2 comments/  15345 views/  4 favorites

Virtual Reality Ch. 02

By: ms72vt



So, you came back for Round Two, I see," Jon Chamberlinne said, pushing his silver, wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Who will it be tonight, Mr, Cooper?"

Mike had thought about that last night, as he lay in bed, gently massaging his dick, remembering his virtual experience at the Cleavers'. He had at his disposal every fictional female of significance—movies, books, TV, you name it. He could try his hand at a super hero like The Invisible Woman, he could get a crack at a young, hot thing like Julie James in "I Know What You Did Last Summer" (he had a thing for Jennifer Love-Hewitt, and getting a crack at her character when she was still a teenager gave his dick a jolt), or he could try for a period-piece encounter, like Ma in "Little House on the Prairie." Ma as played by Karen Grassle he found to be a highly sexual woman. He knew that underneath all those layers of fabric and prairie dresses was a sexual dynamo, just waiting to explode. 

But for now, he decided he'd stick with what he started the first time: June Cleaver. Their first tryst was memorable, but surely it would only get better the second time. June was now eager to see him, hoping for a return visit. Well, he wouldn't disappoint her.

"I'll be going back to Mayfield," Mike said. "June and I—we have some unfinished pleasure to attend to."

"Ahhh." Chamberlinne smiled, and, though he appeared to be only in his early twenties, Mike noticed his teeth were already yellowing. He supposed that was the price Chamberlinne played for spending all his hours on his creation, his virtual reality machine. There was no time left over for such unnecessary endeavors as showering, brushing teeth, or washing hair. The fact that Chamberlinne had no facial hair was likely due more to his inability to grow any than to a regular shaving schedule. "Well, I can't say as I blame you. Mrs. Cleaver is quite attractive."

Mike nodded, and held up a razor. "June and me, we have plans," he said. He visualized what it would be like to strip her down and shave her blonde bush. Almost instantly, the beginnings of a tent formed in his jeans. She would be nervous about it, but she would go through with it. June Cleaver, with a shaved mound. If Chamberlinne's virtual reality application did indeed make it to the market, the guy deserved some sort of prize. Maybe the Nobel Peace Prize. With the ability to live out fantasies so vividly, who would want to go to war anymore?

Chamblerlinne chuckled, but before he could speak, there was a yell from upstairs. The Hansons, no doubt—going at it again. "As you recall from last night . . ." Chamberlinne said, nodding at the ceiling. "As I mentioned, they do this every night. Mr. Hanson comes home from work, they have dinner, and then all Hades breaks loose. You can pretty well set your clock around it. In fact . . ." He glanced at his wristwatch, a silver affair with a digital clockface . . . "Yes. Seven twenty-two. Right on the button. Anyway . . . before I activate the device . . . let me remind you again of the implications of your trip to Mayfield. Remember last night, you returned from the session with Mrs. Cleaver's bra. Even I had no idea such a thing could happen. It's as if the virtual and the real intercoursed with each other in some way . . . in more ways than one, I might add. Until I understand how that happens, there is significant risk involved, as I told you yesterday. But you signed the waiver, so all is in readiness. Are you sure you want to proceed again, Mr. Cooper?"

From upstairs, Mrs. Hanson told her husband that he should go find whatever whore he was fucking behind her back, and spend the night with her. He countered with, "I damn well wish I had someone on the side! I oughtta find somebody! Somebody who at least can suck my dick, or wants to!" To which Mrs. Hanson replied, "Your dick is too tiny to suck!" And on and on they went. Mike had no idea how small Mr. Hanson's dick really was, but his ego swelled with man-pride anyway. People could say a lot of things about him. He was thirty-one, had a receding hairline he hated, his job paid him just $32,000 per year, he could be an asshole sometimes. But, damn it, he had a good dick! A solid eight inches, sometimes eight and a half when he was really jacked.

"Damn right I want to proceed," Mike said, again thinking of June's pussy. Mmmm. Besides, even if he had brought back her bra (and he already had it hanging from a nail in his bathroom), what could possibly happen to him in virtual land? Even if Ward did walk in on them . . . old Ward didn't carry a gun, did he? So what was there to worry about? 

"And remember," Chamberlinne went on, as Mr. Hanson defended his manhood to his wife upstairs, "the effects of your first visit to Mayfield will be in effect, Mr. Cooper. Mrs. Cleaver will remember you. She will remember your encounter. Because it really happened in her world, you see. And any ramifications from her behavior will be in existence, too. If she acted strangely with Mr. Cleaver after you left, that will now be a reality in the world you're delving back into. Nothing happens in isolation, Mr. Cooper. Your actions yesterday will have a bearing on what happens henceforth."

