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Scene 29

By: clownprince2008



6 am table readings. What kind of director organises table readings at 6 am? And for only 5 scenes. Needless to say, me and my co-star looked like crap. Which is hard to imagine considering my co-star is the beautiful Natalie Portman. She could barely keep her eyes open. I took a peanut from the bowl on the table and threw it at her. She bolted wide awake in her seat and looked at me. 

'We starting?' she asked.

'Nope. Our wise and brilliant director George is late.'

'What? These early sessions were his idea!' she said rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

'Late night?' I asked.

'Early night actually. Shitty hotel bed,' she said dreamily.

'I don't actually think the hotel's all that bad.'

'Oh no, I'm not staying at the same place as everyone else.'

'Ah I see, A-lister gets her own expensive hotel suite,' I smiled.

'You win a Golden Globe, you get the presidential suite at the Hilton.' 

I paused before saying, 'With a shitty bed it seems.' 

Natalie shrugged and then laughed before grabbing her coffee mug. We were filming an as yet, un-named romance film in Sydney, Australia. Natalie is the star of the piece and I'm playing her husband. Which suits me fine because my agent keeps telling me this could be my big break, I get a free trip to Australia and I get to see Natalie naked as part of a love scene we're filming. Our director George Wynn thought it'd be a brilliant idea to start up production ridiculously early each morning due to the amount of dawn filming sessions the film required. It seems like a good idea and it probably is, but half the crew still hates him for it. Luckily for most of them, this particular morning session only required Natalie and I to be at the table.

He came in about half an hour late. By then even I was pretty much asleep. This time it was Natalie's turn to throw peanuts at me. I bolted wide awake.

'Not so funny when it happens to you is it?' Natalie laughed.

George sat at the head of the table and said. 'Ok, we're reading through scene 27 through to 39 this morning. Natalie, Jim, you guys know the scenes at the beach house?'

We both nodded. George read parts of his script quietly to himself. There was silence in the room. Natalie and I looked at each other. Neither of us really liked the awkward way in which George works. It's not too uncommon for him to leave an entire table of the cast and crew silent for 5 whole minutes as he reads the script to himself. And the man obviously doesn't know how to manage actors. 

'Anything in particular about the scenes you wanted to talk about George,' Natalie asked after about a minute.

'Um, are you still up for the nudity?' he said abruptly.

I raised an eyebrow, Natalie seemed somewhat surprised and looked at me for a moment. I think she didn't feel completely comfortable talking about it in front of me despite the fact I was going to be in the scene with her. 

'Yes, if you think it's necessary for the film I'll do it,' she said shyly.

'It is.'

'How will it be filmed?' I asked curiously.

In all honestly, I was more interested in how much of Natalie I'd get to see rather than how the scene would look. Natalie and I have struck up a pretty good friendship during our 2 or so weeks on set so far but having said that, she's been curiously quiet about our love scenes. 

'One camera, limited crew. Long shots, unbroken. It'll be easier that way one we get into editing. Anyway, I expect scene 29 and 31 which are the scenes in which you guys are in bed to clock up at about five minutes in all.'

'Five minutes?' Natalie said somewhat shocked.

'Yes, is that a problem Nat?' he asked.

'It's just that the scene is a total of 2 pages in the script, I didn't expect to be showing skin for that much time,' Natalie said surprised and somewhat annoyed. 

'I want the love scene to be very passionate, very candid. This is an intimate moment between husband and wife. A relationship that's very important to the overall plot,' George said without looking up from the script.

'The actual sex scene doesn't go on for the whole five minutes does it?' I asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

'No. Two minutes tops,' George said flipping through the script once more.

'Wait, then why am I naked for the rest of the three minutes?!' asked Natalie in a rather annoyed tone.

'Husband and wife are in bed discussing their future after they enjoy a little romp in the bedroom. Of course you'll be naked. And not to make you uncomfortable Nat but the studio is all for having Golden Globe winning Star Wars actress Natalie Portman nude. They think it'll help us at the box office. Show off that cute body of yours and make us a few extra million.' 

Natalie shot him a furious glare. I smiled on the inside at George's phrasing. Even though I wouldn't tell Natalie, it was this "romp in the bedroom", as George so interestingly phrased it, that was a major motivation for taking the role. George seems also very interested in the scene much to Natalie's dismay. I've noticed that she doesn't like the casual and at times sexist way he talks about the up coming scene. 

Anyway, for about 30 more minutes, Natalie and I read through lines and made corrections where needed. Actually, George made most of the corrections and basically changed scene 28 completely. George didn't bring up the love scene again and Natalie was more than comfortable to stay mute of the subject. Which of course proved to be somewhat of a problem with that scene coming up in about 2 days. 

When we finished up it was a bit past 7 o'clock, I was keen to get back to the hotel and rest up some more before I was due on set at noon. As I was walking out onto the studio lot, Natalie ran up to me.

'Jim!'

'Yeah?'

'You due on set today?'

'Yeah, at about 12:30 I think, studio 10. Why?' 

'I was hoping we could talk about scene 29, our um...'

She trailed off. I smiled. Here's a girl so shy she doesn't even want to say "sex". She just looked at me and I at her. Eventually I just said,

'What about it?'

'I was wondering if we could talk about it after you finished for the day. I don't exactly feel comfortable talking to George about it.'

'I completely understand. When are you free?'

'Not until about 5 in the afternoon. I'm on set all day by the bay. Can you come to my hotel room? The Hilton, room 138.'

'Sure thing.'

'Great! Anyway I gotta go. Mustn't keep George waiting.'

'What scene are you filming?' I asked.

'Swimming by the bay.'

'He'll enjoy that,' I muttered under my breath as I walked away.

Little did I know Natalie's hearing was pretty damn good. She chuckled before grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back.

'You think George has a crush on me don't you?' Natalie asked smiling widely.

I smiled. In all honesty, I don't think George has a crush on Natalie, I know he does. But for her sake I decided to phrase my thoughts more tastefully.

'Put it this way Nat, George is a big Star Wars fan.' 

Natalie laughed as she walked away. 'Room 138,' she reminded me.

'138,' I repeated.

***

I was on set later that day with the Assistant Director and a bunch of extras. When people say that Hollywood is a glamorous and exciting industry, they forget to mention the 3 or so hours you could spend on set doing a shocked and surprised look while on a phone. Luckily for me, this A.D. and I were old friends from college. It helped to have him there to hold off boredom.

'What else do you need Tom?' I asked.

'Sorry Jim, go from "where did this happen"? The lighting was all fucked.'

I picked up the prop phone once more as the Grip adjusted the light. Tom yelled "action" and I faked sincerity and shock. This was a smaller filming crew. Most of them were out by the bay filming on location with George and Natalie. Meanwhile I was left here repeating the same lines again and again and again. I had to say the line again for another 10 takes before Tom yelled, 

'Cut! That's a wrap people. Good work.'

The crew disbanded quickly as I walked over to Tom who was watching the scene over again on the monitors. We were friends in college but only became acquainted again recently when we found ourselves working together on several other projects before this. In fact, Tom was one of the main reasons I got the role.

'Listen, I have to give George the update on everything in about an hour but you wanna get a drink afterwards?'

'Hotel bar at 9?'

'Actually, I was thinking straight after I'm done here at about 5. I'm going out to dinner with my cousin and her husband afterwards. They came in from Melbourne to see me.' 

'In that case I can't, I'm meeting Natalie.' 

'Woah, hold up! You don't mean Portman do you?' asked a very surprised and somewhat doubtful Tom.

'We're in Australia Tom. You really think Natalie Ross from College is going to fly over from Boston to see me?' I asked.

'Why are you meeting up with Miss Portman?'

'We're discussing scene 29.'

Tom thought about it for a moment before asking, 'The fight at office?'

'No you idiot!' I said before lowering my voice. 'The sex scene.'

This got Tom's attention. He turned his away from the monitors and swivelled around in his chair to face me. 

'Discuss,' he asked giddily. 

'What's to discuss? She's naked, I'll be naked and we'll be pretending to be fucking. She just wants to go over the scene before we do it on Thursday.' 

'You think you can control yourself?' Tom asked wryly.

'What do you mean?'

'It's Natalie fucking Portman Jim. You have to be filming a sex scene with her for what will be a good hour or so. Not to mention the moment you get a hard-on, she'll either be very turned on or disgusted by you.'

'Huh, haven't thought about that.'

Tom slapped me on the back and turned off the monitors and packed up some of the gear. I stood there thinking about it. He continued, obviously taking great joy in the situation.

'And the question then becomes, are you willing to take advantage of the situation if she is turned on. You know, unnecessary touching and squeezing here and there.'

'You've thought about this a lot haven't you?'

'I'm just saying. The worse thing you could hope for is if Natalie asks you over and then sets ground rules for the scene. It completely ruins the experience. You'd be too focussed on not pissing her off than taking advantage of the opportunity. I know several actresses who have done that in the past.'

'You? How do you know? You're an Assistant Director.'

'I'm privy to a lot of gossip. Just like right now for instance. My advice Jimmy is this. Be on the look out for any signals she may give you. The three scenarios that could come of this are number 1, you guys are very professional and treat it like any other scene. Number 2, you use this as a springboard to a booty call later on. Or number 3, she gets all pissy from the having you feel her up and files sexual harassment charges.'

'Thanks for the advice,' I muttered. 

***

I arrived at Natalie's hotel a bit past 5 o'clock. I knocked on the door for a good minute until Natalie opened. She was dressed only in a yellow bathrobe. Part of me was thinking how beautiful she looked, another part of me was bitter as her hotel room was obviously much more expensive than mine.

'Sorry Jim, I was in the shower. Come on in,' she said happily.

'Is that a signal?' I muttered under my breath.

'What was that?' Natalie asked once more impressing me with her hearing.

'Nothing, I was thinking how nice room is,' I lied.

'You should've been part during the Star Wars shoots. They put us in an even more expensive hotel downtown. Pretty much everyone too, not just the actors.'

'This isn't your first time in Australia then?' I asked.

'No, all 3 Star Wars films took me here. I love it here. It's pretty much like back in the States except everyone seems to have much less of a fuck you attitude than the average New Yorker.' 

I laughed and moved to the window and admired the view of pretty much the entire city. The fact it was near sunset bathed the room in a reddish tinge. Unlike the movies, there was no view of the famous Sydney Harbour Bridge or Opera House. Natalie broke my train of thought and said,

'Listen, make yourself comfortable. Order up if you want to, it's on Universal Studio's dime. I'll be right back, have to put something on.' 

There was a long leather couch in the middle of the room. I sat down threw my jacket onto it and approached the bar. Her suite even had it's own bar. I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat down. After an overly long time, Natalie finally came out the bedroom wearing just an ordinary white tank top and tight fitting black pants. And here I was half expecting something more revealing. She came over to the longue and sat down next to me and flipped open the script. 

'So, scene 29,' she started nervously.

'Scene 29,' I repeated.

She laughed slightly. 'You're not going to make this easy for me are you?'

I looked at her, smiled, took a sip of scotch and put it down on the coffee table before saying.

'Ok, The sex scene. You want to set ground rules I suppose?' I asked.

Meanwhile I could just imagine Tom shaking his head disapprovingly and saying "no ground rules Jimmy". Natalie meanwhile seemed to have no idea what to say.

'Ground rules? No. Ok, it's just that.....I don't want to create a.....um..... situation between us where you're afraid to touch me or afraid do anything too overly sexual during filming,' she said choosing her words carefully. 

'Right, we're both professionals and anything we do is for our art,' I said, half not believing the bullshit that was spouting out of my mouth. 

'Right. Although if you could cover up certain body parts from the camera it'd also be greatly appreciated,' she laughed nervously.

I stayed silent not knowing what to make of that last sentence. I almost asked "cover you up with my hands?" but decided against it. There was an awkward silence momentarily with neither of us not knowing what to say. Eventually, she just blurted out.

'I'm sorry, I'm making this whole thing a bit awkward. I just don't feel completely comfortable with doing nudity on film.'

'You've done it before haven't you? Hotel Chevalier, Closer,' I asked whilst not wanting to seem like a complete expert on the topic.

'I personally asked Mike Nichols to delete my topless scene from Closer and I was a nervous wreck while filming Hotel Chevalier. Let's just say I had a lot of martinis before the camera's rolled.'

'Then why did you agree to do it for this film?' I asked.

'I don't know. I always think I'm up to it but when it comes time to shoot the scene.....my shy and prudish side takes over.'

She just stopped talking and went silent. Her candidness surprised me. I didn't know what to say so after about 30 seconds of silences, I just said.

'So do you wanna go over the scene? The dialogue I mean.'

'Yeah,' she said, relieved to change topics.

Natalie reached for a pile of manuscripts sitting on the table and threw a copy of the script to me. We flipped to the scene and Natalie started reading her lines. Needless to say, the Thursday night filming session was going to be interesting.

***

Here's how it went. Night time shooting at the beach house. My character, Matt, is in bed reading. The wife, Amber, is coming out of the bathroom half naked wearing only her panties and a shirt. We're discussing some crap about Amber getting a job in the city. It's actually some of George's better work but needless to say, I wasn't focussing on the dialogue all that much. George wanted to film the scene in one long take like he always does. Which means we'll be repeating this scene countless times from beginning till end. This obviously suited me just fine. Unless most shoots, there was as little people on set as possible. I counted only seven people including me and Natalie. When George yelled action, we were a go. Natalie walked in from the bathroom and I took my shirt off and climbed into bed pretending to read.

'I don't know if I should take the job. I'm so comfortable right here. The big city just isn't for me,' Natalie said.

