In which Sam and Jeanna discover disillusionment and Sam makes a phone call
"You really don't understand, do you?" Jeanna said to Sam. Sam gulped down the piece of pizza in front of him, dribbling some of the amber oil down his chin.
Jeanna made a face and turned away.
"Hey," Sam said, "the fuck kind of attitude you bringing to me, anyway? 1 work hard, I bring home the bacon, 1 provide... fucking least you could do is come up with a good vibe now and again."
"Well, you bring home the pizza, anyway." "Oh... excuse me. I'm fucking sorry you never get to go anywhere. I'm so fucking sorry I never take you out to dinner."
"I didn't mean to start a fight," said Jeanna, wearily. "I just... oh... never mind!"
"No! Go on, say it. You're thinking it, so go ahead and say it."
"No."
"Yeah... I said YES!"
Sam threw the rest of the pizza against the wall. She flinched.
"Tell me what you were thinking."
"Sam... I didn't want to get you mad." She felt the tears starting now. That was the last thing she wanted. Of all the things Sam had never learned how to cope with in his life, a crying woman was virtually at the top of the list. Guaranteed crisis trigger.
But the tears came anyway. She hated herself when she lost control like this, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Sam wasn't pleased. "Great. Great! Just what we need. This'll solve everything."
She cried harder.
Pizza sauce and cheese oozed down the wall like a creep show slime monster. In the sink dirty dishes climbed higher and higher. The floor hadn't been swept in two weeks, let alone mopped or polished.
Three days of newspapers littered the living room. Laundry festered in the clothes hamper. Sam took it all in, filtered the data through whatever analytical facilities he possessed (they were not considerable, in any event) and came to the conclusion that he was witnessing a breakdown of monumental proportions.
Now wasn't that just like a woman, though? They had a million tricks, but no matter what else they would pull, they could always rely on this ace in the hole-that they'd fall apart and no matter how right you were, you'd wind up playing the heavy.
"Do you ever wash a dish?" he asked. It was important at times like this to let them know you were still in control of the situation, even if they were checking out on you big time.
Jeanna cried even harder and ran into the living room.
Well... maybe that didn't work too good.
Sam was puzzled. He didn't understand all this crap about needs, and fulfillment and some of the other shit she'd thrown at him from time to time like he was supposed to be her confidant and cheerleader and God knew what else. He understood going to work at the plant, where he'd toiled for the past seven years and was now a foreman, getting the fuck off the assembly line at long last, and from which he earned a damn decent paycheck. Good enough to pay the mortgage on this house and give her enough of an allowance that she could maintain it. He understood doing your job.
And damn it, she wasn't doing her job! That was the thing he kept coming back to. The bitch just wasn't holding up her end of the bargain. No way.
Okay. Now. What to do about it?
Crying women... Christ, wasn't there an easier way?
Jeanna had long since stopped crying and gone to bed. They'd managed to stumble through the usual clumsy "I'm sorry and Didn't mean it, none of them very heartfelt or passionate.
But at least the tension had broke.
Now she was sleeping and he knew it'd take a bomb to make her stir. He'd tried enough himself in the past and long since learned that if he wanted the weasel greased, he'd best get her on the case before she nodded out, on account of once she got there she wasn't coming back till morning.
Now it was late and he should be konking out himself, but that wasn't possible. Too tense. Too many jagged edges still. He needed another beer, of which he'd consumed four or five already, tonight. One more wouldn't hurt.
He started to sip the brew and flicked through the channels. This fucking cable shit... just gave you more channels to turn away from is how he saw it. News... sports... French movies (you watch a movie, or you read. He couldn't figure out a movie you had to read to understand), and... whoa now, wasnt' that something... ? It still shocked him every time he turned to the tittie channel. The real kick had long since worn off-better kicks were available down at the DYNO-MITE VIDEO where they had a pretty good XXX selection. But still, to see a big gaping pussy advertising "...six hungry babes who'll do ANYTHING you want. We'll suck your cock, we'll let you give it to us up the ass, we'll even let you tie us up... "
Yeah right. Be a trip. He'd always wanted to do that... tie up a broad who really got off on it. Maybe give her a few good hard whacks on her ass...
His cock stirred just thinking about it.
Of course, seeing as how little exercise it got these days, just about anything would make it stir. A good looking tree stump'd get a rise out of it.
"...call 900-KINK, and we'll talk you out of your pants... and then out of your mind... "
Right. He'd tried a couple of those numbers. Taped messages that were pure bullshit. Then the phone bill would come in and he'd have to explain the charge to Jeanna. No thanks.
But wait. This was a live one. Didn't look like they put it on your phone hill. Not with a $50 charge by credit card only.
Now before we continue, let's establish a few facts here. Sam (full name, Samuel Johsua Kemper, Jr.) was a good, upstanding, healthy American male, and when he did it he did it normal, like anyone else. He fully understood and appreciated that talking to some bimbo over the phone whose only real talent was a sexy voice and who could've weighed three hundred pounds maybe, did not quite make the cut to normal.
But that pussy close-up on the tube, to say nothign of the live angle... well, his cock was starting to do all his thinking for him, and once that happened, you could hang it up.
Before he knew what was going on he was fumbling through his wallet for his MasterCard (the bill went to his job) and was dialing the number.
"Yes."
"Uh... I... Uh..."
"What's your name, sweetie?" Damn, really was a live one. "Uh... Bill."
"Okay, Uh, Bill. I'm going to need a credit card number. Oh, and are you home now, Bill?"
"How come?"
"Well, we insist that you be somewhere... private. " Nice voice. Hard cock. He'd follow her anywhere.
He gave her the number. "Okay, Bill... what do you like?"
Why was he feeling so dizzy? Like he was fourteen again stealing a look at the Penthouse magazines at the 7-11. "Well..." he finally said, "I uh... well..." His cock was throbbing. Pounding.
What's the matter, Bill. You can tell me. That's why I'm here. I'll satisfy your deepest, darkest fantasy." He stumbled a little more.
"What is it? Are you embarrassed about something? You want to get tied up? Would you like me to piss on you?"
Christ! "No..."
"Maybe you'd like to tie me up... ? "
He was breathing faster now. His cock leaped. "That's it, isn't it?"
"Yeah..." he said in a hoarse whisper. "You want me to be submissive?" "Yeah..."
"Really submissive?" "
...yeah..."
"Okay. Are you someplace comfortable?" "Yeah... "
"Good... "
Her voice was perfect. Hypnotic. When she spoke her words fell into a soothing cadance that rapidly lulled him into a semi-trance and stiffened his cock into diamond-hard tumescence.
... I want you to imagine what I look like, first, Bill. I'm five feet, seven inches tall. I have long blonde hair that reaches halfway down my back. You can run your fingers through it and let it fall all over your face. I'm slender, with long perfectly shaped legs, a narrow waist and thirty-nine inch D-Cup tits. They don't sag. When I stand up and look at myself sideways in the mirror, the nipples stick straight out in front of me. 1 like to squeeze them... wrap my fingers around them and dig them into the ample mounds of flesh. 1 like to have strong hands on them... your hands. 1 like you to touch me in a way that lets me know you're the boss.
Right now I'm alone in my room. The door is shut. It is growing dark but I have not yet turned on the fight. That's because I'm waiting for you, and you have instructed me to wait on my bed and do nothing until you arrived.
I hear you coming. I'm frightened, because I know that I've been a bad girl. I've been a very naughty girl, and when I'm a naughty girl, you have to punish me... and you always think of a new way to punish me. 1 try as hard as 1 can, but 1 just can't seem to be a good girl. I hear your footsteps coming down the hallway to my room. Suddenly 1 feel very naked and wish that I had more on. 1 look in the mirror and can clearly make out the contours of my breasts underneath the flimsy black lace of the teddy that I am wearing. The material draws tightly up between my legs and rides up into my pussy slit. Earlier today you called me up and asked me if 1'd done all the tasks that you'd given me to do. "No, " I had to say, because 1 hadn't. You knew that I could never have performed them all anyway, but that's why you gave them to me. I was meant w fail, and we both knew it. "Go to your room right now, " you said, "and put the black teddy on, and wait for me. I want to find you there when I return. "
Now you open the door. You stand there and stare at me. "You've been a bad girl, " you say. "Why were you a bad girl?"
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'll try harder next time..." "Yes, you will. I promise you that next time you will try harder... because you will remember what 1 do to you tonight. "
You reach for me, take my hand and pull me to you. My body presses against yours... you place your hand between my legs and push the fingers up against my pussy... hard. The soft flesh gives way and the lacey material of my teddy pushes up into the soft, slick space within my body... I gasp. It is strong, and it hurts, and I want more. I want more, and you know I want more.
Now you grab my breasts and squeeze them and still keeping your hands on them you pull me closer to you and bring your mouth down on mine hard, and you kiss me firmly, letting me know with your kiss that I am your slave and you can do anything to me that you want.
"Turn around and bend over, " you say all at once. "Grab your ankles. "
Trembling now, I obey. As 1 reach for my ankles I feel the material of my teddy riding up my buttocks.
"Spread your legs," you say.
I do as you ask and even though my most private parts are still totally covered I feel utterly exposed to you and your strength.
Your fingers are on my buttocks now, running over them lightly. I hear you opening your drawerthe drawer in which you keep your special toys that you reserve only for me.
I wonder what you will use on me. Will you first tie me up and restrain me completely?
I can see you between my legs. I gasp. You are holding the quirt. The short handle easily fits in your large, strong hand, and the braided leather lash hangs menacingly. I steel myself.
"Your legs aren't far enough apart," you say.
I know what this means, the special torture you are going to give me, but there is nothing I can do about it. To resist would mean an even worse torment.
I spread my legs as far apart as they will go. My vaginal lips are pulled open. The material between my legs rubs over my bare exposed clitoris. The small nub of flesh, so hard and engorged, throbs in aching anticipation.
You rub my ass once more, and then, so fast I don't know it is coming, you swing the quirt and rip the lash directly across my cheeks.
"Oh God!" I cry out.
"Make no sound," you instruct me. And you lash me again. I suck in my breath and feel as though I will black out, but I follow your orders.
Now I feel your fingers between my legs. You rub the material over my clit and pinch it. I almost lose my balance, the reflexive reaction is so intense. But I remain standing.
You slap my crotch with your open palm. You slap it again. Now you rub it some more... and then you slap it again.
You move the leather braid over my pussy, still with the material between leather and cunt lips, a condition I know won't last much longer.
You suddenly bring the lash upwards with a sharp stroke. It whips directly over my clitoris. You whip it as hard as you can and I jerk forward momentarily. The pain sears my body and wipes thought from my mind.
"Stand still," you say, the calm tone of your voice standing out in sharp contrast to the passions you are unleashing within me. 1 regain my composure.
Now your fingers are underneath the material and you seek out my most private secrets. I feel you probing, exploring, sliding within me, parting the lips of my vagina and moving up inside me, deeply... stretching me... opening me...
You unsnap the teddy and quickly let it drop to my feet. "Step out of it," you say.
I do as you ask and then quickly reassume my former position and prepare myself.
"Keep going."
"Okay... we'll be going to a minute rate at that point. It will be $2.50 a minute. Is that acceptable?" "YES."
"Good Good, Bill. Now just settle back...
...You spank me for so long I lose track of the time. I lose track of my body. The hot searing pain flows out from my buttocks and cunt to fill my body. Again and again your stern hand descends on my tortured cheeks... or ascends as cruelly up against my pussy.
Finally you stop. I can't think. The sudden ceasation of pain is as shocking in its own way as the first blows were.
"Stand up and turn around "
I face you. You have returned to the drawer and when you turn around again, you have exchanged the quirt for a small cat-o-nine-tails, a riding crop, and a small, long, narrow paddle. The paddle is similar to the riding crop except that it's edge is flat, though no more than an inch wide. You also hold handcuffs, two ankle bracelets and several thin chains and clasps.
"Hands behind your back. "
When I have complied you cuff my wrists together. Then you fasten a leather bracelet around each ankle. You hook chains to each bracelet, as well as hooking a chain to my handcuffs. You bring all three chains together at a point just above my knees and pull them tightly enough that I am forced to lean backwards just a little.
Now my ass and cunt are totally exposed to you. Nothing is hidden. You set aside the quirt for a moment and bring your palm down on my buttocks. Ten hard smacks that each fill the room with their sharp retort, then ten more to the other cheek. Slow, deliberate, letting the full shock of each smack soak into my nerves before administering the next.
It feels as though it will never end.
You return to the first cheek with five more, these harder than before, and then five to the other. Now one to each cheek, again and again.
At random intervals you bring your palm up against my pussy which is at a perfect angle to absorb the full force of the motion.
She stopped. Silence.
What was going on?
His cock was drooling a clear fluid and had been for quite some time. His fingers moved slowly and lightly over the surface. He was close to coming, but he wasn't about to... not yet. This was just getting good.
"Would you like me to continue, Bill?"
Fuck, what the hell does she think? "Yes, I would." His hard-on was starting to wilt.
"Okay, we're about two-thirds of the way into your fantasy. Should I stop when your time is up, or just continue until you... until you're ready for me to stop?"
My breasts jut forward. Of course I can close my legs which would take some of the tension off, and so you retrieve the leg stretcher which you also fasten to the bracelets around my ankles.
"Stand utterly still, " you instruct me. "You've been a naughty girl, and you know what that means, don't you"
"Yes, " I say.
"Yes? Yes what?" you ask. "Yes master. "
"What happens to naughty girls?" "They get spanked, master. "
"Do you want to be a naughty girl!" "No, master. "
"Should I spank you, then?" "Yes, Master. "
"Where should 1 spank you?"
1 hesitate. 1 am frightened. My pussy drips with fear, and with quivering excitement.
"Everywhere, master. All over my body. " "Indeed? Shall I spank your breasts?" you ask. "Yes, master, please spank my breasts. " "Shall I spank your pussy?"
"Yes, master, please spank my pussy. ,
You touch me, touch my nipples. 1 am powerless. You pinch them both at once. 1 feel the tips of your fingers digging into me. You pull on my breasts and the elastic flesh stretches and the nipples ache.
Now you slap them. They shake and jiggle each time
your palm hits them.
"You have to have your breasts whipped, " you say. "That's what happens to bad girls. "
You take the cat-o-nine-tails and slash it over the jutting tips of my breasts. You start out softly, and then you get more forceful with each stroke. "Five for your left breast... five for your right breast... five for your left... five for your right..."
I scream and cry. My body shakes. I fear I will fall backwards.
Now you set down the whip and pick up the paddle instead
You reach for my left nipple and pull on it until the mound of flesh is tight.
You bring the narrow flat edge down across the top of my breast. As usual, you spare nothing in your stroke. Now you pull up on the nipple, exposing the underside of my breast, and you strike that with equal force.
Now you move to the right breast and repeat the procedure.
You stop a moment, and I study you. There is no expression on your face. You observe me cooly, like the object I am. A toy to amuse you, nothing more.
Now you start to spank my breasts in earnest, standing slightly to one side to bring the angle of approach more directly to the front. The paddle connects squarly across the nipples, then down across the tops, then up against the bottoms of my fleshy, tormented mounds.
Again and again you strike me with the paddle. I am screaming, I am crying... nothing makes it stop. I feet that I cannot go on, yet I have to go on because I am powerless to stop you.
Suddenly, without missing a single beat, you begin to paddle my pussy. Firm upward stroke follows firm upward stroke. You land each blow on my clit. I grow dizzy. The sensation is far more than the human nervous system was meant to withstand
You reach around behind me from time to time two administer strokes to my ass as well, but mostly you focus on my aching pussy and my breasts.
You are crazed now, whipping me harder and hander: And I love it.
Sam is getting ready to come.
I crave it.
His nuts are swelling and filling, ready for the big moment.
I can see that your cock is hard. I want it. but I know that I'll have to be a good little girl before you'd ever give me the honor of sucking or fucking that beautiful shaft.
For now I must content myself with the pain. and I am very content.
You finish by delivering ten hard spanks to my cunt, directly on my clitoris... and I finally fall backwards onto the bed, spasming wildly from orgasmic waves that wash over me...
Oh god... I'm coming. . . coming. . .
So is Sam. Crazily. Wildly.
Jism shoots from the tip of his cock and washes all over his hand. He gasps and moans and hears the voice in the phone wish him a good evening.
His balls are emptying out in mad spasms, each one slamming huge wads of white hot cum from the tip of his throbbing shaft.
Later, after he's cleaned himself off, he feels empty. It was okay, of course, but not the real thing. He knows that.
The real thing is in there sleeping and hasn't been real for months.
Sam knew that something was going to have to change.
Jeanna heard Sam come in. She was sleeping fitfully as it was and when he staggered into the room, belching and farting beer, she woke right up.
She didn't let him know though. She kept her face to the wall and held herself motionless. For his part, he made no effort to even she if she was conscious, let alone communicate.
There are times when it is appropriate to question what is wrong with a relationship, to examine the situation and see what corrective measures might be introduced.
Then there are those times when the only thing one can do is to react and try to stay in one piece. Jeanna was in the reactive phase right now. The time for analytical reflection had long since come and gone.
She knew that she was going to do something, she just didn't know what.
