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Hidden Journal: The Lab Tart
NOTICE: The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions
of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone.
For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN,
included in the release, "Hidden Journal: First Files."
--Kellis. Copyright 1999
File D9104300.ZEN
<Monday, October 14, 1974>
Laura Emmersol: fellatrix. Why am I not surprised?
Left the lab later than usual tonight. The re-entrant bug had stymied
me until I caught it on the ICE and fixed it, by god! Went back to my
office for my sweater before heading home. Heard a grunting sound as I
neared the corner before the coffee machine, but didn't attach the proper
significance. So I rounded the corner and nearly fell over Laura before I
could stop. She was on her knees, busily sucking off our esteemed leader
while he leaned against the wall.
Inferred he was the one grunting because when she jerked away from
him, he fell back and squirted semen into her face, over her blouse and
skirt and on the floor before he could get it back in his pants.
"Good god!" he said, looking at me, eyes wide. Then he said it again.
He straightened up and stared at me, mouth hanging open.
"Yuck!" she concluded, wiping a hand over her face and slinging the
result on the floor. She got to her feet and turned around to match
Jack's stare. But she was not at such a loss for words.
"What're <you> doing here?" she demanded.
"Working late." I smiled brightly. "Found the re-entrant bug." She,
being a programmer as well as a fellatrix though perhaps better at the
latter, considering the output obtained, has worked on it with me. I
added, "Excuse me," and pushed past them. My office door is the second
one past the coffee machine.
I sat at the desk, shuffling some listings in and out of my briefcase,
pretending to be busy, wondering what would happen next.
Heard them whispering in the hall. After a bit Jack came in alone and
closed the door. He looked at me for a moment. "What're you going to
do?"
"Nothing <to> do," I responded, pretending to misunderstand him.
"I've already fixed the bug."
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, wondering if I'd been too intent
to notice or was too dumb to understand. But he knew I'd seen him squirt
it on her -- and no one could be that dumb!
"About what you just saw," he added as if I'd asked what he meant.
"Did I see something?"
He looked at me a long time. At last he said, "You're not married,
right?"
"Right."
"Didn't you date Laura a few times?"
"No. You're confusing me with Tommy. She and Tommy were a pair, as I
recall. I never asked her."
"Why not? She's a looker."
"I know that. I also know that <you> are married, even if she's not."
His voice hardened. "What do you want?"
"To go home and get some sleep."
He shook his head. "Not good enough." He hesitated then added, "I'll
let Laura talk to you."
He turned around and went out the door, leaving it open. I was
beginning to feel a bit amused, though the danger was apparent. This
company flatly prohibits sexual favors on company time and for managers at
<any> time! But it's his word against mine and certainly Laura would back
him up. If I went over his head on it, the worst I'd accomplish would be
a mark of suspicion in his record. I'd get a transfer and in a few months
at the most be out on my ear.
But Jack knows about it and he knows I know. I could think of several
nice ways to needle him over it. Doubtlessly he was thinking of them,
too, which explained his "Not good enough."
Laura came in and shut the door behind her. She looked at me
searchingly. "May I sit?"
I gestured at the guest chair. She flopped into it. Except for a
damp spot on the skirt, she showed no evidence of Jack's attention.
Obviously she'd been to the ladies' room. I said, "You're good, Laura."
"Good?"
"Amazing what you can do with wet paper towels. Not even any lint."
A red spot appeared in each cheek. She cocked her head at me. "Guess
you think I have an ulterior motive."
Maybe I'd resented Tommy's luck with her. A little, at least. I
answered, "Never heard of that being done <without> an ulterior motive."
"What do you mean?"
I grinned at her. "I take it back. Have you seen <Deep Throat>?"
"Huh? What if I have?"
"What's the star's name, Linda Lovelace? She's the only one I ever
heard about who could do that for her own pleasure -- in the movie at
least."
Her eyes crinkled. Apparently she was amused. She said, "I remember.
She's supposed to have a clit in her throat."
"Right. Do you?"
"No."
I nodded. "Then I think you had an ulterior motive."
She took a breath. "Well, of course I did. He's the boss."
"Yes, he is." I leaned back in my chair. "I hope it pays off for
you."
"It would have."
"'Would have?'"
"If you didn't ruin it. He was just coming."
"I noticed. But that's all right. You actually stand a better chance
of collecting now."
"Do you mean ..."
"If you asked me to do it, I'd tell them exactly what I saw."
Of course she knew who I meant by "them."
She frowned. "How can I keep you quiet?"
"I said, 'If you ask me.'"
Her eyes locked with mine. She took a breath. "I'll ... do the same
for you."