I had the luxury of having the script right in front of me. George didn't mind since my character was suppose to be reading anyway, so we just disguised the script as a magazine. 

'What are you talking about, you lived in Los Angeles before you came to Australia,' I said.

Natalie sat down on the bed and said,

'I came here for you. And if I were to take the job, I'd have to move into the city which means I'll most likely only see you on weekends.' 

'Amber, you moved countries for me. I'll move into the city with you if it means being able to see you 24/7. Because if I stay here and you go to the city, you know I'll just end up missing you,' I said as I threw the script away, leaned forward and kissed her. 

The boring part was over. We kissed for a long time until the George moved the camera and gave us the signal to move to the next stage. Natalie took her shirt off and leaned back against me. I slid my hands through her arms and cupped both of her breasts. From what I could see, they weren't big but were a perfect fit for a girl of her stature. A great pair, firm, not too small and not too big. Natalie said a few more lines of dialogue. I wasn't even listening. I just cupped her breasts in my hands and massage and squeezed them. I said my last line and we were done talking. 

I slowly eased Natalie down onto the bed and looked down at her briefly. Absolutely beautiful. I couldn't stare for long because we had to continue kissing. I ran my hands over her smooth thighs. It was right about now that I could feel my penis growing quite hard. It was also now that I realise that as nice as it was to be able to feel up Natalie Portman for ages, it was also going to be torture. I started kissing her flat belly and slowly moved up and kissed the bottom of her breasts. 

I looked her in the eyes for a moment and saw she was looking directly at me. I couldn't read her expression. We just looked into each others eyes. It's a curiously feeling, stripping a woman of her clothes and pretending to make love while 5 other people look on. I pulled the shirt over her head and threw it onto the floor. Natalie slid her panties down her legs as I took my own pants off leaving us both naked. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her onto me while I lay down on the bed. Per the script, Natalie got into position and then proceeded to lie on top of me. I could feel her warm, smooth skin against the length of my body. For a moment, I just froze. I could even feel her pubic hair against my groin. That was when I realised my hard-on was pressing right up against her. 

We kissed once more as I ran my hand over her back and teasingly grazed her breasts. Natalie then pressed her groin against mine. I could feel her vagina against my dick. I looked at her once more. She smiled for a split second. I interpreted that as a sign and quickly moved my left hand to her breasts and clutched it. That wasn't part of the script I can tell you that much. It was unbearable at this point. I just wanted to fuck her. Natalie cried out in pleasure over nothing. I know she was just following the script but it was torturing me. I had to have her. The fact she was a good actress didn't help. An onlooker would've been convinced we were fucking the way she was going. But we weren't. 

I don't know why I did what I did next but it happened anyway. The script just said she was suppose to straddle me as we fucked. Her on top, me on the bottom. But without warning, I grabbed her by the waist and pushed her back down onto the bed. It took her by surprise. She gave me a confused look momentarily but played along. I stopped kissing her and moved to suck on her nipple. She moaned softly. This time I was convinced it was a genuine expression of pleasure. With one hand, I played with her other nipple. I moved my other hand down to her legs and pretended to line up my penis. In reality, I began stroking her vagina. I started kissing her lips again. I opened one eye and could see a look of utter surprise on her face. I ran my fingers along the length of her opening. I could feel the heat emanating from in. I wanted nothing more than to fuck her right now. But even I knew that would be taking it too far. 


Scene 29



This turn of events obviously took George by surprise too as he moved the camera to new and more interesting angles. It was suppose to be a standard shot from the side as we fucked with her on top. Instead it was now the other way around and our hands were going wild. Natalie clutched the back of my head and kissed me furiously. Meanwhile, my hand was still lingering over her vagina. I slowly slid my finger into her. Natalie shut her eyes and exhaled long and hard. My leg was in the way so no one could see what I was doing. They just thought she was being a good actor as oppose to having someone stick their fingers inside of her. She moved her other hand to stop me before I started to full on finger fuck her. Which I may very well have done had she not stopped me. She accidentally grazed my penis along the way and for a second, she let her fingers linger over it. We both stopped. Our lips were still touching but our eyes were wide open and looking at each other. Out of the corner of my eye I could see George gesturing for us to continue. I think Natalie did too. She gripped my penis and slowly slid her hands off of it before she begun to cry out in pleasure again. I just pretended to start thrusting. After several moments, Natalie starting faking an orgasm. She did a fantastic job at it. Part of me actually believed it. She even clutched my ass and pulled me into her groin causing the length of my penis was pressing up against her vagina. That definitely wasn't in the script or story boards. We eventually just settled down as I rolled to the side. Natalie quickly pulled the sheets up to cover herself. 

'Uh...cut,' George said. 

I looked at him and I could tell he was not only surprised it also got a kick out of it. He made his way back slowly to the monitors while mumbling the usual "good job guys". He sat down and composed himself before talking to the crew about lighting other crap. Meanwhile, Natalie and I lay frozen in bed next to each other both staring at the roof. I looked over at her, she did the same. For a long time, we just stared at each other saying nothing. What can you say after that? Eventually she said very quietly.

'That was good.'

I just nodded. George eventually came back and handed us our clothes and said rather enthusiastically,

'Take two guys. Get dressed. And then we'll do it from the top when you're ready. That was really good. Do it exactly the same. Perfect,' he said excitedly.

Natalie pulled the sheets up as high as possible and hid underneath as she put her clothes back on. I decided to do the same. Not because I didn't want anyone to see me with my clothes off but just because I could catch another glimpse at her before we started up again. Once we were under the sheets, we looked at each other again. I could only see her silhouette but it was enough to know she was looking right at me. What I did next surprised even myself. I reached over and grasped her breast. When she didn't do anything, I slowly stroked her side and moved my hand down to her ass and then her thighs. I decided to pull my hand back up and along the way, my fingers glided over her vagina and came to a rest between her breasts. She moved to grasp my hand and held it there for a moment. Her heart was beating quickly. After a few seconds she pushed my hand away and put her clothes back on. I did the same. When we came out from under the covers, George and the crew were still focussed on the lighting to notice what had gone one under the covers. She looked at me once more, she was blushing, a look of embarrassment on her face. But at the same time I saw a smile starting to creep into her face as she climbed out of bed. She was fully clothed to start the scene again. I smiled, I knew they weren't going to stay on her body for long. 

***

We did 3 more takes of the scene before moving onto other ones. Natalie and I were more subtle the next few times and I stuck to the script. It wasn't as full on and seeing as we were sticking to the story boards as oppose to the first time, George didn't say anything even though I knew he wanted a repeat of that first take. Natalie and I didn't talk much between takes. I didn't know whether it was because she couldn't think of anything to say or whether she was embarrassed and didn't want to talk to me. We got the rest of her nude scenes out the way that night and then filmed and bunch of random night time scenes. We didn't finish until about midnight. The crew was exhausted, most of them left pretty quickly. I talked shop with George for a few minutes before we parted ways. I was about to approach the studio car that was waiting for me when I spotted a second one still parked out front. I recognised it instantly as Natalie's due to the fact it was a considerably nicer car than the rest of ours. I threw my stuff into the backseat and told the driver to wait. I looked around and spotted her standing alone on the beach in front of the house. I slowly approached her. She stood still, looking out at the ocean dressed in a thick jacket and scarf. 

'Cold out tonight,' I said.

She turned around and smiled. 'It's freezing.' 

I was relieved to see we were still on friendly terms. I was half expecting to get the silent treatment. I stood next to her and we just stared out at the sea. I looked at her. Natalie's beautiful features bathed in moonlight. She looked at me. Smiles on both of our faces. Suddenly she said,

'I know this is all very romantic and everything but we're not kissing.'

I laughed. 'We've done enough for one night,' I remarked.

She laughed out loud. 'Have we?'

I looked at her. A bemused smile on my face. She looked at me seriously before saying,

'I'm just saying you know, it gets lonely in my hotel room at night.'

It took me several moments to process what she had just said. She laughed again, this time more quietly.

'Shit, I'm sorry, that slipped out,' she stammered. 

She turned to me and grasped my arm. 'Ignore what I just said. Goodnight Jim.' 

'Goodnight Natalie.' 

She walked back to her car. I turned and watch her go. She turned back for a second and smiled. I had idea what it meant. Probably just a goodbye smile I thought. Nothing more. 

***

'You didn't follow up on that?!' Tom said in disbelief. 'There is no bigger signal from a girl than that. She basically just said "let's go back to my place and fuck". What kind of a man are you?!' 

I'd been giving Tom the low-down on last night in his trailer. So far he's gone from being very impressed with me to very disappointed. Obviously, his reaction right now was the latter. I just took comfort in the fact that I took advantage of scene 29 quite well and my trailer was obviously much better than Tom's despite the fact he's the Assistant Director.

'What was I suppose to do? Show up at her door at 1 am.' 

'Yes! That would be a start.' 

I looked at my watch. 'You know, we were suppose to be on set 5 minutes ago.'

'Fuck that, we're not the main crew. All we're doing is filming more reaction shots and you eating breakfast. I want details let's go.'

'I told you everything. Filmed the scene. Didn't talk much during the rest of filming. But we seemed alright afterwards and then she said that thing about being lonely in her hotel room which she retracted immediately. And besides, just because I felt her up during the scene, doesn't mean that'll translate to real life. I don't have a chance with her.' 

'Portman was rumoured to be dating Sean Penn. And I say this with every ounce of heterosexuality in me, you Jim, are significantly better looking than Sean Penn.' 

'You really think she's that vain Tom?'

Tom picked up his fold-up chair and walked out of the trailer. 'Why not? I am.' 

I followed him out onto the studio lot. It was busy this time of day. 'So what do I do now?' I asked.

'What you do is get over to the makeup department and tell them to hurry. We're late and you still looked like shit,' he said suddenly in director mode. 

'I meant with Natalie.'

Tom laughed and waved at someone in the distance, who I'm pretty sure was Russell Crowe, before he answered my question.

'Ship has sailed my friend. You've missed a golden opportunity to bed Natalie Portman. Unless of course you manage to win her heart over the proper way with the 3 or so days left of filming you have. Or maybe George decides he'll need another sex scene during the script re-writes in which case you can leap frog over all that relationship crap and do it the proper way and not missing the biggest fucking signal and girl can give you like last night.'

'You finished ranting?' I asked.

He slapped me on the back. 'Get to makeup. Be on set in 10 minutes.'

***

I didn't see Natalie that day. She and George were at the beach house again filming more scenes. Tom told me that they wouldn't be back till about 10 at night. I was toying with an idea. Going to her hotel room when she finished up. Maybe it's not too late to light up those fireworks that were set up during the sex scene. Of course I'm basing this plan off of Tom's belief that a sex scene is a perfect way to bypass romance and head straight into the bed with your co-star. I guess it kinda made sense. 

The rest of the day was pretty normal. Finished filming for the day at 3. Had drinks with Tom and Russell Crowe after that. He and Tom apparently worked together in the past. Russell's a hell of a guy. Anyway, at about 6 o'clock, I headed back to the hotel for a quiet night. It was there that I debated whether or not to head to her hotel. There was a very strong possibility that if I did, Natalie would just be freaked out and we'd be talking awkwardly for 30 minutes before I realised it was going nowhere and I'd leave with my tail between my legs. 

And so I sat at the hotel bar, pondering my predicament. Meanwhile some drunk was sitting next to me trying to tell me his fascinating stories about his encounter with aliens. If I went to Natalie's hotel now, not only would I be in with a chance to get into bed with her, I'm sure her hotel bar has a better class of people in it. I eventually decided to do it. I'm going to go to her. I don't know what my game plan was but I going. I finished my drink and head into the lobby and was almost out the front door when suddenly Natalie walked straight in. I was surprised to say the least. 

'Natalie, hi,' I said barely believing my eyes. 'What are you doing here?'

'Jim, I um, I'm here to see you actually,' she said nervously.

'Well that's a first. You wanna come on up to my room? We can talk there.'

'Yeah.'

We walked to the elevator. People looked at us as we walked past. Well, more accurately, people looked at her. And why wouldn't they, she was famous and she looked beautiful. Dressed only in jeans and a green shirt. Her long brown hair loose and unkempt. We didn't really talk on the way up. I didn't ask why she was here, she didn't tell. I think we both knew. Or maybe I'm just an idiot let my Assistant Director get into my head about booty calls and signals. Anyhow once we got inside, there was the usual "make yourself comfortable" chit-chat before we were standing there in silence. Her, leaning against the wall near the door. Me, leaning against the back of the sofa.

'This hotel doesn't seem too bad,' Natalie said.

'Wanna swap?'

She smiled. 'No thanks. You here for much longer?'

'I finish filming in 3 days. Probably head back to the State's after that. Contact my agent, tell him to find me another job.'

'You're finishing on the film then. Not just the location shooting in Australia?'

'I'm a supporting actor Natalie. In a small role at that.'

'It's not that small.'

I shrugged. I knew nothing would happen unless I did a bit of prompting. So I said,

'So what can I do for you?'

Natalie seemed almost confused by the question. Like she forgot it was her that came here. 

'Just meet up. Get something to eat. We really haven't hung out outside of filming,' she said, obviously thinking on her feet.

I looked at her again and asked. 'Why'd you come here Nat?'

'I.....I don't know. I really don't. I just thought we could-'

'-Finish what we started,' I interrupted.

She laughed nervously before the silence took over once more. We stared at each other. She barely blinked the whole time. Eventually I said,

'And, what exactly did we start?' she asked slowly.

