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Message-ID: <27637asstr$975510602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Last Two Days (MFM oral anal) {Kellis}
Date: Wed, 29 Nov 2000 10:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


The Last Two Days
a Short Story by Kellis
November, 2000



"Did Sarah's frankness intrigue you?"

He arched an eyebrow at her.  She could see him hesitate over a
stab at irony, then decide against it.  He smiled disarmingly.
"Yes, I guess it did, a little.  Why do you ask?"

"Isn't that why you followed me into these trees?"

He chuckled.  "Mary, we're looking for the Jameson kid,
remember?"

She tossed her head but her eyes twinkled.  "Clay, how can anyone
so fit as you be hard of hearing?"

"You think I should've heard Hardin's shout that they found him?"

"Exactly."

They were standing under a huge oak, mostly screened from the
other picnickers by a hedge of red tips.  Her long brown hair was
held away from her neck by a pony tail secured in a gold clasp.
Brown eyes sparkled above a nose glowing with perspiration.  She
wore a tube top and short culottes of the same pattern and
material, with white sneakers.  Face, bare arms, belly and legs
were lightly tanned.  She was rubenesque with more than enough
flesh to fill out and support the tube top.  A large diamond
glittered beside the wedding band on her left hand.  Despite that,
he thought she was easily the most attractive woman on the field
today.

He smiled down at her.  "Maybe you're right.  I was watching you
listen to Sarah, particularly when she talked about the kneeling
grocery boy."

"She didn't know you were standing behind her.  What did you
see?"

"Your face.  Your lips.  Your tongue licking your lips."

"Only that?  And it gave you an idea?"

"It gave me a _hope_."

She took a deep breath.  "Are you married, Clay?"

"Yes."

"I don't recall meeting your wife.  Is she here?"

"She's in London.  I don't think she's coming back."

"English, is she?"

"No.  She's an assistant editor for Reuters.  Loves her job,
applying the American idiom, don't you know.  I met your husband.
What does he do?"

"Work."

"For whom?"

"That doesn't matter.  Work is all he does.  So let me
understand.  When Sarah told of that boy eating her out, you saw
something in my expression that made you think I wanted it, too.
Is that about right?"

His eyebrow arched again.  "Sarah's not the only frank lady here
this afternoon!  You'll laugh, but what I thought I saw was
envy."

"'Envy,'" she repeated with a shiver.

He studied her.  "What's the matter?"

She stared back.  "I didn't realize it myself.  That's exactly
right.  Just now I do envy Sarah her kitchen adventure.  In two
days I'll shrug in disgust, but just now ...  It's all a matter
of timing, you see."

He cocked his head.  "Your period?"

"Right.  I'm a two day firecracker, Clay."

"Are you?"

She was leaning against the tree trunk.  He stood between her and
the voices of the picnickers.  Eyes locked with hers, his right
hand rose deliberately, fingers sliding under the bottom elastic
of the tube top blouse.  He cupped her soft breast, feeling the
nipple harden in his palm.  The areole grew lumpy.

She took another deep breath.  "Oh, god, Clay!  If I told you to
stop, would you?"

As he answered his left hand slipped under the cloth over her
other breast.  "Of course I would.  But you won't say it, will
you!  How daring are you, Mary?"

She gasped but responded articulately.  "I don't think a man
could imagine how it feels.  It starts like a fever, then the
hormones converge in your privates.  It's awfully hard to care
about anything else."  Deftly her hands unzipped his fly, found
the overlap in his shorts and invaded him as he had done her,
also with both hands, one to grasp his erection, the other to cup
his testicles.

Her eyes glittered.  "How nice!  A long one has so many uses."
She brought him out through the folds of cloth while her other
hand pulled up one leg of the culottes.  She flushed slightly but
not from embarrassment.  "How daring are _you_?" she demanded,
eyes wide and shining.

He pressed himself against her.  She clawed her clothing aside
with one hand while the other guided him perfectly.  She raised
her pelvis as he stooped.  She was so wet that her labia felt
cold even to the heat-insensitive glans.  He penetrated her
easily.  Their hips synchronized immediately into long, slow
thrusts and partial withdrawals.

"My god, Clay," she murmured into his neck, "I believe you're
fucking me!"

"No, I'm not.  I'm fishing a gnat from your eye."

She laughed.  "Going around my elbow to get it, are you?"

"Such soft elbows, too!"  He squeezed both her breasts.

"Damn these clothes!" she muttered aggrievedly.  "I want you all
over me."

"I'll play grocery boy for you, Mary, but not here."

"Let's go deeper into --"

A man's distant voice penetrated clearly.  "Mary?  Mary
Schofield!"

"Oh, shit!" she whispered in disgust.  "It's Arthur."

Quickly he stepped back, restoring himself with difficulty to his
britches.  In contrast, two hand sweeps smoothed away all visible
evidence of her dalliance.

He directed, "You go out the way we came.  I'll swing around to
the other side."

"Clay ..."

"No, no.  Go on!"

He turned away through the underbrush.  She sighed and raised her
voice, "Here I am, Arthur.  Did they find the kid?"



	*  *  *  *



For a moment they were alone over the deviled eggs.  Turned
sideways to her, looking off at children throwing frisbees, he
asked around his yellow mouthful, "Can you come to my place
tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow, Clay."

"But the ... the next day, you said --"

"Tonight, Clay!"

"Oh.  Okay!  Can you call a taxi?"

"I've got a better idea.  Pick me up behind the Wilfred Steak
House.  At eight o'clock."

"At eight?  Why don't I have dinner there, too?"

"Go ahead, but you won't see me.  _Behind_ it, Clay!  Get there a
minute before me.  I want you sitting beside the back door when I
step out.  What do you drive?"

"A blue Caddy.  At eight, then.  Or seven fifty-nine."

She smiled off to his right.  He turned to see Sarah reaching for
an egg.  "Mary, are these as good as _my_ recipe?"



	*  *  *  *



In fact she was 25 seconds early according to his wristwatch, set
by the car radio.  He leaned across the seat and pushed
the passenger door open.  She came directly from the restaurant's
barred rear door, almost leaping into the car, slamming its door
behind her, sagging into the seat with her head against his side.
She was carrying a large leather purse on a shoulder strap.  It
thumped into the floorboards in front of her.  "Go," she
commanded.  "Go!"

He caused the powerful machine to surge ahead, twisting expertly
past parked cars and onto the street.  She remained low, one hand
clutching his knee, until they had mixed with the evening
traffic.  He advised, "You can get up now.  Who's after you, by
the way?"

