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From: thebear@io.com (Baird Allen)
Subject: {Baird} RP: All This For Only 79 Cents? by Baird Allen (formerly The Bear) (spam spoof oral) Celeste:10:10:10
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This repost is in response to Celeste's recent mention (in CR 301) of
last fall's spam-title story contest. It wasn't really a contest,
because there was no judging and no winner, just a bunch of stories
inspired by the subject headers of various spams posted to the
alt.sex.stories.* newsgroups. It was Malinov's idea, and was really 
a lot of fun.

This story earned a 10:10:10 from Celeste and was #16 on her list of
the top stories for October 1997.

*******************************************************
The following is a work of fiction involving sexual relationships
and activities. If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise
improper for you to read this, then DON'T READ IT.
*******************************************************

"All This for Only 79 Cents?"

Copyright 1997 by Baird Allen (thebear@io.com)
(writer formerly known as The Bear)

Fred Durkin looked furtively up and down the street before sidling into the 
doorway of Slinky Sindy's Adult Books and Novelties. He quickly opened the 
door and stepped inside, then stopped to look around in wide-eyed 
wonderment.

He had expected a dark den of iniquity, from which he would emerge 
clutching illicit goods in a plain brown package, and perhaps wiping his feet 
as he returned to the security of the sidewalk.

What he saw was something different: a shop as brightly lit as any record- 
store or bookstore, and in fact lined with racks similar to those that might be 
found in those other types of shops. Colorful signs hung from the ceiling 
indicating sections for books, magazines, CD-ROMs, videotapes, adult toys, 
and exotic clothing. The only jarring note was the substance of the posters 
hung on the walls - most depicted women in various stages of undress, 
gesturing lasciviously as they sought to entice him to purchase their assorted 
products.

Fred could have spent all day just looking at the covers of the magazines and 
videotapes - they actually showed people having sex, right on the covers! - 
but he only had an hour or so to get back home, or his wife would be 
suspicious about where he had been. He vowed, however, to come this way 
on his evening walk everyday from now on - surely this paradise of exotica 
was as much stimulation for his heart as a simple walk around the boring 
streets of the town? Nevertheless, he decided that it was time to make his 
purchase and be on his way, so he headed back toward the magazine 
section, reasoning that he could look at a magazine anywhere (such as in his 
toolshed, perhaps) needing only his own eyes, whereas to look at the videos 
or CD-ROMs he would need other equipment that could only be used when 
his wife was away from the house (a rare condition).

Clutching the five-dollar bill that he had managed to secrete from the family 
cashbox before his wife had counted it, he searched in vain for any magazine 
that he could afford to buy. He had somehow expected such goods to be 
cheap, so that his fiver would cover perhaps three or four magazines with 
change to spare, but the cheapest that he saw were a full eight dollars.

He went to the counter to see if anything in his price range was available 
there. The salesman was busy talking to another customer, and then picked 
up a red phone and talked to someone briefly, ending with "Come on down to 
the counter and get him."

The other customer stepped away, looking at a magazine display while he 
awaited whoever was coming down for him.

Fred stepped up to the salesman and pointed out a 75 cent postcard that he 
had chosen, with a picture of a naked girl reclining on a couch. "I'll take that," 
he muttered under his breath, his throat suddenly tight with fear and totally 
dry of all moisture.

"What?" asked the salesman, loudly. "Which one d'ya want?"

Fred cleared his throat and pointed again. "THAT ONE," he surprised himself 
by almost shouting.

The salesman rang it up and handed it to Fred. "That will be 79 cents, with 
the tax."

Fred handed the man his five-dollar bill, and received his change. "Can't I 
have a sack or something to take it home in?"

"Aw geez," sneered the salesman. "A whole sack for a big-spender such as 
yourself? Just stick it in your pocket, old man."

It was right about then that the other customer, the one perusing the 
magazines, started to cough uncontrollably. His cough got louder and louder, 
until it seemed that he was about to burst his lungs, and still the man could 
not manage to stop the cycle - cough, wheeze for breath, cough, wheeze, 
cough, wheeze, cough. The salesman came around to see what was the 
matter, just as the man turned blue and dropped to the floor.

"Aw shit," yelled the salesman, grabbing the man under the armpits and 
dragging him toward the door. "Quick, call 911 and tell them they have a 
choking victim at Lynch Furniture, 301 Elm Street." That was the shop next 
door. "And hurry!"