What was it with this guy? Geez. Mike just wanted to virtually fuck June Cleaver again. He didn't need to hear a treatise on the interaction of virtual reality and real reality. Everything Chamberlinne said seemed like it was grist for a PhD dissertation mill. Just hook him up to the machine, let him play with June, and then go back home and jerk off, thinking of the fun he had. Was that so freaking complicated?

"Look," Mike said. "I signed the waiver yesterday. You already told me about the risks. I already saw what could happen, I mean with the bra and everything." That was pretty freaky, he had to admit. Still, having June Cleaver's bra as a memento—did it get any better than that? "So, with all due respect, can we just get on with it? I want to go back."

"I like your enthusiasm, Mr. Cooper," Chamberlinne droned on, his expression thoughtful, serious, like a professor talking theory with a student. The guy could take the fun out of an all-night orgy, for crying out loud. "I am just making sure you fully understand what you're getting yourself into. With luck, you'll have a blissful, carefree time. But just be aware, always. Anything you do in the virtual world you are about to enter has unbreakable consequences—for you, as well as for the people you interact with."

Mike honestly couldn't care less. He was sure nothing would happen to him. And as far as June Cleaver was concerned . . . who cared? She was a fictional character! That was the fun of it, the harmlessness of it. Chamberlinne had discussed that very thing last night. 

"Indeed," Chamberlinne said, when Mike asked why he should be concerned about a person who didn't exist in reality. "But at the same time, June Cleaver exists in her mind, you see? Tell me, when you, um, pleasured her last night . . . while you were there, did it not seem real?"

Mike nodded. It definitely had felt real.

"And that is the point, Mr. Cooper. To June Cleaver, to everyone in her world, it is real. She may be a fictional character to you, or to me. But to her, she exists. So, all I ask is that you take that into consideration."

Mike nodded again. He thought he got it now. Chamberlinne had created June, he had created all of the characters he filled his application with. They were like his children, or, better yet, his mistresses. It was like an author, who creates characters in a story. If you live with the characters long enough, they become real to you. Chamberlinne's rhetoric was nothing more than artsy-fartsy attachment to his own invention. Well, okay. That was cool. Mike could understand that.

"Get out, out!" Mrs. Hanson screamed upstairs, and then a door slammed, and footsteps rushed down a stairwell beyond Chamberlinne's door.

"Sounds like Mr. Hanson should give your application a try, too," Mike said. "Maybe it could give him a little stress relief, and a whole lot of pleasure, for a change."

"That's a splendid idea," Chamberlinne said. "I'll approach him about it shortly." 

Mike rolled his eyes. He'd had enough of this discussion. "Okay, I'm ready. Hook me up, man."

Chamberlinne laughed, displaying more prematurely discolored teeth. "Far be it from me to delay a man's pleasure," he said. "Just mind everything we've discussed, last night and tonight, while you're in Mayfield."

That made Mike wonder. The first time he used this application, he'd arrived in the afternoon, in the Cleavers' neighborhood. In that virtual world, how much time would have elapsed between his first visit and this one?

"A very good question, Mr. Cooper," the young inventor said, again adjusting his glasses. "And, at this time, with the application still in a state of testing, I cannot give you a definitive answer. Suffice it to say, this is why your usage of the application is so valuable to me. Only by having live subjects test it out, repeatedly, can I learn the answers to such queries."

Good grief. Wouldn't a simple "I don't know" have gotten the job done?

"But," Chamberlinne went on, "my educated guess is . . . the amount of time that passed will be the same there as here. About twenty-four hours."

That would suit Mike fine. "All right, Mr. Cooper. Let me just attach you to the PC."

Just like last night, Chamberlinne attached something to Mike's temples, then he clicked an icon on his desktop, typed in a few commands, and then, after a "have a pleasant time, Mr. Cooper, you will have three hours," Mike felt himself being pulled away. It was as if the molecules in his body were being ripped apart, then brought back together again. There was a moment of weightlessness, and he felt a surge of panic, but then he felt like himself again, and the world around him brightened. Sun, hot, midday sun, shone down on him. He was in a neighborhood, walking down a sidewalk. It was very familiar. The same as yesterday. Yes. He was back on the Cleavers' street! And there, just ahead, was the perfectly-kept-up house, its white picket fence an open invitation.

He approached the Cleavers' front door, and without hesitation, he knocked.

"Coming!" a pleasant female voice called out. And a moment later, the door opened. 

"Oh." Instantly, June Cleaver blushed. Recognition splashed across her face like a guilty secret.

"I'm back!" he said. "I don't have my AC unit, but I do have my other unit." He chuckled at his joke, as well as the story he'd concocted yesterday—about selling air conditioners.

June leaned out the door, glanced left, then right, apparently checking to see if any neighbors were watching, then said, "Come in, Mike."

She was wearing a stylish white blouse, with elbow-length sleeves, and a cream-yellow ankle-length skirt, along with a gold bracelet on each wrist, gold earrings, and her patented string of white pearls around her neck. Just like yesterday, there was a subtle, sexy scent about her—probably some expensive perfume Ward had purchased for her on their last wedding anniversary or for Valentine's Day.