"Nobody, I hope, but you can never tell about that when you're
being wicked."  She raised up cautiously, looked up and down the
street then settled back with a sigh.

"Nice dress," he said admiringly.  "Are you being wicked?"

"Thank you.  Going off with a strange man?  Don't you call that
wicked?"

He grinned.  "If it was some other man."

 From the corner of his eye he saw her watching him.  She
continued in the same vein, "Going to _his_ place and taking your
clothes off.  Is that wicked?"

"Hey, we were all born without clothes."

"And letting him stick his tongue in you.  What about that?"

"Maybe.  Some say I have a long tongue, too."  He thrust out the
organ, touching it to the tip of his chin, knowing that she could
see the action clearly in profile, lit by the oncoming
headlights.

He heard her take a breath.  She immediately crossed her legs.
"And playing with his long dick, letting him put it anywhere he
wants so long as he wants it a lot.  Now if that's not wicked, I
don't know wicked!"

He chuckled.  "Did you ever live in Boston?"

"Boston?"

"The girls there speak of a 'wicked smooth martini' or a 'wicked
good movie.'"

She chuckled, too.  "That's right.  I mean a wicked long fuck."

"Just one?"

"Huh!  You're in better shape than that."

He laughed.  "How many, then?"

She shrugged.  "As many as you can do in two days."

"Your car will be all right in Wilfred's lot?"

"It's not in Wilfred's.  Arthur's office is next door.  It's
sitting in his reserved space."

"What will Arthur say about that?  Hell, what'll he say about you
being gone for two days?"

"Nothing.  He should be airborne for L.A. by now.  He won't be
back till Wednesday."

"You sure he went to the airport?"

"I'm sure.  He likes me to drop him off, saves all the parking
hassle.  Where are you taking me?"

"To my place."

She grunted.  "You sure your wife means to stay in London?"

"Says she's coming back for Thanksgiving.  I'll believe it when I
see it."

"Then the coast is clear for us."

"The coast is clear."

She hitched herself against his side.  Her hands went to his lap,
opened his fly and fished out his manhood.  "Needs work," she
observed, proceeding to work it gently.

"You have a nice touch," he noted.

"This is a nice fellow.  _Now_ he's taking an interest!  I'm
going to learn all there is to know about this boy."

He wiggled his hips restlessly.  "You know, if I let this seat
back ..."

"Try it," she suggested.

He touched one of the buttons on the door panel.  An electric
motor whined and the seat slipped backward several inches.
"That's enough room," he observed.

"You can still reach the pedals?"

"Not as comfortably, but, yes.  Don't give them a thought."

"Clay, we're going 50.  You mean you'll actually let me suck
while you're driving?"

"Well, of course!  Why not?"

"Tried it once with Arthur.  Made me quit.  Said it was too
dangerous."

He grinned around at her.  "I'll bet he thinks kissing is too
dangerous, too."

"Kissing?"

She raised up slightly, lips pressing his cheek.  He dropped his
right hand between them, wormed it under her arm and around her
back, closed it on the back of her head and forced her face in
front of his, tilted sideways.  He kissed her lips, watching the
road over the curve of her cheek.  Her arm went around his neck
and her mouth opened immediately for his tongue.  Her free hand
continued to pump him gently.  He tasted mint.

The traffic was lighter now that they had left the thoroughfare,
so he was able to give her more attention.  He felt her throat
constrict but she allowed his tongue to probe the back of it.
When he withdrew, her tongue followed his, exploring his mouth as
he had done hers.  It was a long-lasting kiss that would have
endured even longer if, reaching his residence, he had not
required both hands to maneuver through the parking lot.

"Where are we?" she asked, backing away and looking around.

"That's my apartment house."

"Oh, well.  Probably for the best."

"What's the matter?"

"You might've wrecked the car."

"Huh?  Oh."  He grinned.  "You really thought of that?"

"I thought of it.  Made the idea more exciting."

"You're one of those, are you?"

"One of those what?  Dick suckers?"

He grunted.  "You can't prove that by me!  No.  I meant the
people who think danger makes sex more fun, like bungee jumpers
or skydivers who jump with it in."

"'Jump with it in?'  Good god!"

He chuckled.  "You like that idea?"

"Not bungee jumping.  Nobody's _that_ fast!  But skydiving ...
Do you really know anybody who's done it?"

"Oh, yeah.  I knew one California couple who got so carried away
they forgot to pull their rip cords."

"My god!  I wonder ...  Do you know if they ..."

"They what?"

"This sounds terrible, but I'm _so_ curious!  Did they find semen
in her vagina?"

"That was California.  I think they found some in _his_ ass."

"_What_?  Oh, you!"  She sniffed.  "Are you going to park this
thing?"

"My cock's still hanging out.  What say we tool it back out on
the highway?"

Her answer to his whimsy was to thrust her buttocks toward the
passenger door and drop her head between his belly and the
steering wheel.  Her lips slid surprisingly far down his length.

"Mary, I was only kidding."

Her shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug.  Her head began to
bob, producing slurps audible above the idling engine.  He shook
his head, wheeled the vehicle into a parking space and killed the
ignition.

He let her proceed briefly before remarking, "That's really good,
my dear, but remember how you envied Sarah."

The head ceased to bob.

"Let's go where we can both do it.  You can even get on my
kitchen table, if you liked Sarah's style."

She raised her head.  "You got any butter?"

"Butter?  Well, margarine."

"That'll do.  I'll show you something on your kitchen table if
you're up to it, and, pal, I mean to see that you stay up."

He waived her ahead of him up the long flight of brick stairs to
the entrance.  "May I carry your bag?"

"Sure.  It's heavy."

He took it from her and followed close behind her up the steps.
"That's a slinky dress," he told her.

She grinned over her shoulder.  "I'd have to pull it up to run.
You'd like that."

He slipped a hand between her alternating thighs and raised it
into wet, hairy heat.  "God!  I see what you mean.  Do you always
go out without panties?"

"Only when I expect to get fucked."

"Is sex the only thing on your mind?"

"Now you're getting the idea."

She sniffed when she saw the cluttered living room of his
apartment.  "It's easy to see your wife has been gone awhile."

"About three months.  Bedrooms are to the right, kitchen to the
left."

She paused at the first bedroom door.  "Who made the bed?"

"That's my guest room.  Come on."

In the larger room she grinned around.  "What a mess!  That's
more like it.  We can truly be comfortable in here."  She went to
the closed side of the closet and threw back the sliding door,
exposing a nearly empty rack.  The few hanging articles were
clearly feminine.

"Get my zipper," she instructed, looking back at him.