She also knew that she was a young, healthy woman who lived with a man the thought of whose touch made her stomach turn. She needed a lot of things in her life, and eventually she'd get herself together and figure out how to go about getting them all, but for the moment, what she needed most was some good, straight sex.
Lying there in the dark, feeling Sam flop into bed like a beached whale, she recalled that there was a time when she had truly enjoyed sex. Sex with Sam, even. A hard cock was good thing, and something she'd felt no shame about seeking. She'd been damn good at getting a soft cock into a hard state, too.
She was out of practice, but she realized right then and there that what she really wanted was to fuck again, and if he was nice to her, so much the better. But just to find a man that she could fuck without puking over him.
As she slowly drifted off to sleep again, she found herself reflecting on an ad she'd seen while idly flipping through the pages of Sam's latest copy of SCREW MAGAZINE. It had read:
WE NEED GIRLS!
Are you drop-dead gorgeous? Do you have a centerfold body? Would you like to earn upwards of $3000 a week, with no comittments or strings attached? Set your own hours? Answer to no one? If you responded "Yes" to ALL of the above questions, you need to call us. Excellent assignments, quality conditions, you call the shots. Everyone wins.
The add had appeared on one of the pages of hooker ads. She knew exactly what was being offered. She had been thinking about it for over a week now. But it wasn't until that moment that she realized she was going to call the number, first thing in the morning.
2
In which Jeanna makes a phone call of her own and Sam goes to town
Maybe it was finally making a decision. Maybe it was simply that Jeanna at last shined a light into a dark, dusty corner and let herself see what had been lurking there all along.
Whatever, the next morning she felt charged and excited, enough that she cleaned up the house and actually began the process of putting her life back into some kind of forward movement. The dirty dishes in the sink got washed, as did the dirty clothes
in the clothes hamper. And always in the back of her mind, that ad, and the phone number, which she by now had memorized.
Around one in the afternoon the floors had been vacuumed, the bed made, the clothes taken out of the dryer, folded and put away, the kitchen floor mopped... there wasn't anything left to do. Except make the phone call.
It finally hit her.
She was scared to death and had been running on blind fear most of the morning.
Any change is intimidating, but this was a bit more than just "a change." This was a revolution in her lifestyle... and now that "it was time for the deed to be done, she was having second thoughts.
She paced.
She opened a coke from the icebox and drank it. She turned on the TV and skimmed through the channels, finding nothing worth watching.
She looked at the phone.
She'd never really noticed before how menacing it looked... black... so inert, yet...
She shook her head.
What was she thinking, for chrissake? She knew she wanted to do it, so why didn't she just go ahead and do it.
Indeed.
Hands trembling, scarcely able to breathe, he picked up the receiver and dialed the number.
"Yes?"
It was a female voice, very calm, non-threatening.
"I was... I was responding to your ad..." "Sure. Do you fit the profile?"
Did she? There was a time when she would have had no qualms about claiming a centerfold body or a drop-dead gorgeous face. Where did those times go?
"Yes, I do," she said, mustering more authority and certainty in her voice than she felt.
It was all very straight-forward. An address was given. She was told to come in and they'd "talk", that afternoon.
Jeanna hung up.
She was quivering from head to toe, so nervous had the phone call made her. She poured the rest of her coke down the drain and popped the top off one of Sam's beers. He'd never miss it, and she sure could use something along about now.
Jeanna, she told herself, you're a very sick lady. Somehow the thought was exciting.
"Kemper, you got a minute?" called Sam's boss, Mel Teague.
Sam handed the checklist he was working through to Harry Simms, his right-hand man.
"I've been looking over the charts on that Farrow contract," Mel said when the door to his office was shut.
"Yeah," said Sam, not sure what was coming. He'd done everything by the book as far as he knew, and got the delivery out two days early.
Mel picked up some papers and glanced over them. Then he looked up. "Damn good job. Damn good."
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. It has only been a little over half a year since he'd been bounced up to management, and he felt himself to be on probation still, even though his first raise had come through right on time. This was the first he'd been singled out, however.
"And, in case you are wondering, I'm not the only one who knows it."
Sam said nodded slowly. That meant his name was known in the front office. Couldn't hurt. Then Mel tossed an envelope to him. "Truth is, Sam, production has shot up since you took over. The first quarter, no one said anything because it was still within the normal curve. But it's up even higher this quarter, and that Farrow job was brought in way under estimate. The boys upstairs are unanimous in giving you the credit. And, what's in that envelope as well."
Sam opened the envelope and his eyes widened. He'd seen right off that it was cash, which was treat enough. A token bonus for good work... sure, he'd accept that.
But then he counted the bill, all of which were one-hundreds. There were thirty of them.
"Mr. Teague... there's no mistake here?"
"The only mistake, Sam, was in not promoting sooner. We've known all along you had a good relationship with the men. You were always honest and fair while you were the shop steward. It's about time we brought you around to our side of the table. This is the company's way of saying `better late than never. "'
"I see..."
Sam was stunned.
"Why don't you take the rest of the day off Sam. See if you and the missus can't give yourself a little treat this weekend. You've earned it."
"Wha... oh, yeah sure. Thanks, Mr. Teague. 1 appreciate it. I really do."
"Don't mention it, Sam."
At the mention of Sam's wife, the first dark cloud had crept over his sunny day.
This morning they'd said no more than five words to each other. It had been dismal.
Recalling it now made him mad.
He looked at the envelope and thought to himself, 'Shit, I'm a happening dude. I don't need this shit!' I got better coming to me.'
He took his leave of his boss and signed out. But as he was driving out of the plant, he thought about that wad of unexpected bills in his pocket... and he thought about all the things he could do with it... and then he thought about how many of those things he'd really want to do with it if he wasn't married to Jeanna. Shit, did the hole in the bathroom ceiling really need fixing? Hell no. He hadn't noticed any increased difficulty in taking a shit since it'd been there.
And how about the bedroom... did he really care if it got repainted? Not hardly. The only real time he spent there was late at night or early in the morning. Late at night the lights were out and early in the morning he couldn't see anything anyway. Truth be told, it was fine the color it was now.
So where was he heading with this line of thinking?
He wasn't sure, but when he came to the turn-off in the Interstate that would take him back home, well don't you know Sam just kept on driving. Yessir. He had three grand in his pocket, none of which did he need to account for, and right now, he didn't give a shit. No sir, not about nothing. And his car was aimed in the direction of Manhattan, New York, and if ever someone wanted to make a place for folks with lots of money they didn't care how they spent, well they couldn't do no better than Manhattan.
3
In which Jeanna gets to meet exciting, interesting people and play a strange game
Jeanna parked her car at a garage and walked the three blocks to the address the woman had given her over the phone.
The office was on third avenue up in the sixties, on the second floor of a fairly ordinary looking six storey building.
SUNNY-DAY TALENT AGENCY
That was the name listed on the buzzer and on the door as well. Inside she found a normal looking office... small, but nothing peculiar or bizarre. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. In her guts she felt so weird she thoght she might puke, or at least pass out. Somehow, this plain office didn't seem quite sufficient to justify all that turmoil going on within.
A pretty young girl was at the desk. She looked up. "Yes?"
"I have an appointment with Ms. Barron. I'm a little early."
"Fine. Your name?" "Jeanna Kemper..."
She immediately regretted giving her real name over the phone. What if they traced her. What if they were setting her up for blackmail? What if.. what if...
What if she talked herself into a heart attack just because she was being a total and complete chicken? Jeanna took a couple of deep breaths while the girl picked up the phone. "You can go in," the girl said and pointed towards another door.
Inside Jeanna found the alleged Ms. Barron. Did anyone connected with this business, besides herself that is, use their real names?
"So, you must be Jeanna, is that right?" said Ms. Barron, standing to take Jeanna's hand. The woman was in her forties, but whether early or late was hard to tell. She was good looking, well put together and welt-preserved. Jeanna looked for tell-tale signs of a face-lift and found none. She wondered if the woman's fine firm breasts were plastic. It most likely wouldn't do to ask.
The woman looked Jeanna up and down approvingly. "You weren't over-estimating yourself," she said as she sat back down. "You've got what it takes to make it in this business. Now, why don't you tell me why you want to do it."
Jeanna started to search for an answer, but then all of a sudden she changed her mind. She said, "What's it matter 'why'? I want to, and I'll be good at it. What more do you need?"
The woman grinned. "I like your attitude. Usually if a girl starts in on a long explanation, I tell her she's not cut out for it. You need to be a little hard. Not too hard, or you won't connect with the clients at all. But you can't let yourself feel out of control. You follow?"
Jeanna nodded.
"All right, I know where you read the ad so there's no point in beating around the bush. You'll be working for an escort service, and the guys who call will be looking for a lot of things, all of them including sex. You got a problem with that?"
"No."
"Good. You make the decision. They pay for you showing up. They pay handsomely. We only accept past clients in good standing or someone with a referral from a client in good standing. You under
stand there's no way we can guarantee the quality of our clients at all times... some guys are just assholes... but we manage to filter out most of the scum before you get to them.
It works like this. They call for a date, tell us how long, where they are, what they require... we feed them to the appropriate girl. You'll make the call back and set up the particulars. A word of advice-anyone talks about fucking over the phone, pass on it. The guys we want are all supposed to have their shit together and know the score. You shouldn't have to talk about sex until you're on the date. It should be the kind of thing you both take for granted is going to happen, and therefore there's no point in being obvious about it. Anyone who's over anxious, you don't want to be involved with.
"I have a question," Jeanna said. "Shoot."
"How do you know I'm on the level?" "I don't get you."
"You haven't check me out or anything. How do you know I'm not a cop?"
The woman started to laugh. Jeanna felt embarrassed.
"I hope you don't think a cop would have asked a stupid question like that."
"Well..."
"Look honey, you think I stay in business because I go to church regularly? No. I stay in business because I play the game. And I know the game doesn't include sending in a ringer who looks like you. Can I continue?"
Jeanna nodded sheepishly.
"Good. We get $350 an hour, of which you get $150. Anything else is yours. An evening will cost them $2000, $850 is yours. We get a little better than half of the rate for doing nothing but making a phone call and running ads. Nice work, if you can get it. You hustle, you get the fringe benefits. "Which are what?"
"You travel. You see a lot of nice restaurants. You go to nice, exotic far away places like Atlantic City. You stay in nice hotels. You meet a great class of people. "
"You sound cynical."
"You'll sound that way after a while, don't worry. Look, hon, you don't have any illusions about what this is all about. The ad was telling the truth, you can make great bucks. Most jobs will bring you around $500 net. A guy who rents you for the whole night isn't worried about spending money and will be very generous with his tips. Like I said, our clients know the score before they get to us. We do all the networking for you. You want a shot?" "That's why I'm here."
"Great. I can put you to work right away if you want it."
"Right now?"
"Yeah. We don't mess around." "Well..."
"Think it over a minute. Meanwhile, let me get a look at you."
Jeanna didn't understand.
"I need to see you... naked. Make sure you don't have any hideous deformities that would turn a client off."
Jeanna started to be indignant, but Ms. Barron stopped her short.
"Hon, get this through your head. You are a commodity. You are something to be bought and sold on the open market. We treat our girls good, we take care of them, but you aren't here because you're a sweetheart, and it ain't your personality I'm interested in. Now... are you going to shed "em, or do we have to reconsider the whole situation."
"No... no, I understand. No, there's no problem." She stood up and started to unbutton her blouse. Then she unclasped her bra and let her breasts hand free. She removed her bra and blouse and laid them neatly over the back of her chair. Then she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. That too went over the back of her chair. She noticed that Ms. Barron was paying as much attention to her meticulous clothes folding technique as to her body.
She stepped out of her shoes and pulled her pantyhose down.
Then she held out her arms and did a breezy twirl. "Satisfied?" "Raise your arms."
Jeanna did so, puzzled. Checking out her underarm hair.
"Okay, they're yours." "What are mine?"
"Your tits. Good tit jobs go in under the arms so there's no scars immediately visible."
"Do you have a problem with breast jobs?" "No. But our clients do. The money they pay, they want PLAYBOY and PENTHOUSE come to life and sitting on their lap. You tell me: when's the last time you saw tit scars on a centerfold?" "I see."
The woman stood up and came over to Jeanna. Jeanna held her breath. Ms. Baron placed her hands on Jeanna's breasts and squeezed, not too hard, and certainly not with anything that could have been call lascivious intent. It was a very businesslike examanination, like she'd expect to get from her gynecologist. Ms. Baron felt all over her body-stomach, sides, buttocks, thighs.
"You're tight. Nice. How old are you?"
Should she lie. Of course not. Why bother. "I'm twenty-seven at the end of this year."
"It's all right, you don't look it. Okay, dressed." "Do I pass?"
Ms. Barron chuckled. "We'll find out after your first job."
"You mentioned a job... right away?"
"This evening. You didn't have anything else planned for this afternoon, did you?"
Jeanna's immediate thought was `Who will fix dinner for Sam?' but she caught herself at once. Fuck Sam. Let him stop at McDonalds. "No, nothing."
"Good, I have someone I want you to see. They'll take care of you. You'll meet the client at his hotel this evening for dinner. You don't need to call. " You'll make one stop first, and then meet him at his hotel. He's expecting you."
"Me?"
"Someone. You'll do just fine." "Well..."
Ms. Barron said nothing, just looked at Jeanna, but Jeanna got the distinct impression that she was telling her "Don't say no," and so she said, "Yeah. I'd love it. Look, it's all right that I'm a little nervous, isn't it?"
"Sure. It helps, actually. Look, here's the profile-you're single, you're a career girl, moving up rapidly on the fast track, you're successful... that's why you're making that stop this afternoon, by the way, so you can dress the part... you are not a hooker. This is simply something you do in your spare time, once or twice a week... a way to meet a good class of people and earn a little spending money. You won't have any trouble looking the part. You sound good... educated... You sound smart, did you go to college?"
"Some. Dropped out when I got pregnant." "You have a kid"
"No. Miscarried."
"Okay." She paused. "You married?" "Is it important?"
"Depends on whether or not he's the kind to come looking for you with a shotgun."
Jeanna smiled. "No. I'm not married." Sam was the kind.
Jeanna stared at the fast receeding lobby of the Marriot hotel. She was riding in one of the glasswalled elevators and her stomach felt like it was a black-hole. Had she been standing on the ground floor, it would have felt the same way.
Her reflection in the glass bounced a stranger back to her. The 'one stop' that Ms. Barron had her make before meeting the client was a combination clothing boutique and beauty salon call "For All Seasons. "They'd given her what they'd referred to as an emergency outfit, and then made an appointment for her to return and get a complete wardrobe. "We'll take it out of your proceeds for a while. You'll have it paid off in a month, don't worry"
Jeanna was worried. The simple (though undeniably elegant) dinner dress she wore had come with a $600 price tag. Shoes, another $200. Belt and shoulder bag, $120. Make-up and hair, $175. Jewelry (understated, tasteful) $340. "My girls will look successful. Ms. Barron said.
She emerged from the elevator. "Yes?" the hostess enquired, standing at the entrance like a palace guard.
"I'm meeting someone. A Mr. Jackson." "I see. Come with me."
She stepped into the bar and gasped. She looked out the windows surrounding the room and saw the entire city. She'd often heard about this rotating bar atop the Marriot, but Sam, of course, had never brought her here. Sam's idea of a good bar was B. W 's, a topless bar down the street from where they lived. Needless to say, Jeanna had never been inside with him.
She was escorted to a table with not one, but two men, both dressed impeccably. Jeanna's heart skipped a beat. As far as she knew, this wasn't part of, the script.
"Okay, Bob, this is my cue to bow out," said one of the men as soon as he noticed her. He. gave her a quick, approving look, reached across the table to shake the other man's hand and said, "I'll call you in the morning, we'll go over those figures I outlined. You'll like what you see."
"Good. I like good news first thing in the morning."
The man chuckled, gave Jeanna a quick nod and left.
The other man rose. "Bob Jackson," he said offering his hand.
"Debbie," said Jeanna, offering hers in return. His palm was warm and dry, his grip firm and certain. She figured him for about forty-five, very selfconfident and very successful.
She sat across from him. Amazing how a phoney name allowed her almost complete freedom to act a different personality. It had started this afternoon at For All Seasons when she looked in the mirror and saw a stranger, someone who'd just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. And now, it was continuing. The role seemed to be rising automatically from some hidden place she'd never accessed before. Never needed to access with Sam. Somewhere, Jeanna was still scared out of her wits, a timid, frightened, beaten down little housewife.
But Debbie was here. Debbie was accepting a cigarette and letting him light it, leaning back and studying him with her own cool appraising glance, telling him what she wanted to drink (a Margarita, up, salt), and feeling totally in control of herself, at least, if not of the situation.
She was amazed at how easily she could provide a cover story. Yes, she was a freelance artist. Yes,
she did a number of illustrating gigs for different places... who? Random House... Scholastic... various ad agencies?
He didn't ask too many questions. What did he do? "I'm an investor." What did he invest in? "Anything that pays 20%."
"Twenty percent? Where do you find those kinds of investments?"
He chuckled. "Everywhere. You have to know what you want, that's all."
"Perhaps you could give me some advice, some time."
