Brewster's Brood - Pt. 41

Part Forty-one

 Gemma Ashton-Scythe – 3/13/2017 – Tuesday –1:12 pm

Gemma looked at the other two girls with her, shaking her head a little bit. She’d wanted to take her first swing at Max without anyone else around, but they were behind. Behind, behind, behind. She could understand why and what had happened – they’d been making sure Max didn’t collapse from exhaustion. She just wasn’t thrilled the break had coincided with her getting her first shot at the man. And now, she was being told she wasn’t going to get a one-on-one shot with the man, but she would be able to tag team him with two other girls, Rose Whitcombe and Danielle Fox, and that was asking a lot.

She and Danielle knew of each other, both being Irish social media celebrities, but they’d never met, as the two cultivated different audiences. Sure look it, they were both guilty of throwing more than a few thirst traps into the ecosphere, but they had very different personas they’d been cultivating. Danielle was the high end, sophisticated lady – well versed in liquors, cigars, luxury cars – she was the sort of dream girl who straddled the line between butler and best friend, but in a short skirt and a low-cut top.

Rose, on the other hand, she’d been in the public limelight, at least the UK ones, since she was born, the daughter of an incredibly well-known football star and a fashion model. She’d been in the press’s spotlight since she was a baby. And now she was engaged in this insane game, and had somehow dipped out of the paparazzo’s focus, maybe because they were over in America and not in the UK. That was the one joy of all of this – the British tabloids didn’t want to cross the pond to keep tabs on them, and that gave them a sort of freedom they weren’t accustomed to. Gemma was only a Z-list celebrity at best, but Rose? Rose was one step shy of getting treated like the royals, and perhaps the only reason they weren’t swarming all over her here was that Megan Markle and Prince Harry were down in Los Angeles right now, and royals always topped everything else.

“Look, you two,” Gemma said to them, “I know we all want a crack at Max, but we need to make sure we’re not overwhelming him. We’re going to have him to ourselves for the afternoon, so we’ll each get a turn, but we can’t be seen as catty or argumentative.”

“Relax bitch,” Dani said. “We know what the stakes are and what’s going on. We were at the same meeting as you, and had the same briefing given beforehand. Plus, I read Kelly’s email, and I get that she wants us to lean into our roles. It’s not like I’m looking to stick around in his life anyway. I just want the baby and the money, since my man’s shooting blanks. He wasn’t thrilled by be choosing to get knocked up the old-fashioned way, but the accompanying checks will help that bitter pill go down a little bit easier.”

“I just need to be out of the limelight for all of this,” Rose sighed in her posh, well-bred accent. “I’m sure they’ll have a field day trying to guess who the father my child is, and I can milk at least a few years of celebrity out of that, until I’m ready to give another pass at Love Island again.”

“Whatever happened with you and whatshisname?” Gemma asked.

“He’s a brainless fuckboi who thought he could dick around in the club and screwed some bimbo with more fake tits than brains,” Rose said. “If maybe we’d finished first, he might’ve been more loyal, but since we came in third, it was nothing more than a chance for him to get his brand awareness up some. And to think, I almost fucked that monstrosity on television. He tried to convince me that if we had sex, it would make the viewers think we were a stronger couple than we were, but I didn’t want to be seen as one of ‘those kinds’ of girls, so I said no. That’s what the big fight was about the last week of the show, not whatever stupid shit they cut into to make it look like it was something trivial.”

“You’re telling me parts of Love Island are staged?” Dani giggled. “Say it ain’t so. Who would’ve possibly guessed that?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Rose grumbled. “Anyway, it’s fine. I’m happy to let you have first crack at him, but we can take turns with him, if you’d like.”

“I think if the three of us all go at him at once, it’ll help keep him from asking too many questions,” Gemma said. “From what I’ve seen in terms of watching the streams, he’s easily overwhelmed if we go in as a group.”

“You also like that he’s subscribed to your Instagram,” Dani teased.

“Don’t act like you didn’t notice he’s seen both you and Rose before,” Gemma countered. “He’s watched your season of Love Island, Rose, and he follows Dani’s Instagram as well, from her ‘Drink With The Guys’ videos. So he knows who all three of us are. Not as well as we know him, yeah, sure, but he knows us. So maybe that will take some of the stink off of it.”