"So," he said, "have you thought about yesterday very much?" He wanted to hear her answer, of course, but this was also a sneaky way to make sure that only twenty-four hours had elapsed in this world.

Wild roses unfurled in her cheeks. She nodded.

"Tell me what you thought about, and don't leave out the details." He knew he had three hours, but he figured he should cut right to the chase. Why pussyfoot around?

"Well . . ."

"Did you think of the way you sucked my cock, and loved it? Did you think of the way I fucked you in your bedroom, and how you came right then and there, showering my dick with your juices? Did you think about seeing me again, hoping I'd come back?"

She nodded again. But she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Tell me, June."

"Y-yes, of course," she said. "I . . . I thought about you all last night, and all morning. I . . ."

"Did you play with yourself, and think of me?"

"Yes. Last night, after Ward fell asleep. And this morning. And, I . . . right before you came, I was about to . . ."

Damn this chick was hot. She had so much repressed sexuality, just waiting to come out. Ward the Dickless Wonder was such an incompetent asshole. Which reminded him . . .

"Hey. When I left here yesterday, you were braless. You said you'd stay that way, and when your husband got home, you'd kiss him with a lot of tongue and press your tits right up against him. How'd it go?"

The roses in her cheeks reddened further, if such a thing were possible. "He . . . he didn't like it. He pulled away. He didn't even notice, about the bra, I don't think. But as soon as I French-kissed him, he told me I was acting like a tramp, a Jezebel. He asked me what had gotten into me."

"I hope you told him some guy had come over and finally gave you the fucking you need and deserve."

She smiled, in an embarrassed sort of way, but it was good to see. He went up to her, hugged her, kissed her. She returned the kiss with hunger. "Ohhh," she said, as he felt her melt in his arms. She wanted this as bad as he did, perhaps even more. "I'm so glad you came back to me, Mike."

He kissed her again. "I have three hours, June. Let's make the most of them."

He took her by the hand, led her upstairs. 

"Oh! I just remembered. The Beaver . . . my son . . . is coming home early from school today. He'll be here in an hour! I can't . . ."

"Nonsense," Mike said. "That's what locks on doors are for."

"Mike! You can't mean . . ."

"You bet I do," he said, and, standing at the top of the stairs now, at the entrance of the second-floor hall, he took her in his arms again, and kissed her. As they kissed, he reached around, cupped her butt in his hands, and kneaded her ass-cheeks through the fabric of her yellow skirt. She moaned in his mouth, gave him a healthy dose of tongue.

"You need it so bad, don't you?" he said, and she nodded. "Well, so do I. Where's the bathroom?"

"The bathroom?"

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the razor. She gasped. "Remember what I told you yesterday?" he said. "Time for a little grooming, sexy lady."

"Oh, but I . . ."

"Don't play coy with me. Which way is the bathroom?"

She swallowed, then led him down the hall. When they entered the bathroom, he was impressed by how spacious it was. Old Ward did know how to provide for a family financially. Too bad the old boy couldn't fulfill his wife in other, more important, ways. 

She couldn't take her eyes off of the razor. "I've never seen a razor like that."

"Huh?" But then he caught himself. Of course! This was the 1950s, after all. The safety razors of this decade generally were metal, silver, he assumed. Not plastic-handled and colored blue, like the one he had. "Oh. Well, what can I say? A special razor for a special lady."

She smiled, but still looked nervous. He admired her smile. She had a wrinkle-free face, despite being in her early forties, and her cheekbones were high and pronounced. She was really a very beautiful woman.

"Now," he said, "let's see what we can do about all these clothes you're wearing."

He went to her, gave her a good, long kiss to relax her, then unbuttoned her blouse. She offered no resistance as he pulled it off of her, revealing her slim torso, bulky white bra, and bronzed, tanned skin. He licked his lips, then pulled his own shirt off. Instantly, she reached out, caressed his chest, and kissed him. She was obviously attracted to him. He was in good shape, and, being nearly twenty years Ward's junior, he offered her a chance to be with a younger man for a change.

"Off with that bra, sexy," he said, and she reached behind her and unhooked it. It fell to the floor, revealing her small breasts. They were firm, though, with no sag to them, and the nipples were pert and erect. He leaned in, took her left nipple in his mouth, and suckled it for more than a minute. She moaned, ran her fingers through his hair.

"The skirt's next," he said, but she stepped back. 

"Just want to be careful, in case he comes home earlier than I expect," she said, and closed and locked the bathroom door. Damn, he was getting more attracted to her by the minute, the sneaky, kinky sexpot. 

