Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Strictly Business	By : Nastyzak Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 4073 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fandom is Gravity Falls. I don't own it or the characters and don't get any money for my writing.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Strictly Business

1
Pacifica showed Dipper the closed-circuit TV surveillance board, which kept a 24/7 sweep of the gate and the whole perimeter of the cast-iron fence. “I wondered how you knew what I was driving,” he said. “Is this enough, though? I mean, with you rich and all, you might be a target.”
“Eventually I’ll have a gardener or a butler who doubles as a security man,” she said. “For right now, if I get a signal of an intruder anywhere along the fence line and I don’t disable the alarm, I get a warning to make it to the safe room. The county and state police automatically get immediate alert to send cars as soon as that room’s secure.”
She gave him a virtual tour, showing views from all around the estate. “There used to be a railroad there—see the cracked, weedy concrete square? That was the shelter where the family boarded or got off the train." Behind the house, a sort of squared-off low mound of earth: “That was where the barn used to be. The family kept a stable of horses. It’s all overgrown now, but there was a four-acre paddock back where the woods begin.” An odd small brick building on the left side of the house, Pacifica said, “was a well house. Sometime about eighty years ago they replaced the rope and bucket with an electric set-up. The pump still takes the house water from there. I had it tested. It’s treated before it’s pumped to the house, but it’s sterile and pure. With these monitors I can see anything odd going on outside. I’m not a dummy.”
“I never said you were,” he told her. “In fact, I always thought you were smart.”
“Yeah, a Valley girl stereotype with probably bleached-blonde hair,” she said, smiling.
“I take that all back,” Dipper said after a moment. “And I apologize. What Mabel and I thought we saw wasn’t the real you.”
“The real me is getting hungry,” she said. “It’s time to start dinner.”
“Order it?” he asked.
“Cook it,” she said. “Come on.”
After beginning the process by donning a pink apron, Pacifica took two petite steaks from the refrigerator where they had been marinating and asked, “Rare, medium, well-done?”
“You cook?” he asked, chuckling.
“I took classes,” she said. “Basic cooking, baking and pastry, meal planning, kitchen organization, wines and mixed drinks.”
“Is that what you majored in?” Dipper asked.
“No. My degree's in accountancy and business management. The cooking classes I took in the summer breaks.”
“With all your family’s money you learned to cook? Why?” Dipper asked, grinning.
Pacifica took the grin off his face. “Because I didn’t want to be my mother, the drunk who never lifted a finger.”
“Sorry.”
“Rare, medium, or well?” she asked again.
“Medium, I guess. That’s a little pink in the center, right?”
“Right. Me, too. Come and help.”
It wasn’t hard. The appliances did most of it. The roaster kept a continual gauge of the steak temperature. The air fryer had a setting for perfect steak-fry potato wedges. The salad was already mixed and just had to be plated. A pan of rolls had already risen and just had to be popped into the second oven for a few minutes.
“I’m impressed,” Dipper said. “This kitchen, all the controls—looks like the flight deck of an SST.”
“I like to cook, but I don’t like drudgery,” she said. Take the salads into the dining room. Oil and vinegar, French, bleu cheese, or honey-mustard dressing?”
“French is fine.”
“I’ll have that, too Do you drink wine?”
“Not very often.”
“I have a good wine, a 2015 Pinot Noir, if that means anything to you.”
“I know the name,” he said.
“All right, the wine glasses are on the middle shelf of the cabinet right behind you. The wine is in the rack beside the door.” She glanced over. “Top row, second from the left. Corkscrew is in the small drawer on the right side of the counter. Uncork the wine—be careful—and decant it. The decanter is on the table.”
Oh, so that’s what the crystal bottle that looked like a genie’s home was. Dipper successfully uncorked the wine and carefully poured it into the decanter. He left about a quarter-inch in the bottle because he could see a little sediment.
Pacifica called, “Everything’s ready. Lower cabinets where you got the wine glasses, get two plates and bring them to me.”
“I ought to charge you mileage,” he said.
She turned her back to him. “Untie my apron, please.”
“You in an apron,” he said, but he undid the bow, and she took the apron off and hung it on a hook inside a tall pantry door.