"Perhaps. We'll see how things work out." They had two drinks, during which time the restaurant made one complete rotation. She'd never seen the city like this. By the time they were ready to leave, it was dark outside and the lights were on all over the area, glittering streets and expressways stretching out like dew-laden webs at dawn.
By the time they got up from their table, Jeanna was intoxicated, not by the drinks which only made her a little light-headed and affected her speech not at all, but by the proximity of power. She didn't know if anything this man had told her was true... but she did know that he was comfortable moving in high circles, and that large chunks of money were trinkets that he moved around on a game board.
She'd never seen his world this close up before.
The addiction was instant and all-encompassing. She wanted more... and more.
Her uncertainty worked to her advantage. The less she knew, the less she said, and the less she said, the more she appeared to be in control of the situation. He seemed to like that.
As they were stepping into the elevator he said, "I had dinner reservations for the Rainbow Room... but maybe we'll just have dinner sent to my room right here. How does that sound?"
She paused a moment. Was she supposed to actually offer an opinion? Of course not. He'd just told her exactly what he wanted. Her job was to provide it.
She casually touched his arm and said, "Whatever you say."
He liked that.
They got to his room and he picked up the phone and called room service. He didn't bother to ask her what she wanted, and she didn't really expect that the dinner was to be the main focus of the evening.
He went to the bar and poured himself a drink. "Another for you?"
"Is there tequila there?" "Of course."
"I'll have a shot."
He smiled and poured. "You hold liqueur your well."
Married to Sam, she'd learned.
She raised her shot glass to him in a silent toast and knocked it back.
Now the trick would be to keep herself coherent. A light head could be good or bad in a situation like this.
"You're a very beautiful woman," he said, the first overt reference to their reason for being together. Not knowing what was appropriate under the circumstances, she said nothing, just made a small motion of acknowledgement.
He approached her, took her in his arms and kissed her, long and hard on her mouth. She kissed back. And instantly within her a flame that had been flickering teasingly all evening flared into a raging inferno. She pulled him to her more tightly, gently rubbed her pelvis against his and, to her shock, found that none of her gestures were feigned.
Christ, how long had it been since she'd responded to Sam this way? Since she'd felt anything remotely resembling these sensations?
She moaned a little.
He stepped back, not quite prepared for the intensity of her reaction. He liked it, but he also recognized that she wasn't putting on a wellrehearsed performance for his benefit.
"You're new at this, aren't you?"
She blushed, felt hot tingles dance cheeks. She looked down, averting her over her eyes. He chuckled. "My God... I know that's what was advertised, but no one believes everything they read, do they?"
He pulled her to him again, this time much more carefully, much more gently. She arched her back as she turned her face to his, breasts jutting out under the soft, filmy material of her dress. His hands found them at once and he began rubbing.
She leaned her body forward, pressing her breasts into his searching hands. "God, yes," she gasped. Suddenly she realized that she was making this too much about her. He, after all, was the one to be served, not herself. She took a couple of deep breaths and let her hand fall to his crotch.
His cock was hard, bulging against his trousers. She ran the tips of her fingers over the protrusion. "You seem to have a rather extreme condition," she said, coyly.
"It would seem to be a rather extreme situation." They continued the light conversation, he rubbing her breasts, neck and shoulders, she rubbing his crotch. As she spoke, she unzipped his zipper and let her fingers glide inside his pants.
He was wearing boxer style under shorts. The loose, light material easily allowed her to feel the contours of his cock. She tickled the surface lightly, concentrating on the head. He sucked in his breath. "Room service will be here soon," she said. "Mmmm... one of us will have to tend to them."
He stepped back then. "Take your clothes off. Slowly. I want to enjoy watching you strip." Profoundly self-conscious now, Jeanna nonetheless felt the juices running hot between her legs. She would have to go back to her college days to remember a situation so totally charged with raw sex. She could hardly think and the tequila was only marginally responsible.
She first removed the three bracelets she wore, but when she went to remove her necklace he stopped her. "Leave that on," he said.
"Certainly she said with a smile. Must remember-you're here to please him, not the other way around. Still, she was so hot, so totally aroused, she couldn't imagine getting out of this situation without getting her rocks off.
She reached around behind her and unfastened the clasp at the back of her neck, then slowly pulled the zipper down. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves, but held the material up in front of her breasts.
"Like what you see?"
"I don't see too much, yet," he replied. "You will."
He lay back on the bed, legs slightly askew, eyes never leaving her body.
She unclasped her bra with one hand, keeping her dress in front of her still, then let her breasts fall free. As her bra came off she flashed him a quick glimpse of them, nipples and all, but then quickly covered herself back up again.
His erection was jutting straight up now and his hand was seeking it out.
"Don't you touch that, you naughty boy," she scolded, a teasing gleam in her eye.
"Oh... and what happens if I do?"
"You deny yourself the pleasure of having it done for you."
"You mean... you would... touch it for me?" She exposed some of her breasts. "If you're nice to me."
"What does "nice" mean?"
She exosed some more, virtually all the full mounds. Then she dropped her dress from in front of her, placed her hand over her nipples and stepped out of her dress. She started to squeeze and massage her breasts, pulling on the nipples until the mounds of flesh were stretched out good and taut.
"Nice means fucking me like a hot horny stud should."
His cock had worked its way out of his boxer shorts and the head was visible through the open zipper.
She stepped out of her shoes. Down came her panty-hose, then back into her heels. She now wore only the flimsiest of G-strings, black high-heels, and a pearl necklace. And he still hadn't seen her the way he wanted.
He was hungry though.
She moved over to the bed and sat down next to him. Still shielding her breasts, she reached for his cock with her free hand. He gasped as soon as she touched it.
Jeanna unbuckled his belt and said, "I think it's time you got yourself a little more comfortable if you want me to take care of you."
"...anything you say..."
He was hers for the taking. He'd do anything she asked.
This amazed her, that she could find herself this totally in control, all the while knowing absolutely nothing about what she was doing.
Well... obviously that wasn't totally true. She had to know something or she wouldn't have gotten this far.
"When the room service waiter comes, 1 want you to answer the door like that and let him in." Jeanna's heart skipped a beat.
"Then, I want you to give him a nice tip." "What... "
"Yes. That's what I want you to do." "But I don't understand..."
"Of course you do. You wouldn't deny me a request, would you?"
Jeanna paused. Her mind was racing. Did he want her to fuck him? She wouldn't do that. No telling who he was... what he had...
She wouldn't even suck his dick. Not hardly! And... what if he was gay? This was getting too weird all of a sudden.
"Look... I don't know about this."
He smiled at her. Somehow he looked different than he had in the bar. A little more sinister, a little more menacing.
He sat up and tucked his cock back into his pants. "One other thing. Make sure you play along with me when he's here."
"Play along with you... how?" "Don't worry, you'll know." The bell rang.
He got off the bed and started to head for the bathroom.
"Hey, wait a minute, where are you going?" "Don't worry, I'll be right behind the door. Listening. So make it good."
"Make what good?"
But the door closed. She thought she heard him chuckle though. The bastard. She'd like to have him shot. This was definitely too weird. She'd have to talk to Ms. Barron about this.
The bell rang again. Jeanna stood up. She didn't want to do it... but then, there was something so totally twisted and kinky, while at the same time being anonymous, that she found the prospect compelling, in spite of herself.
She steeled her nerves and opened the door.
The bell boy was a cute kid with blond hair and a wide eyed grin that turned almost at once to wide-eyed shock.
Jeanna had herself fairly well hidden behind the door, but one of her breasts was popping out from behind it, and she made no effort to hide herself.
"Hi," she said, amazed at how warm, calm, welcoming and natural she sounded. "You made good time. Come on in."
"Um... sure. I mean... are you sure?"
She opened the door a little wider and stepped out from behind it. Her breasts jutted nearly straight out at him, nipples dark and round like two eyes staring at him.
He was stunned. He couldn't take his eyes off her body.
"Come on... it's all right," she said.
She turned around and walked back into the room. He followed, but he had clearly been stunned by that first shock, and he hadn't come close to fully recovering yet.
He pushed the cart into the room.
"Thanks," she said. "Oh... did you bring the wine?"
He stammered, "Uh... yeah... uh... sure. Wine? You betcha."
He held up the bottle.
"Well... pour me a glass, would you?" He was totally flustered now.
She glanced down and saw that his cock was throbbing.
She moved closer to him as he fumbled with the cork.
"I thought they trained you boys to handle things like that."
"Yeah... well..."
It was a pretty lame reply. "Maybe you're better at putting things in, than taking them out."
He finally got the cork out, staring at her all the while. He poured her a glass and offered it to her. Jeanna chuckled, loving this more and more. She took the glass and set it back down. She was very close now. "Do I bother you?"
"No. No ma'am. Not at all." "Do you like looking at me?" "Yes. As a matter of fact, I do." "Then why don't you?"
She touched his crotch. He groaned.
She reached for his hand and slowly inserted it beneath the elastic band of her G-string.
He groaned some more.
She made certain his fingers were deep in the mossy grotto of her pubic hair, and then she pulled his hand back out, placing it between her legs outside her G-string.
He instinctively pressed against her clit.
Jeanna needed to be careful. She'd have fucked a collie right then, and was losing the ability to make any decisions at all, let along intelligent ones. She couldn't fuck him! She had to keep telling herself that. She just couldn't.
Well, maybe she could.
"Touch me. Feel me. Slide your fingers inside me."
"Look, lady, I don't want to get into trouble or nothing."
"Would you like to get into my pants?"
He glanced at her body again, first her breasts, and then her perfect waist, and finally the white triangle of lacey material that exactly covered her pussy hair (freshly trimmed and shaped at the beauty salon this afternoon).
He gulpled and a small strangled sound emerged from deep in his body.
She had her hand tightly pressed against his crotch now, pressing harder and harder against it. "If you'll excuse me..."
She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt. Pulling his pants down, she fished inside his underwear and brought the huge member out into the light.
It looked beautiful. This kid couldn't have been much more than twenty. Still green. He must have thought he was really going to make it with an older woman.
She started to lightly run her fingers over the full length of his cock, keeping up the steady stroking motions, back and forth, never varying the movements, never stopping.
She brought her mouth up to the head and started to lick it. Long leisurely strokes up and down his cock with her tongue pushed him right to the edge. Now the thing was in her mouth. Deep throating it.
She would have sworn that she'd forgotten how to deep throat. But no, like riding a bicycle, it never really leaves you.
She looked up at him. He was staring off into some unknown distance only he could fathom... and perhaps not even he could.
Now she pulled her mouth back until only the bulging, purple-hued tip was past her lips. The surface of the shaft was slick with her saliva.
She encircled the shaft with her thumb and forefinger and while sucking on the head, began a steady back and forth movement with her hand. Up and down... up and down... up and down...
Truth was, this isn't quite what she's had in mind, getting into this. But now, once she was involved, she'd become totally absorbed in the action itself, never-mind what she thought about it, or felt about it. There was probably a valuable lesson there for her.. and for all stubborn women everywhere... a lesson that most likely will be totally lost on them.
It wasn't lost on the waiter, however. He knew a good blow-job when he got one. He'd scarcely moved a muscle from the moment she'd first touched his crotch. Just in case this really was some shimmering fantasy from the twilight zone, he didn't want to do anything to make it pop like a bubble.
Of course, given the bedrock reality of her mouth on his dick and the delicious way it felt, he was pretty much convinced this was no dream at all, but was really happening to him.
That funny feeling started to grow in his balls. She sensed it. Something in the way he shifted his weight... maybe a variation in his breathing. She knew he was close. Hell, he'd been so shocked and nervous she was surprised he'd held out this long.
She could already taste the drooling emissions from his cock and now she prepared herself for the explosion of cum that was imminent. She stroked a little faster... and faster... and faster.
More of his cock in her mouth now. Sucking hard. Stroking hard. Back and forth.
His hips started to move, pushing his cock in further, pulling it back out. She let her teeth close around the shaft with just enough pressure that the edges would massage the tight sensitive surface, but not hard enough to really hurt.
That was it. She could tell now that within seconds he would be past the point of no return. She kept the momentum steady. Cock in... cock out...
He was ready.
So was she. She wanted his cum in her mouth. She wanted to feel the hot white goo splash over her lips, her tongue... and down her throat. Yes... she wanted to fell like a nameless slut... like the whore she'd become!
Several things then happened at once.
The boy leaned back against the dinner cart and jammed his hips forward in a suddenly wild thrust. "Oh, Jesus-fucking-Christ!" he gasped. Predictable, thought Jeanna.
He sucked in a deep breath... and she got ready. His cock was already spasming-and that's when things got really weird.
The bathroom door opened and out strolled Bob Jackson who suddenly thundered, "What the hell?" and kicked a chair across the room with a loud clatter.
"Holy shit!" the boy shrieked.
Jeanna was so surprised (she'd actually forgotten about him as she'd become absorbed in the dynamics of the blow-job) and pulled back-a little too far.
His cock exploded, but instead of expending safely and neatly inside her mouth, as she'd planned, she took the blast full in the face. Blast, hell... three... four... five...
One thick wad after the next, gushing from the stuttering mouth of his cock, all over her.
She had cum on her right eyebrow, cum dripping
off her nose, thick globs of the stuff on her cheeks, her chin, on her lips... some was even in her hair (that expensive wash and set, gone with the wind). The waiter was petrified.
"Look... I didn't... I mean..." he wanted to pull his pants up but Jeanna actually still had a firm grip on his cock.
Bob Jackson said, "Calm down, son, it's not your fault... that's just the way she is." Then he turned to Jeanna. "So... this is how you treat me? First night on our vacation, you have to humiliate me like this? I can't turn my back for a second, can I?" Huh?
Where was this guy coming .from?
He turned back to the waiter who had by now disengaged from Jeanna's grip and was trying to tuck his cock back in his pants. It was still totally erect, however, and he couldn't make it stay down. "Where are you going?"
"I have to get back, they'll be needing me." "Excuse me?"
The waiter looked up. "I said I have to get back." "You don't understand. I just caught you in a compromising situation with my wife. One phone call and you are history. Do you understand, sonny boy?"
The kid turned whiter than his cum. He gulped. Bob Jackson turned to Jeanna. "Look at you. I hope you're sufficiently ashamed."
Well, she guessed that was her cue, but what was her line? She'd heard of fantasy role-playing, but this was pretty extreme, no matter how you cut it.
What the heck. She was getting paid, and this was part of the job, although she'd have to have a long talk with Ms. Barron tomorrow.
She turned her eyes downward. "Yes," she said, in a soft voice, "I am ashamed."
"What was that? I don't think I could hear you, and I know our waiter friend here couldn't." "Hey, look dude, I dig you got a domestic situation here, but I didn't know.. I gotta go... you understand... "
"Keep quiet."
A natural authority in Bob Jackson's voice shut the waiter up. Jeanna could tell the man was accustomed to giving orders and expected to have them carried out to the letter.
He now held out his hand to Jeanna and helped her to her feet.
"My God... how disgusting. How humiliating," he muttered looking at her face. He picked up one of the white linen napkins that came with the dinner and threw it at the waiter. "Clean her up."
"Hey, why me?"
"You made the mess, kid. Or should I make a phone call?"
The waiter's silence was his reply. With trembling hands he started to wipe Jeanna's face clean. He quickly got the obvious splotches off, but her face felt tight and sticky from the residue.
Bob Jackson picked up the glass of wine from the dinner cart and splashed it in Jeanna's face. "Do it again. I want her clean."
Jeanna let out a little cry but said nothing else. She wondered what would happen if she left. Simply put on her clothes, said "Game over," and left. She could do that. No one had prepared her for this. Somehow, knowing that she retained that escape path, should she need it, allowed her to stick around a little longer. She'd see what transpired. Truth was, she was already hooked and just didn't know it yet. The waiter finished wiping her face.
Bob Jackson came over to inspect her. He picked up another linen napkin and handed it to the waiter. "She got wine all over her. Dry her off."
The kid was over his initial fright. He might still be concerned that he'd lose his job, but he was also getting annoyed.
"Hey... this is your problem, man. I don't want any part of it. You want to call my boss... fine. Make the call. And I'll go back downstairs and tell the whole fucking staff on my way out the door how your wife set you up. Think about that, dude. Everyone you see, every time you stick your face out the door, will know you're a fucking wimp who can't keep his wife in line."
"Is that right? I can't keep my wife in line? You're mistaken. You see, she plans these little surprises for me, fully planning to get caught. Do you know why?"
He shook his head.
"Because she likes to be punished. And now, we're going to punish her... and I'd like you to help." "Hope. Check out time. Let's call it even." "Come come. Don't try to fool me. I know how you feel about her. That she used you. That she set you up for her own selfish, twisted ends. Don't you hate it when a woman does that? How many times has it happened to you before?"
Jeanna's heart was beating faster now. This was taking a turn she didn't like. She watched the boy's face and could tell that Bob Jackson was getting to him.
The man reached for her and pulled her over to them. "How many times have you let yourself be set up by women, just because they were beautiful and you were hungry for some pussy? Hmmm? How many times have you been abused?"
"Look... I don't want..."
"Nonsense." He turned Jeanna around and started to slowly rub her ass.