Fred stood frozen, wondering what to do, wondering where the phone was, 
wondering why the salesman had dragged the man to the shop next door, 
and wondering whether he dared to grab an armful of the forbidden (and 
expensive) magazines and take off sprinting down the sidewalk.

Fred's further pondering was put to a stop by a voice from the rear of the 
shop, a voice that was obviously trying (and failing) to drip with honey. It was, 
nevertheless, a female voice, and its tones were definitely intended to sound 
seductive. "Hey, fella, why don't ya come up here and see me?" A bad Mae 
West impersonation? Fred turned to look.

There was a flight of stairs up the back wall of the shop, apparently leading to 
some second floor office space. Leaning out the door at the top of the stairs 
was a woman dressed in a blue silk robe, showing quite a bit of cleavage.

Fred's hesitation overextended the woman's patience, and her next words 
lacked any attempt at honey-dripping, or even seduction. "Hey, bud, ya think I 
got all day? Come on up here, NOW!"

Fred obediently scurried to the stairs and up, and followed the woman down a 
short hallway to a dimly-lit room with a shaded window and a bed. The bed 
bore a fresh-looking sheet, neatly tucked in with hospital corners; there was a 
stack of similar sheets on the vanity, along with a bowl of little foil packages. 
A hamper in the corner held a large pile of rumpled sheets, none too fresh-
looking (or -smelling).

Fred looked around the room in dismay, not sure what to do next, beginning 
to worry that the woman might chase him out when she learned that he had 
only four dollars and twenty-one cents left in his pocket.

The woman dropped her robe on the bed, revealing tired-looking breasts that 
sagged nearly to her navel, fat hips encased in some sort of support garment, 
and thigh-high black stockings that held in the woman's plump legs like 
sausage skins.

"OK," she said, stepping toward him. "Joey said ya paid for a blowjob. Now 
you can see what you're gettin', ya sure ya don't wanna change yer mind and 
get some real pussy? Only an extra ten bucks if ya keep it between me and 
you and don't mention it to Joey."

Fred felt revolted at the thought - pay money to have sex with this woman? 
Why, he'd be willing to pay to avoid having sex with her! He thought longingly 
of his sweet wife, and wished he were home. But wait - had she mentioned a 
blowjob? Prepaid?

Fred shook his head and stood his ground, not sure (as usual) what to do 
next.

"OK," sighed the woman. "Blowjob it is. Ya wanna sit or stand up?"

Fred didn't trust the bed, even with apparently clean sheets, and so elected to 
stand.

The woman did all the work - she knelt in front of Fred, pulled down his 
zipper, and fished around inside his boxers for his flaccid cock. Once she 
pulled it out into the open, though, she gave a low whistle. "Ow, pretty well 
equipped you are, stud. Ya sure ya don't wanna go for a quick fuck? Only five 
bucks if ya don't tell Joey."

Fred noticed that the price had decreased, but attributed it more to her desire 
for cash than to her awe of his prick, whcih was slowly coming erect as she 
expertly stroked it. Since the price of a fuck still had not gotten to the level 
where she would be paying him, he declined once again, and the woman 
sighed and leaned forward to take his now-erect penis into her mouth.

She sucked hard on the head of his dick for a few moments, then took it in 
deep to coat it liberally with saliva. What followed was basically a quick and 
very professional hand-job, with only the head of Fred's cock remaining in the 
woman's mouth. He came quickly, spurting his jism and almost collapsing 
from the relief, and the woman turned her head and spat the whole globbet of 
come three feet into the trashcan. Then she tucked his prick away, zipped his 
fly, and got wearily to her feet.

"That's it, then," she told him. "Go on out of here and let me get some rest. 
Ya got a tip for me?"

He thought for a moment, then stepped to the door before answering.

"Yeah," he told her. "Don't tell Joey about this." He went down the hall to the 
stairs, then out and home.   

Copyright 1997 by Baird Allen (thebear@io.com)
You may copy this file for personal use only. Please do not redistribute.
Please do not post or repost to newsgroups without my permission.
Please do not archive this story without my written permission.
Eli the Bearded has my permission to archive this story in the ASSM archives.
All other rights reserved. 


The Bear's Den - http://www.io.com/~thebear/bearden.htm 
Sexy Stories (Baird, Kim, DG) - http://www.io.com/~thebear/docidx.htm 
 

 


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