“Jenny says that mentioning that you heard about the article on his food truck’s another good to get into his graces and not feel like you’re a stalkerish creep,” Rose said. “But honestly, if we head in like an invading army, it seems like he’s not going to much to discourage us.”

The lights of the house flashed three times off then on again, the signal that Max was coming soon, and that all conversations needed to be line with what Max could and couldn’t hear. That was the part of the whole thing that Gemma actually enjoyed the most – the cloak and dagger aspect of it. She’d spent most of her life in a relatively rural village, away from the hustle and bustle of big city life. Ever since coming to the Bay Area, she’d found that she rather enjoyed it. The people always being out, any time, day or night, it never felt like she was alone. It was a definite change of pace, one she could get used to.

Max wandered out onto the deck, looking around when Gemma gave him a wave for him to come and join them. He moved over towards their place on the patio and sat down on an empty chair and he wasn’t even settled before Gemma got up and moved to sit down in his lap. “Well, hello there, ladies,” he said to them as Gemma ran her fingers along the back of his neck. “I’m guessing you three are my appointments for the day?”

“Max,” Gemma said, nuzzling her face in against his neck. “You don’t need to pretend you don’t know us. We know you’re following us on Instagram, and that actually makes us a lot more comfortable with you, because you’ve seen us at work, seen us trying to put on our best front forward, and that means we can treat you like a personal fantasy we’ve all had – taking one of our fans and giving them the kind of experience every guy who’s lusted after us has dreamed of.”

Rose moved over and ran her fingertips across one of his arms, helping guide him to place it along Gemma’s back. “We don’t like to admit it publicly, Max, but anyone who’s a content creator sometimes has a wicked fantasy where we take one of our fans and do all the things we shouldn’t be doing with them. That’s why you were such a luscious find, someone who is already part of our little veil of secrecy, who can let us be ourselves and play out our devious little dreams without being judged for them.”

Danielle reached over and grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured him a glass. “Now, would you rather this be private for just the four of us, or do you feel like putting on a show today, sir?” she asked him as she set the glass down next to him.

“You three are just itching to get right down to it, aren’t you?” Max asked before Gemma turned his face so she could lean in and kiss him, both of her hands folding against the back of his neck, keeping his lips pressed against hers for a long moment before pulling back from him.

“Max, since word of a hot new stud began spreading around the gossip channels of Ironwood, every girl who comes to this club has been dying to have you warming her legs,” Gemma purred at him as her fingers were starting to slide down his chest. “So, you’d better answer the question, before we just make up your mind for you.”

“Okay!” Max laughed. “Okay, okay… I’ve already been seen by more than enough people at this club. If they want a show, let’em buy a ticket like everyone else. Why don’t the four of us take this inside and get out of the spotlight for a bit?”

Gemma whimpered but moved to get off his lap and helped him to his feet, grinning at Dani grabbed both the glass and the bottle of scotch for him. “Very well,” Gemma said, sliding her arm back around his waist possessively. She could see all the other girls at the club doing their best not to sneer or scowl at them, although the redhead could feel dozens of sets of eyes on the foursome as they led him off the patio and into the building itself.

The best bedroom in the building was the Master bedroom, so Gemma started to pull Max towards the staircase, leading him up the stairs, with Rose walking alongside him, and Danielle trailing up the rear behind them, carting the bottle and a pair of glasses with her.

She was trying not to get too nervous, but there was a part of her that just couldn’t help it, feeling butterflies in her stomach. Gemma had given plenty of thought to how she was going to feel going through with it – it wasn’t that much different than any other one-night stand she’d had in her life, really – but now that she was on the precipice of it, she was a little bit nervous.

All the reasoning in the world made sense. She hadn’t had time to find and develop a proper relationship, but she hadn’t really needed one either. She’d had boyfriends in school and at uni, but since she’d gotten out, the local boys hadn’t matured like she had. They’d all been lads, lads, lads, and not a single one of them ready to settle down and start a family.

In a way, her thirst traps had been tinged with a tiny bit of hope, that the next David Beckham would see one of her posts and go, ‘right, I’ll have a bit of that, then, please,’ and she would be loved up and wifed off before she even knew what hit her. But she’d been an Instagram celebrity for three years and the only people bold enough to send her messages were creeps asking she would sell them her panties or her socks, although there had been one from a Saudi prince that seemed like it might have been legitimate, as uncomfortable as that sounded.