“All right,” she said, offering him his plate. “Let’s eat.”
They sat at a table big enough for eight, across from each other. The salad was crisp, the dressing tangy, the steak tender and flavorful, the potatoes crisp outside and creamy inside, and the wine—
“Do you like it?” Pacifica asked, looking at him over the rim of her glass.
Dipper sipped and considered. “I don’t know anything about wine,” he admitted. “But this is good.”
“It’s from a vineyard in the Willamette Valley,” Pacifica said. “I buy local as much as I can.”
“Mm. Uh, by any chance did you and Mabel have wine with lunch?”
“Yes,” Pacifica said. “Two bottles. Forgive me for asking, but I didn’t think that—I mean, does Mabel have a problem?”
Dipper shook his head. “Not really. When she tries something new, though, she forgets to use the brakes. It’s okay. This has been delicious.”
He helped her load the dishwasher when they finished—it was the size of a four-burner stove and had settings like “Sterilize” and “Rinse, Delay, Wash.”
“You’re a really good cook,” Dipper said.
She smiled. “Thanks, but the gadgets do most of it. I do enjoy not being waited on hand and foot, though. People think servants are so great, but it gets old. That’s why I’m trying to figure how to keep the staff at a minimum.” She stretched and looked through the front windows at the broad, tree-shaded lawn. “It’s way early—sun’s not down yet—but let’s take your suitcase upstairs and then go look at my problem room.”
She led the way up the stairs. Walking behind her, Dipper admired the fine play of her hips. On the landing, she said, “This way,” and led him down a hall. Doors opened off it to right and left—a total of six in all. “There’s a small library there, and a home office opposite it. Then a conversation room, TV room, en suite guest room, and—the problem. It’s the one straight ahead on the end.”
“En suite?” he asked.
“Bedroom with its own bathroom attached,” she explained “You can sleep there tonight—if you don’t mind being next door to the ghost. Leave your overnight bag here for now.”
“Let’s see how big the problem is.” Dipper set both hie suitcase and briefcase down in the hall and took out one of his great-uncle Stanford’s meters. Meanwhile Pacifica unlocked the door to the problem room—two locks, one a deadbolt.
“See if you can open it,” she said, stepping back from the door.
He took the antique bronze doorhandle in hand, hesitated, and then turned the handle and tugged the door. It stuck. He pulled harder, and the door groaned open on rusty hinges.
“It’s the original door,” Pacifica said. “Look how thick it is. Walls, too. There’s not even electricity in this room. On the floor just inside to the left, there’s a battery lantern.”
He spotted it, reached down and picked it up, and switched it on. The strong LED lights gave a blue illumination.
“Smells dusty,” Dipper said. “Wasn’t this place ever completed?”
“This is just the way we found it. I’ve wedged the door so it can’t swing shut. Let’s go inside. Brace yourself.”
Side by side they stepped in. Dipper caught his breath. “Is it always this cold?” he asked. The temperature had dropped fifteen degrees in one stride.
“Pretty much. The HVAC work was done, but this room always seems to be the same temperature.”
“Sixty degrees,” he said, looking at the meter. “That’s one sign of a haunting. Let me take some readings.”
It was about the most dismal room he had ever seen. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, were all of unpainted redwood. There was one window in the far wall—or a place where a window used to be. Now boards covered it, not nailed but screwed in, and two iron bars had been bolted crosswise over the boards. No cobwebs, but dust on everything, fine and brown. And . . . no furniture. A shapeless mass against one wall turned out to be an ancient, rotten mattress, dark gray and splotched with even darker stains. On the left, a closet area had been partitioned off. A doorway had hinges but no door, and the closet was just a continuation of the same dreary room. No shelves or hanging rods remained.
He wandered around the rest of the room for five minutes, studying the meter readouts, and then said, “Something’s definitely here. Let’s go talk.”
Pacifica shut the door—she had to force it a little, but when it did grind closed she locked the door, even the deadbolt—and said, “Your bedroom’s right here. Let’s take your stuff in.”