She started blushing. I slowly approached her and as if by instinct she took a step backwards till her whole body up against the wall. We looked into each others eyes. Slowly, I placed my hand against her chest right above the opening of her blouse. She closed her eyes. We stood there silently and without moving for what seemed like a very long time. Eventually she pushed my hand away,

'I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I'm not that kind of girl. I thought I was, I'm not,' she said.

She turned to the door and started walking when I wrapped my arms around her waist and pull her towards me. She seemed taken aback but didn't say anything.

'You're an actress, can't you at least pretend you are?'

She pushed me away, this time more violently. I took a step back and there was a pause once more. Slowly she reached up to her blouse and undid the top button. I stood there entranced by her as button by button, I watched as her blouse came undone. When she finished, she just let the sides fall away to reveal her white bra. I didn't even think. I took one look at her before grabbing her by the head and pulled her towards me and we locked lips. I roughly pushed up her bra and let her breasts free and instantly clutched one. I broke free of the kiss just to look at her for a moment. It didn't last long when she grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for another kiss. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her hand wandering down to into her pants as she begun to touch herself. My hands were all over her thighs and her breasts. It felt great to be able to have free reign of her body. I pulled her hand away from her panties and undid her belt and roughly pulled her jeans down her smooth long legs. I moved her hand back to her panties and she slid them in and began playing with herself as I begun to kiss her breasts. A soft moan escaped her lips. I stopped for a moment to just remind myself that this was Natalie Portman. I was sucking on Natalie Portman's breasts as her jeans were around her ankles and she was masturbating. 

I suddenly spotted a table to my right. I grabbed her by the hips and roughly bent her over the table. I stripped her of her blouse and undid her bra in record time. She propped herself up by her elbows allowing me to reach beneath and grabbed one of her dangling breasts. She kicked away her jeans and with a few swift movements, I stripped her of her panties leaving her completely naked before me. I squeezed her breasts one more time and then ran my hands over her smooth ass. I caressed her ass and moved down to her thighs and on several occasions grazed her vagina ever so slightly. She exhaled softly ever time. She wanted this bad. I couldn't help but take a step back and looked at her. Natalie Portman naked and bent over a desk. What had I done to deserve this? I didn't care, I just kept admiring the view and I slowly undid my belt and took off my pants. When she didn't feel my hands on her body for about 10 seconds, she looked back up at me.

'Take your time,' she said sarcastically.

'I will, thankyou,' I replied casually.

I decided to tease her and ran my hand from her ass down to her vagina. My fingers traced around her hole but never penetrating her. Once more, her hand moved down and she begun stimulating herself. I watched for several moments before grabbing her hand and moving it away. She grunted in annoyance. 

'Don't drag this out Jim. Just fuck me now,' she said.

She was right. Both of us had been teased enough ever since we were filming the scene the other night. I wrapped my arms around her slender waist and slung her onto the sofa. I took off my shirt and climbed on top of her, grabbed her ankles and spread her legs wide. Her left leg dangled over the edge of the seat and onto the carpet while her right leg was draped over the back of the sofa. I lined up my penis against her vagina and with one quick push; I buried it deep inside of her. She cried out in pleasure. She was a very tight girl, but she was already somewhat wet which it made things easy. I kissed her neck and squeezed her breasts tightly and fucked her quick and fast. I didn't bother savouring the moment and taking it slow and gently. We both needed this. Natalie was vocal to say the least. She cried out with every thrust. Her moans filled the room, her eyes were squeezed shut and her hands gripping the sofa tightly. 

'Yes! Don't stop!' she gasped. 

Natalie opened her eyes for a moment and arched her head forward to look down at herself. I did the same and all I saw was my penis furiously pumping in and out of her vagina. She left go of the sofa and grasped my waist and pulled me into her as if I wasn't going fast enough already. I could feel her getting intensely wet. I didn't let up. I grasped her breasts for support and just kept fucking her. Natalie was just lost in the whole experience. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes shut tight and her legs still spread as wide as she could as she received my penis into her again and again. I let go of her breasts and gripped her hands and pinned them to the sofa. I watched as her breasts bounced rhythmically back and forth with every thrust I took into her. Her breasts weren't huge but they were certainly lively. The walls of her vagina tightened with every thrust I took. 

Scene 29 was just a sneak peak at what Natalie was actually like during sex. She was even more vocal and more active than I thought. There was no mistaking the absolute bliss she was receiving from this experience. All of a sudden, it seemed so obvious that she was acting the other night. We didn't change positions or anything else. We just both wanted this so badly that we didn't care for dragging this out for as long as possible. I began to feel her body tense up. She was meeting my thrusts with her hips now. Using the back of the sofa and the floor as a spring board, she thrust her hips up and met my penis causing us both so much more pleasure. I let go of her hands and grabbed her ass and began hammering into her causing her ass to bounce off the sofa each time. I didn't think I could go much faster but I did. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I just let myself ejaculate right into her. She didn't mind either as she also got her release very soon after. I could feel her whole body tense up. She wrapped her arms and legs around me and held me tightly. With a few final hard pushes, Natalie began moaning in pleasure and gasping at the sheer thrill of her toe tingling orgasm. I felt her juices come pouring out of her. I pulled out my penis and rolled to the side and dropped off the couch onto the carpet. We both just lay there breathing heavily. 

I lay there on the carpet, Natalie on the sofa. Her leg dangled off the side onto the floor. I ran my hand along the length of her leg, tracing my fingers along her smooth skin. After a minute or so, I slowly eased myself up and leaned against the sofa with my back to her. I felt her hand run through my hair. I turned my head and looked at her. She was still panting heavily. Her breasts heaving with every breath she took. She turned to look and me. She took her hand and begun running her fingers through her own hair in a very alluring way. With her other hand, she reached for mine and placed it on her left breast. I grasped her nipple and gently rubbed and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. Simultaneously, I could feel her heart beat racing. I looked at her. She just put her head down again and looked up and the ceiling with a funny little smile on her face. I turned around fully and looked at her naked body.




Scene 29



Funnily enough this was the first time I could really just stop and look at her body without worrying about the cameras and our mutual need to just have sex immediately. She was thin but not too skinny. She obvious worked out judging by her well toned body. Breasts were perfect for a girl of her size. They leaned towards small rather than large though. She had the type of body where if you were to take a picture and look at it afterwards, you'd swear it had been airbrushed. Just perfect. I diverted my eyes to her vagina and watched as our collective juices oozed out of her. Some of it trickled down her leg and a bit down to her ass. This time it was my turn to take her hand and guide it down between her legs. With my forefinger on top of hers, I guided it along the slit of her vagina, her finger now thoroughly coated in our juices. I guided her finger down past her vagina and to her asshole and slowly lubed it up with her own finger. She giggled slightly and said.

'No.'

'No?' I asked wryly.

'No. I don't like giving head much less what you're proposing.' 

I paused for a moment before saying. 'So you do give head?'

She laughed and sat up straight, her legs now on either side of me, her vagina pretty much in my face. She slowly lifted my chin so I was facing her. 

'Don't push your luck,' she said before leaning in and whispering in my ear like its some big secret. 'But I have been known to do so from time to time.' 

We had just had wild fantastic sex but I could already feel myself getting turned on again. Our faces almost touching, her long dark hair in my face as she whispered into my ear with that sexy New York accent of hers. 

'And how about fulfilling Star Wars fantasies?' I whispered back, half jokingly and half for real.

Natalie giggled into my ear like a little school girl before saying. 'You know that outfit from Episode II?'

'You were horrible in that by the way. But do you mean the white one?'

'Shut up, and yes, I do mean that one,' she said still whispering.

'You mean that tight fitting white number you had on during the battle where people could clearly make out your nipples?'

'Yes I mean that one. And my excuse was I wasn't wearing a bra and it was cold on set. Anyway George, Lucas I mean, not the hack we're working for right now. He let me keep that. I still have it. But unfortunately I keep in back at my house all the way on the other side of the world.'

With each hand, Natalie wrapped her hair around them and bunched it up by the ears mirroring the Princess Leia look and said. 'So when we go into the bedroom, you'll have to use you're imagination.' 

I smiled and said. 'Fair enough. But I don't know about the bedroom. What's wrong with right here?' 

Natalie leaned forward and looked down at the carpet. 'Surely you down mean the floor?'

I quickly grabbed her sides and pulled her down onto the carpet on top of me. She gave a slight yell of surprise but that turned into a laugh. Natalie straddled me like she did during filming but this time, she sat up straight, ran her hands through her hair to straighten it until it all draped down over her shoulders neatly. I reached up and grabbed both of her breasts. Slowly she eased herself onto my erect penis. 

'Let's take it slower this time. Be gentle,' she said.

***

The Next Day on Set

'Woah, woah, slow down. Back up for a minute here. You lucky bastard, how the fuck did that happen? Tom asked.

Tom was more than shocked. His reaction was similar to that of someone actually observing a true miracle. Despite all his talk about signals and my chances to have sex with Natalie Portman, he didn't think I could actually do it. And every time I looked back on it, I wonder the same thing. How the fuck did that happen?



Scene from a Back Seat



Allan simply could not believe his luck.

In the past, chasing women had been, frankly, a hard grind. Oh, he had successfully wooed and bedded a respectable number of these delicious creatures, but it had always seemed to him that women were encased in a shield of sexual reluctance , and that the purpose of all romance was to overcome this aversion. Rare and precious was the woman who simply enjoyed sex, and wanted it as badly as he did.

Yet it seemed he had discovered such a one. Marie had readily agreed to his offer of dinner and dancing, and the hair on the back of Allan’s neck had prickled with anticipation from the moment he picked her up. She had answered the door quickly, pausing so he could observe her, from her long, blonde, slightly curled hair, down via her barely-constrained cleavage and short wrap-around skirt, to the sheer black stockings and knee length boots. The outfit practically screamed “Come fuck me.”

Was she planning on living up to the outfit’s promise, or just teasing? Only one way to find out. During dinner he had done his best to be interesting; witty; and slightly bad. She seemed to be responding – was she leaning slightly forward on purpose, showing off that remarkable cleavage? Was she licking her lips like that to tease? Did her foot touch his on purpose? He watched her fingers slowly, idly stroking the stem of her wine glass, his dick stirring as if he could feel those fingers working him.

All in all, she had driven him half crazy with lust by the end of dinner, without doing anything overtly sexual. He took her hand outside the restaurant to lead her to his car, and she linked her arm with his and squeezed tightly against him as they walked through the car park. Safely inside the car, he began prattling nervously about the club they were headed towards, when she lay a hand gently on his thigh and whispered in his ear.

“Want to skip the dancing and go straight to the main event?”

A thrill of adrenaline passed through him. Had he heard right? Mouth dry, he swallowed and nodded. “Shall we go back to my place?”

She grinned in response – a quick, impish grin. “No, I feel like being a teenager again, and you’ve got this nice big car. Let’s go park it someplace. Do you know anywhere good?”

His mind whirred, but he remembered a place in the hills outside town. Atop one his was a communications station, with a cellphone tower in a little clearing. There was even a view. It would do. He started the car and made his way out of town. No sooner had he pulled out of the car park than he felt Marie’s long fingernails tracing their way from this thigh, ever closer to the hardening lump in his pants. She didn’t quite touch his cock, but fuck she came close, stopping all of a sudden and changing direction, her hand creeping to his waitline and slowly pulling his shirt from his pants.

Once she had pulled out enough of his shirt, her fignernails continued their journey upwards, inside his shirt, half-tickling his chest, tracing across his stomach, pulling out more and more of his shirt. Occasionally her hand would descend again, ever so close to his cock, before stopping. Finally, as he turned onto the access road up the hills, he could not help a soft moan of excitement and frustration. It brought a low, throaty chuckle from Marie. “Wait, lover. He’ll come out and play soon enough.”

Finally, finally! Allan pulled into the clearing atop the hill. There were no other cars there, but he pulled up in a secluded part of the clearing anyway, far enough from the road to give them warning if anyone joined them. Turning off the ignition, he turned to her and moved in to kiss her. She placed a finger on his lips and whispered “back seat.”

He opened the door and moved into the back seat, to see Marie squirming into the back through the gap between the seats. He caught her as she – deliberately? – snagged her foot on the seat belt, and they tumbled together onto the seat. Desperately, his mouth found hers and his tongue gently forced her lips open, tasting her lipstick as she yielded. Her hands were busy now, unbuttoning his shirt, and his hands in turn flew to her blouse to release the fantastic breasts he had been ogling all evening. A moment’s fumbling with the catch on her bra, and then he was kissing his way down her neck towards the swell of her breasts.

Now it was his turn to tease, and his tongue gently traced the curve of her breasts, his nose diving into her cleavage, his breath crinkling the flesh of her areolae, but his tongue never quite touching her nipples. Eventually, she decided enough was enough and gently but firmly guided his mouth to her nipple, where he sucked gently at first, then slightly harder. Encouraged by her moans, his sucking became harder still, then positively rough, rolling her nipples in his mouth, adding just a hint of teeth.

Her fingers found their way to his zipper, and at last his cock was released from his pants, springing out fully hard. Her fingers went straight to work and Allan gasped, the sensations from his stiff prick reminding him of the wine glass earlier. She wiped off a droplet of precum and tasted it, smacking her lips loudly. “Lay back on the seat,” she said. “I have got to taste more of this.”

He hurried to comply, and she crawled between his legs, looking up at him with a wicked grin, before taking the head – just the head – of his cock into her mouth, her tongue playing across the tip, teasing, driving him wild, until suddenly his dick was encased in the warm wetness of her mouth, and she slowly, carefully worked him up and down, getting him close to cumming, then giving him a break, before winding him up again. Finally, when she judged he’d had enough, she renewed her enthusiasm and, moans reaching a crescendo, his hands gripping her hair as though there was danger of her stopping, he came hard, emptying himself into her mouth, feeling the sensation of her mouth and throat as she worked to swallow his seed, before falling back and watching her as she released him from her mouth and licked him clean.