"Will you!"
She licked her lips nervously. "Jack is afraid you'll say something."
"Who to?"
"Anybody. He wants you to ... to ...
"Get in the same boat?"
She nodded. "Something like that."
I added cruelly, "At least in the same mouth?"
She dropped her eyes. "Must you be so precise?" She stood up and
looked at me again. "Will you sit on the desk?"
I stood up, too, then sat back down facing her on top of my desk, more
leaning than sitting. Did she seriously mean to blow me here and now?
That's what she meant. She bent and found my zipper. After a
moment's fishing her hand brought me out into the air. She sniffed. "You
weren't expecting this, were you?"
"No." I realized her complaisance must involve bigger stakes than a
raise or even a promotion. "Tell me, Laura: what's Jack got on you?"
She grinned wryly up at me. "If I told you, you'd have it too."
Her head went down and ended her ability to speak. I felt a touch of
unreality. The best looking girl in the office was sucking my dick on my
own desk. What a common fantasy! I'd never indulged it, at least not
with this woman, because I'd never imagined it was possible.
The door opened again. Jack slipped through it. When I tensed, Laura
turned her head enough to see why. She snorted and promptly resumed her
work.
Jack grinned at me. "She has a way with that tongue, don't you
think?" He walked to the side, craning his neck. His eyebrows rose. "My
god, she's swallowed all of it!"
"She's just starting," I explained.
"Ah." He nodded. "Not up yet, is that it?"
"What if the cleaners show?" I wondered.
"You're late asking!" He gestured. "Notice your trash can. They've
already been."
I closed my eyes, feeling her tongue, becoming erect at last.
Something thudded on the floor. My eyes flew open. Jack had dropped his
shoes, followed by pants and shorts. The girl had only bent at the waist.
I heard the snarl of her skirt zipper. He pulled the garment down her
legs. She obligingly stepped out of it, then lifted one foot out of her
pantyhose when he had rolled them down to her ankles, the better to spread
her legs apart. He stood up close behind her and parted his shirt tails.
I had one glimpse of a full erection, about the same size as mine. Maybe
a bit larger.
He put it into her directly, which surprised me. I'd've expected him
to stroke her a bit. But he knew her better than I, obviously. Her only
response was a quiver. Then her hips began to undulate.
He bent slightly, holding her sides, and matched her motion
vigorously. His eyes locked with mine above a satisfied grin. He said,
"This has its points. Ever do it before, Harry?"
"No," I lied, "though I've done the opposite."
"With two women?"
"Well, yes."
I thought fleetingly of the Vietnamese whores, of Madge and Mabel, the
hitch-hikers, of Daisy and her sister, of Doris and her friend, Rachel,
who was actually my friend, and of Belinda's orphanage. Guess I've been
lucky, from what I overhear.
Jack thought I was lying all around. "You don't sound very sure of
it." His voice firmed. "Be sure of this: it's just as much a violation
of policy for <you> to do this as it is for me."
"Almost," I agreed.
"Close enough."
"They'd fire us both."
"All three. I'm glad you understand."
He said no more. To my surprise Laura began to orgasm. She twisted
and bucked, moaning through her nose. I feared that she'd bite me. But
she didn't. Her tongue worked furiously until I joined her. She would've
swallowed every drop, I'm sure, if I'd let her, but she's not so expert as
she thinks. Her suction became unbearable. I pulled out and jacked the
last of it into her face, what didn't drip on my pants. Her lips hung
open just as I left them but her eyes were clenched shut. Maybe she'd've
caught it all even then if Jack hadn't been fucking her senseless.
With a groan and a sigh she sank across my desk to one side of me.
She had gone limp. In a moment Jack backed away from her. I don't
believe he made it this time.
When he was dressed, he stood looking down at us. "Both of you: take
tomorrow off."
She looked up at him, face red from exertion, wet with my leavings,
and said, "I can't afford that."
"Yes, you can. I'll mark your card. You both get a holiday for
finding the re-entrant bug. That all right with you, Harry?
"Sure."
All I had to do was stuff in and zip up. Laura slowly raised up and
turned around. Jack watched her. "Are you okay, Laura?"
She sighed and grinned at both of us. "Two men does me in."
He nodded. "I know. We'll talk Wednesday. I'm getting out of here.
You should do the same."
He opened the door, looked up and down the hall and departed, closing
the door behind him. Laura rolled up her pantyhose tiredly. I helped her
with the skirt. She wiped a hand over her upper lip, looked curiously at
the result. "Two face fulls in one night! Why'n't you leave it in me?"
