The Fish Tank
by Couture
email: [email protected]

(MF, caution)

Please do not read if under 18 years of age or offended by 
sexually explicit stories and situations.  

 (c) 2002 Couture

***********

Mark was very happy driving along in his blue 99' Buick 
Regal.  He was so happy that he was attempting to sing 
along with Eminem, and not just the chorus either.  He was 
doing a wonderful job of butchering the song, but he didn't 
care.  It was a few days until his one-year anniversary as 
a Kirby salesman and he only needed one more sale to make a 
hundred and the large bonus it entailed.  One more sale - 
he could do that in his sleep.

"I know that you got a job Ms. Shady, but your husblah-
blah-bla-blah-bla-blah," Mark sang, finally giving up on 
the verse and resorted to making up his own song.

"I'm gonna sell you a vacuum Ms. Shady.  Cuz I na-na-na-
need the money.  So let me see one hundred vacuums equals a 
bonus.  And I really really needz a bonus."  Mark laughed, 
but then something caught his eye.  He stopped the car, 
looked back in the rear view mirror to make sure no cars 
were coming, then backed up to the intersection.

"Desmonda drive."  He looked on the map and noticed there 
wasn't a Desmonda drive listed.  Jackpot.  This was Mark's 
style.  As a traveling salesman, he learned early on, it 
paid to take the less traveled path.  Let the other 
salesmen compete with one another on Main Street, while he 
went to homes that had never seen a traveling salesman, 
much less learned how to slam the door in one's face.

The only thing was Desmonda drive looked like a miss, 
instead of a hit.  There didn't appear to be any houses on 
this lone street.  He drove to the end of the street to 
turn around, and spotted a small white house to the right 
of the cul de sac.  It was a well kept house with burgundy 
shutters; the yard could have used a good mowing.    

"La la la la.  La la la la.  La la la la la la la la lah." 
Mark sang the only part of the song he could do a decent 
job on, while he pulled the Kirby model 9000 out of the 
trunk along with the trunk of accessories for the vacuum.  
The trunk also contained dirt, marbles, and even a bowling 
ball used to demonstrate the machine.  

This was one of the reasons most of the Kirby salesmen were 
men, and young men at that.  The vacuum weighed about forty 
pounds and the assorted odds and ends added up to another 
thirty pounds or so.  Luckily the trunk and case had 
handles and wheels.

Mark wheeled the two cases to the front door.  He knocked.  
There was no answer, but the door opened a few inches.  
Mark opened it a little more, knocked again, and said, 
"Hello?  Hello, is anybody home?"

There wasn't an answer, but what Mark saw there in the 
living room and dining room, made his jaw drop.  They had a 
full set of Encyclopedia Britannica and a deluxe Singer 
sewing machine.  As long as they didn't already have a 
Kirby, Mark figured he was only a few minutes away from his 
bonus.

It made him a little less cautious.  He took a step in and 
knocked on the inside of the door.  "Is anybody home?  Boy, 
have I got something to show you."

There was something odd, but Mark couldn't quite place it.  
He listened.  A very faint sound, gradually growing louder.  
It sounded like heavy breathing at first, but it gradually 
grew into a sound that no male could ignore- the gasping 
sound of a woman approaching orgasm.

Without noticing the complete lack of sound that is so unnatural
in a modern home ... Mark walked past the fish tank that held no fish, 
as he followed the direction of the only sound that carried 
through the house.  

He set the vacuum down in the living room and walked into 
the direction of the sound.  He found himself peeking in 
the crack in the bedroom door.  The moans were louder now.  
He could even hear the squeaking of the bed.  The moans 
were coming from a young girl on the bed - maybe eighteen 
years old, long blonde hair, with curves in all the right 
places.  Her pussy glistened wetly between her wide spread 
legs and her hands were busy at work.  

Mark's gaze followed her hands.  First they moved down and thrust 
a digit between the puffy lips of her sex. In and out the finger moved, 
in and out, then up to her mouth to be sucked clean, then back down to 
her pussy again. Then she spread the pink nether lips wide 
with her other hand, while she lightly spanked her cunt.

This chick needs a good fucking, Mark thought.  And I'm 
just the man to give it to her.  He opened up the door, 
rubbing his hand up and down his erection.

He was glad the girl didn't scream.  Instead, she spread 
her legs wider, beckoning him.

Mark was happy to oblige.  He unzipped his pants, freeing 
his hard member.  He knelt on the bed between her legs and 
pushed them to her chest, so her dainty feet were pointing 
in the air.  Lining his cock up with the opening to her 
sex, he thrust into her in one stroke.  He plowed into her, 
fucking her.  This wasn't a girl he needed to please.  This 
was a piece of ass, put here for his pleasure alone.  A 
gift from God for him alone.

He worried for a moment whether she had a disease or not, 
but this thought was short-lived.  She was young and she 
was tight.  And when she wrapped her strong legs around his 
ass and scratched her fingernails down his back; that was 
all that mattered.

He thrust hard into her, pounding her.  He could feel the 
cum rising in his balls.  He wondered if she was on the 
pill and considered pulling out, but what did he care.  She 
didn't even know his name.  No one even knew he was here.  
It was the perfect anonymous fuck.  He pictured her in his 
mind.  Her formerly tight stomach swollen, with her pert 
breasts hanging down, never knowing the name of the man who 
impregnated her.

This thought was all it took to take him over the edge.  
Closing his eyes, he grunted, "Take it.  Take it all," and 
shot his seed into her greedy cunt.  It was at that moment 
the mattress buckled and closed over their two forms.

The center of the mattress bulged and shook as Mark tried 
to escape, but though it would give, it refused to yield.  
Eventually, the struggles ceased and the muffled cries grew 
silent.  

A few days later the bed opened up and became a flat 
mattress once again.  The girl was still there, but the 
only evidence of the vacuum cleaner salesman was the Kirby 
9000 laying discarded in the living room.  It would be good 
company for the set of encyclopedias and the sewing 
machine.   Kirby would have to get another salesman, but 
that was easy enough.  They were accustomed to salesmen who 
quit with no notice.  There always seemed to be a high 
turnover in the door-to-door business. 

The end