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30 Days or Bust: Day 01

By: l8bloom



All characters in this story are age 18 or older

*

It was easier than I ever imagined, and certainly more expensive. I hope I get my money's worth!

The first day has been almost scary in its simplicity – I feel like I'm having a weird dream. But aren't all dreams weird?

This ordinary workday I was in my lab, peering carefully at slides. No, the experiments I conduct aren't earth-shattering or crazy, like you read about in the news. The real work of a scientist is boring for 30 years, then you connect the dots, and wham! a news story.

Anyway – he just appeared, like Mr. Jantzen said he would.

There was a knock at the door, nothing aggressive or in a particular rhythm of any kind. It was simple, the knock of someone delivering a package.

I opened the door and there he stood: a man about six feet tall, with friendly features and clear brown eyes. He held out his hand.

"Hi, my name is Mark. I'm here from the Wish Fulfillment Corporation."

I shook his hand as if expecting him to evaporate at any moment. When he didn't disappear, I gestured politely. "Please come in."

Now that what I wished for was here, I didn't quite know what to do with it. I remembered what I was supposed to ask – 

"Can I see your ID?"

His smile was pleasant. "Of course."

Mark Goodbody, age 36, local address, eyes brown, hair brown, organ donor ... I glanced up and gave him back the plastic. With difficulty I drew a breath.

"I guess we should, uh, get started." My cheeks were suddenly hot.

Mark looked caring and professional. "Dr. Arthur, Lisa, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. The opt-out clause –"

"I want to," I burst in, and suddenly I knew that I did. This question had been eating away at me for longer than I cared to admit. I had to know the answer.

Silently I shut the door and locked it, making sure he could see my hands. I turned to face him and exhaled.

"Where do you want me?"

He had already been studying the room, as if several photographs in my file had missed somehow his attention. With his chin he gestured to the lab stool where I had perched only minutes ago.

"How about there?"

Easily, more easily than I thought I could in such an outlandish circumstance, I sat down. "Like this?"

The touch of his hands on my shoulders sent a shock through my system, even through my lab coat. My mouth moved involuntarily. Gently he rotated me so I faced the microscope once again. His head dipped and his mouth was close to my ear.

"How about like this?"

"Uh... okay ..."

"Just relax," his hands caressed my shoulders. "You look at slides here, right?" I affirmed. "Why don't you show me how you do that."

I bent my face to the 'scope and stared, without seeing, the bits of biology under glass. Mark's hands, his breath at the nape of my neck, held my attention completely. His thumbs drew down my shoulder blades and followed a curving path. Next thing I knew he parted my already open white coat, and soft as a whisper, began to finger the flesh near my breasts.

A muffled grunt drew from my lips. But I hadn't said stop; and he didn't stop.

Slowly my – employee? – let his fingertips follow the path of my underwires. Instinctively I sat up a little straighter, wanting more. Sweat started pooling under my breasts.

Here it comes. Here it comes, I thought. Of course I doubted success on the first day, but the outset seemed so promising, and just as I might have regained coherent thought, Mark brushed the front of my fine linen blouse.

"Ohhhhhh...." I was getting wet. Mr. Goodbody, if that was his real name, certainly was an expert. I did not even feel him loose the buttons. A draft of cool air stroked my rib cage, and my arousal grew. I was sitting in my lab, my brassiere exposed, with a mysterious man about to fondle my tits. My clit jumped.

Mark spoke in my ear one more time. "Last chance to back out, doctor."

I shook my head no, firmly, once. Then I arched my back to lift my bosom high – I wanted him to see me, to look at me, and specifically I wanted him to notice the front clasp.

"All right, then," and with a twitch of his fingers, I was free.

My only regret is that I couldn't see the look on his face, since he was standing behind me. Yet his cheek was hot against mine. He smelled good, fresh from the shower, and just as my nose was learning his scent, his fingers began to stroke my bosom.