"Wouldn't you like to be able to do something about it. At last. At long last? Balance the books, so to speak?"
Jeanna was trembling now. A part of her brain was screaming Get out! Get OUT! There was a rational part of her that was already fed up with this whole stupid idea, this sick game that she'd let herself get sucked up into... not just with Bob Jackson, but with the whole thing-the clothes, the agency, Ms. Barron... it wasn't her.
Or was it.
Because while that rational, normal Jeanna was urging immediate flight, apparently there was another part of her that understood quite well what was going on and not only accepted it, but enjoyed it... wanted it.
Because after all was said and done, she remained right where she was, naked but for a G-String, heels and pearls, with a strange man's hand rubbing her ass, talking to another strange man about... punishing her.
And the short, quick breaths she was taking, the pounding sensation in her temples was both a mixture of fear and something else, something that had been painfully missing from her life.
She didn't understand it, not even now, when she was in the middle of it. But she stayed right where she was.
"You don't want to leave, just yet, do you?" Bob Jackson said to the waiter. His hand kept moving over her ass. Then he slowly turned her around and ran his hands over her breasts. "Do you?"
The waiter clearly did want to leave. He was in over his head and knew it. But like Jeanna, there was something here that drew him like a magnet... he wasn't going anywhere.
"Good," said Bob Jackson. "Let's get started."
4
In which Sam goes underground and Jenna goes over
Sam looked out the window, down on Broadway. Everywhere he looked, there were lights. This city was too big. Too much for one person to handle. How the fuck did people actually live here. He'd never understand. Why, the niggers alone would make it intolerable.
The bellboy was turning on lights, checking into the bathroom, poking around the closet like he had something important to do when all he was really you're saying into English. Help me out. Tell me what I need to know on account of I obviously don't know how to ask the questions."
He watched the twenty bucks vanish. "Gotcha. You want clubs, they got three or four that are worth looking into. You don't find them advertised too much. Usually they rely on past customers they know, and referrals from guys like me. They figure if you're staying in a place like this, you're probably not a disease-ridden junkie.
"You want to swing? They still got clubs for that but the way 1 see it, you're taking too much of a chance in this town. Never know who's got the bug and who wants to swing with a rubber? I don't know, maybe you like to watch. Anyway, I can tell you how to get there, and how to get in once you're there.
"Then they got a classy strip joint. Heavy cover, but you see good non-stop strips. No sleaze. This is prime stuff and they don't stop all night long.
"You like B&D, a little S&M, they got two to choose from-"
"What's that?"
"You kidding? B&D, bondage and domination, you know, tying folks up and fucking with them. Not a lot of fucking, actually, but lots of kinky shit. Rubber, leather, whips, paddles. S&M gets into some serious pain. Don't get involved unless you're on the fringe or you got a strong stomache. How'm doing was waiting for a tip. Sam would give him one, but he'd have to earn it.
His one bag was on the bed. It had been in the trunk and he didn't know what was in it, but he figured he'd get a better reception if he looked like he really was traveling.
"So look," he said, "I'm kind of a stranger here. Where's a healthy guy go for a good time?" "Well, sir," said the bellboy, "you're right in the middle of the theater district... lots of movies playing, good food..."
"Hey, what, do I look retarded? I'm talking a good time. I'm talking action. You know what I'm saying?"
As he spoke he produced his wallet and casually thumbed through the wad of bills. He had his bank card and three different credit cards as well. He was ready for anything that came up.
"Again, sir, it depends on what you are interested in. There's lots of variety in this town." He paused. "I could give you a number. Someone could come to the room..."
"Yeah, yeah, that's fine. What about clubs. Anything worth talking about?"
"What kind of clubs?"
Sam produced twenty dollars and tossed it on the table next to him. "Do me a favor, will you? Let's stop talking in code. I get the feeling there's a magic button somewhere, I touch it, it translates what I doing, Mac, am 1 giving you plain English enough, or what?"
"Yeah... pretty plain. Tell me about the last one, B&D clubs..."
"No shit? Hey, whatever turns you on, right? Okay, my preference... yeah, I'm into it some... a place off of Park on twenty-second, called The Lash. Don't bother looking for a marquee, there isn't a clue what's going on. Here's the address..." He pulled out a small notepad and pen and started to scribble. "...and the phone number. You ask for Jack, you tell him Donnie sent you. You're in like flint. Okay?"
"Tell me what I do... 1 mean... they don't have clubs like this where 1 come from."
""Hey, I'd have never guessed. Look, you'll figure it out. They do shows, they got like a cast of characters... you can participate if you want, you can rent a partner if you want and go off on your own... they got lots of private booths and stuff... don't worry, they'll take care of you. Whatever you're looking for, you'll find it there."
"Don't tell me you're alone..."
She was tall and blonde and wearing a tight black dress. Leather dress, form fitting. Lots of form to fit. In her right hand she carried a drink. In her left hand she carried a small whip. Dangling from her belt were a pair of handcuffs. She looked like she was having a ball.
"Hate to disappoint you, but looks that way." "That mean you don't want company?" "Depends on what you have in mind with those tools you're carrying."
She sat down on the stool next to him. "Gosh... I was kind of hoping you'd show me." "Really? You mean you aren't into this sort of thing, I mean, like seriously."
"I don't think so. I think if I met someone who was, I'd be able to tell."
Sam looked around at the crowd. It was a fairly sedate crew, considering the place they were in. The bar was well stocked, the place was clean and elegant in a high-tech way. Soft blue lighting all around. The room was small with maybe fifteen, twenty tables. People were coming and going. Three doorways in various directions led down halls he had not yet explored. They seemed to be for people who knew what they were doing, but maybe not. "What's through the doorways?"
"Your worst nightmares... and your wildest fantasies."
"Hey what, you here alone too?"
"I came with a friend but she's occupied." "Doing what?"
"Whatever gets her off."
"I can't believe you're just floating around here loose. Shit, you wouldn't last ten seconds back at BJ's. "
"What's Us."
"A bar back home. Gets kind of a rowdy crowd on weekends, though no one carries a whip. Fuck, what do you do with that thing?"
"I don't know. Why don't you help me figure something out."
Sam was beginning to get the idea that she wasn't looking to use it on him necessarily. In fact, she might be looking for the exact opposite.
He downed his drink. "I heard something about a show starting soon."
"Don't worry, they go on all night." She took his hand. "Come on."
"Hey... where are we going?"
"I don't know. We'll find out when we get there." She chose a door and they wandered down. Every ten feet or so they passed open doorways. The walls and partitions were well designed. Sound seemed to get sucked up in the air and just vanish. You could hardly hear the music coming from the main room, and though sharp cracks of open palms, leather and wood paddles against flesh could be heard if you stood right at one of the openings, as soon as you walked on, the sounds faded into a kind of illusion of silence.
They stopped and looked inside.
Two women towered over a kneeling man with a dog collar around his neck. One of the women held him by a leash that was fastened to the collar. They were naked under their dresses, which were hitched up to their waists. "Lick it, you scumbag," said one. Her pussy was buried deep in the man's face. Sam couldn't imagine how he could breathe. The other turned around, bent over slightly at the waist and brought her hands around to her buttocks. She pulled them apart and then said, "Now this, you worm."
He pulled himself out of the one woman's pussy and immediately, without any question, began to lick the girl's asshole. "I want you to lick it totally clean," she said. "Get your tongue up inside me."
From where Sam stood, it seemed like the man was obeying her, without question.
He turned to the girl. "What the name, anyway?"
"Cindy."
Perfect. "Of course you are. What the hell else could your name be, with hair and a body like that, and handcuffs hanging from your belt. Well, I'm Sam, Cindy, and I don't think I've ever seen anything like that in my entire life."
They looked back into the room. Now both of the women were offering their assholes to the kneeling, cowering man (if you could even call him that-in Sam's book, he had to be lower than a fuck's your plant. "This is too heavy. Let's go."
If Sam had been shocked by what he saw in the first room, the next scene was guaranteed to send him into a total tailspin.
"Holy Jesus, would you look at that?"
A man was tied to a post. He was naked. His cock was hard and sticking straight out. A woman stood next to him, holding a thin cane whip in her hand. She was using the whip on his cock.
Sam turned to Cindy and didn't like the look of intrigued fascination that he saw on her face. "Don't get any ideas."
She said, "Yeah... but look, he seems to be really getting off."
Sam couldn't deny that. Every time the cane descended, whistling through the air as it did so, his cock quivered and his face contorted from the intensity of the sensations. Each stroke was accompanied by a tortured moan, but they weren't moans of agony. Or, if they were, it was an agony that he found distinctly pleasurable. Sam knew what those moans sounded like. Christ, how could someone enjoy something like that?
He took Cindy by the arm and said, "There won't be any empty rooms, we don't get moving." "Sure there will. This is a big place."
She wasn't kidding. It seemed like they just kept walking through this dark, shadowy cavern, moving deeper and deeper into the heart of depravity.
He saw a woman tied securely to a wheel that was slowly revolving. A man and a woman delivered careful, firm strokes to her body with cruel looking whips. The fact that she was continually turning around meant that every part of her body was exposed to the harsest strokes. She cried out, but there was no real protest in it, simply cries of release. "Here, I knew we'd find one."
Cindy walked in. Sam's eyes were fairly accustomed to the darkness. There was a bench, roughly at knee level, in the room, and a larger table that came a little above Sam's waist. There was a solid, wooden post with iron rings and clamps distributed in various arrangements. There were multilevel risers, all covered with plush shag carpeting.
Sam looked at her. She was studying everything with rapt fascination. Sam was scared to death, truth be known. He didn't belong here. That's what he kept telling himself. He should go home. It was too much money, and he didn't know what he was doing. He should just leave, now.
Cindy walked over to the post and inspected the iron rings. She reached up and grasped them with both hands, then turned around and faced Sam. Her raised arms caused her breasts to rise up even more firmly than what was normal. She stood there, appearing to be suspended from the iron ring, hung from the post like a mail sack waiting for the train.
Sam took one look at her and his cock started to get hard. She said, "One of those risers lifts up." He looked over to where she indicated. Among the various carpeted planes, one was smaller and a perfect square. Like the top of a box. He lifted it and... well HULLO! What have we here?
It was a twisted toy box. Whips, ropes, paddles, clamps, all manner of toys.
Cindy said, "Why don't you bring something over here and we'll try it out. Sam picked up some cord, a paddle and a riding crop. That should do for starters.
"You've been a bad little girl, haven't you?" said Bob Jackson.
Jeanna said, "Yes," in a voice so small she could hardly hear it herself.
"You are correct, my dear. You have indeed been a bad girl. My sweet little Debbie has been a naughty little slut, and she's going to have to be punished."
Bob Jackson turned to the waiter. "I think she needs a spanking. Don't you?"
The boy stared at Jeanna as though still refusing to believe that this was happening. He kept looking for the catch, kept waiting for the punchline, but this didn't seem to be a joke. Whatever these two were into, they were serious, and they were going to include him.
"What's your name, son? I figure if you're going to spank my wife, we should at least be on a first name basis."
"Steve," he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Okay, Steve. That's as good as any. I'm going to let you spank her. But I warn you, if you don't do a good job, I'll be displeased. I'm not the kind of man you want to displease."
"No sir, I wouldn't think of it."
Bob Jackson ran his hands over her crotch, playing with the material of her G-string. "No... I think we'll leave this on for now. I like to leave something to the imagination."
Jeanna was petrified. Her breathing was short and choppy. Her heart was pounding. Her legs felt weak. Most incredible, to her thinking, was the fact that she felt helpless to do anything. She knew that all she had to do was look Bob Jackson squarely in the eye and say "Game over," and he'd be history. She didn't, and what was more, she knew precisely that she was choosing not to. That she was choosing to be a part of this game, and to play it for keeps. Any game is serious, from within. It's only those in the bleachers who know it's just a game. There were no bleachers here-everyone was a participant.
"Sit down on the bed," Bob Jackson told Steve. Then he said to Jeanna, "Lay across his lap."
"I won't," she said. "You can't make me." The words formed in the mind of Jeanna, but by the time they were out in the room, they were part of the game, coming out of the mouth of slutty, defiant, petulant Debbie, the wayward wife. Bob Jackson took her hand but Jeanna pulled it away. "You can't make me," she said again.
Bob Jackson said, "I can. And I will. You know the rules. You broke them. Now you have to take your punishment. You can do it like a good girl, or you can be forced. I prefer neither way over the other. Both have their own pleasures."
His hand was at her neck now, and he pulled her toward the bed. "Debbie" snarled at him and hissed, but her fight was all show. It scarcely masked the quivering passion that boiled just beneath the surface of her skin. She allowed herself to be led, albeit reluctantly, to Steve waiting on the bed.
She had never been spanked before by a man... not since her father's firm hand had brought her back in line whenever she was too much of a smartass. She couldn't quite believe this was happening now.
She leaned forward, letting her body drape itself across his firm young thighs. Her pussy was approximately on top of the bulge in his pants (yes, hard again after just blowing a load all over her face. They might not be able to last too long at his age, but they never got soft, so who noticed?)
"Raise your bottom, my dear. We mustn't make things difficult for our guest." She did as she was instructed.
This must be how Marie Antoinette felt on the scaffold, waiting for the blade to drop. Time stretched out forever. Where was his hand... what was he going to do with it? Where would the first smack land.
She instinctively squeezed her thighs together and tightened her buttocks. As she squeezed, she felt the moist membranes of her cunt slit rubbing against each other with a squishy sensation.
"Please begin," said Bob Jackson. Steve slapped her on her right cheek. but it was nothing she couldn't handle. He waited.
Then he slapped her again, this time on her left buttock. Another sting, but nothing she couldn't cope with. A little disappointing, actually.
"Steve, Steve," chided Bob Jackson, "is that the best a strong young lad like yourself is capable of? I am disappointed."
Steve was breathing hard himself. He waited a moment or two more and then started again, this time laying the flat of his palm on her buttocks with much greater determination.
SMACK!
That was a solid, red-hot delivery that sent an electric shock up her back bone and down again. SMACK!
It stung.
Harder yet.
He waited a moment, perhaps checking to make certain he hadn't crossed the line, wherever "the line" might be located, and when there seemed to be no warning flags up, he proceeded, moving up to the next higher level.
He began to seriously spank her now. None of it made sense to him, but the situation was too purely delicious for him to spend much time figureing it out.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Ouch! that's too hard. Don't..." She reached behind her back and started to push him away. Steve pulled his hand back like he'd stuck his finger in an electric socket. He was all set to apologize, when Bob Jackson intervened. "I can see we're going to have to take some further action here."
He pulled on the elastic bands of Jeanna's Gstring and eased them over the firm mounds of her ass, pulling the flimsy, sparse garment down her legs. Then he picked up her panty hose. "Here," he said to Steve, tossing him the panty hose. Then to Jeanna he said, "Cross your arms in front of you." When she hesitated, he gave her a solid smack on her ass, one that she felt much more deeply than the playful pats Steve had given her. "Do what 1 say." She obeyed, crossing her arms in front of her. Bob Jackson tied one leg of her panty hose to her left wrist, which was on the right side of her body now. He pulled the material firm and tight behind her, and and tied it to her other hand. "That should take care of any unwanted intrusions," he said to Steve.
Then he stuffed her G-string in her mouth. Jeanna, by this time, should have been protesting wildly, and ready to call the police.
Except that she could tell her wrists weren't tied all that tightly. Tight enough to keep her from pushing Steve away, but not so tight that she was utterly helpless. She knew she could stop it... if she wanted to. She still didn't want to. Not really. `Now.. let's see you do a good job."
Steve started up again, and almost at once Jeanna began to squirm and buck wildly on his lap. he began to spank her with steady, serious strokes. Hard now, laying them on randomly... five to one cheek, ten to the other, then one each for a while, back and forth, all the while feeling more and more dizzy, light-headed, excited and aroused. He'd never done this to a woman outside of his fantasies before, and his fantasies had never contained a woman as gorgeous as this one.
His hand started to tingle, he'd hit her so many times. Still he kept going. She writhed and moaned through the gag in her mouth, she jerked and she shuddered. Large red splotches were forming over the center of each cheek, where the majority of his smacks struck her. The pain was hot and fierce, but once the initial shock wore off, it attained a kind of comfortable stability, a steadily growing heat in her buttocks that flowed through the rest of her body.
Finally, Bob Jackson said, "That's fine." He stopped, but reluctantly.
"I think you've taught her a lesson, don't you?" "Um... yeah... sure."
Already the heat and insanity of arousal was falling back a bit. Steve looked at his hand and felt the numbness. He looked at her buttocks and saw the flaming red from the spanking he'd given her. He felt the tremors still coursing through her, the near-involuntary contractions and spasms of her thighs, abdominal muscles, the muscles in and around her cunt... A mixture of awe and horror overtook him.
He'd never done anything like this in his life. What really frightened him was how much he liked it. How utterly delicious it was.
But Bob Jackson was clearly ready for him to take his leave. He'd gotten his kicks, and quite frankly, Steve didn't want to find out what else he had in that weird mind of his. Or her either, for that matter.
"Needless to say, 1 think we can forget all about this little affair," said Bob Jackson as he slipped Steve a fifty dollar bill.