She kept licking, teasing little flicks of her tongue, refusing to let him become soft, until his moans told her he was ready for more. She crawled up his body, perching herself over his stiff prick, and then with a sigh she sank down upon him. Her pussy was tight and wet, gripping him from tip to stem. She pushed back on his shoulders and pressed her breasts to his face, burying him as her hips began to grind firmly, up and down on him. She began rotating her hips slowly, carefully, using his prick to seek out the most pleasurable spots inside her, using him to scratch exactly the itch she wanted scratched. Eventually, her pace increased, her cute little sighs become squeals, then screams, as her rhythm became ragged and then, with a wail, she came, her hips freezing, holding him inside her, her breath suspended until the peak had run its course, when she collapsed against him, allowing him to drive the fuck, to rotate his hips up against her, gripping her nipple with his mouth, forcing her orgasm to continue, until he joined her on the peak, shouting and shuddering, cumming inside her once more, collapsing together.

Stirring, she bit his earlobe gently, and whispered that he had better get her home before curfew. 



Scene from a Gynoid Service Station



Imagine a world that has shrunk to just this: a lone gas-station town in the middle of a desert. It's a town of bleached wood and dusty plastic, a town of rainbow-sheened metal and pumps with no gas left. No, it's not a ghost town. People live here, mechanics whose jean-and-flannel uniforms are like tradition: passed down for so long that they only hint at their functional origins, and are encrusted in ritual superfluities. These people are not superfluities, though. They have a purpose. They are the staff of a service station, and they're waiting for something to service. They wait for the machines to come, machines that arrive desperately in need. Mainly, that would be the gynoids. 

The gynoids come out of the desert, where they run impossible missions and fulfill obsolete commands. (Or so the station children whisper.) Underneath the damage and wear they suffer, they are glossy-smooth. Their creator has made no attempt to imitate naturalistic humanity, but for whatever practical or aesthetic reason, the gynoids do have a loosely-revised human figure. The average gynoid has a head and throat, a slim, gently contoured torso and cantilevered waist, long arms and legs tipped with nimble hands and feet. It has human-like parts, woman-like parts. But somehow, all the parts never add up to a whole, "correct" human body. For one thing, they seem so delicate. You might even think the whole collection of parts looks too fragile to stay together. That, however, is deceptive. The gynoid form is infinitely adaptable. A gynoid body can do so, so many things. It can be disassembled and reassembled. It be opened up, modified, hacked and hotwired –by itself as well as by mechanics, when it seeks them out. And it can travel independently. It does not need to run programs, and it does not need to have will. It seems to have agency without being the agent of its own obscure motivations and actions. Just try and predict what it will do next. You'll never succeed, unless you note that there is one thing a gynoid always needs and will always return for. That thing is charge. It needs to be charged. It need power to course through its body and set it running. And that power is focalized on its body's secret sex.

Look out across the flattened, cloud-torn land. Look close: there's a gynoid approaching now. See it returning from somewhere, nobody can say where, encrusted with red clay and moving slowly, with a hitched gait like a stop-motion doll. See its hollow face turned to the dead neon sign of the charging station in need. Parse the communicative silence when it stops. 

'Clean me. Fix me. Charge me. I will serve you once, grant you one wish, if you'll do this for me.' 

It says this with its artificial body, all in icons, without a word.  

The attendants at the low, dusty charging station wait for the gynoid with a hope that borders on cargo-cult fanaticism. This one is especially beautiful: small but perfectly formed with its springy legs and slender compact core, the expressive tilt of its head and its hands raised in supplication or blessing. It appears through the post-apocalyptic prairie haze, silver flashing against the bleached-out horizon, and it moves like a broken doll covered in red mud that speaks of water. It turns its face to an indecipherable sign and begs in silence.

'Clean me. Fix me. Charge me. I will serve and fulfill you, if you'll do this for me.' 

There are always repetitions when the gynoids appear. The staff must work to keep from replaying its arrival over and over in an ecstasy of infinite first encounters if they are ever to service the creature and receive its service in return.

So concentrate, now, break the arrival loop and let it enter into the blue shadows of the port-building. Inside the crude scent of a garage bay lingers, hauntingly nostalgic in a world without oil. The top mechanicians gather around it hushed with awe as they wait for it to select the ones to service it. The gynoids often pick two or more people to do the job: mechanicians who are somehow alike and linked by the pleasing patterns of similarity, or who are completely different and create the electricity of contrast. This gynoid is a lover of contrasts. It selects to service it a mature woman with terra-cotta colouring, all rich orange-red skin and black hair, and a pale young man whose slender hands are as cold as ice. They, in tension, begin.

They clean the gynoid with the harshest solvents and the softest alpaca-wool cloths. It stands before them at bay and surrenders its body into their hands. It raises its arms when touched, goes down on its knees before them so that they can better scour the folds of its metallic eyelids, its sculpted waves of hair. It gives itself over to them, submitting completely, and yet it exerts a powerful fascination in the strength and strangeness of its form. It infuses the mechanicians with an unstable compound of respect and possessiveness. They want to worship it and own it. They want to tear it apart and see its inner workings and they want to preserve it forever. They want to love it to pieces and consume it. Most of all, they want what it wants: to see it working well again. 

Even as they are torn by conflicting impulses and distracted by each other, the two mechanicians bring the gynoid to its feet for one final polishing. They rub its surface until it shimmers. The one with cold hands who stands behind it traces down its spine with polish, then reaches around under its arms to stroke its smooth throat and breasts, holding it in his arms. It leans back to let him caress it, its hips arching forward. Down there, the terra-cotta woman slowly, luxuriously runs her wool-clad fingers between its legs, where layers of clay have fallen away to reveal a subtle blankness, curved suggestively inward. There is a space to press here, a panel to open.

But before they open it, they fix it. They remove the arm that ratchets helplessly in its socket and repair the joint. They prod deep, deep into its body with pliers and soldering irons as it watches, conscious yet impassive, experiencing the intimate manipulation of its workings. Fix me, fix me, it urges. It offers itself, the places where it was broken. Panels are replaced. Hip-joints are greased. The wear that caused its mute mechanical pain is healed under their ministrations, until every assured new movement it makes speaks to its deep pleasure in assembly and disassembly. How they wish it was broken even more so that they could tear it down and rebuild it completely to make it exactly as it is now! But no, it's not broken that much, only a little, only enough to need tweaking. As they tighten its springs, it sighs compressed air and flexes its limbs with such vitality that they are afraid it will be the one to tear them apart to see how all of their viscera fit together. At least, the cold young man is afraid of that; the terra-cotta woman has less to fear, for her own reasons.

Still, they work on the gynoid with nothing less than the most professional devotion. They make sure that it is in perfect operating order before arriving at the final step. Careful not to recur now: it's so tempting at this stage to go back and touch it all over again, to start up in the motions of polishing its throat and opening its beautiful mouth to make sure there are no obstructions. Recur to the tremulous arousal he felt while slipping the greased wand into the crevices of its curved hips where they meet its thighs. Recur to the moment when she made contact with the circuit near its power source and felt the spark run through her screwdriver to her tingling fingers, her tingling lips. Recur...

But no, don't recur, break the loop and go on. Because the gynoid needs to be charged. It's like a multi-cellular phone with its tiny red lights blinking distress: 'I'm hungry, I'm dying, quick, now, please find the cord that fits perfectly into me and charge me before my screen goes black in famine.' The thing that can do anything is useless without power. The gynoid begs to be charged, to give itself over to the source of power.

They do it together, the two mechanicians: one presses the small indent between its legs and holds the panels that slide back like nictitating membranes open wide, the other uncurls the cord and seeks the opening. (Which of them holds, and which inserts? Which do you think?) Once the gynoid is opened, its body begins to quiver with the automatic impulse to shut down. It runs at its operational limits when open: it should go blank while charging. But it maintains itself aware at that limit in order to feel the charge course through it. The cable sparks, arcs of fluid electricity from body to plug, before the connector even touches it, and the gynoid spasms, the young mechanic flinches, the connection is endangered for the briefest moment until---yes! Yes, there, fast, plug it in, close the circuit and hit the power on the generator, making the gynoid curve itself into the most delicious postures of electric pleasure. 

See it, look now: that almost-human body stands before the gathered staff in the middle of the dim, hangar-like garage, and between its legs trails a long slim cable, coiling and recoiling, ribboning curls across the floor to the generator which hums with life, a current it eagerly spools into the gynoid as one machine to another. The gynoid is in ecstasy, in orgasm, sustained at a peak that draws into a long, long plateau. This inhuman union joined by human hands can last and last: 48 hours of charging at a minimum, and sometimes as much as a week straight. It takes time to power something as avidly hungry as a gynoid. The whole time it's plugged in it moves in pleasure, and the gestures of its foreign body language are copied by the mechanics who will perform them over and over again in the coming months like a passion play, hoping to draw the next gynoid in. Almost all the mechanics in the garage will try to match its movements at some point. The doubled dance of the gynoid and its devotees reveals the profound intertwining of bodies organic and technological. Some say that the gift the gynoid grants the chosen ones who have worked on it doesn't matter as much as the dance of power between a charging gynoid and all the service station personnel. Some say it's the process, not the result, that really counts.

This is true, but the gift matters too. Because they also say that the charged gynoid can do more in its first few new hours than the even the ancient gods of science dreamt possible. They say it can turn back time or build worlds. So far, however, the rumours are unproven, because there's only one thing the mechanicians end up asking for.  

'Make me like you. Make me a gynoid too. Clean me. Fix me. Charge me. Please.'

It only takes one kiss from the gynoid's lips to do it. Once it caresses the ones who made it, they are remade in the image of their object. They are objectified. Silver spreads through their veins as their eyes go literally glassy with elation. They arch their bodies in machinic ecstasy, scream once more in a last organic sound of death and rebirth, and then close over, sealing perfectly impassive and even conjoining so that they appear, for one moment, as a triple machine running one engine off the other, humming a potentially infinite number of queries and replies to each other before they break off into parts again. The terracotta machine, the cold machine, and the gynoid from the plains all scatter. No amount of supplication will bring them back for further servicing before they need it.

Watch them go. See their figures waver into hallucinations in the heat of this blasted landscape. See them become curve and pattern and nothing more. Now is the time to put the cables away and wait again for the next iteration.



Scene from a Marriage



"Jesus Christ, Amber! You were giving your own father a hand-job?"

"It's not a hand-job," Amber replied indignantly, and with the sighing resignation of an oft-told tale. "It's therapy. I told you from the moment we met about my practice, let alone a few weeks later when we flew to Las Vegas."

"I thought you gave it up!"

"I've held on to a few of my more...needy patients."

"Your father's a patient?"

"No. Frankly, that's not one of dad's virtues. Have I been treating him on a regular basis? Yes I have. For the better part of a year now, ever since I returned home from California."

"Jesus...," husband Darren moaned, hands covering his face, bowed head wagging. "I come home after a hard day at work..."

"You're a fucking insurance adjuster."

Darren had looked up. Wide-eyed. "Oh, now you're accusing me of not working hard? You of all people?"

Amber clucked her tongue. "It's not like you diffuse bombs for a living."

"Or give hand-jobs..."

"It's therapy!"

"And would you put a top on please?"

Another tongue cluck. "Prude..."

"Oh, you're the one being rude, my dear. Rude and...and disingenuous."

"That's a big word."

"Therapy my ass!" Darren shouted, stamping a loafered foot.

Amber had cracked a half-smile. "I can do that too," she said in aside.

"I come home and find you in the downstairs bedroom wearing nothing but panties—the panties I bought you for Christmas by the way..."

"Mother's Day. Which I found kinda weird considering we don't have any kids."

"Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part."

Amber's aborted laugh—more of a throat gurgle—seemed to say: Keep dreaming, buddy-boy...

"Anyway. Standing behind your father with your tits pressed against his back and your hand around his cock stroking him-"

"Into a condom."

"Into a...? What's that got to do with anything?"

"No mess."

"What mess? I'm not talking about a mess, I'm talking about incest!"

"It's not incest," Amber protested. "It's a hand-job."

"See!"

"A therapeutic hand-job I mean to say. Back in the day, when I had my practice at dad's house, before the police shut it down, those intolerant assholes...I used to perform my ejaculation therapy in the shower stall. And my patients could just...let it fly, you know?"

"I don't wanna know," a wincing Darren interjected, his words landing like four concrete blocks.

"But now I don't want to get it on your nice floors. The varnished wood and all. I think I saw a termite the other day by the way. Hence: the condoms."

Darren was shaking his head again. "How long has this been going on?"

"What?"

"Your...so-called practice."

"It's not practice. I'm a licensed professional."

"You got arrested, Amber! Your mugshot was in the paper!"

"The charges were dropped. Most of 'em anyway."

"They made you shut your...whatever down! You know how much persuading it took on my part to get mother on board with our marriage?"

Amber gave her blonde hair a toss, leaving her nose in the air. "I wasn't aware ours was an arranged marriage."

"What? No. Listen..."

"Mommy...," Amber mimicked, wagging her head.

"Well at least I don't commit incest with my mother."

"Like I do? And what if I did?"

Darren stared. Gave his head a terse, uncomprehending shake as if to say: Did I just hear that right?

"I hate that verb by the way," Amber persisted.

"Word?"

"Verb! Committed. Makes it sound like a crime."

"It is a crime, dear!"