She wiggled out of her skirt, revealing the grandma-style panties she wore. She had long, toned legs, she was in remarkably good shape. But he didn't like those panties, and he told her to lose them, fast, which she did. Now her furry blonde bush came into view, and again he licked his lips. It would be a pleasure to rid her of that jungle. A true and sensual pleasure.

She stood before him, completely naked, but at ease, her arms by her side. The only thing she wore was a sexy, seductive smile, along with her jewelry and string of pearls. All of the shame, the doubt he had encountered in her yesterday, was gone now.  

He kicked off his shoes, yanked down his jeans, then pulled down his briefs. His dick was fully erect, and June's eyes were riveted. 

"Tell me," he said, loving the freedom they had with each other, the delight they were taking in their shared nakedness, "just how small is Ward? Yesterday you said I'm a lot bigger. I'm curious. How much bigger?"

"Well, I've never measured him. And, these days, I don't get a chance to see, um, it, very often anyway. But . . ." She knelt down, her face inches away from his dick. "I'd guess you're twice as long, and much thicker."

Twice as long? That would give Ward a four-inch dick! God. No wonder why sex with him wasn't enjoyable. The peckerless bastard had a dick like a ten-year-old, and didn't know how to use it, either, based on everything he knew. 

He wanted a blowjob, but now wasn't the moment. That would come soon enough. First things first.

"Where's your shaving cream, baby?" he asked. "Or should I use old Ward's?"

She stood up, gave him a naughty smile, opened a cabinet, and pulled out a can of ladies' shaving cream. It was in a silver tin can, and it almost looked like something you'd drink. Oh well. It would do.

"You have any massage oil, any liniment of any kind?"

She nodded. "I have some grapeseed oil that I like to use to rub Ward with when he wants a massage," she said. "Why?"

"Is it in here?"

She retrieved another can from the cabinet—another silver metal affair. "This is it."

He took it from her. He now had everything he needed. "Do you trust me, June?"

She blushed, again. "Well, I suppose I must. I mean, look at me! Look at us."

He laughed. She had a cute sense of humor. No wonder why Ward had fallen for her.

"I want you to lie down on the floor, sexy. Maybe you should get a towel out of the closet, use it as a pillow."

She eyed him for a moment, probably considering what to do. But then she did get a towel, and did lie down, on her back. She comfortably rested her arms on the floor, leaving herself fully exposed to him. He loved the way she was acting, the lack of self-consciousness. But he was shocked by it, too. She couldn't have been used to displaying herself to Ward. Why was she so free with him, then? Was it a glitch in Chamberlinne's program? Or was it, maybe, that she was over forty years old and still hadn't been allowed to explore her sexuality? Maybe she was just eager to break loose, to live life to the fullest, to discover something about herself that years of quiet repression had covered up and snuffed out like an airtight vacuum of the soul.

She was lying beside the bathtub, which made things very convenient. He straddled her, facing away from her, his dick right above her mouth, and turned the bathtub water on—not much, just a slow stream.

"Okay, now I want you to relax, okay, baby?" he said. Before she could respond, he squired some shaving cream into his hand, then spread it across her pubic hair. She squirmed a little, but stayed where she was.


Virtual Reality Ch. 02



"That tickles," she said. "Be careful, Mike. Please."

"Fear not, lovely lady," he said. "You know, I'm wondering. Will your husband even notice that you're bush-free tonight, or any night?"

"Probably not," she said. "We . . . we almost never make love anymore."

He took the razor, again told her to relax, and then pressed down firmly and, in one fluid motion, removed a strip of her pubic hair. "Did that hurt at all?" he wanted to know.

"No," she said. "You're very gentle."

He repositioned himself a little, so that his dick was no more than an inch above her mouth. "Suck me," he said. "Blow me while I clean up your pussy."

She didn't say anything, but a second later, he felt her lips wrap themselves around his shaft. He let out a moan, and so did she. Instinctively he began to gyrate his hips, slowly making love to her mouth.

Meanwhile, he concentrated on the task at hand. He rinsed the razor under the bathwater, then, with her lips still sucking him, he shaved off more of her bush. He repeated the process, over and over, until her mound was smooth and free of any hair. She was sucking him with gusto now, moving up and down his shaft like a pro. She was so into what she was doing, she probably hadn't even realized she was completely shaven now. He toweled her off, then massaged some of the grapeseed oil onto her freshly shaven mound. She moaned at his touch, and sucked his dick harder. Her pussy looked lovely—so smooth and just asking to be kissed. So he did the honors. He leaned over, licked her vaginal lips, kissed her clitoris, and she started to thrash and wiggle her legs. He was through messing around. Now he inserted his tongue deep into her vagina, licking in her juices, her wetness. She tasted like nectar. And she was soaked. He shifted his tongue around, until he located the rough grooves of her G-spot. He gave this some attention before pulling his tongue out and then nibbling and chewing on her clit.