Steve stared at it, then stuffed it into his pocket.
He'd spend a long time figuring this one out.
He untied her with loving tenderness, then massaged her wrists. He took the gag from her mouth. She felt such a mixture of sensations she dared not trust herself to speak so she waited for him to say something.
He said nothing, instead started to rub her breast lightly, letting the tips of his fingers dance over the surface, down along the curved sides, up to the hard nubbs of her nipples aching with desire, then down along the sides of each fleshy mound again.
She was spread out across the bed now, on her back, legs splayed, Bob Jackson sitting next to her. His hand moved up and down her torso, each time drawing nearer to her cunt, then, just as the sensations were starting to peak, pulling back, letting the arousal subside.
She moaned and felt her body, respond-all of her body. Each muscle seemed burdened with pentup frustration, as if she needed a release throughout her entire being, a full-body orgasm, if you will. Was there such a thing? She'd settle for a normal orgasm right now... but then... oh yes, there he was again, moving his fingers over her, down the smooth, flat plane of her stomach, touching the tops of her pubic hair, letting the fingers dawdle in the curly grove.
"Ohhh... do you have any idea what you are doing to me?"
"Yes. I do."
Simple, direct. He didn't waste words.
His fingers weren't pulling away now, but neither were they advancing further toward her cunt. She was wet. The membranes within her were swollen and aching for the kind of fuck she hadn't had in years.
Was Bob Jackson up to it, or did he just like to play games.
Oh yes... his fingers were on the move again. He moved through her moist pubic hair to the top of her cuntslit, right at the point where her two lips joined. He slowly began to trace the outline of her lips, running the tip of his index finger down the wet, slick edge of one side, then up the other.
He took his time, letting each delicious moment sink in.
Up to the top, down to the small island of flesh between her cunt and her asshole-lingering there a while to slow tickle the surface-then back up once more.
Again and again he repeated this, never varying his moves. It was hypnotic and she quickly found herself drifting off into a semi-dream state. Her mind started to float away and her body felt oddly out of shape, as though it were far too small and far too large at the same time.
Now, as he brought his finger up once more to the top of her slit, he let the tip drag slowly, exquisitely through the moist furrow between her lips, up over her clit, scarcely touching it, back to the top.
She gasped and shoved her hips up against his hand, then pressed her ass hard against the bed. Squirming like a new baby. Every muscle craving release.
"Do it... do it..." she begged. "Fuck me."
He said nothing, made not the slightest sound. Just kept up that steady motion, by now an up and down movement through her cunt slit. But he avoided letting his fingers descend into the murky, steaming depths of her body, and he avoided her clit.
She wanted him to do both. As his fingers moved up between her lips the aching nub of aroused flesh quivered in anticipation. Touch it, she thought, please, this time, touch it.
But except for a slight wisp of contact, he moved right over the thing. Same on the way back down. No more than a slight flicker of contact, which nonetheless felt like a shot of electricity. Her hips were in constant motion and every move exercised her aching muscles, just a little bit, but enough to add to the senastions gathering within her. But she wouldn't be satisfied until she attained the release she so badly craved.
Now his fingers were staying near her clit. Around, and around, and around, coming closer, literally tracing the outline of the engorged nub of flesh, but still avoiding direct stimulation, the kind she wanted so badly.
"Give me your hands," he told her and when she had done so he directed them to either side, placed the tips of her fingers on her lips and said, "Pull them apart."
She stretched her lips, wide. She could feel her clit rising as the membranes surrounding it grew taut from the pressure she was applying. There it was, right in front of him. Now, she thought, do something with. Please!
He touched the tip of his finger to the side of her clit, slowly drew a tight circle around it and then continued, decreasing the diameter each time until at last, at long last, his finger touched her clit and stayed there.
And stayed there. And stayed there. And didn't move.
God, what was he doing to her? Teasing her, torturing her!
A slight movement, dragging his finger the length of her clit. More... more... to the head... Yes! Squeezing it. Slightly at first, then with increasing pressure... squeezing some more... harder, caught
between thumb and forefinger like in a vise... pulling on it now.. pulling until it hurt, but moving toward that pain threshold with such deliberation that she was able to constantly push it back redefine it at a higher lever, accept greater and greater levels of sensation as pleasurable...
Christ, would this never end? She hoped not.
5
In which Sam recalls his Boy Scout training
Cindy's black leather dress had no straps. Instead the front wound around her neck in a kind of collar which, he discovered, unfastened with delightful ease. Her back was bare and she wore no bra, of course, and Sam had been watching those bulbous mounds of quivering flesh dance around with reckless abandon from the moment she'd come over to talk to him, and now.. now by God, he was going to get his hands them.
He undid the catch and the front of he dress just dropped away. She wasn't saying anything. She watched him, wanting to see what his next move was going to be, but, clearly, this was his show. He'd better not fuck it Up.
She gripped the iron ring above her head, stretching her arms and tightening the muscles that supported her breasts. This made them stand out more firmly than they would have ordinarily, but, Sam noticed, not with the tell-tale bulge that gave away a tit job. These were real. They looked soft and when they jiggled, the jiggles raced all the way through.
He looked up at the ring above her head. There were a couple of other rings, and a few notches and a clamp or two as well on the post, and he didn't have the faintest idea what they were all for.
His first thought was to just tie her hands to the ring she was already grasping... but that didn't look right. No way to get a firm grip connection.
She was waiting.
He had to do something.
Suddenly the solution came to him. Simplicity itself. He reached up to the ring and slipped one end of the rope through it. He tied this end in a simple loop around her wrist, and pulled it tight. Then he pulled on the free end, which pulled her tied hand back up to the ring. He raised her other hand and slipped her wrist through a second loop. Perfect. She had no more than two or three inches of leeway in her arm movements, and she wasn't going anywhere. He watched her breasts rise and fall and realized that she was breathing harder.
Sam's cock was hard already. Just the idea of being in this room with a woman like this was sending the poor thing into fits of ecstasy.
He thought back to the phone fantasy of the night before. Was that the way it really went? Or was it just a bunch of bullshit for losers like himself who were sitting home alone pulling their puds.
Cindy's body was making slow undulating movements in time with the music that wafted softly down from hidden speakers, filling the room with the same shadowy glow as the low blue lighting. Did she know what she wanted? Of course not. What she really wanted was for him to show some certainty. That's all. Was there something he wanted to do? Well then, what the fuck was stopping him? Nothing.
Time seemed to move very slowly for Sam as he reached out and took both her breasts in his hands, holding them lightly, cupping them, squeezing them.
They were deliciously soft and wonderfully alive, as was the rest of her body the moment he touched her.
She sucked in her breath the moment he made contact and let her head fall back, eyes tightly closed. She was ready for him.
Sam took her nipples between thumb and forefinger of each hand and began to pinch them. "Ow," she moaned, a slight grimace of displeasure flickering over her features.
Sam immediately pulled back. Then he realized, that was what he'd been doing all his life. Letting a woman set the agenda. Her need. Her desires. Her expectations that couldn't be disappointed.
And was that what they really wanted? No. Not if Jeanna was any indication. The more you gave in to them, the more dissatisfied and demanding they became. You couldn't win.
And now, he had a chance to see that destructive reflex in action. A gorgeous womn who wanted him to take charge, who wanted him to gratify himself with her... and what did he do? He wimped out at the first sign he might be displeasing her. He'd spent his whole fucking life trying to please women, and where had it gotten him? It was time to please himself.
"Turn around," he said to Cindy. Her arms were totally unrestricted, as far as a rotating movement was concerned, and she did as he instructed her.
Now, to figure out the rest of this dress, and get her out of it.
Ah, that wasn't so hard. He just pulled down this little zipper right here... unfastened this snap, then let just the tips of his fingers run over the silky material of her crotch, and they'd start again. "Oh, yes... oh God, you're making me feel teriffic."
"Yeah... ? What do you want?"
"Anything. Everything. Do whatever you want." Now he moved to her side, turning her at an angle to the post. He started rub her cunt with his left hand, from her front. His right hand moved to her ass.
She wanted a spanking.
He was going to have to deliver.
He was conscious of a line yet to be crossed, within him. He felt self-conscious, a little afraid, even though he knew he didn't need her permission, and that he had it, at any rate.
Her cunt was oozing all over his hand, her ass was jutting out backwards... she was waiting... waiting... dying to satisfy some strange hunger he could only guess at...
All he had to do was to flatten out his right hand, raise it up... and bring it down hard across her left cheek... SMACK!
He didn't hit her hard. Still, her body jerked from head to toe as though she'd been shot with a high-powered rifle. She gasped and eagerly stuck her ass out to him for more.
Instead he ran his fingers tightly over the surface of each rounded, hungry cheek, now squeezing, now and that snap, and then, voila, as if by magic, the leather sheath slid off her hips and onto the floor. Sam kicked it away with his foot.
He couldn't believe the vision standing before him. His most extreme fantasy the previous evening didn't come close to this.
"Spank me," she said. "I've been a bad girl." Her hips were continually gyrating in long, lazy, delicious motions.
Sam reached between her legs. The silky material of her panties was slippery with the juices flowing from within her. Her passion and lust was apparent. She moved much more rapidly now as he started to explore her body.
At first he kept his fingers outside the material of her panties, pushing it up into her crack and rubbing it over the aroused nub of her clitoris.
"Oh Jesus, yes," she gasped, "touch my clit, make me feel it."
He kept doing exactly what he had been doing, maintaining a steady, rubbing movement, neither increasing nor decreasing the speed or the pressure.
Every fifteen seconds or so she would try to lower her pelvis into his hand to increase the pressure, but he was too quick for her, pulling his fingers just out of reach.
She'd squirm there, thrusting her hips into air, seeking once more for that delicious sensation. He withheld it until she was about to explode, tickling, now pulling his hand back altogether. Now he slid his hand down the front of her panties. Her pubic hair was moist and warm. He slid his fingers through it until he touched the first hint of her opening, those slick membranes that feel like nothing else in the world
Her clitoris was rock hard and as he moved his fingers over her cunt lips, he felt its contours, felt the expanding shape as he moved to the engorged tip.
He touched the exposed tip with his finger, and left it there, neither rubbing it nor stimulating it in any way beyond the simple sensation of contact.
She tried to make up the slack, thrusting again with her cunt, trying to increase the pressure.
"Don't move, " he instructed her. "Don't move a muscle. "
"Oh God... " she gasped.
She continued to thrust her hips.
"Did you hear what I told you? I said 'Don't move'. " He lifted his finger away from her clit and she tried to follow with her cunt.
He slapped her ass, hard. It was a serious, stinging blow.
She cried out.
"Don't move, " he said.
She kept undulating her hips, however, and he slapped her ass again. And a second time, even harder. "Don't move, " he told her again.
"1 can't help it. "
"Do what I tell you. "
"Oh God.. I can't help it... touch my clit, please, touch my dit. "
He pulled his hand out of her panties, took hold of the elastic band around her waist and ripped it right down to her thigh.
She gasped.
He tore the other side as well, and there she was, naked, fully exposed to him.
"Spread your legs, " he told her. "Wide. " She moved her feet apart, opening her legs.
He slapped her ass again, this time conscious that there was nothing protecting her milky-white flesh. He made it sting.
She gasped. "Wider"
She kept spreading her legs until she had lowered her body to the limit permitted by the ropes at her wrists. "Now, " he said, "hold still. Don't move a muscle. " "I'll... I'll try," she said in a small, tight voice. His hand moved back to her cunt and this time he let his first two forgers lay across the full length of her spread slit. It was a mushy swamp of aroused flesh. He pressed deeper into her slit, then began to slide his forgers up and down lengthwise through her cunt. Her ciit, as well as the rest of her, received the full benefit of his fingers. She once again began to gyrate wildly.
"I said keep stilll, " he said. He slapped her again, but this time it was her cunt that he spanked. He delivered one stinging slap to her widely spread cunt, making sure that the direct center was on top of her clitoris.
She screamed and for a moment her legs gave out, suspending her from her wrists. She quickly regained her balance, however and positioned herself for the next blow.
Sam reached around behind her with his right hand, down the crack of her ass, until his fingers were at the opening that led deep inside her pussy.
He slid a finger into her. And a second.
She was tight and he could see that he'd have trouble with a third, but this was good enough for right now. Two forgers in Cindy.
He spread them apart slightly, testing the elasticity of her inner cunt walls.
She cried out with a deep moan of satisfied pleasure. So far she'd gratefully taken everything he'd offered her. Now it was time to turn up the flame a little.
Keeping his fingers deep inside her, he started to spank her clit again with his left hand.
At first he gave her only lightly stinging smacks, delivered to the nerve-packed nub of flesh, not really hard, but enough to make her feel it.
She writhed wildly on his hand and at the end of the ropes from the first, and showed no sign that he was going too far.
So he slapped her again. And again.
Each time, he increased the intensity. Harder and harder.'
Then, for variation, he tried something now. He brought his right hand up to her breasts and whipped the tips of his, fingers across her nipples.
More writhing, more gasped moans of deep pleasure. He moved from one nipple to the other, started a steady alternating series of ever more firm slaps. But he kept strictly to her nipples for now, letting the tips of his fingers whip in a sideways motion across the dark rings of flesh.
Her body jerked with each stroke and her tits jiggled and shuddered madly.
Around his finger flowed a steady stream of oily, hot juice from her cunt. Each time her body shook the walls of her cunt jammed randomly against the ups of his fingers, stretching them till they nearly ripped like frail paper.
Now he moved his left hand back to her clit again. He pushed his first two fingers down on either side of the thing, forced it up in between them.
"You like that?, he asked.
"Yes, " she said in a voice so soft he could scarcely hear her.
He started to squeeze. Her clitoral tissues were fully aroused and her clit was rock hard He squeezed more and more forcefully, but there was only a limited degree of elasticity in her clit. It seemed to Sam to be like hard rubber. Springy but solid. He squeezed harder, forcing the bulk of her clit farther up between his constricting fingers, literally stretching it away from her cunt clit.
He locked it in and then he pulled further. "OH... OH GOD... OH GOD!
It had to hurt. There was no way it couldn't hurt, and yet, though he was fully alert to any sign that he was going too far, she gave no indication whatsoever. Nothing.
She liked this...
Or at least she needed this, which took Sam into an entire terrain he didn't even want to think about, let alone try to understand.
He slowly extracted his fingers from her cunt hole now and wiped them slowly, carefully over the surface of her ass cheeks.
Those beautiful rounded globes of flesh.
Those quivering mounds, waiting for him, offered to him, sacrificed to his pleasure.
Who could ask for anything more.
He started to spank her now, a slow steady spanking, with about five to ten seconds between each slap.
He used the full flat of his palm, not just his fingertips.
Down... SMACK!
Up... and down again... SMACK!
That brought her upright again. Right to attention.
"Bend forward," Sam instructed. He wanted her ass right in front of him.
She slowly did so, almost reluctantly, it seemed. But she did it, and that was the important thing. He spanked her more firmly now. Steady slapping strokes across the full surface of both ass cheeks, again and again... each stroke rippling through her like an electric shock, send all her muscles into wild spasms.
Sam was getting dangerously close to an edge himself, though he probably didn't realize it.
But face it, this kind of power over someone, particularly when they are gorgeous and most likely going to fuck you before the night it through, can be positively addicting.
The brain of a poor slob like Sam couldn't be called too complex in the first place. Overloading his circuits like this could be inviting disaster. For instance, he could completely lose control and go into a wild shark-like feeding frenzy... and you wouldn't want to be around to have to clean up the mess when that was finally brought back to some semblance of civilization.
On the other hand, he could lose everything else... as in all brain functions. Yeah, that's right, the poor slob could wind up brain dead, all the useful cells blown like cheap speakers with Molly Hatchet blasting through them.
You never can tell. That's why you have to be careful who you let tie you up. Remember that, boys and girls, and you might stand a chance of coming out of your own bouts of ludicrous excess still on your feet.
Come to think of it, Cindy was still on her feet, and Sam's hand, along about through now, was starting to get damn tired. Hurt, too.
He'd been laying them on pretty regular... probagly more than a hundred, though truth be told he'd lost count after the first five, but even in this blue like he could tell there was some kind of flaming blotch over her ass. You can't really see red under a blue light, but he knew that it was flaming hot all the same. Color wasn't quite the point here.
He thought about all the things he wanted to do to her... Christ, he hadn't even gotten into the toy box yet... but truth was, he didn't want to kill the poor girl... he just wanted to have some fun.
And right about now, that included getting his rocks off and so he reached for her arms and untied her.
She let out a soft moan as her arms came down. She looked up at him. "You're not done, are you?" "Where do broads like you come from?" "What do you mean?"
But more to the point, Sam was thinking, where do they go when the sun comes up? Did she get up at seven thirty and take a shower and go to work
in some office?
What would she do, sit on a pillow all day?
"I mean it... what do you do for a living? Do you work?"
She laughed. It was a genuine laugh. She wasn't fucking with his head or anything. "God... what a horrible thought."
"Yeah. Well, I think I can put you to work right now."
She threw her arms around him. "Doing what?" She started to nibble on his ear as she spoke to him. He picked her up and took over to the multi-level risers, laid her down and spread her legs. Then he dropped his trousers fast and shed his underwear even faster. His cock poked around in the shadows, disappointed there wasn't more to see but glad to be let out for a change.