"I can't stand it when I'm coming."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot. You have a handkerchief?"
I pulled it out and wiped her face with it. "Where's your purse?"
"In my car." She grinned. "I didn't expect to be in here so long."
"You arranged to meet him here at a certain time?"
"What of it?"
"Not your first time with him, was it?"
"No. And it won't be my last." She regarded me from the door
appraisingly. "It won't be my last with you, either."
"We still have to work together," I pointed out.
She nodded. "That's what I mean."
We parted and I came home. It's late. I don't intend to speculate on
what all this means tonight, but I'm certain my life is changed in some
significant way.
What did she think <I> meant by "work together?"
File D9104301.ZEN
<Wednesday, October 16, 1974, for Tuesday>
An unexpected day off in the middle of the week is not very useful. I
fooled around, reread some Heinlein, tried to work on the novel but the
muse wasn't helpful. Called Doris at work only to be reminded she's away
at that bookstore convention. Put down the phone and wondered what she'll
learn this time, considering that the night after she came back from the
last one she asked me what was the word for being done in the bum. At the
time we were sitting over our salads at Phil's Steaks.
I said, "You mean anal sex?"
That's what she meant, only wasn't there a more technical word?
"How about buggery?"
I'm sure she thought I was teasing her and of course I was in a way.
So far as I know only the British call it that.
"All right. Try pederasty."
She snapped her fingers. "That's it."
"Though I believe it refers more to the practice upon boys. Was it
boys you had in mind?"
"Boys? Really?"
"My ex-boys report it's intensely pleasurable to the young because of
their anal sensitivity. If you mean man to woman, the better word is
sodomy."
"What 'ex-boys?' You?"
"Not I. A book."
"Could I read it?"
"Unfortunately I loaned it to somebody. Why the sudden interest?"
"Just curious. What did you do while I was gone?"
"Missed you terribly, of course."
About that time our steaks arrived. Later in my bed the subject came
up again. At the point where I usually put it in she grinned up at me and
said, "Pretend I'm a boy."
I rubbed her mound, causing her to twitch as my palm raked her clit.
"You don't have what a boy has."
"I have some of it," she argued, turning partly onto her belly.
She was dry there, of course. But she was insistent. Something had
really triggered her imagination. An experience? I got the Vaseline and
we managed to make contact. After trying for a while she complained that
she needed something in front, too, and my fingers weren't long enough.
She's always frank in the bedroom, one of her charms, and the anal work
had roused her to a fever pitch.
I finished where I'd started. Maybe that's why I never wrote it up in
this diary. I was ashamed of myself for holding her down. Grandpa was
right: "A stiff prick has no conscience." But it recovers one soon as it
goes limp. So why write it up now? Because it arouses me to think of it
and the pen was handy. And because it's given me an idea to try. I'll
stop by the adult store before Doris gets back and load up on dildoes of
various sizes. Bet she'll let me up her ass again!
Why bother? Pussy is clearly the best. But perversion is attractive.
Going into mouth or rectum, especially when you fill 'em up coming, is
satisfying in some manner that is beyond sex. Does this make me a
misogynist? I certainly don't hate their bodies! But their minds ... I
find their frequently exhibited indifference to my proposals annoying.
What I hate is that they are <not> just the sex objects they so often
accuse men of expecting!
Of course it's a waste of time to hate <anything> about them!
One idea leads to another, recalling the advantage of the bird in
hand. I couldn't remember Laura's last name and of course my employee's
handbook was in the desk at work. I've called her at home once or twice
on technical problems but her number is tacked up on the bulletin board in
the lab. I could call the lab and ask ... but wouldn't, of course.
Laura is a brunette, 24 years old, about five three or four, maybe 120
pounds. She keeps her hair shoulder length and lets it dangle mostly.
She has brown eyes in an oval face with full lips. Her mouth is small but
large enough. When she started on me last night, she took in balls and
all. What a feeling! If she'd bit down hard ...
She dresses neatly, skirt and high-heels, except when we have to stay
on weekends, when she shows up in jeans and loafers. She flirts a little,
which I have enjoyed on occasion, and is not dismayed by the dirty talk in
the lab. In fact she's the one who told the joke about the "maximum
insult to a programmer," where one threatens to whip it out and piss all
over another's listings.
Indeed I had noticed her looks. She was head and shoulders above the
secretaries, the programming librarian and the one other female programmer
in the office. But she'd had Tommy until recently and I still have Doris,
who is much more than merely adquate and whom very likely I'll marry -- if
she doesn't pull a Daisy!