He wove different patterns, lifting and gently squeezing my mounds, sometimes devoting both hands to one breast, then the other. He avoided my nipples until I began to whine, then came around to the front of the lab stool. Miraculously I hadn't fallen off.

Mark perched on the table close beside the 'scope and hooked his feet in the rungs of my stool. I scooted closer. He met my eyes, as if making sure I was okay, then returned his full attention to my breasts.

The massage he administered was nothing short of glorious. Indeed his cheeks were flushed, and the luxury rippled over me in waves. There is no emotional stroke in the world equivalent to inciting desire in one's partner. The bulge in his pants confirmed my effect on him, and I wanted to lay my hand there. That wasn't part of the deal, though, and I knew it.

This man was here to teach my body one thing, and that was to give milk.

It was then that he first gently pinched my nipples for the first time. A noise jerked from my lips and I involuntarily squeezed his thighs.

"Did that hurt?"

"No..." Not unless you count the agony of desire, the keening pent-up sexual hunger that he was teasing into a furious howl.

With that he lowered his head and began to suck on one rosy tip. Honey flowed between my thighs and I staggered. One firm hand at my back held me steady. I started to moan and could not stop. His tongue licked and coaxed my sensitive skin. He took more and more of my breast into his mouth. All the while he continued to massage my other breast, preparing it for oral assault.

With a loud sucking noise he broke free of the first and started on the other. "Yessssss," I hissed, and ground out, "Oh, God." For deeper and more deeply still, he sucked my anxious nipple, taking as much of my breast into his mouth as possible.

Then to my surprise he lifted his gaze, looked me in the eye, and nibbled the very tip. A short, sharp cry burst from my lips and my already well-lubed cunny spilled again. I wanted to kiss him but he gave all his kisses to my breasts, testing them and teasing them, nipping and squeezing, until I could stand no more. When I was finally sore, I said, "Stop..."

Immediately he let go and hopped off the table.

"Thank you," I sighed.

"You're welcome." His quiet tone was somehow just right; not too understated, not too clinical; just, somehow, friendly. Easy to live with. But of course, that was what I had asked for.

Mark drew a handkerchief from his pocket, follow by a small tub of balm. He patted my breasts with the soft cloth and seemed to be looking them over for any marks. Then he unscrewed the lid of the little jar.

As he smeared on the soothing lotion, he said, "Now the constant sucking might make your skin dry out. I want you to put this on every time, after we're done, okay?"

"Okay." I could barely whisper. The crotch of my pants was soaking wet. I wanted him to lay me on the work bench, but he was putting on his jacket.

Lightly he brushed the backs of his fingers against my cheek. His smile was like natural sunlight, so warm and unpretentious. I felt like I had met an old friend for lunch.

"See you tomorrow," he said. And he was gone. 

30 Days or Bust: Day 02



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

It is Saturday. Last night I slept amazingly well. I didn't want to analyze why I felt so good, I just wanted to keep that dreamy feeling, so I laid in bed for a few minutes, nestled in the warm haze.

It was the coffeepot's pre-set click that woke me, and the smell drifted into my bedroom, the gentlest of signals to wake. I can't even call it an alarm. Why don't more people do this? You set the timer and that's it.

Anyway it seemed like a great day to rake leaves and think about yesterday afternoon in the lab, and just breathe. My experiment is underway now, and it's important to engage in reflection. Are the elements doing what I thought they would – what are the surprises – what needs adjusting – temperature, moisture, pressure ...

These thoughts brushed through my mind just as my hands would carefully adjust a dial. Any scientist will tell you, just like in the Jodie Foster movie, "Small moves." You never, never, make wild swings in any one direction. You tweak. You adjust. 

Yet, I sobered, a wild swing was exactly what I had done. I sipped coffee and pulled on my sweat pants. Years of tweaking and adjusting my social life had left me unsatisfied. It seemed like I had to do something radically different if I was going to get what I wanted. So here I was, literally placing myself in the hands of a stranger.