They proceeded to undress.  Her last removal, along with finger
rings, wristwatch and earrings consigned to her bag, was the
band, now silver, that restrained her ponytail.  Her hair floated
down behind her shoulders as she faced him.

Her eyes twinkled.  "I liked what you said.  This is what I wore
to see my first man.  How about you?"

"Your first man?"

"The doctor who delivered me.  I presume it was a man."

"All right."  He snatched off his socks.

"Almost," she commented.

He grinned, removed the wristwatch and after a moment's
hesitation, his wedding band.  "I believe that does it."

"Very nearly."

His eyebrows rose.  "What's left?"

"One more morsel to expose."  She came to him and took him
between finger and thumb, withdrawing the foreskin.  "There.  The
snake."

"The what?"

"Doesn't it remind you of the head of a snake?  Perhaps not; you
never see it from my perspective."  She giggled.  "I often dream
that a forked tongue is hidden in the slit but never comes out
unless it's buried inside me.  Don't you have a brighter light in
here, Clay?"

"Reading lamp next to that recliner.  You want to look for a
forked tongue?"

"Why not?"  She whirled away to the indicated chair and turned on
its adjacent lamp.  "Oh, yes.  Take a seat, Clay."

He obeyed her, commenting as he collapsed on the cushions, "This
isn't the way Sarah described it."

"I'm not Sarah.  She's ten years older and her boobs sag to her
belly button."  She knelt between his legs.

"You've seen them?"

"We swim in each other's pools.  Mine are nearly big as hers but
they don't droop so far, not yet, at least."

"Yours are larger, I think.  Well?  Forked tongue?"

"Who knows?  Remember, it won't come out unless it's in me.  I've
tried a banana this long before.  I wonder ..."

He took a breath, watching her lips slowly engulf more and more
of his manhood.  The glans passed through feathery folds.  He
said thickly, "It's almost time for the forked tongue."

She giggled through her nose.  Her nostrils flared in a deep
breath as she tilted her head further back.  Her lips proceeded
to engulf the remainder of his manhood.  Her shoulders spasmed
twice but her eyes twinkled up to his above a nose buried in his
pubic hair.

"My god, Mary!"  He raised his hips in a thrust, feeling the
first dribbles escape him.  He groaned with the next, but she had
lifted her head.  She substituted her hand and pumped his
ejaculate into her open mouth and all around her lips.  When he
ceased, her lips closed barely past the head, causing him to
twitch, but she removed her mouth immediately, leaving him
glistening cleanly.  A watery white drop dangled from her nose,
much more from her chin.

She grinned.  "Mr. Rabbit, I see."

He took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry, Mary.  Don't believe I ever
came so fast before."

She nodded, adding whimsically, "And a long forked tongue it was,
too!  Now you won't be so anxious."

"My cock must've been into your vocal cords!  I can't believe it
didn't gag you."

"Well, it did.  I can only keep it there a second."  Her smile
widened.  "But I didn't need to, did I?"

She stood up, went to the unmade bed and wiped her face on the
tangled sheet.  "You must have something to drink in this
place.."

"Oh, of course!"  He lunged to his feet and passed her into the
kitchen.  "Excuse me for not offering.  Beer?  Wine?"

She shook her head.  "Nothing that dulls the glow."

"Then how about coffee?  I've got instant."

"How about a coke?  But start your water."

He took a drink bottle from the refrigerator and opened it for
her.  She gargled, then drank thirstily.  He filled his kettle
and set it to heat on the range top.  When he turned back, he
found her sitting on his table, buttocks on the edge, legs spread
and dangling, leaning back on extended hands.

"Now we play Sarah?" he asked, eyebrows elevated.

"_I_ play Sarah.  Did you ever deliver groceries?"

"As a matter of fact.  But I wasn't as lucky as Sarah's boy."

She smiled.  "Then your luck has changed."

"I believe it!"  He pulled a chair to face her.  She rolled her
legs over his back as he bent under them.  He grunted when his
fingers parted the pouting lips..

"What's the matter?"

"You're already dripping."

"Well, think what I've been doing!"

"Cock sucking stimulates you?"

"Everything about this stimulates me.  As to being so wet, maybe
some of yours went on through."

He chuckled.  "I could almost believe it.  I wondered if you spat
into the sheet."

"I didn't spit.  The funny thing about seminal fluid is, just the
thought of it in my mouth makes me throw up, except for these two
days.  Now it tastes ..."

"Go on."

"It's always nearly tasteless, but for two days that little hint
of flavor is ..."  She shivered.  "It's incomparable."

"Does that mean you like it?"

"I'm crazy about it.  Just wait till you get me going and you'll
see.  Turn your hand like this and put two fingers in me."  She
showed him her hand, palm up, fore- and middle fingers extended
with the tips raised.

"With pleasure.  God, I love a wet pussy!"

"Then you've come to the right place.  Now press to the front
with your fingertips and start licking."

"Again, with pleasure.  Finally a woman who'll say what she
wants!  And the way you smell is making my balls ache."

"We'll fix that, too.  Ah! ...  Not right on the tip, Clay.  Feel
the little ridge above it?  Lick there.  Press hard.  And don't
forget to gouge with your fingers."

Soon she was grunting in rhythm with her rocking hips.  Grunts
changed to moans, then a mild soprano scream as her body went
rigid.  He backed away.

She took a breath and looked down at him through the valley
between her breasts.  "Mrs. Rabbit," she declared with a smirk,
"and now your mouth is as wet as mine was."

He shrugged from under her legs, went to the sink, pulled a paper
towel off the roll and dried himself.

As he turned back she said, "You look ready for Betty."

"Who's Betty?"

"Think of her as the very greedy girl you just tasted.  She loves
snakes with forked tongues ...  Actually any kind of tongue.  But
I promised you something different."

"You did?"

"Also on your kitchen table."

"Should I get the butter?"

"I've got a better idea.  Sit down in your chair again."

When he was in position before her, she leaned further back on
the table and rested the soles of her feet on his shoulders,
rolling her hips up.  "I took two enemas this afternoon, the last
with bourbon in the water just before I left for the airport with
Arthur."  She opened her knees so wide that her heels pressed
against his neck.

"You mean ..." he began.  His thumbs stretched the flesh on
either side of her perineum.  Her rosebud unfolded.

"See if it still tastes of bourbon," she said, watching him
without blinking.

"You're about to get a cherry," he admitted, leaning far forward
so that her heels slid down his back.

"Oooo!" she breathed.  "Your tongue is so hot!  How far can you
reach? ...  God, Clay, you _do_ have a long one! ...  Make it
very wet, Clay, then give me something longer."