"Ohhhh!" she erupted, her mouth full of cock, bucked at the hips, and squeezed his head with her inner thighs. Rivers of her juices flowed freely out of her, and he licked up what he could.

He was close to cumming too. She was feverishly sucking him, and she was a damn good cocksucker, especially for a woman with so little experience—allegedly. He wondered what dirty secrets June Cleaver was keeping locked inside. Was he really her only affair?

But such questions proved irrelevant a moment later. He felt an explosion erupt inside of him, and then that feeling, that wonderful feeling of inevitability, washed over him, and he shot his load into her mouth. She moaned and sucked, and swallowed. Her lips didn't lose contact with his dick until she drank in every drop, until she cleaned and licked his softening tip.

He rolled off of her, grunted. That was the best blow job he'd ever had.

"Ohhhhhh," she said, and propped herself up on her elbows. "That was thrilling, Mike."

Thrilling. Well, that was one way to describe it. 

"Oh!" 

He looked at her. She was staring at her freshly shaven mound. "How do you like it?"

"I . . ." She reached down, felt herself. "I like it, Mike. It's so smooth. It's strange. I mean, my, um, my . . ."

"Your pussy?"

She giggled shyly, nodded. "It hasn't looked like that since I, well, you know . . . . But I do like it."

"Will you keep it up now, that I've got the process started for you? Now that it's been shaved, it'll be a lot easier for you to maintain."

She blushed. "I'm not sure. Ward . . ."

"Ward schmoard! When will he ever see it? Though, come to think of it, what a surprise it would be for him tonight, if you . . ."

"Oh no, I couldn't!" she said. "After what I did yesterday, this would be liable to give him a heart attack!"

Mike laughed. "Yeah, he's an older gent, isn't he? Well, let me show you what a younger guy can do, and how fast he can recover."

He hopped to his feet, then reached down for her hand to help her up. He took her in his arms, pressed his naked body against hers, and kissed her deeply. She moaned into his mouth as they kissed.

"Now, baby, do you want me, or do you want me?"

"Oh, Mike."

"I take that as a yes."

He went over to the tub, turned on the shower. "Step in," he said. "Ever make love in the shower before with old Ward?"

"Heavens no," she said.

They went in, and he closed the curtains behind them. He figured he would take the lead, but as soon as the curtains were closed, June was all over him, hugging him, her perky little B-cups pressed firmly against his chest, her lips frantically kissing his, her tongue probing deep into his mouth like an amorous snake. 

They kissed for several minutes, and he reached back, massaged her ass, caressed her smooth back. The water struck them, wetting their bodies, straightening and darkening her hair. He thought of soaping her up, but then decided against it. He wanted to fuck, and he wanted it now.

He pressed her against the wall, got himself into position, and entered her, his dick fully erect again, and she squealed, wrapped her arms around him tightly. He told her to wrap her legs around his waist, he'd hold her in place. She was so thin and light, he could easily support her. And there he was, in June Cleaver's shower, her limbs draped around him, moaning, shrieking with each thrust. 

"What do you want me to do?" he shouted, above the din of the shower.

"Ohhh!" was all she could say as he thrust into her, all the way to the hilt.

"Do you want me to fuck you, baby?"

"Ohh!"

"Say it!"

"Ohhh!"

He squatted, lowered her legs to the bathtub floor, pulled his cock out of her. She gave him a pleading look, but he wasn't relenting. She needed to tell him what she wanted.

"Oh, Mike . . ."

"Don't you 'oh, Mike' me, June. You tell me what you want."

"Make love to me." She hugged him again, her long, slender arms surprisingly strong as they wrapped themselves around him. She kissed him.

He broke the kiss. "I'm not going to make love to you." She pouted, almost looked like she was ready to cry. "But I am going to fuck you!" She perked up, kissed him again. "But only if you ask me what you want."

"Mike, you know . . ."

"Say it. And don't play games with me. I've long since found out that you're not the pure, wholesome housewife you like to pretend to be in front of everyone else. I know you're really a naughty, sexy, kinky hottie. So tell me what you want, baby, or I'm out of here."

"I . . ."

He took a step, ready to exit the tub.

"I want you to fuck me!" she said. "Okay? Please! Please fuck me! My God, I want you so bad, Mike!"

He smiled. Now that was more like it. 

He went to her, kissed her, and they resumed their dance of lust.

But just then, a knock on the bathroom door!

"Hey, Mom! Mom!" It was a child's voice—squeaky, high-pitched.

"Oh shit!" June Cleaver said. "That's my son. That's the Beaver. He's home."

Mike couldn't believe it. He was fucking June Cleaver in her bathroom, and Beaver Cleaver himself was just outside the door! Virtual reality, indeed.

She turned the shower off, then quickly raised her index finger to her lips, giving Mike a stern look. "I'm in the shower, Beaver! I'll be out in a minute! You're home early."