I argued with myself. It wasn't reckless.  I had controlled the parameters exactly. Wish Fulfillment was exactly that. Throughout the interview process Mr. Jantzen and I had gone over every detail: the kind of man. What would and would not happen. Acceptable and unacceptable locations. And, most importantly to me, a timeframe – a chronological stop and start. If my body would not produce milk after thirty days of consistent treatment (sucking, god yes, glorious wanton sucking), then maybe – maybe I couldn't. Can't.

I shook my head. No depressing thoughts were allowed today. I set the coffee on the deck and attacked the back yard, raking vigorously and enjoying the crunch, whoosh, of the dead leaves. The smell of death was so sweet and clean. Most people think of death as some dark depressing thing, and it is not so. As a biologist, I'm well acquainted with this big dark scary thing, and all it is, is compost. There's nothing to be afraid of. Inability to give life, to participate in the cycle at all – now that I find scary.

Scrape, scrape. Despite the cool autumn air, I began to sweat, and paused to peel off my shirt jacket. The red and black plaid made me feel sort of manly, like I was from Ohio or something, and the thought made me giggle.

"What's funny?" said a voice just behind me.

I jumped. "Oh! I didn't expect to see you this early."

Mark was dressed comfortably in jeans and a forest green sweatshirt. "If you want to pay extra, I'll rake your yard."

At my baffled look, he laughed. "Doctor, that was a joke."

"Of course. Of course." Now I just stood there blushing like a fool. Not a thing to say came to mind so at last I offered him some coffee.

"No thanks," he smiled, "I'm just here for our appointment."

He put his hands on my shoulders. I started to pull away. "Not here," I said, looking around.

"This way," he answered, and led my by the hand back to the deck.

Yes, my deck is private, but ... here? Outdoors?

Apparently that was exactly what my friend had in mind. I let him peel off my tee shirt. It must have been easy for him to see that I wasn't wearing a brassiere, and maybe that was the comment he held back – he seemed about to say something.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. Here, why don't you sit here." He guided me to a place on the edge of the round patio table and took a chair facing me. I was so aware that he was fully dressed, and I was naked from the waist up.

Awkwardly I leaned forward and he began a squeezing massage. My nipples had already been erect; somehow he made them more so. Every hair on my body stood alert, drawn to the magnetic north of what was happening to my chest. Mark kneaded and lifted. I almost wished my breasts would not let down their milk too soon. I could get used to this daily massage thing.

It was an incredible turnon, to be outdoors half naked, letting this good-looking stranger fondle my tits. He was very, very skilled, and my body thrummed into a melting heat.

"I need you to be a bit lower. Would you be okay with sitting on my lap?"

I started to sit sideways on his thighs, but he guided me in a different direction. "Face me."

And so, on only the second day I'd ever laid eyes on this man, I straddled his hips and felt the heat of his erection as he laid his mouth to my breasts.

His technique today was a little different. With just the tip of his tongue he touched the tips of my nipples, lightly, teasing them to maximum fullness. My back arched. I gritted my teeth, groaning, thinking the exquisite torture could grow no worse, and then he blew on them.

"Ah!" My whole body jerked. I squeezed his shoulders, hard, twisting both toward and away. When my eyes opened, I saw my sexual counselor was smiling. "You're enjoying this," I accused.

He laughed with his eyes. "Shouldn't I be?"

Then he lifted my breast into his mouth and got down to business. He sucked my teats in lazy succession, rubbing one while he hoovered the other, so both of my breasts were constantly stimulated. It was glorious. I made little noises of pleasure as he worked.

His eyelashes made a soft fringe against his cheeks. It turned me on to watch his lips, his hands, as he touched my delicate skin. It was frustrating, too. I wanted to return the favor and I sure as hell wanted to feel him inside me, but that was not in the contract.

Could anyone blame me? I tried anyway. I palmed the fly of his jeans. Immediately he lifted his head away from my body and pushed my hand away from his crotch.