"Obviously you didn't read my master's thesis."

"Your...?"

"In which I debunked, once and for all, the taboos surrounding incest. Provided it meets three criteria." Amber started bending manicured fingers back. A couple of them anyway. "One, it must be between consenting adults. And two, there must be no possibility of pregnancy. You see, I argued—"

"That's only two."

"Hunh?"

"You only listed two criteria."

"No, three."

"Two."

"Consenting, and adults. I count that as two. Two criteria."

"Oh."

"Where was I?"

"I have no fucking idea..."

"The taboo against incest dates back to a time when people—humans anyway-"

"Most of 'em are."

"Had no control over their reproduction. Eliminate the possibility of pregnancy, and provided the partners are consenting adults, and what do you have?"

"Incest."

"Two people enjoying sexual relations with each other. Brothers and sisters, mothers and sons, fathers and...No harm, no foul in my book. It's all innocent stuff."

Amber's blonde-brown eyebrows were arched. Her shoulders hunched. Her palms raised, as if the midair scales of justice. All that was lacking was an exclamation of: Voila!

Darren said, gravely: "So you've had sexual relations with your father?"

"I don't consider ejaculatory therapy sex. Or a blowjob for that matter."

"So you've given him blowjobs before?"

"Look," Amber declared, leaning in. "My father's had a very ripe lime of late."

"What?"

"What?"

"You said ripe."

"Rough, I said," Amber claimed.

"Ripe lime you said."

"Rough life!"

"Whatever..."

Amber, loose C-cups swaying pendant, and pale, aside from their pink-brown erect nipples, bore further in. "His mother left him a year and a half ago..."

"His mother?"

"My mother. My bitch of a mother left him a year and a half ago. He lives all alone in that big old house over there..."

"Oh yeah, that's real tough..."

"He doesn't have a girlfriend. He-"

"Actually, I thought boyfriend might be more his speed..."

Amber's back straightened. In fact it arched. "See, Darren," she said, "that's the difference between you and me. Intolerance. Where I see vast open spaces, you see walls. Barriers. I-"

"My sister Carny's a lesbian, in case you've forgotten. And I love her very, very much."

"Incestuously?"

"No! Why would you say such a thing!"

"You're telling me you never thought about it?" Amber leaning in again, prosecutor style.

"No! Yes! Maybe when I was, like, eleven..."

"See?"

"I grew out of it, Amber. Would you put a top on?"

"Since when are my tits so repulsive to you?"

Darren averted his eyes. "I keep seeing them pressed against your father's back while you..."

Amber cupped hands under her surgically enhanced breasts and lifted them, slightly. "Dozens—no, hundreds of men over the past ten years have complimented me on these breasts. Women too. And now I'm married to a man who-"

"Then how come I never get a hand-job!"

Silence reigned. Briefly, and pregnantly. Amber's nodding head and squinty smile seemed to say: So that's what this is all about. She wiggled back on her chair and spread her pale, flattened thighs. Her right hand slid between chair bottom and pantied vagina. Her panty was a bikini-style, French-cut with a lace waistband. It was pale blue and bared a smidgen of cellulite in the leg holes. A gift from her father last...Christmas was it? This one and several other colors in a box, wrapped in silver with a secular blue bow on top?

"Your father gives you panties for Christmas?" her disbelieving husband of five weeks asked at the time, as they sat on the floor in front of the twinkling fir. It was their first Christmas together as man and wife. It would be their last.

Now Amber gave her silky pussy a squeeze and said, still squinty-eyed: "This is your therapy, you ingrate. You get it three times a week. What else do you want from me?"



Scene in a Bathroom Stall



Author's note: This is a sequel to "Scene Under a Desk". It is about a futanari, or "dickgirl".

*

"Come on," hissed Kathy Byers huskily, gripping Jason by the elbow. She glanced furtively up and down the office hallway, then pushed open the door to the ladies' restroom with her shoulder. The clasp of her purse clanked noisily against the push plate. "In here."

Reluctantly, the intern let himself be hustled inside. The restroom, appointed in a blandly antiseptic corporate style, smelled of bleach and vaguely floral air freshener. Crumpled paper towels littered the ground around an overflowing wastebasket. In Jason's stomach, the remains of his unwelcome breakfast churned apprehensively. "Ms. Byers, I --" he started nervously, though he didn't know what to say. She hadn't done anything like this before.

"Come on, move it," she breathed, cutting him off with another tug on his elbow. The empty room glared with reflected fluorescence. Kathy escorted him impatiently towards the large handicapped stall at the end of the row, nearly shoving him inside, and pulled the door shut after them with a heavy thud.

Jason could see her erect nipples already poking through the blouse of her business suit, and he knew what that meant. Before taking the internship at Bannerman McFey he had heard vague rumors. One classmate, who thought he was funny, referred to it as a "sausage convent". Jason had laughed. Nobody really believed apocryphal stories about the women at such companies. And then he had been assigned to Kathy Byers for the summer. Tall, black-haired, fortyish, glasses, a typical corporate no-nonsense attitude, yes, but...

"Gotta hurry," growled his boss over her shoulder. Fingers fumbling with impatience, she unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of her grey linen skirt and tugged it up around her waist.

The familiar dread began to rise in his throat, now mixed with alarm. This wasn't what he was used to. Jason leaned uncertainly against the wall beside the toilet and watched her undress. "I just, um took care of you this morning," he objected weakly. Kathy Byers had never been subtle. His first day at the company, Jason had reported to her office in the executive suite, wearing his "interview suit", and ready with an introduction about what an honor it was to intern for the summer at...

His new boss had made it clear right away what his real summer job was. Refusal was not an option, unless he wanted a crisp letter back to the honors dean about insubordination and unprofessionalism. A couple minutes later Jason was on his knees under her desk, clumsily trying to satisfy what she liked to call her "office needs".

"Fuck, I'm horny," muttered Kathy, bumping her elbows against the walls of the bathroom stall as she stood on one leg and yanked off her underwear. Her thick cock tumbled loose, slapping heavily against her thigh. It was long, with a pale pink walnut-sized head, and somehow eerily feminine as it sprang insistently from the soft flesh of her mound. Jason had become intimately familiar with it over the past two months, though Kathy had made it clear that the moist, steaming-hot pussy nestled below it was off limits to him.

His belly gurgled again. Kathy's thick load of girlcum from this morning was still weighing down the bottom of his stomach. Dickgirls made a lot, his boss had smirked, the fourth or fifth time Jason banged his head on the bottom of the desk drawer while coughing and choking from Kathy's copious spend. So he had a big job to do. But she had made it clear: Keep her satisfied every day, and he had nothing to worry about...

Jason, glancing down, poked at his stomach. Though he had worked out regularly during the school year, the beginnings of a soft paunch were now unmistakable. I'm getting a cum gut doing this, he thought. Fuck!

Kathy, typically cool and unshakeable, had been especially insistent today. Jason usually just slipped discreetly under her desk every morning and sucked her off, listening to her type and talk on the telephone, until his boss gave up her gooey ropes of spunk into his belly with little more than a sigh of relief. This morning, however, she had thrust her hips up and down as he blew her, digging her nails painfully into his scalp and hissing through her teeth. When at last Kathy's swollen, flaring cockhead exploded, flooding his mouth instantly with an enormous load, she had given one whimpering cry and collapsed forward onto her desk, shuddering and gasping until Jason had drained her of cum. Hadn't that satisfied her? Why had she dragged him in here?

"Get your pants off! Move it!" snapped Kathy, glaring over at him. Her black leather purse hung on a hook, and a muffled rattle came from its contents as she rummaged around in it. She took hold of her girlcock with her other hand, shaking and squeezing it slowly. The smooth, pale shaft had already grown to its full throbbing thickness.

"What?" blinked Jason in confusion, stumbling to his feet. "Don't you want me to, uh, suck --"

"No," Kathy snapped. His boss yanked a small bottle from her purse, ignoring a mascara brush which clattered to the tiled floor. A familiar smirk emerged as she finally turned towards him. "My usual -- what do they call them now? 'friend with benefits' -- is out of town. Tech training this week." The bottle opened with a pop. "So now you and I are going to be friends." His boss squeezed out a dollop of the clear gel and began impatiently to coat her cock in it. "Ahh," she breathed, as her thick member squelched slickly between her rubbing fingers. "Yeah. We're going to be real good friends." Kathy looked up again, and suddenly scowled. "Come on, I said get your fucking pants off!"

Jason swallowed. Then he unbuckled his belt numbly and unbuttoned his pants. "I, um, never, um..." he managed to stammer, his heart pounding. He could not seem to tear his eyes away from Kathy's gently-throbbing member.

"Never been fucked in the ass before?" asked Kathy with an arched eyebrow, tossing the bottle into the purse. She shrugged unsympathetically. "Might hurt, then, I guess. Bend over." Numbly, Jason obeyed. The bathroom air felt cool on his buttocks as he stepped awkwardly out of his pants and boxer shorts. Looking back at Kathy, Jason leaned gingerly against the wall in an awkward half-crouch.

"Don't you have dickgirls at your college?" Letting her cock bob free, Kathy began to gently caress her feminine mound, like she often did before Jason went down on her. Somewhere inside, Jason knew, was her swollen sac, full of hot, churning girlcum. "One time when I was in school my sorority pulled a train on some guy," she commented wryly, her eyes half-closed. "After eight of us he looked like he needed to be rolled to the shower." His boss gave a wicked smile, and ran her finger slowly down the underside of her cock.

She glanced over at Jason, then narrowed her eyes and scowled impatiently. "Bend over, I said. Stick that thing out so I can fuck you."

Jason suddenly realized that he was trembling. Fighting back a wave of paralyzing shame, he grabbed hold of the water pipe and bent over farther, sticking out his backside. Jason closed his eyes and hung his head. This isn't happening. It can't be happening.

He heard her padding footsteps, and then she was against him. Kathy wasted no time. He felt the prick of her long fingernails as she fumbled with the head of her cock between his goosebumped cheeks. It felt hot and impossibly huge as it jabbed against him. After a moment came a shock and a sudden sickening pressure as she pushed, and then she was stretching him open, inch after hot, thick inch. Jason let out only the briefest of gasps as Kathy violated him, shoving her cock up into his protesting guts in one curt, uncaring thrust. The sudden, blinding pain brought tears to his eyes.

"Fuck, you were a virgin, weren't you?" blurted Kathy, pressing her hips against him and holding still. Her hungry cock bobbed and twitched inside him. Every heartbeat pulsed against his straining walls. "Just hold it there," she muttered. "Gotta fuck." Kathy drew her cock back almost all the way out. Jason felt an embarrassing sensation of voiding bowels, before she stuffed herself roughly back up inside him once more. "Just hold it there..." She ground the long, slick member slowly in and out again, opening him up. Jason clenched his jaw, not letting himself make a sound.

Kathy took a firm grip on Jason's hips, and settled into a steady rhythm, pumping away at him with long, deep thrusts. Jason grimaced each time her thick shaft mashed into his virgin depths, stretching him and emptying him again and again. Her flaring head bored deep inside him on each fuck, dragging slowly down his clinging passage and raking across his prostate.

A low, wailing, almost drunken laugh echoed in the empty bathroom. "Oh, shit, yes. I haven't fucked a guy in a looong time." Kathy's hips rolled and thrusted with smooth, practiced strokes. Jason's fingers tightened on the cold metal pipe, as he tried to hold himself steady against her hungry fucking. He wondered if Kathy had ever had taken any of her other interns just like this, right in this cramped bathroom stall. How many other guys had been walking around the office full of her spunk?

He began to feel a desire inside him he had not expected, and did not like. Breathing hard, Jason closed his eyes, and tried to think of anything else. The bathroom grew silent, except for the greasy slurp of Kathy sating her lust in him and her sharp, ragged breathing.

"Maybe I should have you bend over sometimes when I get tired of fucking girls," hissed his boss suddenly, leaning forward. The material of her blouse felt rough as it brushed against Jason's back, and he could feel the prick of one erect nipple. "You wanna be my anal whore, baby?" She slapped his ass twice, hard. "Yeah? My anal -- slap -- whore -- slap!" Kathy's professional demeanor was gone, and he had never heard this wild tone in her voice when he serviced her in the mornings.

Again her strong, slender fingers grabbed him around the waist, pulling hungrily at his ass. He groaned unconsciously as Kathy crammed herself deep inside him, pushing back against her thrusts. "Whenever that bitch leaves me backed up I'll just give you a call, huh?" Another loud slap cracked against his taut cheeks.

Kathy's grip tightened, and she gave another breathy laugh. "Call you up and you can come whore out your ass for me." She stabbed her cock hard into Jason. He groaned and arched his head back. "You like that, baby? Gonna spread it for me when I want?" Fingernails dug into his hips. "I said, you like that?" she growled, pulling him back against her with a sudden rough jerk.

"Yeah," mumbled Jason weakly. Her cock felt enormous inside him now, a fat, plunging piston hollowing him out with every stroke. A single pearlescent drop of seed was slowly forming at the end of Jason's own half-hard cock, fucked out of him by her relentless grinding. He could feel the tension rising in Kathy's body. Each throbbing vein seemed to stick out on her member as it spitted him, stretching him open and ready to accept the liquid lust he knew was pent up inside her. Jason's head swam with a helpless, crazy terror. She was going to own him. Already she had forced him to swallow down her seed. Now, his mind ran wildly, she was going to force her cum up inside him and breed him, and she would always own him.

