For the second time in just a few days, Hank was roused from a deep slumber on the floor of his office, by the gentle, insistent touch of Constance's lips. She kissed him softly, her touch lingering, as he lay sprawled on the office floor. Violet lay beside him, her naked form curled into a fetal position, her soft breaths a testament to her exhausted sleep. "Good morning, my love," Constance whispered, her voice a warm caress against his ear. Hank smiled, a sleepy, contented smile. "You did allow it," he murmured back, his voice thick with sleep. Constance's smile widened, a hint of playful mischief in her eyes. "I did," she confirmed, her voice laced with amusement. She helped him to his feet, her touch firm yet gentle.
Hank leaned down and kissed Violet, a soft, lingering kiss that stirred her from her slumber. "Five more minutes, Master," she moaned, her voice thick with sleep, her eyes still closed. Constance raised a playful eyebrow at the possessive title, a silent question hanging in the air. Hank chuckled, a low, amused sound. He leaned closer to Violet's ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Constance is here," he whispered. Violet's eyes snapped open, her gaze darting around the room, her cheeks flushing crimson as she realized her nakedness. She sat up abruptly, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself, mimicking Julie’s earlier that week’s attempts at modesty. Constance smiled, a warm, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about that, sweetie," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "We'll see each other naked again." Violet offered a shy, hesitant smile, her embarrassment slowly fading. "And now that you're officially part of the family," Constance continued, her tone warm and welcoming, "why don't you figure out when you can move in?"
Hank stood up, stretching his limbs, his muscles still pleasantly sore from their earlier exertions. He leaned down and kissed Constance, a possessive, lingering kiss that spoke of their shared love. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Constance smiled, glancing at her watch. "Six AM," she replied. Hank smirked, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good thing it's Saturday," he murmured. Constance nodded, her expression thoughtful. "The cleaners don't work Fridays," she explained. "They'll be here Sunday night." Hank found his clothes, scattered across the office floor, and began to pull them on. The scent of her arousal, of their shared intimacy, clung to his pants and shirt, a heady mix of musk and sweat. He smirked, a sense of raw, animalistic satisfaction settling within him. "Oh god, what is that?" Constance asked, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she caught the scent. Hank smiled, his gaze shifting towards Violet. "A badge of honor," he replied, his voice laced with playful arrogance. He turned and walked out of the office, leaving Constance and Violet to their shared amusement.
Constance laughed, a rich, melodic sound that echoed through the empty office. She looked at Violet, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Honor?" she asked, her voice laced with playful disbelief. Violet smiled, a shy, almost reverent smile. "He made me squirt," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. Constance laughed again, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "He is quite the man," she conceded, her voice laced with a hint of admiration. Violet could only nod, her gaze fixed on the empty doorway, her expression a mixture of adoration and lingering desire, still fresh from the intense encounter.
---
Refreshed and invigorated from a long, hot shower, Hank exited the building, a palpable sense of anticipation radiating from him. He was eager to fulfill a promise he'd made to Fiona, a promise to capture her captivating innocence through his camera's lens. The thought of driving his brand-new Jeep Gladiator Rubicon again added a thrill to his already buoyant spirit. Meanwhile, back in his ninth-floor apartment, Constance had offered Violet a warm invitation: a shower and some borrowed clothes, allowing her to comfortably return home and begin packing for her imminent move.
Violet, her hair still damp from the shower, sat comfortably in the living room, cradling a warm cup of coffee. The lingering scent of her shampoo mingled with the rich aroma of the freshly brewed beverage, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. "So, Violet," Constance began, her voice warm and welcoming. "You'll be moving in here, on the ninth floor." Violet nodded, her gaze thoughtful. However, Constance, ever perceptive, noticed a subtle undercurrent of unease in Violet's eyes, a flicker of something unspoken. "What's on your mind?" she asked, her voice gentle and encouraging.