The look on his face made my heart sink in my chest. His next words hurt even more.

"Lisa, I'm really sorry, but you know I can't do that."

"I'm sorry," I said instantly.

The mood was gone. He picked up my t-shirt where it lay crumpled on the patio table and draped it over my nudity.

He saw the sadness in my face. "I want to explain this to you so you understand, okay?"

I thought I knew what he was going to say, but it was clear he wanted to talk. I nodded.

"Just because I'm a sex worker doesn't mean I'm not ethical." He spoke as if explaining how to ride a bike. "If I sleep with you, that's theft of service to my boss. It violates the agreement. Do you follow?"

I bobbed my head again. He returned the gesture and continued.

"The other thing that's important is that, even though what we're doing here is intimate, a certain" – he waved a hand in the air, as if trying to catch the word – "a certain professionalism applies."

"You're telling me not to get attached."

He nodded, carefully watching my face. "And I'm sorry I came on too strong."

"Oh!, of course not. I mean," blushing from embarrassment this time, "I mean, I understand."

"Do you want me to have Wish send someone else?"

I stood up, now thoroughly humiliated. "No. Mark, I'd like to keep working with you, if that's okay."

He stuck out his hand in agreement. We shook. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." As he walked down the steps, he looked over his shoulder. "Don't forget to put on that cream."

I went in the house, curled on my beautiful ivory sofa, and had a good cry. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 03



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Sunday never was my favorite. As a child, I hated having religion crammed down my throat, and got into trouble for asking too many questions. And Sunday in adulthood meant looking down the barrel of the workweek. No matter which way you turned, Monday was coming at you. Natural law dictated laundry and grocery shopping, lest one go through the week threadbare and hungry.

Regardless, I wasn't ready to face Mark yet, so I went someplace he would never find me: church. I picked a generic Christian type and sat in the back. After a few songs and murmurs, the pastor started in, and that was my signal to go to Planet Lisa.

While the man droned on, I turned inward to my own thoughts. I couldn't find any sin in what I had done sexually. No spouse had first claim to my allegiance, body or soul. I crossed infidelity off the list.

Next I thought of my methodology. Step by step I walked through the process. It's commonly known that, for years, scientists have been experimenting on themselves. This way if something goes wrong, nobody gets hurt. Plus you don't have to mess with the IRB, and some would call it arrogance, but I've always thought life was too short for excess paperwork. No – I couldn't see anything wrong with being my own subject in this particular study.

Following this line of thought, I considered my accomplice. Was it possible Mark could be harmed in all this? Socially, maybe; but it was he who had recently reminded me of the role of professionalism.

That was it, then. I hadn't maintained my objectivity. Without thinking, I snapped my fingers and softly exclaimed, "Ha!"

The preacher looked at me as if to say, "Do you have something to share with the class?" The congregants looked curious, too.

I pulled a grimace and slunk in my seat. Sorry, people, I thought. There didn't seem to be a graceful exit handy, so I just laid low until the talking was done, then zipped toward the door. Luckily, no one gave me more than an odd look as I clattered down the stone steps.

Mentally I pictured the old man intercepting me and asking what I was thinking about, to which I would blithely reply, "Human lactation experiments." That ought to get him.

So it was with a little smile on my face that I let myself in my front door. Just as I was reaching to hang my coat, I glanced out the window. A man was seated on my deck, reading the newspaper. After a moment of confusion, I realized it was Mark.

"Hey," I threw open the window, "Have you been here all day?"

Smiling, he folded the paper and stood. "Only half," was his bright reply. "How about you?"

I held open the screen door. "Went to church."

His eyebrows went up. "What was the topic?"

"No idea," I shrugged, and sailed toward the kitchen. "I'm starved, you want lunch?"

"Sure. Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

"First door on the left." I pointed.

Feeling a touch more confident, I put together chicken salad sandwiches and popped a couple of beers. In the background there was a flush, the sound of running water, and rattle of the linen closet door. Lunch was on the table by the time he came back.