Laura is also more intelligent than the other women, though she seems
too careless of details to make a good programmer. Believe I've already
told how she forgot to include the return from a subroutine, just one of a
great many mistakes but one that took the whole lab nearly a week to find.
That may be her worst failing: she can seldom find the culprit
instruction or lack of one if it's her own mistake. Finding your own
screwup takes the patience to recheck your assumptions, which may be her
quality in shortest supply.
Now she's proven to be both promiscuous and a willing cock sucker. Is
that a condemnation or a recommendation? Or both? Or is 'willing' the
wrong conclusion? Was coercion even mildly a factor in last night's major
surprise?
About three my phone rang. It was Laura. "I need some help, Harry."
I managed to keep the delight out of my voice. "What kind?"
"Oh, not money or anything like that. Advice."
"We're always well stocked with advice."
"Are you? I've never heard you offer any except technical. This is
personal."
"Don't most people think free advice is worth every penny they pay for
it?"
"I'd like to have yours anyway."
"All right. Where'd you like to meet? Are you hungry?"
"Maybe later. I'd like it ... to be private."
"Do you know where I live?"
"You're alone?"
"You know I'm single, Laura."
"Give me directions."
So I told her. I could hear her pencil scratching. She was certainly
that much of a programmer: to use an erasable pencil instead of a pen.
I took the trouble to shave my face and splash some cologne, refusing
to speculate on her objective. She knocked on my door about twenty
minutes later. She was wearing her weekend clothes: sweater, jeans and
loafers. But she had a large soft shoulder purse instead of the briefcase
she normally brings to work. Her face was pale. I realized that she had
omitted lipstick and eye shadow, at least. No need to primp for the
fellow whose dick you've sucked? Something to that, I guess.
"Come in and flop," I advised, pushing the morning paper off the
couch. "I've got coke, pineapple juice and Millers. What'll you have?"
"No coffee? I'll make it."
"Don't drink it. None in the house. Sorry."
She shrugged, looking around at my messy living room. The maid didn't
show up Friday, probably because she misplaced her key again. I said as
much to Laura.
She grinned. "At least you don't smoke. You're a bachelor, aren't
you?"
"Yes."
"Then it would worry me if it was neat as a pin. I'll pass on the
drink."
She sat on the couch, dropping her bag beside her. I pulled up the
straight chair and sat facing her.
Her chin tilted back. "What did you think of last night?"
I hesitated, mulling my feelings for this woman. At last I said, "I
was impressed."
She made a crooked grin. "Really? How?"
"It's hard to explain."
"I'll bet!" Her grin faded. "We already know I screwed up the end of
your Frenching. You mean Jack impressed you?"
"No. I think he's a fool."
She grunted. "He's anything but a fool, Harry. He takes risks that
many wouldn't, but he -- Oh. You mean one Frenching from me's not worth
it, don't you? But he gets a lot more than that from me. A <lot> more!"
"So I gather."
"Then what impressed you?"
I took a long breath. "Laura, do you <like> to suck dicks?"
She stared at me. "As a matter of fact I do. I like the shape of
one. I like having it in my mouth. And the taste of the semen ...
Frenching stimulates me a lot. Isn't it the same for you when you lick a
woman?"
"Yes."
"There, you see. But that has nothing to do with it. I Frenched you
last night to make you one of the rule breakers, too."
"To keep me from talking."
"Exactly."
"Then why did you blow Jack?"
"I met him there ... for a business reason. He likes what he calls
'spontaneity.' We were leaving his office. He looked around, whipped it
out and told me to kneel. I admit, the daring of it appealed to me, too."
I shook my head. "Anybody could've come around the corner."
"Yes. But would you believe I'd been doing him for less than a
minute, probably less than 30 seconds? His thing leaps right up and he
comes very fast when he wants to."
"That surprises me. It's the mark of a man who doesn't get much."
She snorted. "Not this one. He gets all he wants."
"From you?"
"And many others."
I grinned. "Jack has always seemed a bit distracted. I begin to
understand why. The lucky bastard."
She nodded. "If personality is luck, then you're right, he's lucky."
"You like him, eh?"
"In some ways. But I also fear him."
I studied her. "Well, he is the boss."
"Not for that. That's the least of it."
"What, then?"
Her eyes narrowed. I supposed that we were reaching the point of her
visit. She got up and spun around. "Where's your bathroom?"
I stood too. "This way."
She took up her bag and followed me down the hall. I stopped at the
bedroom door and let her pass. "The door on the left."
She dropped her bag into the bathroom but stopped in the doorway and
looked back. "You haven't seen all my figure."
"Last night the angle wasn't the best," I agreed.
"I'm told I have a good one."