Violet hesitated for a moment, then offered a small, almost conspiratorial smirk. "Last night," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I asked Hank to be my master, to use me like a slave. I gave him complete control." Constance smiled, a knowing, understanding smile. She had explored similar dynamics in her relationship with Hank, albeit with a more balanced approach, a mutual exchange of power. "And what's the problem with that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Violet's smirk widened, a hint of playful mischief in her eyes. "My cousin," she whispered, her voice laced with amusement. "Bonnie?" Constance asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Violet nodded. "Yeah," she confirmed. "She likes the same as me. She wants to give herself to Hank, wants him to tie her up and fuck her raw." Constance leaned back, a flicker of intrigued amusement in her eyes. "Little Bonnie," she murmured, her voice laced with playful disbelief. "I never thought she had that in her."
Violet's smirk grew even wider, a hint of pride in her voice. "She's worse than I am," she confessed. "She wants Hank to take complete control of her life, tell her everything she needs to do. If he tells her to lay naked on the ground until he's ready for her, she'll do it." Constance's eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Only Hank?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of playful skepticism. Violet nodded, her expression resolute. "She's already asked me to talk to you about it," she whispered.
Constance nodded, her mind already racing with possibilities, formulating a plan. "So, both of you want to be tied to Hank, and both of you want him as master," she reiterated, seeking confirmation. Violet nodded, her expression eager. "Okay," Constance said, her voice laced with a hint of intrigue. "And what do you know about Gloria and this new girl, Lisa Yu?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Violet smirked, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Gloria is head over heels in love with him," she explained. "He believed in her when no one else did. She thinks he's the only reason she still has her job." Constance nodded, acknowledging Hank's ability to see potential where others didn't. He had, indeed, proven Gloria's worth, and she had responded by working harder than ever. "And Lisa Yu?" Constance asked, her curiosity piqued. Violet shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "She's new, only been here a short time. But Hank hired her for the sixth floor, so maybe he's more interested in her than she is in him?"
Constance chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "Oh no," she corrected Violet. "She's interested alright. Yesterday, when she came up to the office, she only had eyes for him." Violet smiled, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "How many girls are there?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. Constance smirked, a hint of playful pride in her voice. "With you, now eight," she replied. "If Bonnie and Gloria join, ten. If Lisa Yu joins, eleven." She paused, her smile widening. "Then there's Missy, the girl we hired today," she continued. "She might join too. And there's a girl coming from Miami, she might also."
Violet gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Twelve girls," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. Constance nodded, her smile radiating confidence. "I'm sure this is just the beginning," she said, her voice laced with playful anticipation. Violet laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement, the prospect of their growing family filling her with a sense of excitement and anticipation.
---
Hank stood at the park's entrance, his camera hanging loosely at his side, his eyes scanning the picturesque scene before him. The late morning sunlight dappled through the leaves of the ancient oak trees, casting long, dancing shadows across the manicured lawns. Couples strolled hand-in-hand, their laughter mingling with the cheerful chirping of birds. Children shrieked with delight as they climbed and slid on the brightly colored playground equipment, their parents watching with fond smiles. Dogs, leashed and eager, tugged at their owners, their tails wagging furiously. It was a scene of idyllic tranquility, a snapshot of perfect suburban life.
"Hank!" a small, excited voice called out, cutting through the ambient noise. He turned, a warm smile spreading across his face, and saw Fiona running towards him, her small figure a blur of motion. He knelt down, opening his arms wide, and she launched herself into his embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. "Hi, Fiona," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine affection. "You came..." she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and excitement.
Her mother, Molly, a woman of striking beauty with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, walked up to them, her smile warm and grateful. "She hasn't stopped talking about you," she said, her voice laced with amusement. Hank shook her hand, his smile widening. "A real little fan there," he teased, his eyes twinkling. Fiona beamed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Mom said you agreed to help me with more pictures," she said, her voice filled with anticipation. Hank nodded, his smile softening. "I did," he confirmed. "Now, did you bring your costume?"
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Fiona's smile widened, and she eagerly pulled a large backpack from her shoulder. She unzipped it with trembling fingers and revealed the contents: a meticulously crafted Bowser costume. Unlike her previous Pikachu ensemble from Comic Con, this costume was a marvel of detailed craftsmanship. The thick, foamed shell, painted a vibrant green, gleamed in the sunlight. The massive, spiked turtle shell, made of lighter but durable material, was a testament to the dedication put into the creation. The large, cartoonish head, with its menacing red eyes and gaping maw, was both intimidating and adorable. "That is awesome!" Hank exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
Fiona's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I told you, Mom, he would like it!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with triumph. Her mother smiled, her gaze shifting to Hank. "Thank you so much for doing this," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. Hank smiled, his expression warm and sincere. "It's truly my pleasure," he replied. "I enjoy it, I love taking pictures, and if I can make her smile doing it, well... it's a win-win."