“Now, this one’s nice,” Dipper said. The twin windows looked out over the back lawn and the forest. He could see the foundations where the vanished barn had stood. A queen-sized bed, not fussy, took up about a third of the floor space. A colorful patchwork quilt covered it. To the left of the bed was a small desk made of walnut, with a comfortable-looking office chair. There was also an easy chair and a floor lamp in case he wanted to read. “No TV in this one,” Pacifica said, “but the Wi-Fi is strong, so you can use your tablet if you want. Password is—” she hesitated and blushed. Then she shrugged. “What the hell. Llamagirl69, first L is capitalized, rest lowercase and the last two numerals. Of course.”
“Llamagirl I understand,” Dipper said, smiling. “Uh—sixty-nine?”
She met his gaze. “None of your business, nerd boy!”
He had to laugh. “Come on. We’re veterans of Weirdmageddon!”
She chuckled, too, and sat on the bed. “Okay, truce, but I'm not about to explain the reason for the number. You want the chair, or you can sit beside me . . ?”
He sat next to her on the bed.
She said, “More comfortable if I get a couple extra pillows and we can lean back and rest our legs.”
“Sounds great,” he said.
She took two big poofy pillows from the closet—“There’s an extra blanket up here, too, if you need it”—and then they kicked off their shoes and reclined next to each other. “I’ve thought more than once about getting you in a bed,” she teased.
Dipper glanced at her and then gazed at the window, now darkening as twilight came on. “I’ve thought about you, too, but—you’re way out of my league.”
“That’s what they all say. All right. I’m going to tell you about the ghost. But—would you put your arm around me? I get goosebumps on this end of the hall, I swear to God.”
He did, and she leaned against him, and she smelled like champagne and roses. “Is there a story about the ghost?” he asked her.
For nearly a minute he didn’t think she was going to answer. But then she snuggled against him and started to tell him.

2
Lina spent the week fantasizing about the coming Friday night. Grandfather was strict and ordered her to spend almost all her time in her room, reflecting on her wickedness. Except for meals and time in the bathroom, she spent day and night in the bedroom, alone. Oh, back then the room was pleasant enough. The walls wore pale-blue paper printed with bouquets of roses, daisies, and violets.
The window looked out on the side yard, and when she parted the blue lace curtains and sat in a chair pulled up to it, she could see the well house and, far to the right, a corner of the barn. She could watch squirrels and woodpeckers, rabbits and sometimes old Ezekiel, the yard man, trimming the lawn. Once a week he would let the chickens out from their run, and they would mill about in a brown-feathery crowd, scratching and digging up grubs. In early morning or late afternoon, sometimes Lina saw timid deer browsing at the edge of the woods. The window entertained her, showing her bright days, quiet cloudy days, rainy days, and days sketched in lightning flashes.
Really, spending time alone did not bother Lina as much as her grandfather had intended. And just as he had commanded her, she did indeed reflect on her wickedness.
How could she help? Her wickedness had been so delicious. She vividly recalled her behavior in school. She and ninety-five other girls had taught each other so much. Much, much more than the teachers had ever done. There were four teachers, all women, all but Miss Montague old and stiff and stern and sour. She was in her twenties, with a full bosom but thin waist, and she had a lovely rosy complexion and auburn hair that she wore in a bun.
Miss Montague was pleasant, but quick to spot misbehavior. Sometimes she checked on rooms where girls lay sleeping. As for the girls, though prone to giggles, sometimes moans, and a few times to involuntary yells of pleasure, so far, none had been caught.
Well, except that once.
It was at a time after the period of communal self-fingering sessions. When that threatened to become boring, someone suggested, “Why don’t we do each other?”
So couples formed. Lina and Belinda, whom she didn’t much like because Belinda was too much in a hurry and began her stroking and probing too fast and too roughly, and Lina and Deirdre, who was much more tender and who, Lina was sure, fell deeply with love with her, and they varied with other pairings.
They did not think of themselves as followers of Sappho, or girls of Lesbos. True, some were, undoubtedly, girls who would marry only when their fathers forced them to accept some man’s proposal. And they would be cold in bed, and their husbands would be dissatisfied, but in most cases, the husbands would merely turn to other women for that kind of thing, and the wives might find pretty young girls who were willing to work as maids and to satisfy their mistress in more secret ways.