Don't get used to it, Sam thought, you're going back inside, just as soon as I can poke you in there. He dropped down between her legs and ran his fingers through her pussy, just to make sure she was still wet.
He needn't have worried. The Yellowstone fires would have succumbed to the torrent of liquid rushing from inside her. He couldn't remember when he'd ever felt a pussy that soft and soaking wet.
He ran the head of his cock up and down through her slit a few times to coat it in her natural lubrication, and also to massage her clit a little.
She gasped and cried out some more.
Of course she did. She was hot and this was a genuine, bona fide Sam Kemper fuck coming up, and things didn't get any more exciting than that.
He moved the head down to her cunt hole now, and pushed the bulbous head just past the tight opening.
For a girl who was as much of a player as she seemed to be, she clearly hadn't been used all that much.
He pushed a little harder. His cock slid a little deeper. Her body heat rose a little higher. And Sam thought, 'life is fine.'
"That's good, baby," she moaned. "You know how to deliver. I knew you would. You're good. God... you're good. I had you figured from the minute I saw you."
He buried his cock in a single, harsh thrust. Aside from feeling great, it shut her up. She sucked in her breath and froze.
He pushed harder, even though the shaft was buried up to the hilt.
You can always go a little deeper, Sam thought. And it seemed that he was correct. He managed to push a bit farther into her, to stretched the bottom of her cunt a little more.
She wrapped her legs around him and jammed her pelvis back up at him.
Sam started to pull back now... slowly, not wanting to trigger his cock too soon.
He realized the second he got inside her, that his balls were already about to explode and that it wouldn't take much at all to push them over the edge.
The last thing he wanted to do was to come too quick.
That would definitely blow the image.
He wished he was a little more drunk. That always slowed the reflexes a little. But he'd worked off the last drink a while back and now he was on his own.
A problem exacerbated by the paltry quantity of sex he and Jeanna had enjoyed lately.
When he'd shot his wad last night listening to that bimbo create a pale reflection of the real thing (he now knew), that had been the first time in over a week that he'd gotten his rocks off.
You stop doing it and after a while your desire drops.
He was going to have to see about his desire from now on.
He let his cock rest a moment at the opening of her cunt, not pulling the head completely away from her lips but keeping the contact light and feathery.
She didn't care. He could have recited the alphabet, read his laundry list, played solitaire, she would have thought he was the greatest thing in the world. At this point in time, he could do no wrong.
Once she came, that was subject to change, as Sam knew, but right now she needed something and only he could provide it.
He felt the fire in his balls lessen a little, and he decided to re-enter the twilight zone.
Sam Kemper, a little man with a big dick, a dick doing all the thinking right now...
He pushed back in and she went bonkers all over him.
He didn't know for sure, but he suspected she might have had an orgasm right then and there. Something in the way her body totally froze up for a moment, and then she exploded into a frenzy of animated fucking. Hips blasting against hips, cunt swallowing his cock, chewing it to ribbons.
He pulled back out. She was going to make him come if she kept that up.
"Oh, you bastard," she gasped, not exactly sounding like she meant it. "You're teasing me. Oh God... give it to me. Please... make me come. Please, make me come."
That's when Sam finally started to get wise. She didn't care what he did, so long as he kept doing something, and stretched it out as well.
He touched her cunt and tickled her clit.
She shook and shuddered and uttered crazed sounds that he didn't want to try to translate.
He touched his cock to her clit and her hips undulated out of control, and she shook and shuddered, and gasped and made crazy sounds.
He moved his cock back to her cunt hole and pushed it inside a little bit. Then farther. And farther.
All the way again.
He checked out his nuts and found them secure. 'Hang in there, guys. We're going for the big kill.' He started to fuck her steadily now, pulling in and out, letting his cock move all the way to the opening, then drop back down... then back to the opening again, then back down.
In and out and in and out again, steady fucking. Each down trust was matched by an upthrust from her.
Sam slowly drifted off into NeverNeverLand and let the waves of delicious sensation wash over him. There was a point of tension that you approached when you fucked, and sometimes it would just pop and you'd spill your load.
But if you could keep your cool, suddenly you'd hit cruise control, and that's where Sam was now. He thought maybe he'd just fuck her all night. In and out... in and out...
She was splattering herself all over him... and then...
All at once, she was at her peak, just a single mad sweep up into the stratosphere.
She squeezed him with her legs and clawed him with her fingers and bit his neck and shifted into crazy overdrive with her cunt.
And then she was still. No motion. No sound. But not relaxed, either.
What was she doing? Every muscle was taut. He felt like he was wrapped up inside her.
And then he heard her exhale in a long tortured gasp and immediately suck in another lungful of air. She was coming.
She was in the midst of a single spasm. Like a tidal wave washing over her.
He looked down at her face. It was transfigured. Like nothing he'd ever seen before. God only knows where women go in moments like that, but they go there alone. No man can go with them.
She finally started to fall off the extremes of her peak and her body regained a bit of animation. She cried now. Whimpered, moaned, snivled, gasped and shuddered.
She was all over him, kissing his tongue.
She pulled him close to her.
She rubbed her tits across his chest.
Sam pulled out of her cunt now, once he was certain she was done. He hadn't come yet, but he knew where he wanted to do it.
He moved up he body until his cock was dangling right in front of her face.
She took it at once and sucked the full length into her mouth.
That may have been one of the quickest blow jobs he'd ever had in his life, (he was right on the edge of orgasm) but it was also one of the best.
She ate him alive.
And when at last his balls spilled over into that delicious ecstasy, she took every drop and swallowed it all, a true rarity in this age of disease.
Later, they dressed and let some other couple come in and use the space while they went back to the bar and had another drink.
"Where do you go now?" Sam asked. "I don't know."
"Where do you live?"
"That's an interesting question."
"Why don't you come back with me to my hotel. I'm staying at the Marriot."
She took as much time as she needed to drain her glass to say "Sure," and they were off.
Pretty good night, so far, thought Sam.
6
In which Jeanna's job interview takes a strange twist
"You bastard, you fucking bastard... " moaned Jeanna as Bob Jackson slowly peeled her vaginal lips back like petals of a new flower opening in the dawn.
Okay, that was a bit purple, as far as prose goes, but what do you want? Relevance?
Her clit was aching madly. He'd been slowly tormenting her for what seemed to be hours (it wasn't really, but when you are this sexually aroused, time starts to play funny tricks on you. Einstein talked about this when he said "Der perception of der time is inversely proportional to de length of der phallus." That's Sam Einstein, we're talking about, and that observation got him drummed right out of Tijuana Tech. Now he deals dope).
He pulled hard enough on her lips to force her clit to rise up off the pink membranes in which it was usually nestled snugly.
He lowered his mouth to her cunt and licked along the length of her cunt slit with the tip of his tongue, lightly, so lightly she scarcely believed he was making contact. Indeed, something so delicious, so awesomely spiritual couldn't possibly come from physical contact, anyway, could it? No, must be a true connection with the cosmic force itself, drawn into the vortex of her cunt.
He touched his tongue to the tip of her clit again, let it linger there a while, and then began to slowly flick it back and forth... back and forth... quick little stabbing motions, darting in and back again.
Each time his tongue touched her clit she gasped and the muscles in her abdomen and pelvis spasmed wildly, bucking her hips up off the bed.
"Hold still," he told her. "Just relax."
"But..." she gasped, "I can't. It's too intense." He touched his tongue to her clit again and once more she jerked up off the bed.
Without a moment's hesitation he turned her over on her side and smacked her ass.
"Don't move." "Ouch. That hurt."
"Of course it hurt, you dumb bimbo," he said, laughing. "Why the fuck else would I slap you?" That made sense in a warped kind of way and for just a second she was at a loss for words.
Of course, her brain wasn't working all that well to begin with, and she was rapidly on her way to a total meltdown. She was about to say something else, but there was his tongue back at her cunt again.
And what do you know? Her body jerked crazily once more, this time jamming her cunt right into his face. Her pubic bone mashed against the tip of his nose.
"OW!" he moaned. "That was the wrong thing to do, my sweet."
He turned her on her side again and gave her a couple of hard smacks to her ass cheek.
"I've got an idea," he said.
"Uh-oh. Why do I think that doesn't sound very gam?"
He chuckled.
"Relax, you'll love it. You've hung in there with me so far, haven't you? You're still walking."
He produced several lenghts of rope, a sturdy nylon, that she knew he would be able to tie into expert knots.
She suddenly felt frightened. What the hell was she doing here? It wasn't turning out at all to be the kind of night she'd been expecting. This was supposed to be a night of good, exciting fucking, for which she'd also get paid.
Instead it was turning into a night of... kinky... good... exciting fucking... and she was still going to get paid... and she'd discovered a few things about what she was willing to put up with, and what she really liked.
He moved fast. "I think steps must be taken to save you from yourself, my dear," he said to her. "Otherwise, you may well miss out on the entire point of the evening."
"I think maybe your point and my points are pointing in different directions."
"Not possible. Your point is my point. Or, rather, it's the other way around. Anyway, that's your job. Am I right?"
She nodded as he looped the end of a long length of rope around her ankle.
Before she could figure out what he intended to do with it, he tossed the other end over the drapery rods. "Don't pull too hard," he said to her. "This is a good hotel and they use quality construction, but I would hate for you to have to foot the bill for the repair of any damaged merchandise."
All the while he spoke he was pulling on the rope, raising her leg into the air. She was still laying on her side from when he'd smacked her a couple of times, and now her legs opened like a pair of scissors.
He quickly tied the rope to the bed and then, using a shorter length of rope, secured her other leg to the bed as well.
She watched him prepare two more lengths. These were for her wrists, which he pulled over her head and tied to the other end of the bed.
She wasn't truly secured, and by no means helpless. But he hadn't been kidding that she would have to do some damage to get herself free.
Besides, she knew he wasn't really trying to hurt her. He only wanted to play around a little, and... anyway, she hoped that's all he wanted.
"Now, where was 1?" he mused. His head dropped back down to her pussy, now fully spread and opened to him. He licked along the opened gash several times, making certain that she was totally lubricated, then he moved his tongue deeper into the depths of her pussy hole.
She was surprised to feel how deep he was able to push his tongue. She felt like he was tickling all the way up inside her, into the deepest, most private recesses in her body.
Jeanna was now totally aroused. He kept his tongue in her hole, licking all around the rim, and then he replaced his tongue with his finger.
She gasped as she felt the tip of his finger probing around the opening. The pink membranes were so slick that there was virtually no friction. There was, however, plenty of sensation. The nerve endings were fully sensitized, and each small movement sent of flurry of electric nerve impulses all the way up from her cunt into her brain, whereupon they were immediately translated into muscle impulses. She may have been tied up, but she still could do nothing about the awesome senstaions that were affecting her muscles, and so she continued to jerk around, tugging at the ropes like a hooked fish.
He said, "You don't seem to learn, do you?" "How can you expect me to not move?" she asked. "It's impossible."
He said. "I give the orders here, and I expect to be obeyed without any questions coming from you. Is that clear?"
She said, "Look, this is stupid. There's no way that I'm going-"
He grabbed one of her ample breasts and squeezed tightly on it.
"Oh-!" Jeanna gasped, cutting short whatever she was saying. "Oh GOD! That hurtsl"
He kept squeezing, letting his fingers dig deeply into the tender, soft flesh. She jerked even more fiercely.
"Calm down," he said, his voice soft now.. menacingly soft.
Christ, thought Jeanna, he really is a psychopath. His fingers were at her nipples now. Pulling on them... stretching her flesh... hurting her!
"Relax," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "just relax."
Her muscles were taut and quivering, but somehow she managed to bring herself under a modicum of control. She was breathing in short jerking gasps, shivering and whimpering a little as well, but she managed to bring the whole of her body to a point of relative motionlessness.
Slowly he released the tension. "That's better," he said, his voice still soothing, still playing with her mind, even as his hands were now playing with her breasts, fondling and stroking them.
She said, "Please, don't hurt me."
"Why would I do that?" he said. "I'm an old friend of your service. I wouldn't want to do anything to upset the relationship. You just tell me if you want to go home, and we'll call it a night. You got that?"
She nodded, slowly. She wanted to make sure she understood what was going on. He was offering her an escape, if she really thought the game was getting out of hand. Once again she found herself staring at the decision and knowing that only she could make it. Only she could say yes, or no, and only she could accept the responsibility for her decision, or face the consequences.
She said, "I'm okay..." wondering if maybe she was losing her mind.
He said, "Hell, darling, I could have told you that!" lapsing back into the good-ole-boy accent again. He smacked her a couple of good ones on the ass and grabbed a handful of her pussy and rubbed her wet gash like crazy. "Lord god help us, ain't you getting wet? I reckon I'm gonna have to dip my wick and give it a coat of that stuff, what do you say?"
She closed her eyes and prepared herself. It was hard and forceful, when it came.
She felt something at her cunt, something pushing. Even though her cunt lips were fully lubricated and slick, the size of the thing was almost more than she could accept.
She opened her eyes to make certain that it was a real cock about to violate her and not some oversized rubber dildo or something perverted like that.
She gasped.
She'd never seen a cock that big.
"My God... where'd you get that thing?"
"My Daddy," chuckled Bob Jackson. "He said `Son, ain't got no more use for this sucker... you take it, and remember, it's got a fine tradition for you to uphold.' And don't you know I respect that tradition, and Fucking A! I'm about to add to it."
It was long, of course, about nine or ten inches, easily. But that wasn't what scared her. It was the width that she found shocking and frightening.
It looked like an arm... and the head was nearly the size of a fist. Not a large fist, to be sure, but when you figure that most cocks had heads the size of a medium-sized plum, this avocado getting ready to split her open was a bit of an unexpected (and unwanted) surprise.
She was too tight for that. Her cunt hadn't been stretched enough. It had been too long since she'd been properly fucked, and even longer since she'd been properly fucked on a regular basis.
She sucked in her breath and tried to relax her cunt muscles, but they seemed unattached to her brain. They just had a life of their own, doing whatever they felt like doing, which, at this time, seemed to be clenching up as tight as they possibly could.
Bob Jackson seemed not to notice.
He pushed on ahead, shoving as hard as he could. She gasped.
"Please, take it easy," she begged. "I'm kind of new at this."
"Oh yeah? That mean you're kind of a virgin?" "Not hardly."
"Damn... I just love popping cherries." He shoved harder.
She felt the tip beginning to spread her apart and she gasped at the stab of pain that shot through her cunt.
He didn't care.
He shoved harder and the thing continued its inexorable, slithering way into the depths of her cunt.
He pushed... harder, harder... and then, suddenly, he was past the first obstacle. His head made it through the actual opening orifice of her cunt and found itseld inside her cunt, where the natural elasticity of her cunt walls made a much more receptive area for the thing.
She actually found the sensation all at once pleasurable.
The shaft was thick, but not as thick as his glans had been, and even though she was stuffed to the point of splitting open, it felt like a lessening of the pressure.
She gasped, still with pain, but this time laced with the sensation of pleasure as well. Hell, perhaps it was the pain that was pleasurable. She'd never had a chance to go crawling around in this part of her psyche before, and she had no idea what she would find there.
What doors, until locked, would come crashing open, revealing musty, shadow-laced interiors, teeming with half recognized forms and fleeting shadows...
He pushed on into her, touching the bottom well of her cunt chamber.
The membranes were fully stretched now and she was certain that there was nothing she could possibly do to take another millimeter of his cock.
"No more... that's enough. You'll kill me. You'll split me open."
"What? Why darling, you're just getting started? You ever had four cocks at once?"
He pushed a little more as he spoke. She grimaced in pain.
"How do you mean?" she asked, when the spasm had passed.
He pulled back out a little, allowing the pressure to subside.
"I mean four cocks at once. You know.. one more than three."
"No. How do you take for cocks at once?"
"You take one up the ass, you suck on one, and you get two shoved into your cunt. That's how?" It sounded positively horrendous, but Jeanna had to acknowledge a thrill of excitement at something so wickedly taboo and disgusting.
"I don't think I could handle that," she said. "Nonsense, you'd love it. But the point I'm making is this-you can always go farther than you think, no matter what. There's always a little more... and a little more beyond that. Possibilities are endless. That's the secret of my success... hell, the secret of anybody's success. 1 don't care what they're doing."
And as if to punctuate his last sentence with an exclamation point, he shoved his cock back down into her cunt.
This time he was much more gentle, but then, he didn't stop where he did the last time either. He pushed against the tightly stretched cunt walls as soon as his cock ran up against them and continued to push.
She felt herself, miraculously, opening for him a little more than before, and she let more of his cock into her cunt.
She reached between her legs and felt him. "I don't believe it. You're almost all the way in." "There, see what I mean?"
He pulled back out now, all the way to the tip, but he only held his cock at her cunt opening a scant second. Then he slowly pushed it back in.
After a couple more strokes of this sort the surface was coated with her oily secretions from the tip down to the base, and even all over his balls.
The movement in and out of her cunt was much easier to take now.
She gasped in a combination of pleasurable ecstasy and agonized torment with each movement in or out of her cunt.