Fiona, her excitement bubbling over, walked towards a cluster of tall, ancient trees, their thick trunks and dense foliage creating a natural, almost magical backdrop. "Do you think the trees would make a good background for Bowser?" she asked, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation. Hank smiled, his mind already visualizing the perfect shot. "I really do," he replied. "And we can add Koopa Troopers behind the trees, like they're waiting to come out and help." Fiona's smile widened, her eyes shining with excitement. Hank, familiar with the vibrant world of Super Mario, knew exactly how to enhance her photos, to transform them into something truly special.
Fiona, with her mother's assistance, began to put on the heavy, foamed costume, her movements slightly hindered by its bulk. Her mother carefully adjusted the various pieces, ensuring a perfect fit. As Fiona transformed into the iconic villain, a small gathering of curious onlookers began to form, their eyes fixed on the spectacle unfolding before them. Hank smiled, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling within him. This was Fiona's moment, her chance to shine, to step into the fantastical world she so adored.
Once Fiona, transformed into the imposing Bowser, was ready, Hank began to work his magic. He snapped picture after picture, capturing her every pose, every gesture, every nuance of her character. Fiona, emboldened by the costume and Hank's enthusiastic direction, threw herself into the role with gusto. She performed a series of dynamic action shots, leaping and stomping like the video game character, her movements surprisingly agile despite the bulky costume. Then, she transitioned into a series of playful, whimsical poses, eliciting laughter from both Hank and the growing crowd of onlookers. Some poses were serious, conveying the menacing power of the Koopa King. Hank, his camera clicking and whirring, captured it all, his eyes constantly scanning the scene, framing each shot with expert precision.
After what felt like an eternity of posing and clicking, Fiona, her face flushed and her costume damp with sweat, finally emerged from her Bowser shell. The San Diego sun, relentless in its intensity, had turned the thick, foamed costume into a miniature sauna. She hurried towards Hank, her breath coming in short, excited gasps. Hank, anticipating her thirst, pulled a bottle of ice-cold water from his bag and handed it to her. She eagerly unscrewed the cap and gulped down the refreshing liquid, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice slightly hoarse.
Hank smiled, his gaze warm and affectionate. He turned the camera's small screen towards her, displaying the captured images. Fiona's eyes widened, her face lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy. The shots were even better than she had imagined, capturing the essence of Bowser with a perfect blend of power and playfulness. "You will enhance them again?" she asked, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation. Hank leaned down and kissed the top of her head, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I'll make you look like a super villain." Fiona grinned, her eyes shining with mischievous delight. Everyone always said it was better to be a hero, but she knew that sometimes, being the villain was just plain fun.
As Fiona retreated to the restroom, Hank turned his attention to her mother, Molly. "How are you and Fiona doing?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. Molly smiled, a bittersweet expression that hinted at hidden worries. "We get by," she replied, her voice tinged with weariness. "But we might have to move. It's not easy with only my income." She blushed, a delicate flush creeping up her neck. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice laced with apology. "I don't know why I'm sharing this with you. But you're so good with her, and it feels like I can tell you."
Hank smiled, his expression warm and understanding. "You can always talk to me," he reassured her, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll listen." Molly's smile widened, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. She placed her hand on his, her touch light and fleeting. "Thank you, Hank," she whispered. "What will happen if you move?" Hank asked, his curiosity piqued. Molly sighed, her gaze shifting towards the restroom door, where Fiona had disappeared. "Fiona will have to change schools," she explained. "We'll have to leave San Diego." She hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "My parents, they live in Texas. They offered we can live with them on their farm." She paused, her expression filled with a mixture of resignation and unspoken sadness. "Fiona doesn't know," she confessed. "I don't want to burden her with it before I know for sure."