She shrugged out of her sweater before passing the door. Surprisingly
she had only a brassiere beneath it. I'd've thought it was too cool for
that today, but I hadn't been outside. Hands behind her adroitly
unclipped the bra. She shrugged it off, dropping both garments on the
floor. Her breasts were better than average but not so full as some I've
handled. I prefer well-tittied women, as I think I've remarked before.
Her nipples were crinkled. Also an exhibitionist, was she?
She struggled out of tight jeans and underpants, leaning toward me.
Tits always look fuller when they dangle so. I admitted, "They didn't
lie."
Her eyes had never left mine. She straightened up quite naked,
leaving her bottom clothing crumpled atop her loafers. She wore no
stockings.
She shook her head. "I know I fished for that one, but can't you give
me more than a nibble?"
She shaves underarms, legs and pubes. Completely. I don't recall
another woman who did that. I asked, "Does Jack prefer little girls?"
She passed out of sight into the room. I heard the toilet seat clack
into place. A man alone seldom lowers it, of course. She called, "Come
talk to me. You mean the shaving?"
I stopped in the doorway. "Yes. Even your pubic hair."
She answered above the tinkle of her urination. "Some men like it and
some don't, but I shaved it this time for a ..."
She stopped and took a deep breath. "Jack is blackmailing me."
"That's a strong word. Are you sure it's the right one?"
"Oh, yes."
I made my voice incredulous. "What evil can <you> be guilty of?"
"Evil enough."
"Really? Sucking dicks may be illegal in most states, but I don't
find it evil at all!"
"Harry ..." She sighed. "I resolved to tell you everything.
Hopefully you can help me find a way out of this mess." She smiled. "But
I wanted to tell you in bed."
I gestured toward the bedroom. "I'll always listen to a pretty woman
in bed."
"Thanks for the 'pretty woman.'"
"Laura, don't pretend to be starved for compliments. You know
perfectly well that you're the prettiest woman in the whole office."
"Am I? Well, I couldn't tell it from <your> behavior!"
She got up from the stool and wiped herself with the paper, then with
something from her bag. Only then did she flush the commode. While the
water sloshed she sprayed something between her legs from a can taken from
the bag. When the water had quieted, I explained, "I thought you were
dating Tommy."
"Tommy!" She looked around at me curiously. "Why ever would you
think that?"
"Once I saw you looking into his pants."
Her eyes widened. "Where'd you see it?"
"Behind the tape drives. The lab windows reflect when the light is
right."
She ducked her head. "He showed me a wart."
"A wart!"
"We were talking about genital warts. He showed me one that I think
he was proud of. I guess you know they can be passed around like VD, but
he didn't. I never touched it."
"Never? Where was it?"
"On the top of his glans. Yes, never. I never Frenched him nor did
any other trick, either."
"He just asked you to inspect his dick?"
Her head tilted. "If a man offers to show me his equipment, why
shouldn't I look -- if we're in private? I'm as curious as the next one."
She came towards me and I fell back down the hall. She stopped and
looked into my bedroom, grinning at the unmade bed and the clothes on the
floor. She looked at me with a sparkle in her eye. "May I?"
"Feel free."
"I always feel that way."
"Even around Jack?"
"No." Her face sobered. She entered the room, went straight to the
bed and sat on the edge. I followed her, removing my clothes.
I said, "'Frenching' and doing tricks. Where'd you learn to talk that
way?"
"Where do you think?"
"I've only heard one ... class of people use those words that way."
Her lip curled in a crooked grin. "Business women?"
I nodded. "In 'Nam that's what they called themselves."
"You were in Vietnam?"
"Yes."
"In combat?"
"Sometimes."
"Will you tell me?"
"Probably not. It's not for women, despite what they say. Do whores
especially like euphemisms?"
"No more than anyone else. The johns do."
"Do you know something about it, Laura?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "That's how I paid my way through
college."
"My god!" I regarded her with new respect. "That's <truly>
impressive!"
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"No, no. You have a bachelor's?"
"In science."
"You got that while renting your lower half?"
She grinned. "Do you see me on my back, humping madly at one end
while studying a textbook at the other? I always tried to give good
service, not just the lower half. My weekends paid my way. You remember
the song, <Never on Sunday>? That was me, except for me it was never on
Sunday through Thursday."
"No Saturday classes?"
"I kept those to a minimum. One semester I was late registering and
ended up with four classes on Saturday. My income would've taken a big
hit that year, except during the summer I lucked into a major role in a
porn flick."
I sat down naked beside her but sex -- that is, immediate humping --
was farthest from my mind. She must have misinterpreted my expression.