To my surprise he held out my chair. "Thanks for fixing lunch."

"You're welcome. Dig in."

We did, and for a few minutes there was silence as two hungry people met their needs. I washed down a bite of sandwich with a swig of beer.

"So."

"So," he echoed.

"How did you wind up working for Wish?"

"My talent got noticed," he said drily. "How did you wind up hiring Wish?"

This seemed obvious, but maybe what he meant was, how did I hear about the company.

"There was this brochure in the ladies' room..."

"At work?"

"No, no. You know 302 West, the restaurant?"

He affirmed, perhaps remembering taking clients there. It was a nice place. I raced past this thought and continued.

"The department head was retiring, and that's where we took her out to dinner."

My companion gave this some thought. "I hope you don't mind my asking, I was just curious. We don't exactly advertise in the yellow pages."

"I don't mind. Besides," I colored slightly, "if I didn't think you were discreet, I never would have worked up the nerve to call."

"So it took you a while," he mused.

"Do most people sort of jump right in?"

Mark shook his head. "No, not that I know of. First off, you know it's going to cost a ton, to get exactly what you wish for. Second, a lot of people hold back, thinking about how it might affect their relationships at home or at work." He looked at me somewhat keenly here, as if wanting to know more.

What the hell? I took a deep breath and decided to spill the beans.

"It's like this. I can't have children, you know that, right."

"Uh-huh." Keeping his eyes on mine, he took a sip of beer.

"It's very important to me ... to know, to ...find out ... if I can participate in the cycle of life." In the pauses, my hands gestured, trying to help my voice speak the message. I figured he understood I meant lactating, since that's what I had hired him for.

"No one you've dated would help you with this?"

Instantly I shook my head. This was a pathetic idea. "The men in my circle are basically other university types.  They're so hung up on being afraid that a woman might be intelligent. It's impossible to, to expect understanding from someone who sees you as a competitor."

I couldn't bring myself to voice the emotional undercurrent of these half-baked relationships. I had never felt at ease with someone whose mission in life was to be the biggest shark in the pool of promotion and tenure. I could never trust someone like that, much less confess my most intimate desires.

"So you hired a professional."

I smiled. "Not just like that. I've done quite a bit of research. I know that, with repeated stimulation, a woman's breasts can be induced to lactate. I just don't know if ... if my body has read the research." I tried to make a little joke out of the question that had gnawed at me for so long.

Mark's eyes were compassionate. Out loud he asked, "How full are you now?"

"Not starving, not stuffed."

"Okay. If I clean up, will you relax on the couch?"

"Uh, sure. All right."

"Good." He stood up and carried our half-eaten plates toward the kitchen. Without looking at me, he said, "You can brush your teeth if you want to."

Ten minutes later I was lying on the couch, just as the doctor ordered. It was easy again, just as it had been the first time Mark walked into my lab. He had this habit of making me feel relaxed. I distinctly felt that he knew what to do, and for once I could hand over the reins to someone else and let them drive.

Sunlight spilled its lazy lumens through the room. In the background I heard water running and some other soft noises. Then the microwave beeped, and the scent of cloves crept in.

I had already taken off my shirt.

Mark appeared, carrying a tray of steaming towels. As I struggled to sit up, he arranged pillows under my back.

"Just like that. That's good." He laid me in a reclining position. As the blanket fell away from my chest, he closed his eyes for a moment – just a moment. He had that look on his face, as he had the day before when he undressed me on my deck. I wondered what he was thinking.

But the moment was fleeting and suddenly he was doctor-like.

"Just lie back and relax," he directed. "Let me do all the work."

He proceeded to lift one long, narrow towel from the top of the stack. The steam rose in the sunlight. He wrapped it around my right breast, and my toes curled in ecstasy. Oh, garrrrrr, that felt good.

