals drove the opening kickoff to the Tennessee 17-yard line in eight plays, got stuffed on second-and-4 and wound up missing a 37-yard field goal. Sorry fuckers. Studying Shakespeare would be more enjoyable than watching this shit.

Finally seated at my desk, I got the laptop and phone plugged in and opened the app for the satellite radio while waiting for the laptop to boot up. I could listen to the game on the app.

As I waited, the Titans lost a fumble at their own 15 and the locals needed four plays to punch it in. That was much better than their opening effort.

I called up Karen's website and started going over articles about "The Taming of the Shrew," "The Comedy of Errors" and "Macbeth." I also looked back at my notes from before we started on the plays just in case. That was mostly about how Bill structured his works, noting similarities and differences between comedies and tragedies. I'm sure there'd be at least one question from all that.

As I worked, the locals threw a pick that set the Titans up for the tying touchdown, then went three-and-out to allow Tennessee to take the lead. Sorry fuckers.

After the second score, I decided to get started on Creative Writing and called up Mrs. Cohen's email. We were supposed to submit each day's assignment by 10 p.m. that day via email if we weren't in class. If we were in class, our normal method of turning in work would suffice. Since it was nearly 8:30, I'd better get my ass in gear.

Just as I was about to shut off the game, the locals got a nice kickoff return and picked up a first down on the next play. May as well see what they could do. There was less than four minutes to go in the half.

The locals used up almost all of the time remaining, going 78 yards in 10 plays and hitting a 23-yard TD pass with 39 seconds left. The extra point tied it and Tennessee just knelt on the ball to run out the half.

That made me feel better, but I now had a little more than an hour to knock out 1,000 words on something supernatural with ghosts or demons or something like that. Fortunately, an idea came together and the story just flowed from my fingertips.

Bob was what the Japanese would call a salaryman, living from paycheck to paycheck and barely getting by. He was the epitome of a corporate drone, doing only what he was told and never being given a chance to advance in the company.

Coming out of college, Bob had been full of zeal. He married his sweetheart, got what he thought was a good job and had plenty of ideas to improve his lot. Then reality set in. The first good idea he had was stolen by his supervisor, who got a promotion and a hefty raise after Bob did all the work.

The scenario repeated a few times with different supervisors taking credit for Bob's efforts. More than 20 years in, his wife had left him, he was dangerously overweight and he was just going through the motions. This job absolutely sucked the soul out of him.

Bob's life devolved into waking up and making his morning commute, getting by on coffee and an occasional pastry for breakfast. Lunch was usually a sandwich from a deli near the office. Dinner was usually takeout from one of several places he passed on the way home.

Home was just a little efficiency apartment, a fifth-floor walkup in an area that had a bad crime rate. It was the only thing he could afford after the divorce. Bob fully expected to be put out of his misery by a mugger any night now.

His evenings were spent planted in a cheap recliner in front of a cheap TV. He eventually got to the point where he didn't even turn on the TV, just stared at the wall until sleep took him.

Weekends were even worse. He'd get home Friday and not move unless hunger or the need to relieve himself roused him. He didn't even bathe until time to go to work the next Monday.

It was on one of these Fridays that something very strange happened.

Bob schlepped a bucket of fried chicken up five flights, thinking that would be enough to get through the weekend. The closest thing he did to cooking now was brewing up some tea to drink, but he hadn't even done that the last few weeks. The one item in his fridge was a case of beer. There was an all-night liquor store on his block, so he could restock whenever he got desperate.

Fumbling for his keys while trying to maintain his grip on the bucket, Bob's world finally came crashing down around him.

"Mister, can you help me?" he heard a girlish voice call from behind as he juggled things. "I lost my key and Mom's working a late shift. Can I come in until she gets home?"

Bob turned, totally unprepared for what awaited him — a very cute girl who appeared to be maybe 14 years old dressed in a school uniform. Shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose, wireframed glasses, slim figure that showed promise. There was no way this child was from around here. She'd have been raped by now.

"Uh, sure," Bob muttered, thinking he'd better get this girl inside before the hoodlums came to take her.

Once inside, Bob closed the door and hurried to set his burden on what he called his dining table.

"I'm afraid I don't have much," he said without looking at the little vixen. "I got some chicken for dinner. You can watch TV if you want. The bathroom's through that door to the left if you need it."

"Oh, I've got everything I need right here," a sultry voice cooed in his ear.

Bob spun around to find a stunning woman, boobs spilling out of the schoolgirl blouse, standing very close.

"What's goin' on?" he asked nervously. "Where's the little girl?" 

"You mean me?" he heard the girlish voice coming from the woman's face as she transformed to the adolescent body and back. 

"What's goin' on?" Bob repeated, backing away in terror. "Whaddaya want?"

"What you've got, Bob," she leered, following closely.

Bob could only continue backing away, but his escape attempt was halted when he stumbled into his recliner and plopped into the seat. The woman — who Bob had to admit was truly gorgeous with flowing hair, ample bosom and hips that were designed to drive men wild — crawled onto his lap.

Even her horns, wings and tail didn't detract from her beauty. Wait, what?!

"I'm a succubus, Bob," she sneered, exposing serrated teeth that caused him to go pale. "I've come to collect your seed. And your soul!"

What followed was 24 hours of the most divine torture Bob had ever endured. He hadn't touched a woman since his wife left him, so there was plenty of seed to be had. The succubus used her magic on him, making him grow to satisfy her, and drained him repeatedly. Yet she still demanded more.

"GIVE ME YOUR SOUL!!!" she screeched demonically before passing out and falling from her perch.

Bob didn't know how long he sat there in a stupor. The need to pee finally forced him to action. 

He stood and looked at the unconscious form on his floor. She was noticeably pregnant! At least six moths along, Bob thought.

He took care of business and returned to the front room. Before he could even think of what to do next, there was a knock at the door. Clearly not thinking straight, Bob answered to find a raven-haired beauty who had an almost identical body to his slumbering visitor. Including the horns, wings and tail.

"Bob, right?" she smiled with serrated teeth. "I'm Lilith, the demon queen. I'm looking for one of my daughters. Have you seen her?" 

Before he knew it, Bob was flat on his back with Lilith astride him, determined to claim what her daughter had sought. Did she just use her tail to close the door?

Events repeated themselves for several hours before Lilith sat bolt upright, a look of shocked realization on her face, her belly already starting to swell.

"You don't have a soul!" she exclaimed. "Who the hell do you work for?" 

I hit spellcheck and corrected the typos, but didn't have time to give it another read. It was 9:56 and I had to turn this in. Simply replying to Mrs. Cohen's email, I copied, pasted and hit send. The rest was up to the little gremlins that made it all work.

A look at my phone showed Tennessee led 28-14 with very little time left. Further investigation told me the locals lost a fumble that led to a touchdown, punted twice and lost the ball on downs in four second-half possessions.

They were now 3-5 and dangerously close to falling out of playoff contention. To make matters worse, they were at home coming off their bye week. I was about ready to switch my allegiance to another team. Kansas City might work.

I shut things down, packed up and set out clothes for tomorrow, hitting the light as I crawled into bed and tried to forget this day.

Sorry fuckers.