She frowned. "You think I'm just a slut, don't you?"
"Laura, please." I put my hand on her shoulder in what I hoped was a
fatherly manner. "The word for what I feel is fascination. This is a
dream come true."
She looked puzzled. "A 'dream?'"
I stroked her back. "It seems to me that most women have only a few
adventures, and what they have they won't talk about, not to a man, at
least. I've dreamed of finding a woman of experience who has time and
willingness to talk about her life, who'll answer my questions freely, who
holds nothing back. If you're that woman, my dream has come true."
She laid her head on my shoulder. "I have all night, Harry."
I tugged her gently and she followed me down on the pillows. We
stretched out side by side. I rolled her hip toward me so that one leg
was thrown over mine. She took a position with one arm behind her, the
other across my chest, her breasts in my side, her head turned toward me,
nestled in the junction of my arm and shoulder.
"Where should I begin?" she asked, her voice muffled.
As she talked I stroked her leg, hip, side and arm with my free hand.
Occasionally I would prompt her with a question. Her short life has
indeed been fascinating. All the details would make good reading. Wish
I'd thought to set up my tape recorder before it was too late. But I
didn't; the following is what I remember.
She was raised in an orphanage. The other kids bullied her for her
academic skills, as they did me, but they went further. Right after her
first menstrual period the girls held her down and silenced her screams so
that several boys -- she believes also the headmaster -- could rape her.
That taught her not to stick her head up.
When the orphanage threw her out at eighteen, she had several
adventures and ended up working for a set of Chicago cops who ran a
protection racket on the side. She kept the books for their operation.
They took advantage of her youth and freshness and rented her out. They
selected her customers and apparently did it well. The only medical
problem she encountered was pregnancy. They paid for the abortion and put
her on the pill.
A sergeant, an older man, developed somewhat of a father's fondness
for her while fucking her twice a week, and protected her from the worst
aspects of her new profession. Impressed by her industry, brightness and
determination at extracting semen, he devised the scheme whereby she would
attend Northwestern as a full-time computer science student and earn her
keep by working weekends on her back, side, kneeling or in whatever
position the customer ordered. She had no trouble with the exams and
entered her freshman class that September, having been out of the
orphanage for slightly more than one year.
The cops continued to supply her with customers but now she lived in
her own apartment near the university and collected all the proceeds
herself -- except of course when a cop was the customer, in which case the
proceeds were only seminal fluid. Her departure from the protection
business made her less convenient for police visitors, and her custom
shifted more to civilians, all recommended by word of mouth. She was
popular. By the end of her first semester she was entertaining at least
half a dozen men every weekend, always in her own apartment. Some
weekends the number was greater. For Halloween that year, which fell on
the weekend, she allowed seven to have her in that one night, three at
once.
She was beaten twice and knifed once, not seriously, and her
protectors took serious vengeance, of which the word got around. Mostly
she thrived. She aced every subject in her freshman year.
And the sophomore year. In the following summer one of her regulars
invited her to a party where she met a porno producer and demonstrated her
talent. In the next two weeks she played supporting roles in five
full-length flicks. She related two or three hilarious anecdotes from
that experience that I may record later. With production crammed in such
a short schedule, the fucking is intense and very wearing on the actors,
especially the males. One of them was a man called Flooder -- she
couldn't remember his stage name -- who was notorious for the sheer
quantity of semen he could produce, up to half a pint, she claimed, but
only if he hadn't ejaculated in at least two days. On the third day of
production, Flooder came back from vacation for his big scene and
strangled the star so completely -- shot her throat full -- that she
passed out and actually stopped breathing. When the director called for
someone to do mouth-to-mouth, no one responded, not even Flooder himself.
So Laura made them turn her upside down, got under her, sucked her airway
clear and probably saved her life.
They offered her the position of assistant director but instead she
walked out. She didn't like the people, she said, especially the women.
Touching them, as she had to do, made her skin crawl. No lesbian, this
one! The other girls in the orphanage had made certain of that.
She graduated with a 3.4, not bad but not the aces she'd begun with.
"What happened to you, Laura?"
She shrugged. "I got tired of it."
"Business during the week?"
"No. Well, not much. The fact is that I simply got tired of the
books. I stuck it out long enough to graduate, but the last semester was
tough. I barely passed it."
"That's a little odd. Most people who make it to the senior year get
an added burst of ... ambition, I guess, and actually work harder."
"Not me."