My left breast got the same treatment. The hot, damp turbans made me think of Russian onion domes. The sight did not last long as I was soon swaddled in additional layers of clean, warm cloth. It was incredibly luxurious.

I breathed a contented sigh. Maybe this whole thing was crazy, but it seemed so right, to lie there and let a man tend my body. Whatever had bothered me last night floated away.

"Good," said my host. "Lisa, you're doing beautifully."

My eyes fluttered down as he picked up my hand. He massaged it with a lavender lotion from my own collection. The scents of lavender and clove calmed my senses even further. My hands went limp in Mark's care, and I drifted off.

* * *

It seemed like only a heartbeat later that I woke. My masseuse was peeling off the towels.

"How you feelin'?"

"Good." I couldn't repress a smile.

"Excellent," he approved. He dropped the towels into a bucket and lifted the blanket so it covered one breast. Without warning he went to one knee and took the other in his mouth.

"Oh!" I gasped at the sudden, hot pleasure.

Steadily he suckled at my freshly cleaned breast, as if it were the most delicious of treats. He moved the blanket over its twin, keeping it warm and ready.

Under my pretty linen skirt, my body lubed up for some exercise it wasn't going to get. This wasn't fair, but I accepted it silently and focused on what I did have: Mark's talented tongue.

He lifted one breast in both hands and worshipped it with his mouth. My skin flushed to a delicate rose pink. I groaned and let my lips part, as if he would kiss me.

"This one, now this one," I begged, and immediately he turned his attention to my other gland. There he beseeched the divine milk to flow, orally imploring without words. Fertility speaks in tongues.

His ministrations grew more intense; he started biting lightly at the nipple in his mouth, pinching the one in his hand. He squeezed a little harder. I groaned. I had never had an orgasm from breast stimulation alone, but neither had I been with such an expert partner.

Mark lifted his head from my bosom. His eyes were dark with unmistakable lust. Using both hands, he gripped the base of my breasts and curled his fingers. Again and again he invoked my body to give up its cream. He took my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching softly at first and then harder.

Sometimes he watched his hands, drinking in the sight of what he was doing to me. Mostly he looked in my eyes. I knew mentally he was penetrating me, fucking my brains out, and I sure as hell was a willing partner.

Maybe we'd never speak of it again, but both of us knew it was true. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 04



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

The character Mark is narrating.

*

When I saw she wasn't home Sunday morning, the right thing to do – the sane, normal thing to do – would have been to go away and come back later. I could have gone to the gym, run my errands, caught up on paperwork, even watched the inanity known as TV.

The fact that I didn't was a dangerous sign. Instead, I hung around on the deck for a few minutes, thinking she might have stepped out for a moment and would return shortly. When that didn't happen, I went looking for her.

Her typical haunts came up nil. She wasn't at either of the neighborhood groceries. I cruised U-town, thinking she might be at work. But the campus had little to offer on Sunday morning except the silence of undergrads, sleeping off their hangovers.

Finally I bought a paper and camped out on her doorstep. Jantzen would have flipped. He would have taken me off the case in a nanosecond and given her to someone else. I was determined not to let that happen. She was mine and mine only, at least for the rest of the month.

Monday I met her on the grounds of the arboretum, where she was just saying a few opening words to her class. Today was a field trip. She was reminding them to study the trees, not by their leaves, but by their bark and the way they held their branches, because the final exam would be in December.

At this point I should add that the good Dr. Arthur was looking untouchably beautiful today. Her dark blond hair was French braided, and the weave flowed like artisan-carved wood. Under her mottled brown jumper, her high-necked blouse was fire-engine red. Her dress reached below her knees, so the tops of her riding boots could not be seen.

I have no idea what a woman with brains and class would ever want with a boy like me, except of course to service her occasionally; but if that's all I was going to get, carpe diem and all else be damned.

Lisa was not expecting me, but as I approached the herd of students, she did not miss a beat.

"Class," she announced, "I am very pleased to introduce you to Dr. Mark Graham. Dr. Graham is visiting from Nevada, doing some research on his post-doctoral studies. It's an honor to have him."