She gasped, and her legs began to jerk again. She wanted to be released, so she could wrap he legs around his hips.
"Please, release me," she said. "I want to fuck you right."
"You'll fuck me the way I tell you to fuck me," he said. "And if I tell you to fuck me standing on your head while reciting 'Mother Goose' rhymes, that's exactly what you will do. Do you understand." "But I can do a better job-"
She never got the chance to finish. He smacked her ass cheeks hard as soon as he determined that she was daring to talk back to him.
She gasped.
He pulled his cock out of her cunt and ran his fingers through the wet slit. Then he spanked her a few more times on her ass. "Maybe you aren't ready to be fucked yet," he suggested. "Maybe you need to be calmed down a little more. Maybe you need to be tamed a little more."
He slapped her on her ass again. Hand back to her cunt.
Pressure on the wet membranes, pressure on her clit.
Hand on her ass... SMACK! She cried out.
This time, he moved his hand to her cunt, and brought it down directly across the open crack with a painful', forceful THWACK! that resounded through the room with a wet, slopply sound.
She had never known such pain. She'd never gotten spanked on her pussy before, and she didn't think she could take another smack like that one.
But take it she did, not just one, but several more. He began to spank her with a steady regular rhythm on her ass, and every so often, at random intervals, he would bring his open palm down on her cunt slit.
She cried out in agony.
Suddenly she felt the flimsy G-string going back into her mouth.
"No need to bring hotel security down on top of us, is there?"
He spanked her a few more times, and her screams (more like squeals, acutally. She wasn't in nearly as much torment as she was pretending to be. Or, perhaps, the torment wasn't nearly as unpleasurable as she thought it should be. Getting spanked on your open cunt wasn't supposed to be fun... was it?)
He gave her five final swats across her ass, a final solid stroke to her cunt, and then he slapped her tits a few times just for good measure, each moment of contact accompanied by Jeanna's agonized, though muffled cries, and wild gyrations all over her body.
"Now.. I think maybe you're ready to be fucked, and fucked properly."
Once more his cock started to slide into her cunt. It met no resistance this time, either from her cunt or from her mind.
No... this time it was fuck time. And fuck her he did.
Hard, driving hammer thrusts, slow, steady pistoning in and out of her chamber, walls stretching, juices flowing, muscles contracting and nerves discharging violently.
She pumped up against his hips each time he moved forward into her.
Again and again, pushing harder all the while, trying her best to coax the most sensation possible out of the thick driving tool.
He said little, just kept shoving it in her, pulling it back out, shoving it in , pressing his hairy sweaty chest against the soft pillows of her breasts, smashing them deliciously.
After a little while of this, she felt herself slipping into a higher groove. Not sure exactly how she knew, or how to describe it even, but she knew it was happening. Higher... higher... an opening within her body, a filling up where there had been space and emptiness, a sensation created out of void.
Expanding, her mind drifting, yet still with perfect awareness, if that was possible... aware of incroaching oblivion.
She pinched her breasts herself. She dug her fingers into his tight ass as if to pull him even farther into her. To pack herself as tightly as possible.
And then, she knew it was happening. So fast, yet time stood still. As if being suddenly drawn in a long sweep upward, spiraling in ever-decreasing circles, until there was no dimension to her, an infinity packed into a nothingness-awareness of everything yet focused on nothing... a space, into which she spilled.
Turning liquid.
All colors drifting to red.
All sounds easing into white hissing. All muscles turned to stone.
All second-hands frozen.
Not a breath of wind, not a flicker of thought, a mind empty, filling with the universe.
And then, time began to move again and she was aware of a screaming, a gasping, gyrations of muscles and frenzied clenchings.
Heat was between her legs.
No... it was liquid... lava, spewing from the mouth of his cock, spilling into her, filling her. She felt each wad gushing from the tip of his cock, felt it literally splatter against the inside of her cunt.
She cried.
She whimpered. She laughed.
She begged, pleaded, threatened, begged some more... begged for what, she couldn't say, but the words weren't important, it was all in the sound of her voice. The tone said, "I am yours, I am helpless, I owe everything to you, everything flows from you, be merciful on me... give me these few moments of ecstasy... please..."
At last the momentum began to nun out... the passion subsided to a more coherent level. She was once again conscious of a dichotomy between cunt and cock and could discern the point of separation between them.
And then, finally, she sensed his erection ebbing. Still hard, but without the urgency. Without the pressure. The throbbing pulse that communicated by internal feeling rather than normal sense apprehension.
He rolled off her, cock flopping lazily, wetly, against his thigh.
She reached for it and took it in her hand. It was greasy.
He said, "Lick it clean."
She rolled over and took the full shaft in her mouth and started to suck. The salty flavor was slightly strange and totally exciting. This was her juice she was tasting, the mixture of her cunt juice and his sperm, said to be a powerful, mystical blend. She wasn't sure of that, but she knew that her body felt a strange tingling when she began to lick it and swallow.
From the tip still flowed an oily stream. She took it all, sucking him clean, as he'd instructed.
She finally released his limp cock.
"Did you enjoy the service?" she finally asked, knowing damn well he'd better have enjoyed it. He tipped her $200.
Ms. Barrows answered the phone. "So?" she asked.
"No problems. She's good." "Any reluctance?"
"None," said Bob Jackson. "She'll be a great specialty girl."
"Oh... as in... ?"
"Submissive. Really rises to the occasion. I might take her again myself, you want to know the truth." "Fine with me lover. You'll pay like everyone else.
"Hey, do I look like the kind of schmuck who'd go after a free-bee."
"You want a free-bee, you come over here and tend to me, you big stud."
"You don't fuck, remember?"
"Not for business. You and I... well... maybe we could call it something else."
"Yeah, a dangerous idea. I like the relationship we have."
Jeanna was excited, and for the first time in years, she felt alive, unburdened and free to be herself. This was the greatest idea she'd ever had. Christ, she could do this three, four times a week, who could say how much she'd make. In two months she could be totally independent.
She was moving out tomorrow! Sam was history.
7
In which Sam learns about taxis and Tantra
Sam settled back in the taxi cab. They were driving across town on twenty-second, heading for Sixth. They passed Madison... and that's when the driver moaned.
"What's wrong?" asked Sam.
"Eh?" said the driver. Sam glanced instinctively at the license to find out what language they wouldn't be communicating in.
Dzdjplt Prhdjnt
Sam sighed. He'd heard about Cab drivers who spoke English and knew how to get across town fast, but he'd been too young to actually remember them. "Hey... maybe you could turn around, huh?" The driver said, "Eh?"
He glanced uncertainly in the rear-view mirror. Sam could see that his eyes were wide with fear. He looked ahead.
A large truck was trying to maneuver itself back against a loading ramp and at the moment was almost totally perpendicular to the direction of the street. No one could get past.
"Look, let's just turn around..."
That's when the horns started to blare.
Sam turned around to look out the back window. Already there was a nice little traffic jam starting up.
Sam said, "Buddy, the meter's running, I don't want to sight see down here. Do something." "Eh?"
The driver made a half-hearted attempt to move around, but nothing much came of it. Now more horns were blaring.
Ahead of them, in the street, the truck was succeeding only in getting itself wedged more securely into a position from which it would not be able to escape.
Its arc of permissible turn radius was dwindling rapidly with each movement.
Sam made a loud (as in LOUD) sigh of exasperation and the cab driver decided that more action was called for, so he once again tried to back up. He backed right into the cab behind him.
Sam felt a jarring lurch and heard glass break and scatter into the street.
The voice behind them was immediate and it was angry. "HEY! YOU DUMB FUCK!" "Ohhhh..." moaned the cab driver. Sam heard doors behind him slam. The cab driver immediatly locked the door and rolled the window up. Sam was conscious of a hulking form beside them. Suddenly there was an explosion. "AH!???" cried Sam. "The fuck's happening?"
It was someone smashing a fist against the roof of the cab. Sam felt like he was inside a bass drum. Now the guy was banging on the window. "You! YOU! Dumb fuck! Get out here. We got business to tend to."
The cab driver shrugged his shoulders in a broad gesture and said something that sounded to Sam like "Blurp, iffitzl."
"Oh yeah? Well I'll fucking blurp your iffitzl... now get outta there."
Finally the cab driver opened his door and was hauled right out of his seat. "Lookit what you done, you stupid wog. The fuck you doing in my country, buddy?"
Sam was ecstatic. It was one of the mythical American cab drivers. The night truly was magical. "You got a license? You'd better hope the fuck you do. I ain't eating this, dude. You're gonna pay, one way or the other."
'T.. yeah... yeah..." said the cabby in the closest approximation to English Sam had heard all night. A small crowd had gathered. Sam hunkered lower in his seat.
Cindy was snuggled against him with her arm around his shoulder and her other arm by her side. Sam realized that she was getting off on this. Christ, the dame likes violence. Well, these guys kept going the way they were going, she might just get to see some.
"Guess we're stuck here for a while," Sam muttered. He glanced around and saw that there was little hope of going back the way they'd come. The street was filled with cars, and most of them had gotten even more entangled by trying to do just that, without anyone to direct traffic. Horns were blaring in the night and more arguments had broken out around them.
Suddenly Sam felt a hand on his crotch. "Hey, ease up, there's people around."
She pulled his zipper down. "Silly, don't you think I know?"
She reached for his hand and slid it under her skirt, where her naked pussy waited for him.
"Oh God, yes..." she moaned with a sudden intake of breth. "That's good."
Sams fingers were just playing around at the opening to her cunt. Her clit, hard and throbbing, beckoned him.
He pushed the tips of his fingers a little deeper into her as she slid her fingers inside his pants and started to play with his cock. He'd only shot his load about forty-five minutes ago but the thing got hard again at once.
Sam looked around nervously, half-expecting a dozen pencil-necked geeks to have their faces crushed against the window, peering and pointing and giggling "Yuk yuk, looky there-" but no one was paying them the slightest attention. Anyone who was watching was waiting to see if the American cabby hit the wog. One guy was taking bets on how many facial bones would crack. Side bets were exchanged on broken neck vertebrae and the odds on total death were only 5 to 7.
He slid his finger up her cunt a little more. This wasn't supposed to be the kind of thing you did when you were out in public. But the thrill was a kick.
She hitched her dress up to her waist.
"Come here," she said, "turn around and face me."
He did as she instructed. "Thread your legs under mine... yeah... now pull me to you... slowly..." He lifted her up and set her down right on his cock.
She slid on effortlessly.
"Now.. don't move. just let me hold you inside my cunt. Do you feel me? Do you feel your cock inside my cunt?"
He murmured something. The fuck was she talking about? What the hell else was he supposed to feel? It was her cunt she was inside, wasn't it?
Truth was, however, she did feel pretty good. "How do you like this?" she asked and started a crazy movement inside with the walls of her pussy.
"Fuck, I thought you said not to move." "You, silly. I didn't say me. Do you like that?" "Yeah. I've never felt anything like that before. How do you do it?"
"I don't know, but I figured out pretty quick that men like it, so I kept in practice."
She was actually rippling the walls of her cunt along the length of his cock. It wasn't quite like getting stroked, but the stimulation was impressive all the same.
He realized that he was starting to breathe harder. That's when she stopped.
Just stopped cold.
"Hey, how come you stopped?" he asked. "Because, you're not supposed to come."
Now that was one of the stupidest things he'd ever heard a woman say. "My cock's in your cunt... the fuck else is supposed to do? Play canasta?"
"No, dummy. You let it get aroused just by... just by being there."
This wasn't going anywhere for Sam. "Look, are we going to fuck, or what?" She kissed him. "Sam, fuck me with your mind." "But it's my cock that's already in position."
"I know... it's connected to me. We're joined at the body level, now we have to join on the other levels, emotion, mental and spiritual."
"Look you've already lost me. Now answer my question. We gonna fuck or what?"
He reached for her tits and grabbed himself up a handful.
She slapped his hand away.
"Sam! You do what I tell you. I want you to try this."
"You're a goddam cockteaser, that's what you are. You get me hard enough to pound nails, you let me play with your cunt, you get me up inside you, and then you say 'we can't fuck.' Woman, you are fucked. You hear."
She kissed him long and hard.
"And you are a typical man. just try what I'm telling you. Feel my cunt wrapped around you cock. Feel me taking you in... fell me swallow you with my cunt... and with my soul."
Sam listened. It sounded like English. Like, there were definitely words there that were identifiable as English words.
"That don't add up," he said.
"Don't play dumb, just do what I tell you. Close your eyes."
He did so.
"Now.. think of nothing at all."
He stared to think of nothing... but that didn't work. For one thing, outside the rabble was getting roused.
"...gonna break your fucking wog nose's what I'm gonna do..."
Horns were blaring in a demented symphony. Up on the fifth floor a rock band took a break from their rehearsal and opened the windows to see what was happening. Now, they returned to their music, but they left the windows opened.
From the first heavy metal chords the sound started to bounce back and forth off the walls of the buildings, multiplying itself in layers and multiple rhythms impossible for the human brain to follow.
Several couples got out of their cars and began to dance.
"How can I think of nothing when all that's going on?"
"Shhh. Discipline." "I'll discipline you."
"Later. Just close your eyes and focus on your cock."
That sounded easy enough.
He focused on his cock.
It was warm and hard and even though they weren't actually fucking, it felt good being inside her pussy. Her juices bathed the shaft in a delicious bath of oily secretions.
He held her, feeling her surround his cock... After a little while his balls started to tingle. He pulled her a little closer to him. She said, "Breathe slowly, and deeply."
He listened to her breathing and tried to match it. She drew in a deep breath, taking much longer to fill her lungs than normal, then holding it for about the same amount of time that she took to breathe in. She exhaled to the same cycle and once more held her breath with her lungs empty. Then she drew in another deep breath, once more to the same time cycle.
He did it with her.
The first one had no particular effect. The second breath made him a little dizzy. The third made him light-headed.
The fourth made him hear a little more clearly. The fifth one is the one he lost count on.
His body slowly relaxed and his mind smoothed out.
A smoothed out mind wasn't something that came naturally to Sam, and so he let himself enjoy it for a while.
His cock stayed hard.
His balls kept tingling.
Now she was starting to speak softly in his ear... except it was more like a sing-song melody.
"Feel us together. Feel us touching, your cock in my cunt, our arms... faces together... feel us growing closer and closer... feel us blending. Do you feel it? Do you feel us coming together as if we were in the same space? We're melting together... melting from the heat that is slowly building... building within you... within me, building at the base of our spines... growing more and more intense..."
She was hypnotising him. That's what it was. She was really hypnotzing him. He'd never been hypnotized before... but if this is what it was like, he wised that he'd gone in for it more than he did.
She was pulling him to her now, pulling him closer than he already was. Her crotch bore down on top of his cock with renewed strength.
She was stretching herself on him, talking all the while.
"Feel us blending together. I'm seeping into you and you are seeping into me... the heat is rising... we are one because we've never been separate, we only think we are separate... we are one and that's why we fuck, to try and feel that oneness again... but it's always there, it's all around you, it's within you, it is you..."
Outside the cab drivers have gathered supporters around them. The argument is becoming factionalized, with open warfare immanent, while upstairs at the window, the music turns to a slow, raunchy blues:
I got no business being blind;
You got no business being on my mind. So get away girl.
"You don't belong here in this country. You got a green card?"
"Eh?"
"Hey, buddy, ease up on the guy, can't you see he's scared?"
"Oh yeah? Who the fuck asked you? It's creeps like this who are ruining this city. Them and the bl--"
"Hey, muthafucka, whatchoo gettin' ready to say."
"You keep out of this too, it's between me and him."
"Yeah? Well I just joined the argument. Now you talk to me."
"I ain't talking to you, fuckstick."
"I'll fuck your stick, asshole. I'll fuck you up." "Hey, put me down!"
"Glad to."
Suddenly a loud metallic THUMP!! through the car.
Cindy screamed and Sam jumped.
The roof was about three inches lower, and echoed rubbing against the top of Sam's head.
"Hey, we gotta get out of here, this is getting crazy."
"No... wait... we have to finish..."
"I'm finished," said Sam. "HEY, besides, look, the meter's still running."
The meter read $11.35 and it was still climbing. Sam started to life her off of his cock.
"HEY!" called a voice from outside, get a load of this shit."
"Oh no," moaned Sam. Faces started to peer in through the windows. Sam shoved his cock back in to his pants. It was still hard, but in the shadows no one would notice. Cindy simply pulled her skirt back down over her ass and no one could see a thing.
Sam stuck his head out the window. "Do you mind? Get the fuck away from the car.
"Hey buddy, fuck her once for me, will you? In fact, when you're done, toss her out the window and we'll have a go at her."
There was a decidedly nasty sound to that voice, and it seemed indicative of a mean current running through the entire crowd. Apparently they were getting bored with the cab driver confrontation that wasn't going anywhere, and they were looking for new kicks.
Sam started to roll the window up, but suddenly a large rolled up newspaper appeared between the window and the door frame preventing him from going any further. He quickly flicked the locks down on both sides.
"Hey, what's your hurry?" said the same voice. Now there was a face to connect it to. A big mean face. The kind of face that you never wanted to see in a lonely alley after dark. A mean stupid face, that would most likely light up with joy at the sound of small animals being dismembered.
