A Mermaid Christmas

"Dolphins," Rachel whispered into Sarah's ear, their hands sore from the non-stop clapping, Bezerg had always proclaimed his deep admiration of the animals, "no... wait, mermaids!"

Sarah gasped, as did much of the audience, as the view focused on a school of a half dozen shapes, their bright primary colored tails moved languidly through the water. The naked skin of their upper bodies showed the full range of human hues from pale through black as they swam through water penetrated by the rays of a bright sun. Unlike many pop culture portrayals their large, round breasts weren't in clamshell or other bikini tops but artfully obscured by the floating tresses of their long hair.

Both women gasped as the video's view gave just a glance of each mermaid's face.

"Was that...," Sarah said, her face a mask of confusion as the crowd cheered as the video went dark. She and Rachel jumped as they were suddenly lit from a spotlight, another picked out two women in the front row of the second tier and a third another pair in the first row of the next tier.

As the crowd murmured attention was drawn back to the stage where a man strode confidently onto the stage. It was their ultimate boss, Melon Bezerg, in his usual tailored casual look, his hair as always cut in a basic but careful style.

"Rachel, Sarah," he simply said as he looked at them, "please stand."

The two women were too shocked to do anything but obey.

"Yu Yan, Anaya," he continued as he gazed on more distant targets, "Brigitte, Akeyo, please stand as well."

Sarah and Rachel stood and turned and saw two other pairs of spotlit women, presumably the others just named by Bezerg. From the distance the other's expressions were as confused as theirs.

"I hope," Bezerg said in a confident manner, "that a few of my newest employees will allow me just this moment of license that I took with their lovely images. Please, everyone, give them a round of applause and welcome them to Bezerg Industries."

The man on the stage smiled and stood quietly as the crowd followed his instructions, then the lights on each pair of women faded and he nodded to them and they sat as the applause slowly stopped.

"If only we really had tits like those," Rachel whispered to her friend, they got slight side-eyed looks from both sides as their laughter was a bit too loud in the sudden silence. They both smiled their apologies.

"I hope the rest of you," Bezerg used his most sincere tone, "don't mind my special welcome to these ladies."

A round of soft laughter and some applause.

"But please, remember, all of you here are now part of the family of Bezerg Industries all around the world. Some of you," he waved his hand at the black-badged section down front, "will be here in LA at HQ. But all of you, no matter where you'll be in the world, will be just as close to my heart as they are."

Another round of applause. He used his hands in a palm down gesture and the audience quickly went quiet.

"Now, I'll bring out Margaret and we'll tell you everything you need to know."

The crowd murmured as a woman a only slightly shorter than Bezerg in her heels strode onto the stage. Margaret Timmons was fiftyish, a few years if not quite a decade older than him, her very light brown hair streaked with grey and cut into a stylish if slightly long bob, her figure slender but with a clear hourglass shape in her fitted dress that ended just above the knees of her clearly toned legs. She'd been an enigmatic presence through Bezerg's rise to worldwide prominence, his forceful, outgoing personality the face and voice behind the "MU". She'd rarely been interviewed and almost never spoke in public settings but he'd often alluded that it was her skills that kept him, and Bezerg Industries, on track.

Bezerg was a well-known bachelor with an unending string of beautiful and even famous women making themselves available to him, but he'd never seemed to have much interest beyond tactical or temporary relationships, usually when there was a need to be seen on a red carpet with an attractive companion. But of Margaret Timmons? No one had the least clue beyond the fact that despite their long association not even a rumor ever emerged of any relationship between the pair. Bezerg's companies were almost all public, so officers and executives had to be named and were quite inclusive of women and racial minorities. But Margaret Timmons was never identified beyond 'personal advisor to Melon Bezerg' and even the most diligent searchers had found little in an age of almost universal surveillance.

"Thank you, Melon," her voice a smooth contralto, no sign of hesitancy or shyness as might be expected of someone seemingly so reclusive, "let's do this."

First Week

"Lick it," Rachel moaned as she pushed on the light yellow haired head that bobbed between her widely spread legs, "oh, ah, yeah... right... there!"