Shortly he stood up between her knees.  Her hand slipped around,
caught and guided him with precision.  He entered her with only
slight resistance.  Her flesh expanded around the head, then
closed behind it.  He began to thrust.  "Ah, Clay, I love it!
Faster, pound it faster!  You're not in any danger of coming, are
you?"

"Not ... yet."

"Tell me what you think.  Is it tight?"

"It is ... when you squeeze ... like that."

"But do you love it, too?"

"Of course."

"My hands have to hold me up.  Won't you put your thumb down and
rub me, please, dear?"

He had hardly begun before she exclaimed, "_God_, that's good!"

"You ... prefer this?"

"What's to prefer?  Oh, god, I'm coming!"  She produced the same
soft scream that his tongue had elicited, repeating it several
times before demanding, "Let up, damn it!"

He removed his thumb but continued to piston.  Apparently it was
the right interpretation.  "Oh, oh, oh," she breathed, a red
flush descending her chest from her face.  Her sphincters were
clipping him, but her hips and legs had gone rigid.  He studied
her in rising amazement.  Mouth and eyes were clamped shut,
nostrils flaring as her breathing increased.  The tops of her
breasts, flopping gently in response to his shoves, had reddened
distinctly.  Was she having some kind of uniquely feminine
continuous orgasm?

The thought of it stirred his own juices.  "Mary, I'm on my way."

Her response was to tighten her legs around his plunging hips,
restricting their motion.  Her anal sphincter massaged him
instead.  Groaning, he took his relief in her entrails.  Her mild
scream made soprano harmony.

It weakened him enough that breathing hard, he had to drop his
hands to the table edge to support his torso.  She hooked her
legs behind his thighs and sat up against him, thrusting her
breasts into his chest.  Her cool arms went around his shoulders
and she kissed his sweating neck.

"Oh, god, Clay, that was wonderful!"

"I think so, too," he said, seeking her mouth with his own.

She kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, but only
briefly.  She lifted her head to grin at him with cocked eyebrow.
"I love your tongue, too, Clay.  How did my ass hole taste?"

"Well, I ... think --"

"I'll find out," she proposed roguishly.  Her hands dropped to
his hips, pushing him back.  His calves struck the chair behind
him and he fell into it awkwardly.  She dropped off the table,
squatting between his legs, and took half his manhood into her
mouth, lips puckering around it.

He stared at her incredulously.  "B-but ..."

She sucked gently.  He felt her tongue laving the glans.

"Jesus, Mary!  Is there anything you _won't_ do?"

She raised her head.  "For two days not much.  I couldn't taste
any bourbon.  How about you?"

"I tasted it.  Maybe I washed it out."

"Fucked it out, you mean.  Do you mean to let that water boil
away?"

"Good Christ!"  The kettle, hissing and dancing on the hot
burner, had long since come to a rolling boil.  He rose hurriedly
and tended it.  At his direction she found his jar of instant.
They sat across from each other at his small table to sip from
their steaming cups, legs intertwined beneath it, her foot
caressing the side of his calf, then rising to tuck toes between
testicles and thigh.

She grinned at him.  "This is very domestic."

"Is it?  Do you often sit naked in the kitchen with your
husband?"

"I have in the past.  Not any more.  How about you?"

"I don't think my wife has ever been naked in this room."

"Why not?"

"You're the first woman I ever knew who seemed to be really
comfortable in her skin."

She chuckled.  "When my period is over, I'll cringe at the
thought.  That version of me thinks I'm too fat.  What do you
think?"

"Huh!  You're not fat.  You're a far cry from skin and bones, but
you're definitely not fat."  They were both leaning on their
elbows over their cups.  He reached easily across their small
separation to lift her breast.  "This is heavy and perfect.  I
love it."  He chuckled.  "And I love the way that nipple pops
right up.  But what do you mean?  You talk like you're two
people."

"I think I am.  That's Betty's foot that's stroking your balls."

"You're serious?"

"Well, no, none of that _Three Faces of Eve_ crap.  But the
hormones make an awful difference."

"How is that, Mary?  I've known a few women.  They're different,
sure, at that time of the month, but not so drastically as you
seem to be."

She shrugged.  "People vary."

"Did it always affect you this way -- your period, I mean?"

"No.  Well, I think it did to begin with.  My mother caught me
with two boys in the basement when I was fifteen and put me on
the pill.  Ask any woman:  the pill tends to smooth you out.  It
did me.  I even developed some girl friends.  For the next --"

"What do you mean about girl friends?"

"Until then I chased nothing but boys, saw all other girls as
rivals -- as enemies, if you want to know the truth.  But once I
was on the pill, boys became a lot less fascinating.  I stayed on
it for twelve years, until a couple years ago.  My doctor was
worried about uterine cancer.  And Arthur's company went public.
I quit my job.  It was time I got pregnant anyway.  Only that
hasn't happened."

She took a sip of coffee.  "Why am I telling you all this?"

He shrugged.  "Why not?  I'm genuinely curious.  You're a very
interesting person, Mary."

"Just now a very uninhibited one," she agreed dryly.  "That's
what you mean.  But, yeah, why not?  This is only a two-night
stand.

"With no pill I guess my hormones went natural again, natural for
me, at any rate.  For eighteen days after the flow dries up I'm
the mousiest person you ever saw, a real stay-at-home
housekeeper.  If not cleaning house, I read trashy novels and
watch the soaps.  I don't have a prurient thought.  If Arthur
wants to fuck, I submit, but I'd rather suck.  It's neater.  He
doesn't want it very much.  But on the nineteenth day I can feel
it start.  I speed up.  That's the best way to put it.  I have
more energy.  A room that was cold the day before is now too
warm.  I can't sit still.  My clit is sensitive to the rubbing of
my panties and my nipples to the bra.  I have to wear loose
clothes or preferably none at all.  If Arthur is home, I try to
seduce him.  Again and again.  Until he invents the need to go to
work.  Lately he's been scheduling his business trips with me in
mind.  When --"

"You play the same games with him you did with me?"

"Heavens, no!  He won't play.  He's older than I, you know.  I
think he's lost most of his juice."

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully.  "Was it the same before you
went on the pill?"

"It may have been worse.  I found out I needed more than one boy
at the time."  She frowned.  "_That_ was a lot easier to arrange
then!  Why do men so hate to share?"

He grinned.  "They're afraid to, of course.  You say boys
aren't?"

"In the beginning I had to chivvy them a little.  My parents both
worked.  Pretty soon all I had to do was tell one or two of the
guys I was having a private party after school, and bring a
friend.  We had a basement entrance surrounded by tall shrubbery.
They could come and go without the neighbors knowing it.  I had
more fun the year before Mom caught me than I ever had since."