"Come on, buddy, let me see her. Hey, babe. How about it? Give us a little flash?"
Sam reached up around the seat. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew that all cabbies had a morbid fear of not being able to defend themselves, and many carried weapons of some sort or another.
With the window open, the band was much louder than before. Squeals came in from all around them. People were having a good time.
The band had switched to a steady DUM TITTY DUM -TITTY DUMTITTY DUM -TITTY four-four country swing beat.
And now my second gear's gone
And I ain't moving fast enough for drive.
Sam's hand wrapped around the thing he was looking for. He'd known he'd recognize it when he found it.
He pulled a hefty Louisville Slugger around the seat and laid it on the floorboards. The face was still leering at Cindy who by now was genuinely scared.
"Look, you have to go away," said Sam, sounding a lot more frightened than he really was.
"No way. I see something I want to be a part of. I seen you two fucking. Don't think you can put one over on me. I seen you."
"Yeah? You want to see more?" "Shit yeah."
"Hey, who you negotiating for."
"Relax," whispered Sam out of the other side of his mouth, "trust me on this."
He turned back to the window. "What about it, you want to see a little more?"
"Enough talk, let's have some action."
Sam nudged Cindy. "Come on, Sugar, give him something to drool over."
"You're sick."
He whispered, "Just follow my lead."
"You want to lead, you show him something." "Then I couldn't save us and be the hero, now come on, flash him some tit."
Truth was, Cindy wasn't too horrified by the prospect of flashing her tits in public. Exhibitionism was something she could get a kick out of. It was exhibitionism in front of this guy that she found objectionable.
But nonetheless, she quickly pulled the sides of her dress towards the center. Both her firm, naked tits bounced into plain view.
"EeeeeeHaaaa," crowed the geek at the window, "that's what I want to see. Come on, baby, more." She did it again, and just for good measure, she spread her legs and pulled her skirt up for just a second or two.
Her pink cunt slit peeked out from beneath her matted hair and even in the dark, it seemed to glisten and sparkle.
The geek's eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. He stared at her crotch, totally fixated.
Darlin' if you don't leave me alone, I'll find somebody who will.
Cindy looked at Sam nervously, waiting for the cue... there was a cue, wasn't there? There had to be a cue. Like, to trigger the plan. PLAN?, Hey was there a plan?
Meanwhile she kept her legs splayed, long enough to get a rise out of the geek. He reached in the winow and tried to unlock the door. That's when Sam moved. The guy's face was up close to the opened part of the window as he tried to peer in to see where the door lock was. Sam knew there wasn't enough room in the back seat to swing the baseball bat, but if he aimed it like a torpedo and propelled it with enough force... aimed right at the guy's nose... NOW!
Sam was proud of himself. It was a bullseye.
"Owwwwwwww!" he screamed, immediately backing away. Sam pulled the lock on the other side. "Com'on, lets move, " he said jumping over Cindy, still with her legs splayed. Things had happened too fast for her to know what was going on.
Bat gripped firmly in one hand, he reached back into the cab with his other arm wrapped it around her body. He dragged her from the car.
Her breasts both flopped out from beneath the leather bodice that had done such a magnificent job of tantalizing Sam all night, with their promise of just such a gaff-why now? wondered Sam. This was not the kind of crowd you wanted to get any more worked up.
Whoops of delight went up at the sight of Cindy. "Fix yourself and let's haul ass!"
A couple of guys were coming in close now, not really looking menacing, but with the power of a mob behind them, who could predict what they would try.
Sam said, "Back off or you're dead."
"Yeah," said one, a lumpy looking guy with deep pits in his skin.
Gotta do what you gotta do, thought Sam to himself. Fortunately, he was a big guy and by himself could pose a threat. With a Louisville slugger in his hand, he was clearly a force to be reckoned with.
He swung.
"Ha?!" bellowed the lumpy pock-marked geek. He reached up and stopped the bat with the open palm of his right hand. Sam felt him tighten his grip. They were about to get into a tugging match.
Sam kept eye contact, never once blinking. That's why the guy never saw his foot coming up like the Blitz into his crotch.
"Oof!" he gasped, grip weakening. Then he was down. Sam swung the bat again and brought the tip hard into the other man's left kidney.
"Run!" he shouted to Cindy. "Around the truck." She did, not caring how her dress was working by now. Clearly it had not been meant for track sports and was not equipped to deal with a body such as Cindy's in such profound motion. Her tits were flying everywhere.
Sam's feet pounded the pavement right behind her.
"HEY!" he heard their cab driver yell as he noticed them escaping. An incomprehensible babble followed.
The fight between the two cab drivers suddenly went on hold as they joined forces in a common cause.
The truck, wedged between both sides of the street, had left about two feet between its back end and the storefront. Cindy wiggled through and Sam did likewise. He reached into his wallet and pulled out two fifty dollar bills. Cindy was halfway down the sidewalk, almost to Sixth Avenue. His cab driver squeezed through. Sam waved the fifty in front of him. "Eh?"
Then he saw what it was. "Ahhhh..." he said and grabbed at it.
"Hey... whazzat?" said his newfound partner. "Here," said Sam, "one for you."
The guy looked at the bill for a second and then his facial features calmed down considerably. "Yeah... sure."
Sam gave him the bat too. "Keep them away from my girl, will ya?"
He took the bat from Sam.
"Hey," said the first driver, "badda yabba nadda boodoo littida yattada Zoot!"
"Aw fuck you," said the man with the bat, "lets go crack some heads! Com'on!"
"Eh?"
The guy grabbed him and said, as they forced their way back between the truck and the building, "All right, now the first thing you gotta know if you want to drive cabs in this town... ya ready? Say, 'FUCK YOU'. Okay? Ya got that..."
And they were gone. And so was Sam, racing up the street after Cindy.
She was already at the street corner, trying to hail a cab, but they were all up at the LIMELIGHT trying to score some high-tipping glitterati.
But after about half a minute one pulled over. She turned to Sam. "Look, it was fun, I gotta go." She was clearly shaken. "Wait, no..." said Sam. "Seriously..."
"But, we never got to finish." "Finish what?"
"What you were doing with me. I never done that before, and it was... I mean... look, you're pretty cool, and I'm glad we got out of that mess, but the night's young, you know?"
The cab was waiting. "You guys getting in, or what?"
Cindy finally said, "Yeah... we are," and opened the door.
Hot damn, thought Sam. Yeah!
8
In which ships pass in the night and future directions are set
The cab pulled away from the curb and Sam told him where to go. Then he turned to Cindy and by wordless assent on the part of both, they fell into each other's arms. Sam glanced out of the comer of his eye to see if the cab driver was glancing at them in the rear-view mirror.
Then he realized how stupid that was. Of course the guy would glance at them. If Sam had been a cab driver and had a gorgeous babe like Cindy in his back seat getting her tits felt up and her cunt fingered, l he'd be looking, by God. If it was something that worried him, he wouldn't be doing it.
But here he was with his hands rubbing over Cindy's naked breasts, once more, now sliding down over the slick leather surface of her dress to her smooth thigh, creep up, up, up until he touched that warm mat of curly, moist hair. Her crotch was oily. All the action of the evening had kept her at a state of peak arousal.
The second he touched her cunt, she shifted her position and spread her legs to give him easier access to her deepest, darkest secrets.
He let his fingers dawdle at the opening to her pussy slit, the steady movement of Cindy's hips providing her with all the stimulation she required. He found that if he held his fingers perfectly still, giving her a constant reference point, she was quite adept at finding him with each place in her cunt that needed stimulating. Always she returned her clit to his fingers. And that was when Sam pulled back.
She arched her back higher, trying to force conact.
He permitted a momentary stroke across the hard nub of nerve-packed flesh, and then he pulled his fingers away again.
She let out a little moan of frustration. They were locked in a tight embrace, kissing passionately. She was stretched across his lap, her left knee up in the air, her right off to the side. Sam had complete access to her cunt. He could, had he wished, covered her entire crotch with the flat of his palm.
Instead he kept the tips of his fingers hovering just out of reach, save for random points of contact that were slowly driving her wild.
He kissed her neck, moving down with each kiss till he licked the side of her breast overflowing her dress. As soon as he touched her nipple he sucked it into his mouth and kept it there.
He let his teeth come down around it and started to bite. Harder, harder... pulling his head back now to stretch her breast, keeping the nipple between his teeth all the while.
She gasped and arched her back again. Her head fell back, her eyes were closed and she let out a long sigh of contentment.
Once more Sam found himself amazed that a woman would get off on this. That he could play out his deepest, darkest fantasies... and not get into trouble.
Christ, he thought about Jeanna... what she'd do if he tried any of this shit on her.
Come to think of it, he didn't know what she'd do, on account of he'd never tried any of it. Maybe there was a lesson there somewhere, but right now he was far too preoccupied to pay much attention.
His hand moved down to her cunt again. He let the tips of his four fingers play around at the opening of her cunt.
"Yeah... yeah..." she gasped, thrusting her hips at him.
No, he thought, too soon. He slapped her cunt lightly with his fingers, mostly hitting the folds of her outer lips, but coming down on her clit as well. It wasn't a hard slap but the effect on Cindy was immediate and electric.
She froze... waiting. Waiting for another. No... he wouldn't do it yet.
He glanced up at the rear-view mirror.
The cabby's eyes were straight ahead. Like he didn't have any idea. Truth was, the partition between front and back seat was pretty much blocking anything he might see... and Sam didn't care about the rest.
But he noticed that they were almost to fortysecond street, and soon would be at the hotel. No, not what he wanted. No way he was going to let this moment be broken.
He bit down harder on Cindy's nipple to keep her distracted and reached in to his back pocket. Clumsily, using only one hand, he pulled another fifty out of his wallet.
No, that was too generous. He exchanged it for a twenty which he slipped into the pay slot.
"Exucuse me," he said, making a point of rattling the door. As the driver looked around and took the twenty Sam said, "Drive around for a while, okay?" "Right."
Sam liked that. A real pro.
He put Cindy's nipple back in his mouth and once more began playing with her cunt.
He touched her clit lightly, slowly tracing a line along the length of the tiny, electricly charged shaft. She moaned and began lazy, aching gyrating movements with her hips.
She seemed to be delirious.
He pressed a little harder against her clit, rubbed again, then pressed against it even harder.
He rubbed some more, this time forcing his fingers down hard against the shaft... actually seeing if he could hurt her.
He did, apparently, because she suddenly sucked in her breath hard and her body jerked, but she made no sound of protest. If anything, she opened her legs even more.
She seemed restless. Anxious. As if waiting.
He tapped his fingers against the surface of her cunt.
She started to breath in short quick spasms. He stopped.
She waited.
He tapped against her cunt again, harder this time.
She moaned.
He waited. Fingers hovering above her. Dipping now, running through the sloshing wet slit.
She seemed paralyzed by arousal and expectation. He slapped her cunt again, hard this time. Still, he was conscious of where he was, and he used only the tips of his fingers, so the slap made scarcely any noice.
But he made certain that the tips of his fingers ripped directly across her opened cunt slit, bring the full force of the blow down directly on her clit.
She raised off the seat in an uncontrollable spasm of ecstatic pain, threw her arms around him and held herself close to him, shuddering.
She kept her legs opened, however. Inviting. Come on, she seemed to be saying, push me... try to push me over the edge...
He slapped her again.
Now, he noticed, the cab driver was paying attention. Who wouldn't? This was a scene you couldn't find in most XXX movies.
He slapped her cunt really hard now, the sound echoing through the cab.
Cindy stared to shake all through her body. Sam slid his fingers up into her cunt. Her membranes had expanded and swollen from her awesome arousal. They were soft and gave way easily to his advance.
One... two... three fingers inside.
He slowly spread them, stretching the opening to her cunt.
A fourth...
He wouldn't have thought she could have taken four fingers, but now she seemed to be wanting more... much more.
He started to work his fingers in and out of her cunt... in and out... steadily moving back and forth against her cunt walls, while his thumb moved directly back and forth over the top of her clit. Back and forth... Harder.. . Faster...
Her body responding now, Sam feeling the connection between fingers and cunt, like the closing link to some primal circuit allowing once more the flow of the true force in the universe, circulating now through him, through her, charging them both, forming a force field around them...
He could sense it... almost see it, so powerful was it.
He kept the movements steady, in and out, in and out. On the physical plane her cunt oozed a steady stream of juices... flowly over his fingers, coating her lips, pubic hair and thighs with a thick layer of ooze.
God only knew what her reactions were on the higher planes.
Sam, having no access to those, could only guess, by comparing with himself.
He knew only that there was once more a fierce heat and pressure mounting in his groin. He'd been giving his balls a good working the past twenty-four hours... not only a case of frequency of coming, but also of quality. When you sustain a level of arousal for five... ten... twenty... thirty minutes, before finally allowing the balls to spill over, they get drained to the very bottom of the well.
Sam was getting ready for yet another welldraining orgasm... except that when the well was dry, what was there to come with?
He didn't know.
He'd never drained himself before, and therefore had no way of knowing. But even now he sensed there was something different going on between his legs.
Something... well... more powerful, and more frightening as well. There was an ache that he didn't recognize, but which he likened to trying to squeeze blood out of a turnip. His nuts were empty, the glands which fed them were empty, yet here was the process, moving steadily forward. He was empty and his nuts were going through the motions of getting ready or orgasm. Empty... yet still spiralling upward.
His dick was hard enough to pound nails. His nuts were positively glowing.
He pulled his fingers out of her cunt and slapped it again. She loved it. He slapped her another time. Her hips rolled wildly in his lap as she soaked up every out of stimulation with which he provided her.
He slapped her cunt again, this time trying to really hurt her.
Instead it sent her over the edge.
He knew, even though there was no outward indication for long second or two.
No movement at all. No reaction.
No breathing. Dead, perhaps?
No, simply tossed out on some higher plane of arousal from which it took he some moments to find her way back to this one.
And then the shaking started.
Her entire body, shaking in small, fierce tremors. She buried her face in his chest and thrust her hips against his hand.
He slid his fingers easily back inside her, and as he touched her clit again, he felt her rise back to the first peak.
She seemed stuck in some kind of orgasmic loop, feeding on the energy generated between her legs. A perpetual motion engine. Rising higher in intensity with eash spasm.
He kept it up for what seemed to be an eternity She never once showed any sign of subsiding. No sooner would one body-racking spasm start to subside, than another would rise, equally or more intense than the previous one. She was delirious, completely gone from this world.
Sam himself was rising toward his own peak, though it was different from anything he'd ever experienced before in his life.
He knew he was getting ready to come, and he hadn't shot off in his pants from heavy petting since he was in junior high school in the back seat of his father's Chevy, feeling up Mary Jane Botnik and her quivering twat.
No, this was a strange experience, but so forceful was the energy field generated by Cindy that he was completely surrounded by it and sweeps up in the rising vortex of passion leading back into her cunt.
His balls ached... he felt the opening appear inside him, the pit into which he spilled as orgasm swept over him... and then he was there... falling... as though bathed in a blinding white light, a brilliant flash coursing through every nerve, sending every cell in his body into crazed contortions.
He blanked out for a second, and in that moment he stopped feeding Cindy's spasms and she too slipped out of the groove and began to spiral back down into a more earthly orbit.
He had never felt a full-body orgasm before. Not with his balls, for they had little or nothing to contribute, but with his entire body, a transcending, a rising out of, into something else entirely. Something he knew nothing of. Something never before experienced.
Finally it passed.
Someone timing it would have noticed no more than ten seconds having elapsed.
But how do you measure time in eternity? Ten seconds of eternity... one can't help but return transformed.
When he regained full use of his senses, Cindy was already coming around, collapsed like an empty sack across his lap, but breathing more normally, eyes opened, actually seeing.
Sam pulled his hand away from her cunt, and allowed her to finally regain her composure. Truth is, he needed time to regain his own composure.
He said, "Let's go to the hotel, driver," and then collapsed against the back of the seat, holding Cindy in his arms.
That was the hardest he'd ever fucked, without fucking.
Jeanna emerged from the elevator, still undecided about what to do the rest of the night. She felt excited. She wanted some action, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. She was still trying out her new wings, and she didn't know how to steer herself just yet.
That's when she saw them. Sam.
With some blonde bombshell whose tits were very nearly flopping out of a black leather dress. That bastard!
Who the hell did he think he was, fucking around on her like-!
Odd, how habits can outlive the situations that called them up in the first place.
She didn't care about Sam.
She was past that already in her life.
But the jealous wife reflex... you couldn't shake it. Someday, maybe she'd come to terms with her anger, with the sense of years wasted, a life sent down the wrong path. But not tonight. No, not hardly.
She stood partly concealed behind a large bank of fems as they walked by her. Sam wasn't looking for her, and of course, never saw her. They went into the elevator and the doors whisped shut.
A strange sensation gripped Jeanna. It was real. All of it. Not just a fantasy any more, it was truly over, and this was a new life beginning. She didn't know what to do, but she was certain she'd think of something.
She went to the nearest pay phone and slipped a quarter in the slot.
"Ms. Barren," she said when the voice answered,
"I was wondering... do you have any more work this evening?"