"I thought so," breathed his boss, her voice starting to grow higher-pitched. She rolled her hips, wriggling her cock around inside him. Jason grunted at the sudden bloating sensation. "I bet you'd bend over for... any girl who needed it bad." She gave a short, hoarse bark of laughter. "You're gonna have my fucking load up you all day, you little s-slut. You like that?" Kathy suddenly slapped his ass again. "Wanna be f-full of hot girlcum?"

Now beyond words, Jason was wrapped completely around Kathy's bowel-bloating member. He braced himself against the wall to keep from being knocked down by her frantic, bestial humping. "'Cause that's... that's what little whores like you are good for," moaned the frantic dickgirl, thrusting violently in and out. Her gripping hands began to shake. Impossibly, her cock grew even thicker, swelling rapidly inside his stretched passage. He could sense that she was about to come, and could almost feel the boiling seed rushing up her cock.

"Spreading and g-getting c-cum pumped up your asses and --"

Suddenly both of them could hear the squeak of hinges echo across the room. The bathroom door opened. Kathy froze perfectly still, her belly pressed up against his ass. She cursed under her breath and savagely bit her lip. Inside Jason, her frustrated cock quivered at the pent-up release.

He found himself holding his breath as heels clicked quietly on the tile, coming closer. Both of them remained perfectly silent as whoever it was crossed to the sink. The sink ran, then the paper towel dispenser. Halted on the very edge of bursting, Kathy's cock was hugely swollen inside Jason's stretched-out bowels, and was still growing harder and thicker.

Slowly, Kathy let go of Jason's hips. He suddenly realized that her nails had been dug into his flesh. She leaned backwards, her breaths barely audible, and arched her back. Now joined to his boss only by her throbbing cock, he could feel distinctly feel the shape of her cockhead, like a fist wedged up inside him.

Kathy's eyes were squeezed shut, and her face was twisted into a pained grimace, as she barely restrained herself from filling Jason to bursting with her lust. There came the muffled sound of a zipper, then the quiet tap of something being set down on the sink. There was a long pause, and then the quiet clink of opening eyeglasses. Some plastic-sounding rattles, then the zipper again.

Jason's pulse pounded in his ears. If somebody finds me like this, my life is over.

The heels rattled purposefully across the bathroom floor, then the door opened and closed. The room fell silent.

Kathy exhaled in a loud sigh. She seized Jason's hips sharply and began to fuck at him in hard, impatient strokes. "Fuck, I need to get this out," Kathy blurted in a strained voice, her hands trembling. "Hold still."

Before Jason could catch his breath, his boss suddenly lunged forwards, driving the huge cock all the way inside Jason's ass. He felt the wind knocked out of him, and tried desperately not to fall over. The throbbing meat swelled even more, plugging him completely with girlcock. Then Kathy gave one great shudder and slammed against him. Slowly, forcefully, she began to pump rope after rope of gooey spunk up into the helpless intern with a long, low groan of relief.

Jason trembled as Kathy desperately emptied her load up his ass, his protesting guts aching and cramping at the volume of her thick release. Jets of liquid fire punched into him, hosing down his ravaged insides. He could feel himself filling up, spurt by spurt, his belly bloating out uncomfortably with the heavy girlcum. 

How much more could there be? Jason thought wildly as she shot into him again and again. Kathy's backed-up cream continued to drain into his body, now in fitful bursts. Pressing her belly hard against him, she moaned again, grinding her cock in deep, slow circles. Finally his boss threw her head back, wrenching him painfully back and forth with her final, shuddering thrusts, as if he were little more than a bag for her to use for her relief and discard.

Kathy held perfectly still for a moment, breathing heavily, her hands still firmly gripping Jason's waist, and her cock spasming weakly somewhere deep inside him. Then she sighed, relaxed, and began to pull out. Jason felt stretched out, packed uncomfortably full of his boss' hot seed. Every motion jostled his heavy, cramping belly back and forth. His cheeks blazed with humiliation and shame.

"Loosen up," said Kathy crisply. Her professional voice had returned. "Come on, I want to get my dick out of you." She tugged impatiently, and Jason felt suddenly like a sock she was trying to turn inside out. He didn't know what to do, so he wiggled back and forth gently, wincing as the motion set the ocean of girlspunk inside him sloshing. Finally Kathy yanked her cock free with a gooey pop. The cold air of the bathroom felt strange on Jason's gaping ass.

"Leave a couple minutes after I do," she said, beginning to dress herself with quick, precise movements. "And --" Kathy stopped suddenly. Jason turned around to look. He realized with a sudden flush of embarrassment that his cock was rock-hard. His boss was staring at it, the same old smirk creasing her lips. "Getting fucked by a girl got you a bit excited, huh?"

Jason began to mumble something embarrassed and noncommittal, but then thought, Wait a minute, why is she asking? Kathy's eyes seemed fixed on his cock, and she had stopped dressing herself.

Shame gave way suddenly to a faint, vague excitement. He stood up straight. A round, prominent bulge showed that his lower belly was packed full of Kathy's thick girlspunk, but his own cock jutted out, straining with arousal and an aching need.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Jason said, trying to look casual. It was hard to feel sexy with his pants around his ankles, but his pulse began to throb with anticipation. His imagination began to race wildly. I can't believe it! She's totally going to let me fuck her! I'm going to fuck Kathy Byers!

"Well, go ahead and jerk one out, then," advised Kathy, putting a hand against the wall. She balanced on one leg, putting on a shoe.

"What?"

His boss rubbed at a scuff in the leather, then glanced back at him disinterestedly. "Make sure to shoot your load in the toilet. I don't want any complaints from the cleaning people."

Jason stood still in crushed bewilderment.

Kathy looked at him again, adjusting her skirt. She frowned in annoyance. "Get on with it! I don't have all day." His boss made a brief, contemptuous wrist-shaking gesture. "Rub one out, I said." She straightened up, glaring at him, and crossed her arms.

Jason opened his mouth to protest this final humiliation, but his cock still throbbed in time to his pounding heartbeat. The insistent aching had spread to his balls, and he felt like he would go crazy without immediate relief. He swallowed, looking at her helplessly.

Finally, without a word, he shuffled over to the commode in an undignified waddle. With each step his boss' huge load gurgled back and forth inside his ass. It was as piping hot as when she poured it inside him, but it felt even thicker and heavier now. His belly was spunk-swollen, bloated and tight. When he got to the toilet he realized that his cock was too stiff to point down, so he leaned awkwardly on one hand over the bowl. With his other he began to frantically tug at his cock. Kathy watched him with a thin smile of amusement. 

"There, go ahead and have your wank," she snickered, snapping shut her purse. "Last thing I need is you staring at me or the receptionist all afternoon." She glanced at her watch. "Come on," she added. "It's getting late. Shoot your stuff already."

Jason closed his eyes in shame. Ignoring the smell of bleach, the uncomfortable angle, and the lack of any lubrication, he concentrated on trying to come as fast as possible. A blush spread to his whole body at the embarrassment of having to jack off in front of Kathy Byers. Desperately he squeezed and pumped at his cock, the pressure inside him growing more and more urgent by the moment. His own explosion felt like a barrier he could not quite force himself through, under the harsh fluorescent glare of the bathroom and the mocking eyes of his boss. His assful of thick, heavy girlspunk shifted slowly forward at this angle, pressing down at his aching balls. It was almost like she was still inside him, pushing deep to force his own load out...




Scene in a Bathroom Stall



Finally with a grunt Jason gave up a long white rope of cum. It splashed noisily into the toilet, followed by a second and a third. He clenched his teeth, tensing as he came, trying to stay silent. Another thick glob spattered into the water. Whatever pleasure Jason felt was drowned out by the mere relief of release as he unloaded his pent-up jism. The ejaculation felt huge, though it seemed like a thin trickle compared to the gigantic load Kathy had just pumped inside him.

Jason trembled, giving his cock a few final tugs, and pumped out one more reluctant droplet. Then he sagged, catching himself as he started to fall onto the commode.

The sound of slow, sarcastic applause echoed off the tiled walls. Kathy rolled her eyes and unlatched the bathroom stall door. "Now get back to work," she said.

Jason nodded mutely. He fumbled with his pants, staring at the floor.

Kathy Byers paused for a moment, watching the young intern with no particular expression on her face as he struggled to get dressed.

Finally, she spoke up. "Jason..." she started.

Jason looked up, surprised. As far as he could recall, she had never spoken his name before. "Uh, yes, Ms. Byers?"

"I just remembered there's two more boxes of records that came in for the Pinpoint Biomed deal," Kathy said flatly, turning around and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I'll need to you stay late and sort them for the board meeting tomorrow morning."

Her heels clicked on the floor tiles, the bathroom door opened, and she was gone.



Scene In A Mexican Restaraunt



I stared at the clock on my computer screen as it ticked away each laborious minute of the year-long day I was having. With the interview I had just completed still fresh in my head, I was desperately seeking the inspiration to put the information on paper, though failing miserably. 

"Finally!" I sighed as the clock marked noon. I suppose I could have left earlier or later, but I found it poor form to take lunch any other time, unless my schedule required it. Thus, whenever possible, noon was the break I allowed myself.

That said, I grabbed my purse and jacket and ducked out the office door, hoping that someone would not accost me with a "hot story," as the recent interview was enough to circle around in my head. The elevator was slow in its twenty-two-floor descent, but I managed to escape without being approached.

My blue Nissan roared to life and I made the short trip to my favorite restaurant, Los Dos Gatos. The food was fabulous, if not strangely housed. It always reminded me of a renovated gas station that had been convincingly transformed – all but the restrooms, which were only accessible from the outside of the building.

A waitress, who spoke little English but knew my name, seated me immediately at "my" table. I proceeded to order my usual: a number sixteen combo lunch with a diet coke. I enjoyed the organized predictability that I encountered while at Los Dos Gatos, thus my reason for returning so frequently. I was, therefore, rightfully amazed at what happened next.

I took out my notepad and begin to jot down all useful information from my last interview while it was still fresh in my mind. As I scribbled furiously on my notepad, an uncommonly handsome man with dark, cropped hair, a creamy olive complexion, and deep brown eyes entered the restaurant. Discarding my note taking, my eyes focused in upon this good-looking man who commanded my attention. Through whatever kind act of fate, the waitress, Christina, seated him at the table next to mine. I watched this intriguing man as he slowly removed his full-length black wool dress coat from his thick, muscular frame in one fluid motion, draping it over the adjacent chair before sitting down. He picked up the menu and smoothed his tie over his crisp, light blue dress shirt. 

I glanced down at my notes, pretending not to stare at him. After a few moments of half-hearted note taking, I glanced toward the handsome stranger. He met my eyes immediately and held them, smiling. I smiled back, unable to return my eyes to my notes.

Again he smiled, speaking, "How are you today, Veronica?"

I paused, confused. "I'm doing well, thanks. But... do I, um.... know you from somewhere? Honestly, you seem like someone I would remember."

"No... your name is on your press pass."

I looked down at my pass hanging from my neck, smiling. The now obviously-amused, handsome man grinned. 

I laughed at myself, replying, "I – clearly – forget that I'm wearing it, sometimes. Just had an interview."

He nodded in acknowledgement and added, "I'm Chris, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you, Chris." I attempted to keep my answers short, hoping he would volunteer the right information, instead of my asking the wrong questions.

"So, clearly you work in media. Where and what, more specifically?"
 "I work at Enterprise Media... for the local paper, more specifically. I write and edit features for them."

"Fantastic. That must be exciting."

"Usually... but today has been a slow news day."

"Really... a slow news day in Chicago? Too bad... but, if you were busier, you probably wouldn't be here."

"True, and that would be unfortunate."

"So, do you have any questions for me, Veronica?"

I paused, momentarily, both internally chuckling at the bad pick-up line, and mentally assessing what I would first ask this entrancing man. Figuring it was only fair to ascertain the same information he had of me, I asked, "Well, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm an oncologist."

"Oh?" I asked, dumbly. "Where do you work?" I knew he was doing wonders for my health, already.

"Wellington North. They have an amazing oncology department."

"Maybe it's not such a slow news day, after all."

"Maybe not. Well, would you like to know anything else... off the record?"

"Hmm... that sounds inviting," I mused, still chuckling at his amazing ability to use corny pick-up lines successfully. "What are the terms of this offer? Or rather... interrogation?" I asked with a smile, playing along.

"Anything is fair game, but I don't promise a reply."

"Sounds reasonable." I paused. "Okay... how do you feel about the war?"

"I don't agree with it, but I don't have enough time or influence to change things."

"Fair enough. Religion?"

"Sure. Catholic – born and raised. I don't attend regularly."

"Few who are raised Catholic do attend regularly. I survived Catholicism." I imitated his choppy sentence structure, hoping to accomplish more. How interesting he was!

"Anything else?" he inquired with one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Ever been arrested?" I asked with a wry grin.

Without missing a beat, he replied, his voice thick with sarcasm, "Not since I served my five years for aggravated assault." I liked his style.

"Well, that's a good start," I said with a smile. "Okay, I have another question."

"Shoot."

"Would you like to join me?" I asked tentatively.

"Ah... the one question I thought the beautiful reporter would never ask!"

I smiled as he gathered his coat and moved to my little booth. I watched the care with which he handled the garment and wondered if he handled his women the same way. Smiling even more broadly at that thought, I bit my tongue as he sat down quietly.

Just as Chris made a final adjustment in his seat, a second waitress approached my table with two baskets of chips and two flasks of salsa, looking relatively confused. I attempted to explain, in Spanish, that he would be sitting with me. The waitress looked at me with a steadily deepening look of confusion, and I realized that I may have actually told her he would be "feeling" with me, as the verbs were similar in Spanish. I hoped he would be doing both.