"I guess so," he breathed, "once the word got around!"

She nodded.  "It got around fast.  After a while I could count on
at least half a dozen every school day."

"I can't believe you never got pregnant."

Again she nodded.  "But I didn't, and that's a bit of a mystery.
Nobody took any precautions, yet my doctor says all the equipment
is in good order, ready to catch another one every 28 days."

He studied her.  "That's a fascinating story, Mary.  Were you
never hurt?  I'd expect such behavior to get out of hand."

"It did a few times.  Fights over who was next, who went in front
or in back.  But the basement was empty except for an old air
mattress.  Mom was afraid of rats and wouldn't even use it for
storage.  She preferred the attic.  The boys broke a window once,
but we faked it up to look like a baseball did it."

"And you were the only girl?"

"You bet."

"God, Mary!  How many did you entertain?"

She sniffed.  "You mean, what was the most in one day?  I don't
know exactly.  Some days, you know, were holidays for the school
but not for parents.  I could fuck all day long -- and did,
several times.  I can tell you this:  at the end of Eighth Grade,
when I was 14, I checked in the junior high yearbook.  I had
fucked every picture in it from the seventh, eighth and ninth
grades, except five they said were gay.  I'm sure I got a lot of
cherries."

"How many boys, Mary?"

"How many?"  She shrugged.  "That yearbook had 147 boys'
pictures."

"Let's see.  If the average boy took five minutes, which is
probably an outside average --"

"Not necessarily.  They almost always wanted seconds and even
thirds."

"All right, give 'em five minutes.  If you started at eight in
the morning and went strong till five, with, say, an hour all
told for piss breaks and such, that's twelve an hour for eight
hours:  96 fucks.  You must have been covered in jism!"

She smiled reminiscently.  "Sometimes it got pretty squishy."

"If every boy went three times, that's 32 boys.  Did you have a
big basement?"

"Half the house.  32 boys?  Some days it was a lot more than
that.  147 boys in junior high, remember?"

"God, Mary!"

She grinned crookedly.  "I'm definitely not _that_ Mary!"

"Didn't it even make you _sore_?"

"I did have trouble with bowel movements."

"Constipation?"

"No.  Incontinence.  Shitting my pants."

"That's right.  You said you were taking them two at the time."

"Two?  I've done six at once.  In fact one set of boys, five
close friends -- some said fucking each other when they didn't
visit me -- always humped me together, swapping positions around.
They worked on it until they could all come off at the same time.
But no, I didn't get sore.  A few bruises, especially inside the
thighs.  Fucking is great exercise.  I felt good all the time
then.  Even my periods were easier than they've ever been since."

He licked his lips.  "The mathematics of this is fascinating.  If
you only fucked for an hour after school each day -- say an hour
and a half -- that's still 18 a day, times five days:  90 fucks a
week.  What about the weekends?"

"Nothing doing at home."  She smiled.  "One of the boys removed
the hasp on a basement window at his church.  I met his crowd
there on Saturdays after that.  Sunday was the tough one.  But if
kids want to fuck, they'll find a way.  It's a lot tougher when
you're grown."

She stood up, rubbing her buttocks.  "This chair is getting
hard."

"Want something to eat?  We can stick junk food in the
microwave."

"I've got a better idea.  Do you have a tub with a shower in it?"

"Yes, in the guest bathroom."

"Then let's take a shower together."

He stood up, too.  "Whatever you say.  But while we're showering
...  I've got a friend, Mary."

She had started out of the room.  She spun around to study him.
"A friend?"

"Yeah.  We go back a long way.  I know he'd love to join us."

"What's he like?"

"Shorter than me."

"I mean his dick."

"So do I.  Shorter but thicker."

"Is he married?"

"Does it matter?"

"Only to his wife."

"He's a technician on call.  His wife's accustomed to him leaving
this time of night."

Her eyes brightened.  "Call him and see."

He went to the wall-mounted telephone and punched in a number.
"Buck, this is Clay...  Yeah, I know it's ten o'clock.  You can
tell Laura this is a call out.  I've got a hot number here that
likes two at once.  Remember Gretchen in Utrecht?  This one would
clean her clock.  How soon can you get here?"

He winked at Mary as the receiver rattled.  "She'll stick
around...  How do I know?  Because she's right here listening."
He put out his hand to her breast.  "I'm squeezing her tit right
now.  Look, we're going to take a nice, slow shower together.
I'll leave the door unlocked.  Just slip in and join us, how
about it? ...  That's my boy."

He hung up the telephone.  "He'll be here in ten minutes."

She cocked her head.  "Just like that, eh?"

"Why not?"

"I've seen porn movies where lots of men fuck the same woman, but
they're getting paid."

He grinned wryly.  "You think this is odd, do you?"

"Very."

"Maybe you just don't know the right people.  If it was next week
I could probably get you a third."

"Another friend from Holland?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact.  Four of us spent a summer in Holland
on an assignment with Phil- that is, with an electronics outfit."

"Four!"

"Yeah, but one of the guys took a job with Microsoft."

"I've never been with three _men_!"

He chuckled.  "I think your whole face just lit up."

"Three men!  My god, I could come just thinking about it."  She
twisted her hips and crossed her legs.

"Explain that, will you?  I don't see how more than one can get
on your clit."

She smiled archly.  "Think of the clit as the starter button.
When I really get going, I can come from a dick in my armpit."

"Where?" he asked incredulously.

"Actually anywhere on me.  But three men at once!"  She took a
deep, shuddering breath.  "Could you possibly get a third
tonight?"

He shook his head regretfully.  "No, Mary, not on such short
notice."

"Damn!"

"But if you give me a month, I'll bet I can get you _more_ than
three!"

"You know men who can stand to touch each other?"

"Well, I'll have to sound them out, but I think so, when I tell
them about you.  You're something awfully special, Mary."

"'Some_thing_!'  Pure sex object, right?"

"Well, I mean --"

She laughed.  "Pure sex object is exactly what I want to be.  And
only that, Clay.  Come on.  Where's your shower?"

"This way.  Mary ...  I mean, Betty.  We'll tell everyone that's
your name.  And one thing you ought to know:  Buck is just as
discreet as I am."

"Make it moderately hot, will you?" she said, stepping into the
back of the tub.  "I'll appreciate that next week, Clay, but
tonight I would fuck in the middle of the street.  Get it going
and let me soap up your dick.  I do love a nice, slippery dick."