But Max had been vetted and checked, both mentally and medically, and he was in good shape, and the fact that she’d have the money to help raise the child was no small thing, either.

It was all the things she knew she needed to keep in her mind as they got Max to the master bedroom, pulled him inside and shut the door behind them. The three of them hadn’t been wearing all that much to start with, but within a few seconds, they were all completely naked and pushing Max onto his back on the main bed, working in tandem to pull his clothes off of him.

They’d been waiting days. There wasn’t time to wait any longer.

Rose started kissing him, holding his head in her hands while Dani mostly just got comfortable and started watching, letting Gemma take the first turn, something the redhead was eager to do. His body was so much bigger than hers, so it made perfect sense for her to straddle his waist and simply climb aboard his shaft. Gemma had been delighted to see Max was already hard when they pulled his pants off him. She’d been a little nervous that he might have been unable to get it up, considering the unparalleled amount of sex he’d been having in the last week or so. The kind of run Max was on would make Genghis Khan tip his cap in respect.

Gemma had been watching other girls handle this monster of a cock on tiny screens for days now, and when it finally came time for her to get her hands on it, it was bigger than what she’d expected. She’d heard that rumor that the camera added ten pounds, but she was fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to add an inch or two. Still, she didn’t want to spend time thinking about it, settling her legs on either side of his waist, reaching down between them and grabbing his cock, getting it lined up before pushing herself down onto its warm stiffness.

Feeling his dick push deep inside of her pussy felt like welcoming an old friend. It had been far too long since she’d had this feeling, the sensation of her body stretched around another’s. She pushed down onto him until he was hilt-deep inside of her, both of her hands resting on his chest. Max had one of his hands pressed to one of Rose’s tits (Rose’s own hand was on top of his, helping keep it there) and the other was between Dani’s thighs, stroking against her slit while the Irish brunette sipped from the glass of scotch she’d initially poured for Max.

“Jaysis, you feel so fucking good inside of me, Max,” Gemma mewled at him, her finely manicured fingernails raking against the tattoos across his chest. “I want to take my time, but I also want to be a good girl, and good girls share.”

Danielle grinned over at her and said, “That’s right, Gemma. Good girls share, so don’t dilly dally there…” before pressing her lips to Gemma’s, making the redhead pip a little in surprise. It wasn’t as though she’d never fooled around with other girls before, but there was something about Danielle’s complete confidence that made Gemma feel so much younger than the other girl, despite the fact that Dani couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Gemma.

Gemma could feel Max’s eyes on them as they made out above him, his cock throbbing in eager appreciation, so she rewarded him by picking up her pace, posting up and down on him, pressing her ass back against the tops of his thighs before snapping her waist forward again, shoving him back inside of her warm, pink slit.

One thing Gemma had to admit was that with all the sex Max had been having, his ability to hold back his orgasms was rather impressive. All of her boyfriends had been only able to last a few minutes at best, and it was nearly eight minutes in before they could hear Max’s breathing start to grow a little shallow, his grip a bit more firm in holding Rose’s hand.

“It’s okay, Max,” Dani whispered into his left ear. “She’s ready for you. Willing to receive.”

“Doesn’t she look sexy, Max?” Rose whispered into his right ear. “All sweaty and flustered and desperate to feel you pouring inside of her?”

“She wants it, Max. We all do.”

“We can’t wait to feel you spurting inside of our bellies.”

“Fuck, it looks so hot, Max.”

“So hot,” Rose agreed. “You’ll have to decide who you want next.”

“And how,” Dani purred. “You could do what every man who watched Love Island wanted to and bend Rose on all fours and fuck her from behind until she’s whimpering for Daddy…”

“Or you could shove your dick in Danielle’s mouth and get her to stop talking, like I think half of her Instagram followers would like,” Rose half-growled back.

“Or you could both shut up until he’s done with me,” Gemma snarled. “C’mon Max… I wanna cum with you… You need to do it. You need to pour it inside of me. You need to let loose. Give it to me. C’mon… please, Max? Don’t make me beg you. I will, but you wouldn’t do that to a girl, would you, Max? Fuck, I’m so fucking close, Max…”

Eventually, as tough as nails as Max was, Gemma got what she wanted, and squealed as she felt him emptying his balls inside of her, her body shivering as the sensation of it was the final push she needed to trigger her own orgasm, gasping and panting as she collapsed onto his chest, giggling ferociously.