The sergeant had gotten killed stopping a bank robbery while she was a
junior. It wasn't long before his remaining associates were protecting
drug pushers. They began to pester Laura to push also and what was worse,
send her druggies to entertain. By this time she had a coterie of
regulars. She switched apartments after advising those who, like her,
were disgruntled by the sergeant's departure, and continued in business,
though at a reduced volume at first. Then the situation changed.
"Were you a frat member, Harry?"
"No. I'm not a joiner."
"You missed out, then. You know what goes on in frat houses, don't
you?"
"You tell me."
"That's where you get laid."
"Well, I've heard ..."
"And where do you think they get the girls?"
"Sororities?"
"Some, for the chaperoned dances. But most of the time they get girls
like me."
"Hmm. Are there so many on campus?"
"So many that the competition drives the price down. I think half the
girls in school were riding through on the cocks."
"Riding through -- Your expression?"
"That's what they called it in the powder room."
"Interesting."
"You think so?" She shook her head. "I began to dread the weekends."
"Why? Weren't you accustomed to --"
"Not <that> much! Typically they had a dozen men for every girl. It
was nothing but hard work. And I'd be sore all week. But it was finally
over. NSI made me a good offer. I was out of Chicago two days after I
graduated."
"When was that?"
"June of last year."
"So you retired, in effect."
"Yes, I did. I took a cut in pay, not to speak of the taxes, but I
was well out of that life. Or so I thought."
"What happened?"
She chuckled humorlessly. "Jack Martin's son was the party chairman
for the frat that hired me most often."
"Wh-what! His son?"
"Jack is forty-five, Harry."
"He doesn't look it."
"I've noticed that men often don't. Forty-five is about when they
start to change."
"His son was at Northwestern with you? That must be 400 miles away."
"I know it is. I counted on that. Small world, isn't it?"
"That's pretty old for a first-line manager."
"Well, Jack's sharp, but he doesn't really give a shit about
programming. Haven't you noticed."
I nodded. "I've been glad of it. He's given me a free hand. How'd
he find out about you?"
"Jack was going over my first appraisal with me -- what a crock that
is! -- last winter when his son came waltzing into the office. Jack
introduced us. We recognized each other immediately. I asked to be
excused. That evening Jack was waiting for me in the parking lot."
"What happened."
"You know what happened."
"Why didn't you tell him to fuck off?"
"I'd been wondering what to expect. He called me to his car and put
it to me right off. If I wanted raises, promotions and the good jobs, I
would French him then and there. He scooted out from under the wheel and
pulled down his britches."
"What did you do?"
"What he asked."
"But why?"
"Because I wanted raises, promotions and the good jobs, I guess."
"I can't believe that's all it was. Did he threaten you with
anything?"
"No. Believe me, Harry: to a woman, sucking a penis isn't nearly
such a big deal as it is to a man."
I raised my head and studied her face. "Then where's the blackmail?
I don't see your problem."
"Because I haven't told you yet."
Her hand had been slowly working my dick for a good while. Of course
it was hard as a rock, despite last night's relief. I ignored that as
best I could and commented, "You know, he lied to you. A first line
manager can't do a thing for your salary and rank without persuading his
boss and his boss's boss, and <I> determine what job you'll get!"
"Then I'd better butter you up, too, hadn't I?"
She raised up and bent over my waist. Lips enclosed me. I said,
"Wait a minute, Laura."
She withdrew and regarded me with surprise. "You want me to stop?"
"I want you to wait a minute."
I pushed her gently onto her back, crawled around between her legs and
spread them apart with my elbows. My hands fell upon her hairless labia
and opened them but her palm against my forehead stopped my face from
descending.
"<You> wait a minute, Harry!"
"I can't believe you don't want this."
"Have you thought about what you're doing?"
"Laura, do you have some disease?"
"No. The cops got me used to going to a GYN. She pronounced me
healthy as a mare just last week."
"Then why stop me?"
"I'm telling you what Jack says."
"Who cares what Jack says?"
"You will. He won't do this to me."
"Won't he?"
"No. He says it's the same as sucking all my thousands of cocks."
"He's crazy... Thousands, eh? Did you learn to keep count?"
"No, but I learned elementary math. If you average half a dozen a
week for four years, that's over twelve hundred times."
"Twelve hundred. Imagine that!"
"Imagine putting your mouth where so many cocks have been."
"I am." I pushed her hand aside and thrust my tongue as far into her
as I could, wiping upward as I withdrew it. She shuddered but asked, "Are
you queer, Harry?"
I withdrew long enough to reply, "You ever heard of a queer licking a
cunny?"
"No," she admitted.
"And don't claim you didn't expect this. I saw you spray it."