She detoured by her bag and appeared at the tub with her long,
dark hair tucked under a shower cap.  Woman-like, she wanted the
water a bit warmer than his preference.  When both were well
wetted, he whirled her under the spray.  Her soapy hands cupped
his genitals and she pressed her cheek into the hollow of his
neck while his arms wrapped around her to clutch her buttocks.

"How close will you get to Buck?" she asked above the hiss of the
spray.

"How close do you want us?"

"I want to suck both your dicks at once."

He chuckled.  "What will that do for you?"

She answered dreamily, "The shape of a dick ... two plump heads
in my mouth at once, licking around and between them ...  God,
Clay!"  She went to tiptoe so that her hand could force his glans
under her clitoris.

He grunted.  "I'm beginning to think the idea of this is as
important to you as the feel of it."

"And the idea of _three_ of you is breathtaking!"

"It's probably a good thing you can't get three in your mouth at
once."

"Yes, too bad."  She laughed.  "But I can get three in my cunny."

"Huh! ...  And you have this bridge in Brooklyn you want to sell
me, do you?"

"That set of five boys who might have been gay -- they worked out
a way to get three dicks lined up."

"Do you remember how to do it?"

"I think so.  I was very interested."

"Well, then you have another reason to call me next month."

"You think you can definitely get three men?"

"I believe so.  Here's our second one now."

A shadow had fallen on the shower curtain.  She reached past his
shoulder to draw it back.  A very hairy fellow, shorter and
heavier than Clay, was in the process of stepping out of his
jockey shorts.  He sported a mustache beneath snapping brown
eyes.  He grinned hesitantly above her as he straightened up,
calling over the water hiss, "You did say to come on in."

"I sure did.  Buck, step right up.  This big-tittied sex machine
holding my dick is Betty.  She wants to hold yours, too."

Buck pantomimed amazement.  "By god, she looks real!"

"Real?" asked Clay.  "Oh, she's real enough, but she's still a
hot little sex machine.  You'll see."

She leered at the newcomer.  Her eyes twinkled with determination
and taking a good grip on Clay's shoulder with the opposite arm,
she raised one leg with an arm under the thigh and straightened
it with the heel atop Buck's shoulder.  "Android 4Q2 ready for
Freddy," she intoned solemnly in a squeaky voice.

The startled man opened his mouth to respond, but she corrected
herself.  "Oops, wrong mission.  Android 4Q2 to fuck Buck."

Buck's hand twitched involuntarily toward the gaping labia
hanging within two feet of his thickening manhood.

Her eyebrows rose.  She squeaked, "Push button to fuck Buck."

His thumb fell tentatively on the prominent clitoris.

"Deeper button," she advised.

He frowned, then his face cleared and he put two fingers into
her.

"More!" she commanded.

So he inserted all four while the thumb rolled back and forth
above them.  He asserted, "What an interesting way to fuck this
would be, if you and I were on the same floor!  But won't your
leg get tired pretty quick?"

"Too bad I'm not really a machine, eh?"  Her foot came down.
"Get in the tub and let me soap you up, too."

He slipped quickly under the withdrawn curtain to minimize the
escaped spray.  "Oh, by the way, I'm pleased to meet you, ah,
Betty."

She turned her back to Clay and caught Buck's half-erection in
hand.  She shook it solemnly.  "And I'm happy to meet you, too."
Her other hand remained behind her, holding on to Clay's
appendage.  She thrust out her chest.  "Since my hands are full,
would you care to kiss a substitute?"

"Would I ever!"

While he slobbered over her full breasts, she slathered him with
soap.  Stroking his manhood, she grinned with anticipation.  "A
nice, fat dick.  I know just where it belongs.  Back up a little,
Buck, and, Clay, hold me under the boobs, will you?"

In two seconds she had raised her heel again to Buck's shoulder,
leaning back against Clay.  Blinking through the spray falling on
her jiggling breasts, she said pointedly to Buck, "Now we're on
the same floor."

Arching his back, he thrust forward, entering her easily.  One
hand under her buttocks cheek, the other clutching her hip, he
pistonned her slowly at first but soon accelerated.  Though
unable to respond well in this position, she smiled with the
pleasure of his attention.  Shortly she put her free hand on his
chest.  "Don't come yet," she warned him.

"Then I'd better stop," he responded, gasping.

"Okay."  She withdrew against Clay, turning her face up to him.
"Remember what I said I wanted to do?"

"Can you do it in the tub?"

"I could, but I think dry would be more fun."

"Good enough."  He reached past his guests and turned off the
water.

Clay barely had enough towels.  He grinned sheepishly.  "Guess I
didn't do enough planning."

"Aha!" exclaimed Buck.  "What a great title:  _Orgy Logistics_!"

"Be sure to get me a copy when you publish," said his host.

"Are you a writer?" asked the woman, drying Buck's back.

"Strictly amateur so far, on the Internet."

"What do you like to write about?"

He grinned over his shoulder.  "Three people in a shower would
make great copy."

"You can publish _that_?"

"Hell, nowadays you can even publish a _picture_ of it!"

She led them into the messy bedroom, paused in front of the bed
and looked from one to the other.  "Here's where we find out if
you two guys can stand each other."

Buck's eyebrows rose.  He threw an arm over Clay's shoulder.
"We're old buddies, honey.  What's the problem?"

Clay said dryly, "She wants to suck both dicks at once."

"She does?"  Buck smiled hugely.  "Another title:  _Orgy
Maneuvers_!"

Chin in hand, the woman said thoughtfully, "We could do it in
front of the dresser ...  But I have a better idea.  Besides, I'd
like to start with them soft.  You got a screwdriver, Clay?"

"Sure.  For what?"

"Take the mirror off the dresser and prop it up between mattress
and headboard."

"Yesss!" Buck agreed with exaggerated delight.  "_Orgy
Furniture_!"

The mirror was huge and heavy, but the two strong men managed it
quickly.  Supported by the bed rails, wedged between headboard
and the combination of mattress and boxed springs, it made an
eminently satisfactory reflector for events on the bed.

She arranged them cross-wise on the bed, heads opposite each
other, groins together, left legs thrown over right hips, left
buttocks on right thighs.  Interleaved in this manner they just
fitted on the bed.

Buck warned jocularly, "Keep that dick up!"

"You, too!" Clay retorted.

"Huh!  Your asshole's in no danger from _me_!"

The woman knelt at their junction, head toward the mirror.  She
had retained the dried shower cap so that her hair did not
obscure her actions.  She slipped two fingers under the two
flaccid penises, lying side-by-side, and lifted them slightly.

"How sweet!" she cooed.

"'Sweet!'" Buck echoed sarcastically.  "Never heard it called
that before."

