Councilwoman One - Part 5
Rummaging through her collection of leather outfits, cosplay costumes, and revealing lingerie, Sheila can’t quite decide what to wear. Not that it will matter much as she doesn’t intend on being in it for very long, but she’s never been put into a position like this. How does one reward your most faithful and ever-loyal henchman? Well, the 'how' is the easy part. The 'what to wear' part, not so much.
It was fairly simple when she and the Monarch had a small army of minions...she wouldn't. Well, certainly not in the 'going down on a hundred butterfly-themed henchmen' sense of the word. Maybe some areola peaking out of her old ’Dr. Mrs’ costume as she strolled through cocoon’s throne room. A shorter than usual Jackie-O dress, a glimpse of her perfect ass cheeks jiggling beneath its bottom hem while meandering through the henchmen's lounge. Just a little something for them to ogle at, her way of rewarding them for a job well done.
Throwing this costume and that over her shoulder, all manner of studded leather and crotchless options landing on the bed behind her, Sheila growls at her indecision. Looking back at the growing mass of unmentionables, it suddenly dawns on her. Throwing her arms up and rolling her eyes as if to say ‘isn’t it obvious’, she snatches up two simple items, clutching them against her otherwise naked body as she heads down to the secret lair.
Down the stair and into the vestibule, Sheila pauses for a second before turning to enter the Monarch's office. Eyeing a pyramid of paint cans stacked up behind the front door, she doesn't quite know what to make of it. Dismissing them with a half-roll of her eyes, Sheila enters the office, its secret bookcase door already open. Closing it behind her, past the inadequately-sized water heater, she calls out to Gary from the top of the stone staircase.
Dr Mrs: Uhhhh, what's with the paint cans?
Gary doesn't hear her, lost in his own little imaginary world. He's more worried about Sheila's husband...now, hours late from returning...coming home to discover them whilst in the middle of some acrobatic dalliance. At first daymaring about what the Monarch might do to him...dipped in hot lava, bamboo shoots under his fingernails, drowned in a tank full of pureed mink...his mind switches gears, now daydreaming about what Sheila is about to do to him.
All manner of scenarios run through his head, she and himself replacing a myriad of Hollywood stars in their more scandalous movie scenes... Phoebe Cates emerges from a pool in slow motion, stripping off her bikini to greet an infatuated Brad Hamilton. A jazzercize-clad, eighties-hair-sporting Kelly LeBrock leans against the broken bedroom door, querying Anthony Michael Hall as to what he'd like to do next. Buckaroo Banzai discovers a bound and scantly clad Penny Pride as he attempts to rescue her from the clutches of the evil John Whorfin and his Lectroids.
Standing behind the preoccupied henchman, a little glimmer of a smirk on her face, the Councilwoman clears her throat.
Wheeling around, a startled and slightly embarrassed expression on his face, Gary begins to say something. Instead of his mouth forming words, his jaw merely moves up and down, eyelids fluttering as he peers down at the petite woman. Hips cocked to one side, her hair tied back in twin ponytails, Sheila devilishly grins up at the stupefied henchman. Aside from a pom-pom pressed between her breasts, a second held against her nether region, she's naked from head to toe.
Dr Mrs: Is this revealing enough for you?
Gary: Chuhh... Chuuhhh... Ch-cheer...
Dr Mrs: You... You're not gonna start quoting Blade Runner again, are you? And before you get your hopes up, I'm not eeeeven about to go jumping around like some preppy, teenage prom queen like last time. Other than needing a backiotomy afterwards, God knows I'd probably end up giving myself a black eye without a bra on.
Gary, still quite dumbfounded by the fact that she's donned at least part of the now infamous cheerleader outfit for him, says nothing as Sheila places her pom-poms on his hips. Slipping his sweatpants down...having had his monstrous rod inside of her all day long...Sheila looks none surprised by his arrow-straight manhood. She does, however, allow Gary another smirk...the underside curve of his rock-hard shaft thumping against her sternum after its new-found freedom.
Dr Mrs: Ohhh, but don't you worry. You're gonna get a little cheer routine.
Reaching up, the Councilwoman drapes her arms over Gary's shoulders, her more than ample mounds pressing against his 'Hench 4 Life' tattoo. Lifting one leg, she hooks the inside of her knee around his upper thigh. Sheila bites her lower lip with an upward nod of her head as if to say 'lift me'.
Dr Mrs: Gimme a 'G'.
Gary, the cobwebs seeming to have disappeared, grabs the shapely woman by the back of her thigh, his other hand grasping a handful of butt cheek.
Dr Mrs: Gimme an 'A'.
Sheila lifts her other leg, again hooking it around the opposite thigh. As Gary hoists her up, she locks her ankles behind his back, her arms wrapping around his neck...a pom-pom resting on either of his shoulders. Her nose pressed against his, looking into the henchman's eyes, Sheila rotates her hips.
Dr Mrs: Gimme an 'R'.
Centering herself over his thick shaft, Sheila lets her body weight push her downward, his swollen helmet pressing against her. Labia bulging as they're pressed aside, the thickest portion of Gary's immense head slips inside with a jolt.
Dr Mrs: Guh... Gimme a Whuh... Whuhh... 'Y'!
Sheila's eyes squinted to thin, tear-filled slits, she lets gravity do the rest. Sliding downward, inch by seemingly impossible inch, her entire body quivers as the henchman's girth begins to give her an ever-more-pronounced bulge in her belly. She can feel it coming, her pubic mound just beginning to touch his lower abdomen...the diminutive woman having nearly reached the base of his shaft.
Gary looks on with a grin, once again watching as the raven-haired Councilwoman struggles to take all of him. Not including up-the-butt sex...what is this, the seventh or eighth time today? He can't remember.
Dr Mrs: Whuhh... Whh... What's th-that s-s-spell?!
Manolo: Sénior Gary?
Both of them freeze in place like so many deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car as Manolo calls down from the top of the stairs. Fully caught up in the moment, neither of them heard the clatter of paint cans by the front door. Gary, having not yet figured out the Nixon-era fossil that is the 'Crime Computer' and its integrated alarm system, put them there as a makeshift entry alarm should the Monarch come home.
Manolo: I come to collect the paint cans before Mr the Monarch murder me. Ok, Mr. Gary?
Dr Mrs: (whispering, stuttering) Shh-shhh-shit! Anns... Answer him!
Gary: G-Gracias, Manolo! Estaré allí en un m-minuto.
Both of them stare at one another, the sudden shock beginning to wear off, Sheila scarcely noticing that she's now completely impaled upon Gary's towering shaft.
Dr Mrs: Muh... Maybe w-we should continue th-this later?
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