She closed her eyes and pressed her head back deeper into the pillow, her all but black hair in complete contrast to the ethereal white of the sheets and case as they absorbed plentiful sweat. She felt fingers push into her wet pussy, fluid pushed out and flowed down her thighs and ass cheeks. An arm snaked under her taut left thigh as that leg rose to a ninety degree angle, her knee bent and her bare foot pointed. The hand traced along her sweaty abdomen before it found the very erect nipple of her small left breast and softly tweaked it between thumb and forefinger.

She squeezed her glutes and slowly rotated her hips against the tongue and lips that wrapped her excited clit. The fingers slid along the inner folds of her pussy lips before they found the hard bubble of flesh inside the top of her slit, pressed out as the mouth pushed down and lips wrapped the erect flesh tightly. A third finger joined the first two to open her body as the tongue worked its way downward and like the finger pushed as deeply into her body as it could reach.

The fingers pushed downward and the third, now well lubricated, slid along flesh until it convinced the guardian of the second passage to grant entry and as it entered Rachel pushed her body against the hand to press all of the fingers to their full depths. She shifted her body until the mouth found her clit again and the fingers pumped in and out of her body. Her right hand guided the head with taps and touches. Her left slid along her lover's other set of fingers to work her left nipple and coax it even more erect. That done the hand moved to work her other nipple into the same state.

"Oh... ah...," she moaned and arched her back slightly, "aaahhh... fuck!!!'

She jerked her hips hard against the face between her legs as her pussy gushed a burst of liquid before it clamped down on the fingers, her ass held its finger captive. Her lover's mouth sucked at the juices and breathed heavily. Rachel's back arched and held like that for three, then five seconds before she slowly lowered herself onto the bed. She put her thighs together to bring the head's movement to a stop as lips softly kissed her suddenly oversensitive clit. She wrapped the fingers and pulled the hand away from her nipple, squeezed and then released it and it unwound itself. The fingers of the other hand slowly left her body.

Her lover's head rose slowly as Rachel released a long, slow exhale before she lowered her leg and used her toned abs to sit up as her hands went to her lover's face below the head's thatch of yellow hair. She pulled it in and tasted the tang of her own juices as two sets of lips and tongues met and pressed against each other. She kept her eyes closed and pressed her hand down the center of a sweaty torso as they continued to kiss. She felt solid abs before she encountered closely trimmed pubic hair then found her target.

Metal pipe wrapped in flesh. A bulbous head at the end that pulsed as she traced a path around it. Her lover's breath puffed as she slowly stroked the impressive length and solidity of the cock. Her mouth smiled as she kissed the owner of this flesh that would soon be buried inside of her. She didn't break the kiss and shifted her legs and knelt as did the man. She released the cock and moved her hand to his shoulders, broke the kiss, smiled at his confused look and twisted. He read the move, smiled back and allowed her to direct him onto his back, his cock quivered.

She quickly straddled him as he cupped both of her pert breasts, she rubbed the large head of his cock the length of her slit twice before she adjusted its position. She caught her tongue in the corner of her mouth to allow the tip to protrude before her mouth opened as she pushed the cock slowly into her body. The man moaned. She purred as her ass met his thighs and that great head nestled against firm flesh deep inside of her cunt.

"Oh, fuck," her only coherent thought as her muscles flexed and her body slowly rose, "I hope this thing lasts a long, long, time..."

Morning sun filtered into the apartment's kitchen through partially open blinds as Sarah sat at the new flatpack dining table and chair set. She wore a short, closed robe and slippers, her legs bare, her hair corralled with a quick comb run. She scrolled through various social and news feeds on her tablet as she sipped her coffee and cast guarded glances at Rachel's closed bedroom door. Their apartment was one of many newly refurbished units in repurposed warehouses between the former Skid Row and the Fashion District as downtown Los Angeles was remade once again. Although more expensive than they'd have preferred it was within brisk walking distance of their offices and freed them from a heavy daily commute. That their building had a well equipped gym and pool and the area was rife with cafes and restaurants of every known cuisine, with new ones invented weekly, pubs, coffee shops, boutiques and everything else they needed made it perfect.

