The Dormonds had been friends of my family for nearly a decade. We lived in the same neighborhood, we moved in the same social circles, and we were frequent guests at each other's home.

Maggie Dormand, mother of two, was an ambitious corporate lawyer, in great shape, and a seriously hot little bitch. She was always very pleasant with my wife and me, and was quite a charming hostess, but I also knew her to be a stern, impatient and seemingly unsympathetic parent to her daughters. I had often fantasized about fucking her, but she had never indicated the slightest interest in return, through flirtatious word or deed.

Jennifer Dormand, her eldest daughter, was a seventh grader at St. Andrew's Episcopal, and a good friend of my own daughter Cheryl, her classmate. A late bloomer, her menarche had only set in a few months ago, according to the file in my hand and my own professional memory. The loose white blouse of her uniform completely obscured her tiny breasts, and her pleated blue plaid skirt swung easily around her slim, boyish hips.

"Thanks, Greg, for fitting us into your schedule. The nurse at the school had me called out of a very important meeting for this, so I assumed it was pretty serious." The last phrase was punctuated with a pointed glance at her daughter, who nervously looked away.

"Not a problem, Maggie. I'm always available to you and your family, and as you say, it sounds important. What seems to be the trouble today?"

"You're too kind, Greg -- I know that you're as busy as I am. My goodness, I know you normally close the office at noon on Wednesdays! Your entire staff has already left, so I really appreciate your keeping the office open for us. Jenny, don't waste his time -- tell Dr. Fenton what's the matter."

"Um, well, at first my stomach really hurt. It was bothering me in English class, so I went to the nurse's office, and then I felt really sick, like I had to throw up. And I felt dizzy, too. So they called Mom. But I think I just need to go home and lay down for a while; I really don't feel THAT sick, Dr. Fenton."

"You'd better be sick, young lady!" her mother interjected. "They hauled me out of a merger conference, one that I arranged. Simmons is still at the meeting, taking all the credit. If you're not really sick, I need to get back there right now, and I'll deal with you later!"

"No, I still feel sick, Mom. Really sick. I just don't want to waste Dr. Fenton's time. Or your time, Mom."

At this point, I had the situation completely sized up. Jenny probably had a math test or something this afternoon, and had hoped to dodge it by playing sick. Where she had miscalculated was in expecting the school nurse to call her indulgent, henpecked father, rather than her domineering and severe mother.

I could expose her, for which she would face certain, and perhaps excessive, punishment. Or I could try to salvage something from the situation by preventing a ballistic episode on the part of Maggie Dormand. I knew from my association with the family, and second-hand from my daughter Cheryl, that when crossed, Maggie meted out harsh discipline for relatively minor infractions. On one occasion, if I recalled correctly, Jenny and her younger sister had been grounded for three months for letting a pot boil over on the stove.

I really am a pretty compassionate guy, and knowing, as I did, that malingering was a common, and hardly sinister, tactic of young girls, I would have tried to do something to soften the consequences in any case. However, there was something else about this particular situation that had my mind working in overdrive -- something more that I'm afraid I must disclose.....(cont)