“How are you feeling, Max?” Rose asked, nibbling on his earlobe. “Ready for another round?”

“Give a fella at least a couple of minutes, would you, ladies?”

All three of the girls had to giggle at that.

Aaron Stamford – 3/13/2017 – Tuesday – 04:21 pm

 The more Aaron Stamford dug, the more it was starting to feel like he was digging the Panama Canal with his bare hands. And, as reluctant as he was to admit it, he was seriously impressed. It had taken plenty of digging for him and Larissa to even get a hint on where to start with ‘Rachel Williams.’

Assuming a new identity, decades ago anyway, hadn’t been all that complicated, as long as nobody went digging too far into the new identity you assumed. Becoming someone else and disappearing wasn’t particularly complicated, assuming nobody was digging. But old coverup identities typically fell apart like paper bags in the water if you so much as shone a little attention their way.

“Rachel Williams” was the opposite of that.

The only reason they’d found the death notice was because a copy of the local newspaper with the death notice had been updated, a more pristine copy uploaded to replace the ‘damaged’ copy that had been in the local archives, something that Aaron was attributing now to sabotage, simply because the only pages that had been replaced in the update were the obituaries.

That level of attention to detail screamed ‘professional.’

Whoever Rachel Williams was, she’d come out of seemingly nowhere, and left almost nothing in her wake…

…nothing except Max.

Max’s birth had been extremely complicated, and it had cost the life of his mother, whoever Rachel Williams really was. Her death, while not desirable, hadn’t been anything extremely unusual. She’d kept bleeding, even after Max was delivered, and she lived long enough to hold her son for just a few minutes before she bled out, holding him.

No autopsy was done, simply because the cause of death was obvious. The cause of the bleeding was immaterial. What was done was done, and there was no point in prolonging Max’s father’s suffering.

He needed to focus on taking care of his son.

And it was strange – before John and Rachel’s wedding, her backstory was a complete and total wash. No school history, no employment history, at least, nothing on paper. She’d been working somewhere when she’d met John, but certainly off-the-books, and John didn’t like talking about Rachel with Max. The tragedy of her death left such a dark taste in John’s mouth that he would do anything possible to avoid talking about it with his son. He’d give him a few details, shared a few pictures, but for the most part it seemed like Max had been the dutiful son who’d respected his father’s wishes, even if it was driving him crazy. And then his father had died relatively young, mostly lost without his wife, trying to take care of a son who was a living reminder of everything he’d had stripped away from him.

 Reports were that John sort of drank himself to death, which left Max without either parent, somewhat adrift in the world, but Max had been able to pull himself out of it all. And while he’d tried digging into his mother’s history, all of it had basically gone nowhere.

Aaron, on the other hand, would not be so lightly discouraged. It had taken some scrounging, but eventually he’d been able to turn up John and Rachel’s wedding license, which used the same fake identity Rachel had been living under, including that fake birthday. However, most people, when they took on new identities, found dead infants who had been relatively close to their own birthday.

And when you’re looking for a hole, sometimes it’s easier to find what’s missing than what’s present. So Aaron had begun digging for birth certificates for people born in 1949. It would’ve been a monumental undertaking, but there were other things that Aaron knew he had to take into consideration.

First and foremost, Rachel had money.

Maybe not life changing, earth shattering money, but enough that she could get her history erased and not be scrouging for cash. That narrowed the search down a lot, because at that point, it became more like hunting for a disappearing socialite, trying to find someone who’d been mentioned here and there and then just… stopped being talked about.

The concept was easier than the implementation, but he and Larissa had been working the angle for a couple of days when the breakthrough finally hit.

“Shit,” Larissa said from the other side of their Denny’s booth, the place nearly completely empty except for them. “Shit!”

“What?”

“I… I think I’ve just figured out what this might be all about,” Larissa said, her voice dropping down to a very quiet, hushed tone. “And if I’m right, shit, then all the fuss makes total sense.”

“Are you going to stall until I ask, or are you just going to finally spit it out?”

“So, you know our theory that Rachel comes from money?”

“Sure,” Aaron said.

“Well, once you take that and her birth being somewhere between 1948 and 1950, the field narrows down a bunch.”

“Tell me new things, Larissa.”

“Well, if all this is happening now, then it’s pretty safe to say something fairly recent triggered it, right?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes a little bit. “Yes, aaaaaand…?”