"Gee, Mom," the voice from beyond the door said. "It's two o'clock. When I left this morning, I said, 'I'll be home at two o'clock.' I wasn't sure if I really would be, but here I am!"

"That's fine, Beaver!" She was a whirlwind, toweling off like a cyclone, dressing herself so fast, you'd think she was training for an Olympic competition—the Cheating Wives' Pentathlon. 

"Don't wear the bra, or the panties," Mike whispered to her.

"Mike, you have to leave!"

From beyond the door. "Who ya talkin' to, Mom? I hear ya talkin'!"

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit shit shit," she said under her breath. Then: "No one, Beaver! Just talking to myself." However, Mike couldn't help but notice that she had indeed left the bra and panties on the floor. 

"I'll just stay in here a while," Mike whispered to her. "I'm sure he'll go to his room or something. When he does . . ."

"Mike, no . . ."

"Hey, Mom?" Beaver called through the door. "Larry Mondello's here, too. I told him he could stay for lunch. Okay?"

"Okay, Beaver!" She was fully dressed now, sans bra and panties. Even with all her clothes on, damn, she looked good.

"Hey, Mom? Whatcha doin', takin' a shower in the middle of the day, anyways?" young Beaver Cleaver wondered aloud from the hallway. "Why would you wanna take an extra shower? I don't even like takin' the showers I hafta take!"

"Mike, please go," she said, ignoring her son.

"How?" he asked. "You want me to walk right out in front of Beaver and Larry? Kind of hard to explain, wouldn't it be? You and me walking our of here together?"

She started to bite her nails, then stopped. "I haven't bitten my nails in thirty years," she said. He could tell. Her nails were long, perfectly kept up, just like the rest of her. "Listen, you go out there, and I'll stay in here for a while," he said. "Then, a few minutes later, when you're having lunch with the rugrats, I'll come downstairs. I'll just say I was looking for a place to put the AC unit. Then, after lunch, the kids'll do their thing, and you and I can go find someplace where we can screw each other like rabbits. Deal?"

"Mike . . ."

"Hey, Mom, how long does it take you to get dressed? Larry's really hungry!"

"Coming, Beaver! Coming, Larry!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Cleaver," a new voice said from the hallway. Larry Mondello, all right. Mike would recognize that voice anywhere. 

"It'll work out just fine," Mike whispered.

June threw him a "I cannot believe this is happening to me" look, took a deep, calming breath, and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hi, Beaver, hi, Larry!" he heard her say through the door. "Now, let's see what we can do about lunch, hmm?"

Footsteps leading away, downstairs. . .

Mike waited, waited. He had no watch on, so he couldn't know how much time had passed. But after a while, he left the bathroom, and ventured downstairs. . . .

♣

"Okay, ma'am, I believe I found the ideal location for the AC unit," he said as he entered the kitchen. June was seated at the table, flanked by the Beaver and Larry. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him.

"Oh, uh, thank you, Mr. Cooper," she said, and took a bite out of a half-eaten sandwich. It looked like tuna fish. 

Beaver and Larry were almost through eating, their plates nearly clean. Larry had a handful of chips left, and Beaver just another bite or two of his sandwich. 

"Hey, Mom, I didn't know we had comp'ny," Beaver said.

"We don't, Beaver. Mr. Cooper was just leaving. Isn't that right, Mr. Cooper?" She tried to give him an icy glare, but all it did was send a jolt of electricity through his dick.

"Hey, mister, what's an AC unit?" Beaver asked in that wonderfully innocent voice of his, before it deepened and ruined his television show. "What's an AC unit?" It was Larry, speaking through a mouthful of his last chips. "You dummy. Everyone knows what AC is. My uncle has one, but he lives way down in Florida. He says it's so hot where he lives, you can fry an egg without even turnin' the stove on. That's how come he bought his AC."

"Oh," Beaver said, and took a healthy gulp of 1950s-style whole milk. 

"AC is the wave of the future, boys," Mike said. He couldn't resist. "Trust me." He gave a sideways smile to June as he said this, and she looked down at her tuna sandwich.

"Hey, Beaver, I know all about AC," Larry said. "It's real comfy and all when it gets hot. That's what my uncle says. But who cares if it's the wave of the future. I wanna do somethin' fun right now. Wanna go outside and mess around?"

"Can we, Mom, can we?" Beaver said, smiling.

"Oh. Well . . . sure, Beaver. Just be careful."

"Okay, Mom!" And like a rocket he was up, darting to the door, Larry in tow. But then he turned around and said, "Hey, mister? If AC is the wave of the future, are you gonna be going to all the houses on the block, and sellin' ACs to everybody?"

"I'll do my best to visit all the housewives in the neighborhood," he said, throwing June a lecherous grin. She glared back at him, and his dick grew harder.

"Okay, mister," Beaver said. Then, to Larry, "You ready, Larry?"