Most of them thought that in time they would outgrow this period of experimentation with other girls. It was the natural order of life, was it not? Find a man one could abide, accept his touches and his penetrations, hopefully learn to love him, and become a proper wife and eventually a mother. That was the way things were done.
At school, the girls often commiserated. “If only Papa had no say in my choosing a husband!” “If only we could marry a man solely for love!” “I don’t even want to be married, ever. I want to be decadent and wild and have a new lover every month and never be burdened with a child!”
And in the dormitories at night, one girl would silently creep into another’s bed and they would whisper fantasies until they became aroused and then would relieve the building tensions with fingers, at first, and as they grew bolder with lips and tongues. Each dormitory room held four beds. Lina remembered some nights when all four of the girls in hers sprawled on the floor, their gowns pulled well up above their breasts, when in the welcome dark hands could stray to pussies, lips could meet, and then the wonderful times when one girl lay reversed atop another mouth to pussy and p;ussy to mouth, and suck and nibble and lick until the delightful feeling came. And when they came off, they would trade partners with the other two girls in the room.
Sometimes a mischievous minx would bite Lina's buttock, hard enough to leave a pink crescent, and she thought of it as though she had been given a lover's brand. Once another girl slipped into their room with a long bottle that had a curious cap. It was a cordial bottle, quite thin, with a long, tapering neck. The stopper screwed on but was not a flat-topped thing. It was a round, smooth knob. “Do you know what this is for?” the girl, Nanona, whispered. None of them did, though Annabel guessed, “Dandelion wine?”
“No,” Nanona said. “It’s supposed to look like a bottle. But I'll show you what it’s for.”
They lit one candle. Nanona took off her gown and stood as if not even aware of her nudity. “We must all be very quiet,” she warned. “Someone, you, Deirdre, make my thing wet.”
Nanona stretched herself out on Lina’s bed, her legs widely spread, and Deirdre knelt and began to lick her. A buxom girl, not fat but ample, Nanona squirmed and sighed. Then she said, “That’s enough. Now—here’s what my keepsake is for!”
The other four girls clustered around as Nanona hooked her left elbow beneath her left leg and pulled it back so far that her toes pointed to the wall above her head. She braced her right heel on the mattress and opened herself as much as she possibly could. Then, grasping the bottle in her right hand, she rubbed the bulbous tip in her open slit until—Lina gasped at the sight—it popped inside her. “This is what it’s for. It’s a girl’s companion. Watch how deep it can go!”
It was amazing. She pumped in and out, faster and faster, until finally she tightened, clenched her teeth, and made an amazing high-pitched happy sound. “Ahh,” she said. “That must be very like what it feels like when a man fucks you! Who wants to try it?”
Two girls did, two hesitated. Lina wanted to, but didn’t dare to. The girls had told stories about maidenheads, those seals of womanly purity. If they were broken before a girl married, they said, the poor girl’s life would be ruined. There were many rumors.
Annabel had once whispered, “I heard that before a Catholic girl marries, the priest has to look inside her to make sure she’s pure.”
Deirdre scoffed at that. “No, it’s not the priest. A girl’s mama must do that, and if she does not have a maidenhead, she’s sure to be put away and never married.”
Belinda, more knowledgeable about such things, confided, “But they say if one rides ponies hard and fast enough, then it breaks of itself. I think every girl should ride ponies just to be on the safe side.”
Feeling aroused just from the conversation, Lina said, “I’ve heard that, um, penetration hurts dreadfully when it happens.”
Nanona quashed that. “It does hurt, but only for a little while. And then, oh, how good it feels when you’re free to explore your very depths!”
That night Belinda was bold enough to try. They carefully covered the bed with a towel, one that would not be missed. She lay on it and Nanona first got her nice and wet and then rubbed her slit with the bulbous stopper. Belinda made an even lewder display than Nanona had done, raising her legs and holding them with both hands as she pulled them back nearly to her sides.
Nanona poised the bottle and pressed. “Relax and make yourself loose,” she whispered.
“I’m trying.”
Nanona began to make a circle with the bottom of the bottle, pressing it inward at the same time. The other girls saw Belinda’s pussy spread slowly, and then it was as though the girl’s lower lips were sucking the tip in.
