I've posted a new story to the EMCSA, Test of Five III: Truth and Consequences. This story is, as the title indicates, a third installment of an existing saga.
I sincerely thank Handcuffgirl and RallyWeasel for generously giving me permission to publish this third episode of Claire’s adventures. Also thanks to charleswallace, pale-faced-one, and MzNicolette on the MCForum for editing and proofing advice.
If it’s any good, I couldn’t have done it without them. If it sucks, it’s all my fault.
Excerpt:
Claire felt sexy. She felt confident. She was ready to go. Her eye shadow was a joyful azure blue. Take that, boss lady!
But as she climbed into her car, almost as if by telepathy, she got a call back from the office. It was Kelly Latimer’s number. Having just thought of her boss/mentor/mother in a less than flattering way, she answered the phone a bit hesitantly, a bit guiltily. “Um, Hello?”
“Claire, how much vacation time do you have?”
Uh-oh. That can’t be good! “Uh, I dunno, Kelly...Ms. Latimer, lots?“
“Sigh Never mind, Claire. Let me check.” Silence for the longest half minute of Claire’s civilian life. “Okay...look Claire, you sound perfectly fine, but you called in sick on a day when you have a last-ditch meeting to save your biggest client...whom I’m transferring to Chad effective immediately. In fact I’m transferring all your accounts to the other junior staff. You have...27 vacation days. Use them.“
Kelly’s tone changed. She was giving one of her set speeches, and not one of the good kind. She was saying things to Claire that she never would have believed she would say to her brightest employee, “It’s become increasingly clear that your professional—and, dare I say, personal—goals have changed...drastically...in past two months. You’re not the girl I hired, Claire. You have over a month...five weeks...to get your act together and figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. If you’re still this ‘new Claire’ at the end of your vacation, don’t come back.”
She kept on, but Claire was too much in shock to understand it all, something about “disappointment,” and “generous severance package,” and “please get help,” and “think of you like a daughter, even still”. Claire was rocking back and forth in her driver’s seat so hard that she was practically ping-ponging between the steering wheel and the back of her seat. Eventually she realized Kelly was wrapping up. Claire popped her index finger out of her trembling mouth and somehow managed to end the call, hopefully coherently.
This was it, the end of her civilian life dream. It was deader even than her superheroine dream. There was no fucking way that she could stop being the “new Claire”—the Disgruntled Doctor’s twisted toy—in just a month! In fact, she was getting worse, and she knew it.
She worried frantically, brain kicking into overdrive, If this thing with Rubber Ranger doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. And even that only solves my “behind the mask” problem; I can’t even imagine how I’m gonna earn a civilian living!
Suddenly she had a vision of her future: pole dancer by day, crime fighter by night. “Orw mebbe th’ otha way arwound,” she sobbed loudly around her thrusting thumb, shaking uncontrollably, head and tits pressed up against the steering wheel.
Pop! Out came the thumb in shock. “I’d be lu-lu-lucky to keep a job as a stripper. They’d prob’ly f-f-f-fire me when I start f-f-f-fucking every customer who catc-c-c-calls me. I’ll have to be a f-f-f-fetish whore, whips and chains and l-l-l-latex.” In spite of herself she was getting horny just thinking about it, which only plunged her deeper into despair.
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