"I think she means two together," suggested Clay.

She bent low and gathered the two soft knobs into her mouth with
her left hand while her right forced its way under the nearer
right thigh to find both sets of testicles, actually lying in
contact side-to-side.  Her lips were unable to seal around the
combination; as a consequence she produced distinct sucking
noises.

Buck's hand moved to her.  "You don't often get the chance to
squeeze a vacuum cleaner's tit."

"Or pry into its cunt," Clay responded, extending his hand around
her buttocks for that purpose.

"So true," Buck agreed, supplying additional fingers to the joint
venture.

As her mouthful lengthened, she began slowly to bob her head.
She worked her free hand under Clay's buttocks to join the other
in compressing the pairs of testicles.

Buck asked, only partly in jest, "We can trust this girl, can't
we, Clay?"

The latter chuckled.  "She won't steal your family jewels, my
friend."

"Are you sure?  Feels like she wants to unscrew them."

She laughed through her nose.

After a bit Buck asked, biting off his words as if under a
strain, "Remember that gal in Rotterdam?"

"Yeah," Clay answered.  "Don't wait for me, pal.  I'm going to be
awhile."

"Betty made you pop already, did she?"

"Twice."

"Well, it's been almost a week for me.  Laura's on the rag.  God,
honey, don't squeeze them off!"

Buck groaned, body stiffening.  His hand left the woman to make a
fist.  "Jesus Christ!" he called, though not in supplication.
The woman's head froze at the top of its stroke, enclosing only
the knobs.

"Damn!" cried Clay, head raised to watch directly as white
bubbles ran down the sides of both penises.  "I never realized it
was so much cooler!"

Buck groaned louder.  Clay's eyes widened at the quantity of
fluid escaping from their junction.

The woman sat up, grinning in the mirror from one to the other as
Buck relaxed with a sigh.  Her lips and chin sported a creamy
wreath.  As they watched, she worked her mouth, pursed her lips
and blew a translucent white bubble that popped when it touched
the tip of her nose.  She laughed delightedly and blew another
that suffered the same fate.  Then she deliberately pushed more
white fluid out of her mouth to splash between her breasts.  She
smacked her lips.  "Good stuff!  Not often is it thick enough for
bubbles."

Both men stared at her in fascination.  Buck's eyes went to
Clay's reflection.  "'Cooler?'"

"Yeah," he answered.  "Your juice was distinctly cooler than her
mouth.  I've read that's why the balls hang out.  They keep the
sperm cooler so it lasts longer.  But I never noticed it so
clearly."

The woman nodded.  "This was straight from the fridge."

"I get it," Buck mused.  "That's why you squeezed my balls."

"Did it hurt?"

"I think so, but you sure timed it right!"

Clay demanded, "What are you talking about?"

The woman responded, "Those five kids I mentioned: they
discovered you can get more from a man if you squeeze him just as
he starts to ejaculate."  She grunted.  "Of course you have to be
careful not to overdo it."

Buck asked, "What five kids?"

"I'm sure Clay will tell you all about it.  What girl in
Rotterdam?"

"She tried to get us to come off together."

Mary sniffed.  "That's not so hard to arrange, if the guys start
in the same condition."

Clay explained, "Betty knows more about men than both of us
together know about women."

Buck sniffed.  "Where'd she go to school for that?"

She answered, "Would you believe, in my father's basement?  How
about you returning the favor to me while I get Clay back in the
mood?"

Rising to a crouch, she twisted her haunches over Buck's head,
though her mouth remained near the male junction.

"Just a minute," Buck protested with a grin.  "It's not safe to
leave my tender ass within range of Clay's dick when it's
unsatisfied."

"Bullshit!" Clay declared.

Drawing up his feet, Buck spun out from under the other man,
realigning himself properly in the bed.  His arms enclosed the
woman's hips and he asked, "Is this what you mean?" before
pulling her vulva down to his mouth.

"Exactly," she replied.  Grinning at Clay, she rolled her
thumb in the seminal coating around her mouth and chin, then
slipped that hand between his legs.  He grunted as her thumb
penetrated his anus.  Eyes locked with his, she lowered her mouth
over his up thrust organ, slowly enclosing the entirety.

"How in the hell can you do that?" he breathed.

She giggled through her nose as her head began to bob.

They held this arrangement for a minute or so, with only Buck's
tongue and Mary's head moving, until she moaned and raised her
head clear.  Momentarily a line of spittle connected her lips
with Clay's tip.  She clenched her eyes shut as her whole body
stiffened.  For a long moment she was rigid, then suddenly she
crawled away from Buck until she was fully atop Clay.

"Oh, god, I am _ready_!" she declared passionately.  Her hand
reached under and popped Clay's organ into her sopping vagina.
Briefly she ground her hips back and forth upon him.  Craning her
neck, she said over her shoulder to Buck, "I put some cold cream
on the end table."

Buck rolled away from the mixture of legs, rose up on his knees
and waddled back between them.  He asserted, "I don't need it
where I'm going."

"You might," she warned.

"Let's find out."  He guided himself carefully to the junction.

"What're you doing?" demanded Clay.

Buck made a sound that could only be called a giggle.  "Joining
up with you.  Remember that black-headed girl in Amsterdam?"

"Oooo!" The woman grinned.  "Welcome, gentlemen!"  She shuddered.
"You've done this before, have you?"

"Ansela -- that was her name," Buck reported.  "Aha, all the way,
by god!  You know, it amazes me how flexible a pussy is.  What
else could feel no tighter on two than one?"

The woman grunted.  "Maybe it feels no tighter to you, but let me
assure you it feels fuller to me!  Did Ansela teach you how to
swing it?"

"Yeah.  She was a math student at the university -- except at
night, of course.  You and Clay, the one on your clit, are
supposed to be exactly out of phase -- 180 degrees -- while I shove
half-way between, or 90 degrees."

"I think you're trying to confuse me," Mary declared, "but it
won't work.  Come on, gentlemen, let's fuck!"

Buck took care at first that his thrusts were syncopated between
the others', but soon his timing became automatic.  He put his
head back and declaimed, "Ride 'em, cowboy!  Hi-yo, Silver!"

"Get 'em up, Scout," Clay contributed, gradually increasing the
speed of his thrusts.

"Oh, Jesus!" declared the woman.  "That's the most marvelous ...
Oh, god, I'm coming!"

Her moans changed to an odd keening deep in her throat.  Her legs
and arms closed on Clay's body and her chin gouged his shoulder.
He felt her hot, panting breath in his ear and her nipples lumped
on his chest.