I went back to work. She had the symmetrical, smooth cunt that has
never stretched around a baby's head. I enjoyed licking her. She came
very shortly, groaning very like Doris. Women are much alike at this
moment. I suppose so are men at their equivalent. I held her hips and,
licking fiercely, refused to let her force me away until I was in danger
of losing all my hair. When I rose off her, she tossed and turned,
shuddering, but stilled immediately when I held her legs apart and entered
her properly. She was coming over and over, grunting like a pig. She
fetched me in a dozen strokes, if that. She screamed when she felt my
ejaculate and relaxed all over, breathing hard.
Not me. That's the way to have easy sex. I sat back against the wall
and watched her. Her breasts gleamed like marble.
When she quieted, she opened her eyes on me and said, "I <didn't>
expect it --"
"Hell, you tried to talk me out of it!"
Her face didn't change. It was almost expressionless. I found a word
for it: satisfaction.
She said, "Don't you know what a slut I am?"
"What's a slut?"
"A girl who screws anyone."
"Maybe. From what I hear, it just means a girl you don't like."
She nodded. "That's me. That's always been me."
"No, Laura. I like you just fine."
"You shouldn't."
"I can't imagine why not."
"What's the matter with you? Didn't you just come?"
"You know I did."
"Then you don't have to sweet-talk me. I'm a <whore>, Harry!"
"Thought you retired."
"As Jack says, once a whore, always a whore."
I shook my head. "Can't say I've known many whores -- who admitted it
-- but isn't that mostly a state of mind? And what if you are? I think a
whore who's willing to listen can be of more value to society than most
psychiatrists. Tell me, Laura: the whole time you were in school, during
the week when you saw men with all your clothes on, didn't you even meet
<one> who was interested in more than your cunny?"
Her eyes fell. "I did meet one," she admitted.
"What happened?"
"He was my lab partner. We built a microprogram sequencer together.
He was big, shy, bumbling and sweet, but his hands could wirewrap like a
machine. I often thought about his hands. When we got the sequencer to
work, he threw me up in the air and kissed me. I wanted him, but he said
he loved me too much to take advantage of me."
"What happened."
Her eyes were wet. A tear rolled over her cheek. "Just what you
think. He went to a beer party with his friend. When somebody turned on
the lights, <he> was the one fucking me."
"Christ! But that's no small school."
"It was too small for us. In the lab he was shy and polite as ever,
but we never built anything else. He never touched me again."
I hugged her, wiped her eyes and suggested it's better to know the
truth in the beginning. We went out to dinner. Over the meal she began
to tell me more of her adventures and continued it when we returned to my
apartment. It is fascinating to discuss sex with an articulate woman who
has Laura's experience. I learned a lot and had more confirmed. Whores
don't really enjoy fucking strangers, which is not very surprising. Women
are made differently from men and have different objectives. But a whore
can let herself go with a kindly regular, probably enjoying him more than
his wife does because her lesser inhibition incites him to greater effort.
What did she miss from whoring? Not the money; though honest work
pays less, it pays well enough for her needs. And she was conscious of
the effects of age. Already her butt and inner thighs, she claimed, were
less firm than they used to be. Honest work has the great advantage of
going right on when no man will otherwise look at you twice.
But what she missed was ... "Now you'll <know> I'm a slut! I miss
two men at once. Or three. Or even more."
I demurred that four was impossible. She swore that she'd once done
six at once, using hands and feet, and she'd seen a girl with huge tits do
seven. But all that was just stunts. More than three was work. Three or
less was ... the greatest pleasure of all.
"Wouldn't two or three dildoes be just as good?"
"No. You've got to feel their bodies all around you, in you, with
their hairy, sweaty skin and male odor. Then you go out of your mind."
"Is that good?"
"It's heaven."
"I noticed that you enjoyed Jack's attention while you were doing me."
"I ... It was over too soon. I was just starting."
"Did you know he meant to do that?"
"No."
"But you weren't surprised, were you?"
"It's better to say I wasn't sorry."
"What did he tell you, 'Get in there and shut him up?'"
"Something like that."
"And you think you did it?"
"No. But I don't think you'll rat."
We fucked once more and she went to sleep with her head on my
shoulder. When my alarm went off at six she was already gone.
She was in the lab on time this morning, smiling, flirting, fresh as a
daisy. No one could have imagined that I'd licked her into a screaming
fit just the day before, that she'd sucked my dick the day before that,
that a thousand other dicks had invaded her body. Jack was in his office,
they said, but he never showed in the lab.
She has yet to tell me of her problem needing advice. Or has she?
A thousand other dicks. Plus mine. I look at her and see the half
dozen on her that she bragged of. That picture is curiously stimulating.
--
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