The Harem on the Hill (Part LXVIII) (Patreon)

Nota Bene: I sincerely apologize for the absence of THOTH over the past two months.  It has been a very challenging time for me (some of which I'll explain in this month's State of the Patron report); however, most of my issues have been resolved and, though I'm not quite 100%, I'm much closer than I was a few weeks ago.  

To make it up to you here is an extra-long chapter with some plump and juicy choices at the end.  Enjoy!

"Your girlfriend is going away for a long time."  Mel Tucker, the precinct's portly police captain leans across his desk and points an itchy trigger finger in your direction.  "I don't care how much money or how many fancy-pants lawyers you have."

You try not to squirm in your seat.  Unlike the captain's comfy leather recliner, your wood visitors' chair is clearly designed to make its occupant as uncomfortable as possible. "Captain, if Tina is guilty of a crime then by all means she should do the time.  However, you still haven't clued me in as to what that might be.  All you've done so far is make threats."

"So, you have no idea why you're here?"

"Other than to bail my girlfriend out of jail?  No."

The captain pivots to young Officer Petty, who sits to his right.  "It appears our blue-blooded neighbor is just another innocent victim of Tina Jordan's criminal mastermind."

Petty, who has remained silent throughout the proceedings, lowers his head and chuckles.  "Should I enlighten him?"

The captain leans back in his chair and returns his steely gaze to you.  "Please."

Petty sets a laptop computer on the Captain's desk, opens it, and pivots it in your direction. Onscreen, there's a grainy image of a medium-sized sedan parked beside a wood fence and a trashcan.  A timestamp at the bottom of the scene reads, December 6th, 1:37:14 AM.

"This is the alley behind Bernadette Muncy's home," Petty explains.

You shrug.

The young officer presses a button on the keyboard and the screen flickers to life.  For several seconds, nothing happens apart from the dance of the timestamp's digits.  Just as Captain Tucker begins to look annoyed, a beam of light bounces off the steel trashcan and illuminates the sedan.  It's a beat-up Buick Lesabre.  Bernadette's car.

While Petty stares at the screen, Captain Tucker studies you.  Evidently, he's more interested in your reaction to the footage than in seeing it for himself.  He's probably seen it dozens of times already.

A figure dressed in black and holding a flashlight follows the beam onscreen.  The foreshortened perspective makes it difficult to gauge the person's size--the surveillance camera recording the scene seems to be mounted atop a telephone pole or nearby building--but as whoever-it-is shuffles beside the Buick you notice they're not much taller than its roof and are as round as the nearby trashcan.

Officer Petty quickly jabs the keyboard, freezing the screen just as the interloper lifts their pale moon face toward the camera.  Petty smiles, clearly proud of himself for performing a perfect pause.

"That's your girlfriend," Captain Tucker declares.  "That's Tina Jordan."

You lean forward and squint at the screen.  Then you lean back in your chair and shrug.  "So?"

It isn't the reaction the officers were anticipating.  Petty's smug smile disappears and Tucker's steely gaze goes from firm to flummoxed.  The portly chief clears his throat,  "Would you like to know how we know?"

"Not really.  I'm sure you're right."

"Then what's she doing sneaking around the back alley of a woman's home on the night they were abducted?"  Petty fires back.

"Who was abducted?" you ask.

"Bernadette Muncy!"

You laugh.  It isn't contagious.  Captain Tucker's face flushes crimson and his trigger finger twitches.  "What the fuck is so funny?"

"Bernadette Muncy isn't missing."

A vein in the captain's temple begins to pulsate.  "Then where is she?"

Before you can answer, a pleasingly plump woman in spectacles and a snug blue pantsuit strolls into the station.  She carries a large rectangular box emblemized Fred's Breads.

"Bringing you donuts," you say.

The lush librarian smiles as she approaches.  "I know you said to wait in the car, but they're still warm and I didn't want them to go cold."

"Just like your investigation.  Right, fellas?"  You take the box and present it before the dumbstruck officers.  Lifting the lid, you notice one of the glazed treats is missing.

"Sorry." Bernadette winces and bites her bottom lip.  "I couldn't help myself."

                                                                        ***

Less than an hour later, you, Tina, and Bernadette are headed home.  Fortunately, you were able to retrieve your Ford Explorer from the impound yard, as you doubt your passengers would have fit in the Ferrari Portofino you drove to the station.

"Ah-choo!"  Tina sniffles in the front seat as Bernadette cuddles a long-haired Himalayan cat in the back.  "Can we throw that fleabag out the window?"

"Don't talk about Mr. Wiggles that way!"  The voluminous librarian clutches her cat closer.  "Wherever did you find him?"

"That was Mr. Richmand's doing," you say.

Bernadette kisses the nonplussed puss on the head.  "Be sure to thank him."

You glance in the rearview mirror as your erstwhile attorney navigates your red convertible up the hill behind you.  His smile is as wide as his turns.  "I already have," you say.

Another violent sneeze shakes Tina's fleshy figure, causing the entire SUV to shimmy.  You smile.  Circumstances certainly have changed since her first sneezing fit in your vehicle.

Your smile lingers as you approach the gates of your property.  Not only did you just embarrass the local-yokel police, who had no clue how appealing a sedentary lifestyle full of feeding and fiction would be to an already reclusive bookworm (the retrieval of Bernadette's favorite feline was the only condition in exchange for her enthusiastic support of your unconventional relationship), but your harem and its occupants were growing fast.  Despite some unforeseen hiccups, you'd cultivated a broad assortment of broads ranging from plump and passive to fat and feisty.  The cherry on top was that traitorous bitch Anastasia, who you'd recently transformed into an amorphous lump of lard.

The growing tightness in your pants reminds you that it's been a while since you've fully enjoyed the ripening fruits of your labor.  It's time to remedy that situation.

Who do you pay a visit to?