Even with almost every building changing nature by the week, one constant remained in the area, Coles French Dip Sandwiches, over a century old and one of the claimants to having invented the French dip. It still had the hidden speakeasy through the unmarked door. Rachel and Sarah had fought their way in one night and swore that they'd seen not only two or three Hollywood stars but one woman Rachel recognised as the star of her favorite series of porn videos. The porn starlet had taken her 'stage' name from a cartoon character and had a posse of friends and it was apparently her birthday. Only Sarah's strident objection had prevented Rachel asking for an autograph but she had taken a stealthy selfie with the starlet in the background.

Despite its age and lack of pretence, Coles was apparently still 'it.'

With that, Rachel had also not been shy that selections of a more, um, intimate and personal nature were not lacking in the area.

The two women had been fast friends since they'd met early in their first semester at law school but they'd never lived together. Sarah knew Rachel was much... more... outgoing than she was. She quickly looked down as the bedroom door opened, pretended she'd been engrossed in her tablet before she looked back up.

"Hey," Sarah looked up and said lightly, "g'morning."

"Morning, beautiful," Rachel's hair was wild, clearly untouched, her expression was one of deep satisfaction, her robe not quite closed, "you're looking chipper."

"You're looking..."

"Well-fucked as hell," Rachel laughed, Sarah's expression passed from shock to amusement as quickly as she could push it there.

"Um...," Sarah paused, looked slightly around Rachel.

"Oh, Adam," Rachel laughed gaily, as she stepped to the counter and quickly poured herself a mug of coffee, sat at Sarah's right at the table, "he fulfilled his obligations. Turfed him out hours ago. So many changes last few weeks, I just needed to push the pedal down and blow out some carbon."

Sarah's face scrunched in confusion, she mouthed 'carbon...?'

"Ye children of the electric age," Rachel laughed, "internal combustion engines—"

"We're the same age," Sarah interjected.

"Sure. Now, as I was saying, internal combustion engines, my dad says 'sometimes you just have to get it out on the open road and mash the accelerator pedal to the floor and blow out the carbon!'"

"Oh, right, he pays the fees and taxes to still have one of those. What's he going to do when they don't make gasoline any more?"

"We make gasoline," Rachel said to Sarah's new squint, "well, one of Bezerg's companies. But they don't make if from dead dinosaurs now, have some sort of algae that spits it out. If it wasn't for the carbon, we'd be fine with 'real' engines in our cars."

"And," Rachel continued, "I'm going to keep that Adam's contacts around. You should give his cock a ride, you could blow a bit of carbon out... And now we can buy the test kits at employee discount! Woo hoo!"

"I still have that half dozen gift pack you gave me for Christmas," Sarah shook her head, "I should give them back to you..."

Bezerg Pharmaceutical's 'Instant STI' test kit. You and your intended poked a finger in each end and with a slight prick and sixty seconds you knew if you were free for flesh on flesh contact and fluid exchanges if that was in your minds. Then it internally incinerated all traces and could be tossed in any recycling collection. Religious and conservative authorities had railed about 'encouragement of promiscuity!' But arguments for safety and health and changing mores had won the day.

"No," Rachel said firmly, "you use them! C'mon. You have to be a bit careful to find someone not a direct employee of Bezerg, but this is Los freakin' Angeles, plenty of fish out there. I found that Adam last night, the apps are really good now. Get a bit of show biz into you, eh?"

"Stop! I like boys... men...," Sarah shook her head, "it's just, I, like, relationships."

"You mean, Relationships," Rachel's pronunciation put hard rolling emphasis on the 'R,' "like that guy first year of law school?"

"Yeah, Victor," Sarah's voice wistful, "but, well, he bailed out of school... Anyway, enough! We just finished our first week of work..."

"And we met, in person," said Rachel, "with Margaret Timmons. Thee... Margaret... Timmons! And I swear she told you to shorten up your skirts."

"No, she told you that...," Sarah said, "Well, she'd know. I hope I look that good when I'm 50!"

"I hope I look that good tomorrow," Rachel laughed, "anyway, good thing we haven't bought all of our new clothes yet. She said 'Bezerg has his eyes on us,' but she kinda winked..."

"Made it sound like he has his eyes on everyone," Sarah mused, "who knows. Anyway, if every week is like this week, we're gonna die."

She put her hand on the tall pile of books at the far corner of the table.

"We're not going to actually read those, right?"

"Of course not," Sarah said as she held her tablet up, "everything we need for the Bar Exam is all on here. Those are just to remind us what we have in front of us."