Thinking about our conversation thus far, an errant thought crossed my mind. "Wait a minute... Wellington North? What brings you here, then, for lunch? You're at least forty-five minutes away from your office. I mean, the food here is good, but I don't think there's a quesadilla in the world I'd drive forty-five minutes for!" I paused, then quickly added, "Mind you, I'm not complaining. If this is just a happy coincidence, then so be it... I'm not one to argue with such good fortune."

He blushed noticeably and responded, "Actually, there's a small medical conference being held at the Rowen Convention Center, today. 'They' decided I should attend." He paused and added, "I'm glad they did."

"Indeed," I replied. "So, have you ordered, yet?"

"Yes... I think I ordered a combination plate... number fourteen? Some combination of things that I'm sure cause both hemorrhaging and obesity but taste delicious."

I smiled and replied, "The number fourteen is a chile relleno with rice and beans, I believe." It was my turn to blush, "Not that I come here often, or anything...."

"Okay, I'm impressed."

"You shouldn't be... it's just depressing to cook for just myself every night, so I'm here at least three times a week for either lunch or dinner. Plus, a photographic memory doesn't exactly slow me down in that regard...."

"Ah... I thought I heard the waitress call you by your name. And, for the record, a photographic memory is considered cheating."

"Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Well... yes and no. The food is cheap and apparently pretty good, and it beats eating by yourself. My weakness is Chinese food... or, rather, what we call a Chinese restaurant. I live for egg rolls and General Tso's Chicken from this place down the street from me. I have no one to cook for, either, so they know me there by name."

"Respectable."

"Pathetic."

"Sometimes the same thing."

"Okay, I concede."

I smiled and laughed softly, looking intently at the happy accident sitting across from me. "Okay, I have one last question...."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Depends...."

"Well, the conference wasn't scheduled to let out for another hour. It became so tedious that I simply couldn't take another minute. I suppose the rest of my afternoon is... free?"

"Convenient. I am supposed to be back at work in about an hour, but it's just 'face time.' I met my deadline two days early this week and nothing else has turned up... until today. I feel as though I'm obligated to follow up on this developing lead."

"I'm sure that's my cue to say something equally as coy, but I'd rather be direct. Would you like to go back to my place after lunch?"

I raised one questioning eyebrow at him and smiled widely. "I do like your direct approach, Doctor. I'll give you a conditional yes, for now."

"Ouch. I'm not used to conditions. What would the lady have of me?"

"Allow me to modify my answer, no? Unequivocally, I can say 'yes' to going to back to your place. The condition is that if we go back to your place right now, who is to say we will have the evening? I vote that we first go to Jordan Park and then back to your place. Is that fair?"

"More than fair."

Again I smiled, as though it was beyond my control when I was in his company. Either way, anyone who elicits instant smiles cannot be completely bad, and I was far too interested to question my motivation, now.

Christina reappeared with our lunch, and had apparently been informed of the new seating arrangements. She smiled at me as she placed our food on the table, asking, in Spanish, "Do you know him?"

In the same method, responding, "I just met him, actually. But, I hope to know more, soon!" I chuckled and gave an esoteric smile. She laughed heartily and shook her head, walking away.

"I have the distinctive feeling that I was being talked about," Chris commented mischievously.

"Never," I fibbed, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Do you know I speak five different languages?"

"Really?" I asked politely, mentally calling his bluff.

"Yes."

"I don't believe you," I finally announced.

"Really?"

"Nope. Well, I concede that you may know five languages, but, if you do... Spanish isn't one of them."

"What makes you say that?"

"The look in your eyes when we were speaking. You were trying to keep up, but were lost. You likely know Latin, and may speak Italian, but I doubt you speak Spanish."

"You're good," he conceded.

"What's the real answer... what languages do you speak?"

"Beside the obvious, I speak Italian, Mandarin, French, and I know Latin."

"Impressive."

"Not really. I travel a lot – I'm bound to pick up some of it."

"I concede that much, but it's still well beyond the realm of anything that most Americans will ever experience."

"Okay, that may be true."

After quickly finishing our meals, we traveled the short distance to Jordan Park. The year was pushing on, and already fall had set in, casting the park in showers of gold and red fallen and falling leaves. The chill in the air had apparently encouraged doting parents to keep their children at home that particular afternoon. Thus, Chris and I had the park to ourselves.

I made my way to the jungle gym – my personal favorite – and propelled myself awkwardly across the monkey bars, pulling my feet up far enough not to run the ground. Chris laughed at my effort and walked to the end of the rungs to meet me. He smiled and took my hand in his, pulling me gently toward him. I watched his full, moist lips and kissed him, hesitantly. The instant our lips connected, he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping my lips in his passionate kiss. His lips tasted sweet and warm, and I moved my body into his embrace, pulling him impossibly close to me.

"Well," I sighed once our lips had broken contact, "I'm personally quite tired of the park.... Shall we go back to your place?"

"I was hoping," he purred, his deep voice purring with the promises his words held.

We pulled into a housing addition, Waterford Commons, on the north side of town – one of the nicer areas in the city – and arrived in the driveway of a large, red-brick home with a neatly manicured lawn and topiary-shaped shrubs. He waited for me to catch up after gauging the place, holding his hand out for me. I inhaled and took his hand.

Once inside, I lost track of the details of what surrounded us – his hands were on my body before I closed the door behind me, and the world shrank in scope to just him and me. He touched my face softly and guided my lips to his, drinking deeply from my mouth, nibbling softly at my lips as he kissed me. I worked to quickly disrobe him of his heavy coat, so my hands were that much closer to his skin. I could feel the warmth of his body even through his starched shirt, and longed to feel his skin against mine.

Chris stepped back slowly, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. I laced my fingers through his as he loosened his tie with his free hand, slipping it over his head. He deftly unfastened his belt and withdrew it quickly from his pants. He smiled, then, and held my gaze. "I just didn't want anything getting in the way." I half-gestured toward my bra and he chuckled, saying, "That won't be any problem at all."

In one fluid motion, he pulled me toward himself, so that I was pressed against him body, once more. As our lips met, I could feel the heat of his erection pressing against my thigh, where our bodies met. I slid my hand down his back, working his shirt tail out of his pants. I took care in slowly undoing each of the shirt's small buttons before pushing it open and sliding my hands down his chest. I felt his cock pulse at my touch, and the urge to touch him there... everywhere, became overwhelming.

Our lips still locked in a tight embrace, I sent my hands exploring his thick, muscular body. Falling from his chest, my hands explored his back, then fell quickly south, tentatively running my palm over his thick erection. He shuddered at my touch, and I grasped his thick manhood in my hand, kneading him gently. I felt his breath on my lips and heard his sigh as he thrust his hips into my embrace.

I smiled wickedly and whispered into his ear, "Would you mind showing me to the bedroom?"

He nodded, and I gently nibbled on his ear, kissing and gently, ever-so-lightly nibbling his neck. His body pulsed, and he took my hand in his, leading me down the hall.

Once inside his bedroom, I closed the door as he shrugged out of his shirt, and watched my reaction as he ran his hand over his center. I smiled and slowly began unbuttoning my own shirt, letting it slide slowly off my shoulders. With one hand, I unzipped my skirt and shrugged subtly out of it. In just my bra and panties, I approached, dropping to my knees before him. I undid his pants and removed his underwear with my teeth. Once he was nude above me, I marveled at the size of his ample erection.

He ran his fingers through my silky hair and I took his thick cock in my mouth, sucking him gently at first, rapidly building a pace as I stroked up and down his shaft with my mouth. He moaned softly, pulling my hair. I could feel myself getting wet as he pulled and tugged my hair. I withdrew him from my mouth for only a second to moan, "Harder."

He pulled my hair taut and pushed himself further into my mouth, allowing me to deep-throat his massive dick. I sucked him deep and hard as he fucked my mouth. I could tell he was close to cumming, but I wanted him to last. So, I slowed my pace, finally withdrawing his throbbing member from my mouth.

He moaned softly in protest, but I stood quickly, softly whispering, "I want this to last all afternoon."

He smiled wickedly and crowded himself against my body. "Me, too," he replied as he pushed me roughly onto the nearby bed.

I yelped softly, but before I could protest, he was on top of me. He ground his erection into my stomach, then crawled up my body and whispered in my ear, "But, I can go far more than once, my dear...."

He pulled me gently up off the bed – just enough to reach my bra, and skillfully removed it in one motion. He pushed the thin piece of fabric aside and gently ran this thumb over my right breast. I shuddered and moved softly underneath him. "Mmm..." I pled. Before I could utter another sound, his lips were on my firm, full breasts, sucking and playing with them in his mouth. I moaned and rubbed my center against his, feeling his erection press against my most intimate places. The sensation made me even hotter, and I pled with my body for him to enter me.

He released my nipple from his mouth and pressed back against my hips. Only the thin fabric of my lacy, black panties separated our bodies from becoming one. I held his gaze and slowly pushed my panties off, sliding them down my long legs, and tossing them over the side of the bed with my foot. I slid my hands over his chest and softly said, "I want you... right now... all of you."

"Good," he sighed, in reply, "that's exactly what I was thinking." With that, he repositioned his hips slightly, and with one thrust, was squarely inside of me.

It had been a while since I'd had a cock as long and full as his inside of me, and as he entered, I inhaled sharply. As he thrust inside of me harder and faster, his lips found mine, and we drank deeply of one another's kiss while we moaned and ground against one another.

By the time he was inside of me, I was so hot, I knew I wouldn't last long. I could feel his rhythm slipping, as well. I looked into his dark, drowning-pool eyes and panted, "You've made me so hot... cum with me."

As if by the simple power of suggestion, as soon as I uttered the request, my body was rocketing over the edge of pleasure, and I could feel him follow me immediately. I writhed underneath the sweet weight of him atop me. I could feel his hot spray inside of me as he yelped inaudibly. "Yes," was all I could manage to articulate as he collapsed on top of me.

Several moments later, Chris rolled onto his side beside me, and I scanned the room for the first time. I enjoyed the sepia theme with rose accents, but what really caught my attention was the clock on the nightstand. I laughed heartily and Chris caught my gaze, looking at me quizzically. 

I smiled wickedly as I announced, "It's only 2:00... I look forward to the rest of the afternoon."



Scene One From a Novella



This is the serenade of lunacy. I'd like to welcome all guests, hope you will all be comfortable for the trip. When I was a kid in Tidioute we had a circus come to town. It was one of those old circuses, with the sexy 14 year old trapeze girls and battered elephants too dumb with beatings to mind the crowd much. There was a vacant lot in the center of town, where the old folks home stands now, and not much ever transpired there, save a few events, one of which was the circus and the other was the time a coon wandered up the lone tree in the center of the field. I recall the lone coon, as my dad had prize coon hounds back then, and we lived only a few stray and narrow streets away and so, and so ... We hooked up the grizzled and scarred only walker dog, not the plot, 'cause walkers have more dignity, and down we went to the lone coon in the lone tree in the lone town. And the dog saw the lone coon in the lone tree in the lone town and raised hell like it was Saturday night at the Pub, with drinks half price. And people came and gawked like squalid zombies from scuttle dry crypts at the walker that ripped at the lone tree, to get at the lone coon, in the lone town. At noon. 

The circus was a good time, and the whole ball team got to go for free. And I was on the ball team, though I wasn't much good at it, and so I got to see the sexy young trapeze girls in their tight little outfits with new plump titties just bulging and gaudy blue eye makeup and I recall all the old drunks crowding into the main tent from the bars, they stood on the fringes and teetered and leered and whistled at the airborne cunt so long ago. I was seated among royalty, the young aristocracy in ball caps and fixed with strange wonder at these swirling and leaping creatures newly unleashed among us ... Nine year old boyhood entranced and we all fell in love with the same girl, I learned later, down to the last little snot nose rot fuck of a ballplayer. She wasn't the blond. I think blonds were too much for our minds then. The blond girls in the classes formed a nordic front, an untouchable and icy ideal that one day we might aspire to, being little fucks ourselves and it hardly mattered to the male species if our own hair was blond or shitty or black or speckled white. But the little brunette, that petite and slender little wonder, up there above the world below and adorned with silver and gold and her thighs the color of honey and we'd never seen flesh the color of honey at that age on one so young and like ourselves. Skin was either brown, or white depending on the season. 

Had a cousin and I learned later that her name was Sylvia, and he knew, because he lived in a gray lonely little two story dwelling with his beaten alcoholic father who was my uncle, who played the guitar at the honky tonk bars and could only sing when he was on the whiskey, and then sing not that well, and my cousin lived there beside the big lot in the center of the lone town where the lone dog had once treed the lone coon. And so my cousin, he'd helped the old carnies erect the tents and feed the lions, and do all sorts of odd things, because my cousin wasn't on the baseball team, because my cousin's dad drank and sang the blues, so he had to get a free ticket somehow and that is how he did it. And he met Sylvia, and she was kind to him, but he didn't know her that well, and was more concerned with her older sister's bigger titties, he being older himself and not so very afraid of blond girls or their nordic devices and magic ways. But later, after the main performance in the big tent, he spoke to Sylvia and she said she saw a boy who was cute and she liked him from the audience, and my cousin swore and swore and swore it was me, and if she had her way she's settle down and come to Tidioute an settle down with the nine year little fucker snot rag baseball player, as he was so nice, she could tell he was nice, and live with him and fuck him with her fourteen year old body, and make a baby with him and all would be well and they'd have a fine xmas thank you. My cousin told me this, but told me after the circus left town, so sudden, and she would come back one day for me. Swore it. 