"Yeeeaah," he said. Larry Mondello had a way of saying that word. Mike had always found it kind of cute. "'Course I'm ready."

Beaver said a quick "See ya, Mom, see ya, mister," and that was that. The boys were gone. A moment later, Mike heard the front door slam shut. 

"Oh, I wish they wouldn't slam that door!" June said, getting up, taking the dirty plates to the sink. She looked out the window. So did Mike. All he saw was the empty front yard. Hmm. The kids must either be in the garage or out back. Perfect. So considerate of them.

He went up behind her as she stood, leaning over the sink, and cupped her breasts, through the thin fabric of her blouse.

She turned around, and if looks could kill . . .

"Mike! That's my son and his friend that were just in here! It's bad enough that you came down while they were still here, but if you think I—"

He shut her mouth with a kiss. She struggled at first, but then she started kissing back, her words of protest morphing into pleasure-acknowledging moans. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

They kissed for a long time, their fully-clothed bodies pressing tightly together. Then he pulled loose.

"There, is that so hard?" he asked her.

"What's come over me?" she said. "Mike . . . I can't. We can't. Not with the boys so close."

"Turn around, lean over the sink like you were," he ordered.

"What?"

"Do it!"

She did it. And, from behind, he pulled her blouse free of her long yellow skirt, reached underneath, and raised his hands so he could cup her braless breasts. He squeezed, kneaded, pinched, and she threw her head back and moaned. Next, he raised her skirt up to her waist, revealing her bare ass, panty-less. Before she could say anything, he positioned himself just so, and inserted his rock-hard dick deep into her vagina. She arched her back, shrieked, but did not protest.

He pushed in to the hilt, then nearly pulled out. In, out. In, out. She moved her hips in rhythm with his thrusting. She was panting now, frantically pushing back into him as he thrust into her.

"What do you want me to do, June?"

"I want you to fuck me, Mike! Fuck me!"

He smiled. There was no hesitation this time. He gave it all he had, and she moaned louder, louder, as her body tensed, ready to explode. He reached under her blouse again, and played with her bare tits as he had his way with her. He pinched her nipples, and she yelled, "Oh dear, oh dear, yes!"

Suddenly the front door slammed again, and a voice called out from the living room, "Mom!"

"Heavens!" she said, and he pulled out of her in a split second. "There," she said, pointing to a door near the refrigerator. "The basement. Hurry!"

He escaped just in the nick of time. He didn't go all the way down, though. He lingered at the top of the stairs, listening.

"Mom, what were those noises you were makin'?" young Beaver Cleaver asked. Mike nearly burst out laughing, but managed to hold it in.

"Oh, I, uh . . . I was exercising, Beaver! I was doing calisthenics." You could say that again. 

"Gee. Why would you do that? Who wants to exercise, unless someone makes ya?"

"Where's Larry?" he heard June ask her son.

"Oh, he's still outside. I just came in 'cause I was thirsty. I asked Larry if he wanted a drink, too, but he said he didn't on account'a he doesn't wanna hafta go to the bathroom till he gets home."

"Oh." The sound of tap water, streaming into a glass. Followed by the slurping noises of Beaver as he gulped it down. 

"Thanks, Mom!" Beaver said. "But gee, where did the AC man go?"

"Oh, him. He left right after you and Larry went outside, Beaver."

"Oh. Guess we didn't hear 'im leave, so we kinda figured he was still here. See ya later, Mom!"

Mike was glad that neither Beaver or Larry had realized that he didn't have a truck parked out front. That might have been a tough one for June to explain away. Or maybe they figured he parked up the road and was just walking along the street, knocking, door to door, like the salesman he was pretending to be. 

The basement door opened.

"Now you must leave!" June said. "That's twice now we were almost caught."

"Exercising?" he said with a smile. "Calisthenics? I'll show you calisthenics, baby. Lean over the sink again."

"Mike . . ." But she wanted it. He could see it in her eyes. The effect he had on her—he seemed to make her lose her sense of good judgment. A wonderful effect to have on an attractive woman!

He led her to the sink, turned her around, taking note that her blouse was still untucked, hanging lose. Evidently, the Beaver hadn't noticed that either, or if he had, he just attributed it to the cals she was supposedly doing. 

"This won't take long, sexy," he said, and he lifted her skirt again, rammed his dick home, and reached under her blouse once more, massaging her tits.

"Ohhhh," she moaned. "Mike, that feels so good, so good."

"It's not too bad on this end, either," he said. Her vaginal walls gripped onto his cock as it moved inside of her—in and out, in and out. In no time at all, her hips were again dancing in rhythm with his thrusting. 

He went at it as hard as he ever had. There was no telling when those rugrats would come barging in again. He wanted to cum, inside of her, and cum hard.