"How about you?" Clay asked above the woman's cries, looking up
past the folds of her shower cap to his friend's sweating face.

"I can hang on awhile," Buck answered between heavy breaths.
"Let me tell you, from this angle the way her ass flexes is
something to see!  The sweat's running down her crack.  I think
I'll give her what I think she expects."

"You're right about that.  She told me she took two enemas before
she came out tonight."

Buck backed away slightly.  Mary's moans ceased.  When she felt
his new touch, she arched her back farther, turning up her
buttocks and holding still.  He entered her without difficulty.
"All the way again!" he crowed.

"A nice cool rod up my insides," she commented.  "Bet it doesn't
stay cool long."

"Not in this furnace!" Buck agreed excessively.

They began to move together.  Buck picked up his old rhythm.
"Hey!  It works in here, too!"

"No, it doesn't," the woman denied.  "You both need to move
opposite me."

Clay suggested, "I think she means we should be in phase."

"I got it."  Buck quickly corrected his timing.

"That's it!" Mary declared.  "Now fuck me, gentlemen!  Oh god, I
do love this."  She turned her head on Clay's shoulder to study
their reflection in the mirror.  Buck caught her eye, grinned and
stuck out his tongue, wiggling it up and down.

"If you were twins," she said between drafts of breath, "I'd suck
your other dick."

"Hell, that's what it feels like," he retorted -- "and no teeth to
worry about!"

She chuckled and said almost dreamily, "The way I feel now, I
wish we had four more guys: one in my mouth, one in each armpit
and one between my boobs."

"Greedy Betty!" sniffed Clay.  "I'm just as glad we don't.  That
combination would smother me."

"You'd die happy," she promised.  A moment later she resumed the
earlier keening.

They persevered in that configuration for many minutes.  A
seventy-degree bedroom without a fan is too warm for enduring
strenuous activity.  All three were soon breathing hard and
copiously perspiring.  The woman's cries gradually increased to
soft screams, produced irregularly both while inhaling and
exhaling.  Her back and buttocks reddened, and Buck began to
worry about her health.

Then her sphincters clamped down.  Both men climaxed a few
seconds later.  She screamed loudly at the feel of it and her
body went limp.  Buck backed away from the others and assisted
Clay in rolling her off onto her back, before turning and falling
on his back beside her.  She threw an arm over him, hand spread
on his hard belly.  The three lay quietly, arms and legs
entangled, as their heavy breathing subsided.

Some time later Buck roused enough to look at his wristwatch.  He
listened to the light snores beside him, carefully extricated
himself from the tangle and slipped off the bed to his feet.  His
clothing lay in the hall where he had removed it, just outside
the bathroom door.  Pausing to relieve his bladder, he dressed
and departed as quietly as he had arrived.



	*  *  *  *



"Hello."

"Clayton Harris, please."

Though he recognized the incongruously raspy tenor voice, he went
through the ritual.  "Speaking."

"This is Arthur Schofield.  Are you where you can talk?"

"Just a moment, let me close the door."  Clay glanced out into
the hall.  No one was visible, though the rest of the building
hummed with activity.  After latching the door he returned to his
desk.  "Okay, go ahead."

"I called to get your report."

"On the telephone, Mr. Schofield?"

"Huh!  Nobody cares about this but you and me."

"Very well, sir.  First let me ask you, have you been home yet?"

"Yes, of course.  This is Tuesday!  Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to make sure Mary was all right.  She seemed ... a
little wobbly when I took her to her car."

"Where did she leave it, by the way?"

Clay chuckled.  "In your slot at your office."

"Damn!  I certainly hope no one saw that."

"That was Sunday night.  The place was dark and hers was the only
car.  How is Mary, sir?"

"On the rag, of course.  Snapping my head off at the least
excuse.  Why?  You didn't actually hurt her, did you, Clay?"

"No, I didn't hurt her, if it's true that after the first time,
sex doesn't hurt a woman.  But I'll tell you, _I_ was so sore
Monday morning I stayed in bed."

The high voice chuckled.  "Then you had a strenuous weekend with
her?"

"Let's be frank.  She fucked me until nothing she did would get
it up again."

A longer chuckle ensued.  "That's my little woman.  Tell me, did
you take her out anywhere?"

"No.  She's as careful about that as you are.  We stayed in my
apartment from Friday night to Sunday night.  I had food brought
in.  You say Mary seems normal, is that right?"

"Moping one minute, raising hell the next, typical of the
behavior during her period.  By next week she'll be a mouse
again."

"The way you like her, eh?"

"Huh!  Let's don't go into that."

"I think we ought to, Mr. Schofield, at least enough to decide
what happens next."

The high voice was suddenly suspicious.  "What did you have in
mind, Clay?"

"She told me a little of her background.  Has she ever --"

"She bragged about it, did she?"

"Whatever.  Has she ever had counseling about her ... problem?"

"No, and I'm not in favor of it.  That's another lane we won't go
down.  Look here: you're a young man.  You like a good fuck,
don't you, and plenty of it?"

"Of course, and Mary is a _hell_ of a good fuck!  But --"

"Then shut _up_."

Clay hesitated.  "The fact is, Mr. Schofield, that Mary has an
interesting --"

"Look, Clay, I told you what I wanted.  She's a very satisfactory
woman all the time, even with her period, except those last two
days.  I need to find a safe spot, a haven if you will, for her
to work off her excess energy -- actually for her to crash --
during that critical time.  From what I saw at home, you're that
spot.  Didn't you have a good time this weekend?"

"I haven't decided yet.  But let me tell you a little story.
I've got a motorized gadget that shines your shoes while wearing
them.  It has a long handle so you can use it standing up.  The
rotary brushes aren't balanced, so it vibrates like hell.  Mary
spent the last couple hours in my place with that handle half way
up her ass, rubbing the piss out of her cunt with my wife's old
hairbrush.  I really think she needs help."

The line was silent for a moment.  At last Schofield asked, "Did
you make arrangements to meet her next month."

"No.  But she has my phone number, here and at home."

"Good."

"Dammit, Schofield, will you get her some help?"

"You're it, pal.  Good-bye and thanks."

With a pop the dial tone returned.  Clay sighed, hung up the
phone and keyed a name into his computer.  When the number
appeared, he clicked the _Dial_ icon and waited.  A few seconds
later he said into the mouthpiece, "Danny?  Clay...  Good to hear
you, too.  Listen, I've got a problem.  What've you got laid on
for the, ah, tenth and eleventh of next month?"


END
Copyright (C) November, 2000, Kellis
kellis@dhp.com
Stories Gratis at http://www.dhp.com/files/Authors/kellis/www

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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