But I says, and I wondered, as there was so many of us in the royal seats, and how did he know it was me that she saw who was so cute and so kind, and she could tell I was so royal and good, that she would give up her life on the high trapeze and come to bed me and teach me and let me be kind to her in ways that I could only imagine. She with the dark hair, in the long braid, with huge black eyes and slender legs, with a plump butt already too big for the trapeze? Well, it was your hat, he said, and she described you well. But, I hadn't worn my hat at all, and I was the only snot nosed fuck who hadn't worn my cap, as I didn't think the coach allowed us to wear our hat outside of the games, and so, I guessed she hadn't meant me, after all, and I broke down crying in front of my cousin, because I so had wanted to know the young sleek girl and have her come live with me and teach me the ways of exotic lands. But he eased my tears and changed his mind, and after all, yes, he recalled it correctly, the one without the hat was the one who Sylvia would come back for one day, and love, and cherish, and have xmas dinner with. Yes, and she spoke of him most cheerily, and wanted to know him, but she was leaving town in the morning, and would come back, and then she would be his, and he hers, and she'd retire from the land of old drunks and scarred elephants forever. Out. 



Scene Two from a Novella



There is no mercy in the American night. Uncle Gregory used to drink a lot and oftentimes he’d talk a good deal when he drank and he was that singer of the honky tonks and bars and road houses. His life was where lonely men puked up lost souls in the carnage and vapor and steam and the neon of another shattered series of nonchalant and broken encounters of consciousness. He meandered through the wastelands, like some carnivorous dragon, bellowing and harping great lashes of fire and might, screaming injustice from his podium of steel noise. He pissed fire and shat blood and on the stage he ravaged the small crowds with words of loss and deeds of fumbling madness. Wore a black hat always, and stood far taller than the others in the band. 

On Wednesday nights, far away from the crazed heat and slurring hypnosis of the performance, when all was quiet and gentle and kind, Gregory would come up to the trailer, up the lane where I lived then as a boy, looking for money, and without a smile to be found. Those were merry days and the birds sang often, and no cars came along the road all that often, and in the early evening da would watch baseball and we’d eat homemade fries and ride bikes or throw hard green apples at bees nests or something. Old grandma Bernice lived with us then, and she was hard and old but fun, and was Irish and raised me hard and Irish and could kick your ass for anything if she had a mind to. Her grandfather Peter had come from Belfast runnin’ from the Brits and so she was here, amid the birds and trees and berries and fruit and laughter and she still hated the Brits and their thieving ways and Gregory was her second to oldest child, second to oldest son. And he’d gone wrong.  

Bernice would sit in her room in the trailer, which smelled of cream and velimints, and watch her own television, as she didn’t like baseball nor my father none whatsoever mind you, though once in a blue moon if she had a taste from the wine, which jesus said was okay once in awhile, after all, she’d admit in low breathes that my dad was okay, though he worked too much at the machine shop and watched too many ball games on the TV. And Bernice liked her Lawrence Welk, and PBS, and things of culture that only she might appreciate and she was gray and white and fat and strong, with big glasses and hearing aids and a social security check that came every month like clockwork. And so, every Wednesday Gregory with the big black hat would come, and he’d had some problems. 

He didn’t wear his black hat on those days, and he came in bent and tired, and he had a job too, a good one, during the week at a factory, but the kids ate a lot, and his wife had a good job too, but there were bills to pay, and maybe could his momma, Bernice spare twenty dollars from her purse for the week? To get some bread for the grandchildren? And he bowed and muttered and Bernice just found an extra twenty and nodded and he was leaving her room as quickly as he came. 

And he’d always stop, this god of the bars and the legend of the hills, on his way out the smacked up screen door, and my momma in the kitchen and my daddy in the chair, and look at me and nod and smile and whiskey hiss on his deep voice. And his eyes would twinkle in recognition as he nodded to me, and then I’d be scared, like I did something very wrong and everyone knew it but still he was a god and he was speaking and so I sat dumb and no one else seemed to pay any attention at all. 

“You’re smart,” He’d slur, “Keep gettin’ them good grades and go to college. You’re a good kid.”

And he’d be gone, and I’d be alone still and even more confused and no one ever said anything about it, ever. And the silence sweltered in, like some soggy blanket of reproach for the sentence just imposed on me, and I’d seek refuge away from the ball games and lawerence welk, amid the trees and bushes. Biding my time, till the black hat might come to me, along with the weekly visits homeward, for twenty dollars a pop. Fini



Scene Under a Desk



Jason adjusted his tie one more time, resisted the urge to glance back at the receptionist, then rapped as confidently as he could on the large door.

"Come in," came the faint sound of a voice heavily muffled by the door. Jason reached nervously for the door handle, and gave it a turn.

The office inside was lushly appointed -- a thick burgundy-colored carpet, a large window flanked by heavy drapes overlooking a wooded ravine, a small glass conference table, and plush couch and chairs by themselves to one side. Before the window was a large, heavy wooden desk of the old-fashioned style, crisply appointed with two computer monitors and a neat stack of papers. A brass nameplate read "KATHY BYERS, CEO".

Behind the desk sat a tall, slender, professional-looking woman in her early forties. Everything about her looked cold and corporate, from her shoulder-length black hair to her thin, round glasses and dark suit. Full lips were pursed together in a tight expression of intense concentration, as she sat bolt upright behind the desk, typing on her keyboard. "Well?" Kathy asked brusquely, not looking up as Jason entered the room. His shoes made no sound on the soft carpet.

"Ms. Byers? I'm Jason Kobell. From Medfield University." He shifted nervously in his interview suit. "I was assigned as your intern for this semester, um, in the business school's Forward Placement program, and --"

Kathy looked up for the first time, and stopped typing. Her dark-eyed gaze was piercing, and was followed a split second later by a cold, formal smile. "You're the new boy?" she asked, looking faintly amused.

Jason started to approach the desk, then hesitated, wondering if this was bad etiquette. He fumbled in the file folder he was carrying instead. "Uh... Yes, Ms. Byers, I'm Jason Kobell." Nervous fingers found what he was looking for. "I have a letter from Dean Goldman which --"

Kathy's eyes flicked up and down him once more, and then went back to her computer screen. "My new intern," she said crisply, cutting him off. "All right. Close the door."

Jason quickly closed the door, cringing as it bounced slightly in the frame with a brassy clang. "I'm a junior... I'm majoring in accounting," he said, trying a smile. Kathy said nothing, and began to type once more. After a pause, he went on, shifting the folder around nervously. "It's really an honor to get to intern at Bannerman McFey, and especially, you know, as assistant to the CEO." Realizing that he was talking too fast, Jason tried to calm down. "I really hope that --"

"Yeah," said Kathy, sounding disinterested, though she let her contemptuous gaze drift over to him once again. "Come over here. Let's talk about your duties." Nervously, Jason approached.

In frank, contemptuous tones, Kathy told him what his job was going to be that summer.

Jason's initial cold shock of astonishment gave way to stunned panic, and then a desperate defiance. Before taking the internship at Bannerman McFey he had heard the usual business-school rumors about the company, but you could hardly believe half-serious stories of executive women with "special needs". Of course everybody had heard of dickgirls, but Jason never could have imagined that...

"N-no," he blurted out, interrupting her and surprising himself. His boss frowned, pursing her lips in a thin, annoyed line. Jason took what was supposed to be a confident step backwards, but one foot stumbled on the carpet. "You've got to be... you can't... you've got to be kidding me." He stepped backwards again, anger forcing down the lump in his throat. "No fucking way."

Kathy's eyes narrowed, but they were full of a mocking amusement. "Yeah?" she said crisply. "Don't need this job, huh?" She examined one neatly manicured hand, then folded them together on the desk and leaned slightly forward. "Then I guess Dean Goldman will be getting a nice letter saying that you were canned from your internship for... oh, insubordination and unprofessionalism." Her tone grew harsh. "Sound good to you? Tough luck for your course grade, I guess. How's that honors program working out for you?"

Jason stopped moving toward the door. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Or maybe," said Kathy, her tone softening very slightly, "you can take care of my, ah, office needs, do a good job as an intern, and your employment future will look much brighter. Got it?" She stared evenly at Jason, raising her eyebrows a tiny bit.

He felt like his knees were going to buckle. After a moment, Jason just nodded.

"Good," said his boss dismissively, returning to her work. A long moment passed.

Jason stood there awkwardly, listening to the sound of tapping keys. Then: "So... um...," he said weakly, "What should..."

"Under the desk," said Kathy curtly, without looking at him. Jason swallowed, then circled the large desk nervously. His new boss was wearing a linen skirt which reached to slightly above the knees and clung tightly to her pertly rounded hips. She scooted her desk chair aside for a moment, exposing a cavernous space beneath the desk which was easily large enough for him to crouch in. Feeling an unsettling mixture of ridiculous and scared, Jason brushed past her legs and crawled into the dark, sawdust-smelling compartment.

Kathy rolled her chair back in, narrowly missing running over Jason's hand, and returned to her spreadsheet. After a second, however, she paused and gently tugged her skirt up her hips until it formed a bunched-up ring. Underneath, in the dim light, he saw a pair of white satin panties, with a dramatic and unmistakeable bulge at the front. He suddenly realized that he could make out the spicy odor of her pussy, mixed with a strange musky note.

Gulping, Jason reached slowly forward. Kathy's girlcock was warm and thick, and began to grow hard almost the instant that he pulled it through the leg of her panties, throbbing rigidly in his reluctant grasp. It rose smoothly from between two plump, swollen lips, its pink, walnut-shaped head seeming eerily feminine. In the dim light, it seemed to wink at him menacingly.

Jason forced back his revulsion, trying to keep his mind on thoughts of his future employment prospects. He slowly leaned forward and took the spongy tip of Kathy's cock gingerly between his lips. "Get on with it," came muffled from above. Suddenly, his boss drove her hips forward, thrusting the thick meat impatiently into his mouth. 

"Mmfrg!" gurgled Jason as his mouth was suddenly stuffed with her swollen shaft. He heard the desk chair begin to creak as Kathy rocked back and forth, cramming her throat-stuffing length in and out of his face. As he gasped for breath, he heard Kathy say, "Come on, hurry up." Jason recoiled and drew back from his boss' choking cock, bumping his head against the side panel and coughing loudly. "Suck hard," came her voice again, mixed with a quiet laugh.

Catching his breath and blinking back tears of anger and shame, Jason took Kathy's thick girlcock in hand again. The rigid, spongy flesh throbbed heavily in his hand as he squeezed it. Then, reluctantly, he ducked his head and went down on his boss. As Jason settled into a rhythm, letting her pulsing cockhead drag up and down his tongue and sucking hard with each stroke, Kathy seemed to relax back into her chair and let Jason service her. Once she drove her hips forward suddenly as he sank his lips down her shaft, jamming her cock into his throat. Jason choked and gagged, banging his head hard against the drawer and sending the pencils jumping. Kathy laughed. The soft click of the keyboard continued.

Jason couldn't tell how long he knelt under her desk, frantically sucking off his new boss. The compartment quickly grew hot and stuffy, his nostrils filling with a mix of sawdust, chair leather, and the steadily stronger scent of Kathy's spicy, dripping juices. All the while came the sound of typing, the occasional shift of her hips in her comfortable chair, the rustle of turning pages, and his own desperate slurps as he pumped her girlcock in and out of his mouth.

Suddenly Kathy sat rigid in her chair. For a moment Jason thought she was going to stand up, but then his boss' cock began to swell in his mouth, growing thicker and rock-hard. His mouth filled with a faintly salty musk as a thin trickle of cream dripped from Kathy's pulsating cockhead. Jason panicked, suddenly not sure what to do, and started to draw his lips back along the trembling shaft. Before he could move, his boss let out a muffled groan and stabbed her girlcock forward into his throat. Jason gagged as the swollen member burst, sending a long, fat rope of spunk splashing straight into his belly. He fought for air around the throat-clogging bulk of Kathy's cock, jet after endless jet of her girlcum draining into him with audible spurts.

"Stop!" Jason gurgled, struggling around the thick meat in his throat, and finally managed to lean back. Kathy's cock continued to pump out its thick load in thick, gooey pulses, her hot milk rapidly filling up Jason's mouth and forcing him to swallow again and again. He tried frantically to keep his nose and throat clear of Kathy's cum, as his slowly swelling stomach began to protest against the copious load of spunk pouring into it.

Finally the flow dwindled to a few stubborn squirts and stopped. The chair squeaked as Kathy leaned back, pulling her spent girlcock from Jason's mouth with a wet pop. She neatly tucked it away in her panties and pushed back from the desk. "You can get out now," she breathed.

Jason crawled out from under the desk, wincing as his legs had fallen asleep. Kathy was leaning back in her chair, watching him now with what might perhaps be a look of satisfaction on her face. "I guess you get the idea," she smirked. "Ever done that before?"

Jason scrambled to his feet. The warm, heavy load of spunk Kathy had pumped into his belly sloshed violently backwards and forwards as he stood up, and his belt felt painfully tight around his waist. He started to say something, but suddenly let out a wet belch.

Kathy laughed. Jason could feel his face burning, though his cum-packed stomach felt a lot better. His mouth still felt coated with her salty lust. "You're welcome, I guess," snickered his boss, regaining her composure. Kathy waved him out of the way, and Jason walked slowly around the desk. He resisted the urge to cradle his bloated gut in one hand.

"So, um," mumbled Jason, fighting another burp. "What..."

"They'll find you a desk or something," said Kathy with another wave of her hand, gesturing towards the door and turning back to her work. "That will be all. For today, anyway."

Jason put his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh," added his new boss, the sound of the keyboard beginning again. "Congratulations on your internship. I'm sure at least one of us will enjoy this summer."