"Let yourself go, completely, baby," he told her as he pinched her nipples. Her moans were so loud now, he wondered if the boys might hear her, even in the backyard. "Remember, I can't knock you up."

"Oh, Mike, fuck me, fuck me!" June Cleaver begged, and he obliged her. Did he ever! He thrust in and out like a jackhammer, sweat forming on his forehead. Her moans coalesced with his grunts—an earthy, sex ballet, a melody of lust and animal passion, of need and hunger.

He came, squirting deep into her, and she came, her body going limp. He held her up, guarding against her falling to the floor. She was spent. So was he.

"Oh dear," was all she could say. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead; her blouse, in spots, had dark perspiration circles soiling it. She looked great. She smelled like sex, like carnal desires—an elixir to the senses.

He turned her around, kissed her. "You are awesome, June," he said. "A fantastic lover."

"Thank you," she said, blushing.

"But I have to go. My time's almost up, I think."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "It's just, I better go."

She tucked her blouse in, wiped her face and forehead with a kitchen towel. "Yes," she said, glancing out the window. "You better. Wally's due home soon, too." He gave her a look, feigning ignorance of who Wally was supposed to be. "My other son," she said.

They walked into the living room. At the door, he kissed her again, and told her to leave her bra and panties off for the rest of the day and think of him, and masturbate every chance she got, daydreaming about him, about the two of them, and the sex they had shared.

"Mmmmm, sounds nice," she said. "But . . . will you come back? I mean, the AC unit and all . . ." She gave him a come-hither smile.

"We'll see," he said. "I'm sorry I can't say for sure. It's hard to explain." It sure was. If she only knew the truth—that she wasn't even a real person (though she felt as real to him as anyone ever had, perhaps even more so . . .), that he didn't truly belong in this world of hers, that, as sexy an encounter as he'd shared with her, he would be tempted to visit other fictional ladies, from other places, other times.




Virtual Reality Ch. 02



He gave her another kiss, then left before he needed to explain further. 

He walked around the neighborhood for what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes. Where was Chamberlinne? Wasn't there a way to go back prior to the three hours having elapsed? He toyed with the idea of having fun with another housewife on the block, but decided against it. He—

A feeling of splitting up, of being scattered into disparate atoms overtook him, and he knew. Chamberlinne was taking him back, back to his world, back to reality. There was that disturbing feeling of weightlessness again, of separation. But it didn't last long. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Jon Chamberlinne was sitting there in front of him, his fingetips joined together in a hand-tent.

"So . . . how did it go, Mr. Cooper?"

Mike took a moment to gather himself. "Great," he said. "Incredible. June Cleaver is amazing, above and beyond anything I ever would have thought. But . . ." He felt around in his pocket. Shit. The razor. He'd left it behind! It was ironic, really. Last night, he had brought back June's bra, infusing the real with the virtual. Now he had left something in her world. Tit for tat. 

"Interesting," Chamberlinne said when Mike explained. "Of course, the only way for you to know whether the razor remained behind, and did not vanish out of existence when you came back here, would be to go back for a third visit. Is that in the cards, Mr. Cooper?"

"I think the razor's there still," Mike said. "If the bra came back with me . . . Makes you wonder, doesn't it? What's real? What the hell is really real?"

Chamberlinne nodded. But pressed on, "So, will you be going back?"

"I don't know," Mike said. "It was weird. I mean, the whole thing just felt so real, so fucking real. Don't get me wrong, man. You're a damned genius. This application of yours is unbelievable. But it's pretty freaked out, too."

Chamberlinne smiled. "That's one way of putting it," he said. "Of course, as, how shall we say . . . amenable . . . as Mrs. Cleaver was, you could use my device to try your hand at virtually anybody. As willing as Mrs. Cleaver was, why limit yourself?" 

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing, when she asked me if I'd come back for another round." He remembered the sensation of her lips on his, her tongue doing a sensual probe of his mouth. He'd love to go back to her. He'd love to take a shot at a hundred others, too. A mental image of Julie James lying, so young, so pristine, on a bed, waiting for him to deflower her, rose up in his mind, and he smiled. Still, the entire thing, great as it was, gave him the creeps. It all just seemed too real, somehow, too much like playing with fire, fucking with karma.

"Indeed, Mr. Cooper," Chamberlinne said. "But then, what is real? When you look at the universe, our experiences, our thoughts, our fantasies, our memories, our potential, our future. What, Mr. Cooper, is real? And what is simply a dream? Or a dream within a dream? Or nothing at all?"

Mike didn't want to answer that, didn't even want to consider it for a second. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go back to Mayfield for a third time, explore some other fictional world, and fictional vagina, or simply quit while he was ahead. 

He'd need to ponder it more later, in bed, while he stroked himself to a full erection, thinking of June Cleaver, her panties removed, her cream-yellow skirt hiked up to her hips, bending over her kitchen sink, begging for him to take her. . . .