“And, from there, I started thinking, maybe I should cross reference that with any recent kerfuffles that have been going on among the one percent in the last six months or so, just in case that would get any hits,” she said. “I built a program to run that query for me. I knew it would have a ton of false positives, but I figured I could at least I could review those by hand.”

“You got something in one of them?”

Larissa turned her laptop around to show him a headline from a few weeks ago. “MONTY BRAND IN CRITICAL CONDITION.”

“Wait, you mean like the—”

“Don’t say his name out loud,” Larissa said, cutting him off. “I’m just paranoid enough to think he might have had some sort of listening program built to use cell phones to spy any time people are talking about him.”

“Jesus, Lar, he’s not fucking Voldemort or some shit,” Aaron said. “And from here you got to—”

She turned her laptop back around again, tapped on a few things then spun it back around, where Aaron was looking at the Brand family tree, as drawn out by Larissa’s research program. Nearly every branch ended in a dead end – people dead from Vietnam, people dead from Iraq 1 and 2, people dead from AIDS, people dead from… well, just tons and tons of people dead. But then she tapped a stray corner of the tree and there it was, staring them right in the face…

…Rachel Brand, born 1948, last mentioned 1965. No notice of death. No further mentions of her in any socialite news.

“Hang on,” Aaron said to her. “Are you saying—”

“I think so.”

“And that means—”

“Maybe,” Larissa confirmed. “We don’t have any proof that she’s her, that Max is hers, but if so, you think it might explain all the heat?”

“Wasn’t it a big story that—” Aaron paused, seeing Larissa’s face. “That that guy didn’t have any heirs, and when he passed away, it was going to be one giant clusterfuck of people scrambling to say they deserved everything. I remember some pundit claiming he didn’t even have a will.”

“Oh, he has a will,” Larissa said. “And I think your boy’s caught right smack dab in the center of it.”

“But then what’s all this about? The women and whatnot?”

“Check out this interview that guy gave just a couple of years ago. I’ll have it muted and turn on subtitles, just in case.”

An image of old Monty Brand appeared, seated across from some journalist, doing an article on the Brand family, and how it looked like he was the last one left. The subtitles appeared at the bottom and Aaron’s eyes widened. “I won’t be the last Brand to carry on the family name, I promise you that. In fact, I’ve set up a contingency to ensure our bloodline will remain very strong after my death. The last century has had the Brand name on the hand at the rudder of much of society’s changes, and I intend to make sure that isn’t going to change. There has always been a Brand shaping the path to the future and I will guarantee there always will be. I’ve seen to it.” Then Monty Brand started coughing and put his oxygen mask over his face, waving his hand. “Interview’s over.”

“The feature speculates on what he meant, but nobody knows for sure. And the guy went back to slowly dying, but I think it was all to set this up. In fact, I’m starting to think maybe they were going to try this earlier but couldn’t get it in place before the guy died, and so they’re just not announcing his death, and having this guy, your guy, spread his seed far and wide, thus, carrying on the family bloodline,” Larissa said with a quiet sigh. “I’m aware of how fucked up it all sounds, but you have to admit, it fits the theory like nothing else does.”

“But why not tell Max?”

“Punishment for not spreading his seed earlier? A way to make sure he does it without even realizing he’s doing it? Who the fuck knows what people this rich think, Aaron?” Larissa said, shaking her head. “It’s not ours to fathom why they do the things they do. It’s ours to figure out what’s going on and make sure as few people as possible are getting hurt. Speaking of which… what do you want to tell your guy?”

Aaron frowned a little. “It’s a good theory, but right now, that’s all it is, Larissa. We’ve got plenty of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that would prove any of this in court. Besides, if what you’re saying is true, we might be making things worse for Max if we tell him what’s going on…”

Larissa raised her hand to her face, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Just when I think I know where the weirdness level maxes out on these people, they go and do something like this… I guess we keep digging then, until we’re more sure of what we’ve got.”

“And we’re certain it won’t screw up Max’s life to tell him any of this,” Aaron said. “We need to find out who’s coordinating all of this, because it sure isn’t that guy, assuming he’s even still alive.”

“Remember how mad I was when I thought this was spy shit, Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“Now I wish it was just spy shit,” she said with a heavy exhale. “This is rich people shit. It’s a whole fucking nother level…”