“Oh,” Deirdre said. “It looks so pretty! How does it feel?”
“Big,” Belinda gasped. “Bigger than it looks! But—I think I can—Ahhh!”
Her pussy accepted the disguised dildo, swallowing the bulb. For a few moments Nanona continued to twist it, to pump it lightly back and forward, and then with a little more pressure, it slipped all the way inside, the neck of the bottle gliding in for six inches at least.
Belinda yelped, and Lina clapped her palm over her friend’s mouth. Finally Belinda nodded. When Lina moved her hand, Belinda whispered, “It’s all right now. Am I bleeding?”
“Some,” Nanona said, holding the candle so she could see. “It always looks like more than it is. Now I’ll fuck you with it.”
“Be gentle.”
So slowly at first Nanona pumped the dildo in and out, until Belinda gasped and said, “Now it feels better. Oh, this is so different! I like this!”
And then she grunted, though not in pain, and she reached to take the dildo from Nanona’s hand and pumped herself, faster and faster, and she moved her hips, too, and finally she threw her head back and whisper-screamed, “Yes!”
“Beds!” someone hissed. They scrambled into their own beds, Nanona folding up the bloodstained towel before she slid beneath Lina’s bed, dragging her nightgown with her. In the nick of time Deidre blew out the candle.
A moment later the door opened. Someone stood there with her own candle, lifted high, peering in to the room. It was Miss Montague, who taught reading, elocution, and the pianoforte. She stood in silence, just gazing at the four beds, all occupied.
Lina, feeing bold raised up on her elbows. “Miss Montague?” she asked in a sleepy voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Shh,” the teacher said. “No. Just a room check. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
Lina lay back and Miss Montague quietly closed the door again.
The four girls were too bright to make any noise or leave their beds. And indeed, Miss Montague must have stood beside the door for a good half-minute, no doubt with ear pressed against the wood, listening. Then at last they heard her footsteps receding.
Still they lay quietly, until at least four minutes had ticked by.
With a grunt, Nanona wormed her way from under the bed and drew her nightgown on again. “Sshh,” she said in the dark.
Lina heard the door softly click. It opened without a creak. Then it closed again. “She’s gone,” Nanona whispered. “We’d better clean up and then I’ll take my dildo back to its hiding place in my room.”
“I want a turn,” Deirdre said.
“Not tonight. Later. We don’t want to get caught, do we?”
They lit their own candle. When she had yanked the covers over her, Belinda had pulled the folded towel so it covered her private area. They saw not spot of blood on the sheets, and Belinda carefully cleaned herself with a corner of the bloodstained towel. “What will we do with this?” she asked.
Lina said, “I will wrap it in paper and throw it in the incinerator when we go to breakfast tomorrow morning. People will think it’s just rubbish.”
“What will we do,” fretted Annabel, “if Miss Montague catches us?”
“We just have to not be caught,” Belinda said.
Deidre said slowly, “I think there is a better way. She is always the one who inspects the rooms. But she’d never report us if she’d done something that make them discharge her.”
“What do you mean?” Lina asked.
“Well,” Deidre replied, “I’ve seen the way she casts secret looks at us. She's never once spoken of having a beau. I think we could do anything we want if only—and we need to think how to do it—if only we can seduce her.”
"One of us and her?" Lina asked.
"Why not all of us and her?" Belinda whispered.
That made Lina's heart beat faster.
She still remembered that a year after having graduated. Remembered that night and remembered what followed. So deliciously frightening at first, and then, so naughty and so fulfilling . . ..
In her own way, Lina was an obedient girl. During the punishment week that, on her grandfather’s orders, Lina was practically a prisoner in her own room, she did exactly what he had told her.
She thought back and reflected on her own wickedness.
And as often as not, thinking about the girls and their fingers and lips and tongues and all the rest inflamed her, and she sat in her chair with her heels up on the windowsill and fingered her pussy until she came and came again.
Every time she did, she thought of Eddie’s visit, due on the next Friday night.
She would see him in deep twilight, out there by the well. He would look up at her window, the only lighted one on the second floor. She would go to him and secretly they would steal up the side stairway and to her room, to her bed, and then . . ..
Oh, how could she wait?
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Strictly Business