"Good thing they gave us these last two months since graduation," Rachel nodded, "those signing bonuses were great, 'spend the time travelling and with your families, come to us in July fresh and rested because after that you will be all ours!' And like you said, when I saw what they already had on my calendar before I'd ever logged on..."

"At least they're including our bar exam prep as work time. Anyway, enough," she unfolded a printed brochure, "Griffith Park has over 50 miles of trails. We're going to take the Red Line up to Hollywood and Western, then we can run all the way up to the big sign on the mountain!"

Sarah pulled her phone out of her bicep holster and took a selfie with hers and Rachel's heads next to each other, the white letters H O L L Y W included above and behind them. Their hair was in ponytails and they had on running bras and shorts. A few other runners and walkers likewise stared up at the sign or took selfies and a few turned their backs on it to gaze over the vast basin filled from ocean to mountains with all manner of humanity's ceaseless efforts.

And a ridiculous percentage of it was owned by Melon Bezerg or one of his companies.

Rachel looked to the west, beyond the giant white letters.

"Isn't Bezerg's mansion somewhere that way?" Rachel asked.

"Way, way that way," Sarah said, "past that gulch where the freeway goes, way up above Beverly Hills. He's supposed to move in this fall, it'll finally be finished."

"Think we'll get invited," Rachel's voice light but Sarah heard the earnest tone too, "to the house warming?"

"Shit, girl," Sarah chuckled, "we're junior lawyers to the junior lawyers, hell, not even lawyers 'til we pass the bar!"

"We'll live in hope... Hey," Rachel said as she lowered her water bottle, Sarah took a long swallow as she nodded at her friend, "remember that day we got the emails for interviewing?"

Sarah smiled. Rachel had been unusually early at the trailhead that cool morning. She'd had trouble sleeping and had even fumble-fingered tying her running shoes. What was she, four years old again? Her black ponytail shook as she composed herself with some slow-breathing exercises. She'd just closed her eyes and lifted her left ankle in a triangle stretch when she heard footfalls.

"Rachel," Sarah's blonde ponytail, except for the color an exact match for Rachel's, shook and her face was flushed, "you're early!"

"Well, girl," Rachel opened her eyes but kept her pose, "you're one to speak. Never known you to get out of bed one minute earlier than necessary."

"Like you're the early worm," Sarah's voice went quiet, "I had trouble sleeping..."

Her voice trailed off.

"Me too," Rachel said, she put her leg down to get her balance, she saw slight twitches in Sarah's jaw muscles, "ok. Out with it. You first!"

Running was their normal morning routine. When they'd started Law School they'd both joined various running clubs. After a few weeks they'd found that no one, not one, of their fellow students had any hope of keeping up with the tall black and blonde haired beauties on a trail or the track.

If they wanted a challenge on the trails, or in the classroom, they were the only two that could keep up with the other.

But this morning was obviously unique.

"I got an email," Sarah said, "I got invited to interview with Melon Bezerg's comp—"

"WHAT?" Rachel screamed, Sarah stopped, open mouthed.

Rachel's hands grabbed Sarah's, her mouth worked but couldn't quite manage words.

"Shit," Sarah said with as broad a smile as Rachel had ever seen, "you did too."

Rachel's head nodded up and down almost violently, she knew her smile had to be as broad as Sarah's before Sarah pulled her into a tight embrace.

They held that for ten, fifteen seconds before they released and held each other by the shoulders.

Rachel was the first to speak.

"They want you to go to LA?"

"Yes, first week of April..."

Rachel's smile renewed itself before she managed to speak.

"We're going to Los bloody Angeles!"

"We're LIVING in Los bloody Angeles," Sarah amended the end of the story, they both laughed. She pulled up the map on her phone and they oriented themselves, agreed on the trail down and set off at as fast a pace as they could maintain on the uneven dirt and gravel trails down the mountainside.

The Mountain

The tale was well known. Three years earlier a developer was in his office in downtown LA, his expression grim, as he studied his most recent account balances. His plans for the largest piece of undeveloped property in greater Los Angeles appeared to be in tatters. Not only bankruptcy but years of legal fights loomed when a tall young man, not yet thirty, but in a perfectly tailored grey suit had entered his office. He'd put down a cashier's check for one and a half million dollars.