"What's the biggest problem?" Hank asked, his voice gentle and encouraging. Molly sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "The mortgage," she admitted. "If we can't pay it, we lose the house, and then there's no choice." Hank nodded, his expression thoughtful. "How much is it?" he asked, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. Molly offered a small, almost apologetic smile. "I can't ask that of you," she replied, her voice laced with gentle refusal. Hank smiled, his eyes twinkling with playful determination. "You're not asking," he countered.
Molly shook her head, her smile widening. "Thanks, but no thanks, Hank," she said, her voice firm but kind. "You make her smile, and if this is what she remembers if we have to move, then that's enough." Hank smiled and nodded, respecting her decision. But inside, a quiet determination settled within him. He wouldn't let it go. He would find a way to help, to ensure that Fiona's smile remained bright and unburdened.
---
Hank returned to his ninth-floor apartment, his mind still swirling with the images of Fiona, her vibrant enthusiasm, and the quiet desperation he had glimpsed in her mother's eyes. Julie, Constance, Doria, and Violet were gathered on the plush sofa, their relaxed postures a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts that churned within him. They immediately noticed his distant demeanor, the way his gaze seemed to linger on some unseen point in the distance. "What's going on, baby?" Doria asked, her voice soft and concerned, as she leaned in to kiss him. He looked at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nothing really," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of distraction.
"Really?" Constance countered, her voice laced with playful skepticism. She, more than anyone, understood the subtle shifts in his mood, the way his emotions played across his features like shadows on a wall. "Sit down and tell us," Julie offered, her voice warm and inviting. Hank, guided by Doria's gentle hand, settled onto the sofa, the girls flanking him on either side, their presence a comforting weight against his weariness. He sighed, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "You girls remember Fiona, the little girl in the Pikachu costume?" he asked, his gaze sweeping across their faces. Julie and Constance nodded, their expressions thoughtful. Violet and Doria, however, shook their heads, their expressions blank. Hank pulled out his camera, displaying the vibrant images he had captured that morning. "Oh my god, she's precious," Doria exclaimed, her eyes widening in admiration. Hank smiled, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "She's fun to work with," he explained. "She goes all out and loves the attention."
"So, what's the problem?" Julie asked, her voice laced with gentle curiosity. Hank sighed, his expression clouding with concern. "Last year, her father was killed," he began, his voice low and somber. He took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "And now they're struggling. They might lose the house, the home Fiona was born in and has lived in all her life." Doria ran a finger over the image of Fiona in her fierce Bowser pose, a small, thoughtful smile playing on her lips. "So, offer her mother a job," she suggested, her voice barely a whisper. "One that pays better than what she's making now." Constance smirked, a hint of playful skepticism in her eyes. "We can't just hire everyone," she countered. Hank shook his head, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "And her skills aren't exactly in investments," he explained. "She's a nurse at the hospital."
Doria nodded, her expression thoughtful. "You wanted to make kids happy... right...?" Julie asked, her voice laced with gentle encouragement. Hank nodded, his expression softening. He did, indeed, harbor a deep-seated desire to bring joy to children, to shield them from the harsh realities of the world. "Go to the hospital," Julie continued, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Take pictures of the kids, make them feel like superheroes. And then give her her house, paid off." Hank smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "She said she wouldn't accept that," he countered. Constance smiled, a knowing, almost mischievous smile. "We buy the mortgage," she suggested, her voice laced with playful cunning. "And we withhold the payments."
Hank looked at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine bewilderment. She smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You like this Fiona girl," she explained. "She makes you smile. And the pictures you take, it makes her happy. You can see yourself as her father." Hank smirked, a flicker of reluctant agreement in his eyes. She wasn't wrong. "So, to keep her close and give her the happiness of getting her pictures taken, that is why," she concluded, her voice laced with playful logic. Hank leaned over and kissed her, a brief, affectionate kiss. "You're fucking amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Plus, I bet her mom is a fucking fox," she added, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Hank smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "I just know the kind of girls that gathers around you," she replied, her voice laced with playful sarcasm, eliciting laughter from the other women. Hank shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his eyes. "You're impossible," he murmured.