"Thank you for your kind introduction," I replied. One or two of the twenty-somethings gave me flirty looks and started texting their friends. How anyone could put up with that behavior, I'll never know.

"Cell phones off, please," Lisa reminded them. Apparently she didn't put up with idiocy, either. Still holding their attention, she turned slightly towards me and invited me to deliver a few words on the life cycle of deciduous trees.

"Well let's see how this group is doing. Who can tell me what deciduous means?"

A kid in a knit cap raised his hand. I met his eyes and nodded. "They lose they leaves in da fawl," he drawled.

"Good. And what is it called, when deciduous trees drop their leaves?"

The class could not venture to say, so I helped them out by showing off my recently gleaned knowledge on the subject.

"Abscission," I said, and spelled it so they could write it down. Lisa was watching me, not interfering, just observing. I got the feeling she could stand quietly and observe a volcano, probably considering the thermodynamic relationships as she did so. 

I carried on. "Let's think of some other examples of abscission. Remember losing your baby teeth?"

The students murmured. All of them could relate to that. "What else can you think of?"

One young lady tentatively raised her hand. "Um, a tadpole's tail?"

"Excellent, right. What else."

"Deer." This from a kid who looked as if he'd hunted a few. "They shed their antlers."

"You have a smart group here," I said to Lisa. "And why does abscission take place?"

Five or six hands shot up. I picked one at random. "The part that isn't needed falls off," she chirped.

"Right again. The purpose of the leaf, or the baby tooth, or whatever, is done. And so is mine for the moment, so I'll turn you over to Dr. Arthur now." To her I added, "I want to make some observations in the apple orchard."

"Well done," said the lady. She shook my hand. "See you later."

Pleased with myself, I sauntered toward my car. A few members of the class thanked me and said goodbye. I waved and smiled. The grove in question was less than a mile down the road. A footpath led there, but I needed the time, so I drove around.

Nearly an hour later, my teacher friend came walking through the trees. What a hypocrite I must be! First I set her down about professionalism, then I arrange a romantic rendezvous in a forest.

I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her body against mine; I wanted to kiss her. It wasn't going to happen.

Instead, I took off my blazer and draped it, lining side up, over the apple bough I had picked out. The arms flapped down on either side of the branch. Under the spine of the jacket, about midway between the shoulder blades, was a gnarled, bumpy knot.

Lisa didn't seem angry about my unexpected appearance in her classroom. She greeted me with an approving, if somewhat amused, smile.

"Come here often, Dr. Graham?" she quipped.

"Only in the line of duty," I smirked.

She pointed to my jacket's careful arrangement. "What's this?"

"Your saddle, m'lady," I bowed. "Lift your skirts, please."

"You never fail to surprise me. I thought we weren't going to – "

"We aren't," I reassured her. "It's just that..."

Here I had to pause to regain control. The way she looked up at me, her face only a few inches from mine, made me want to quit my job and just make love to her, then and there. I steadied myself.

"I know it's frustrating for you when I'm working on your breasts. I thought you might like to masturbate while I work."

Never have I seen a woman blush more deeply, but she stammered out her agreement.

"Okay then. Lift your skirts."

"There's just one thing," she said hastily. Her hands fluttered over her crotch, like Eve embarrassed in the Garden. "I'm not wearing any underwear."

"That's okay, I've seen women before."

"Right. Okay, Dr. Graham." She giggled and lifted her dress to her hips.

The sight of those dark blond curls peeping out from the apex of her thighs nearly drove me stark raving. What would it be like to bury my nose in that fragrant grove, scenting and tasting her musk? I would never find out, at least, not today.

With great care I slid my hands up along her naked hips. The wool of her jumper gathered around my wrists. I lifted her the short distance to the low limb, and sat her on my blazer.

"Turn."

She obeyed, straddling the branch.

"Scoot forward."

She did so, and found the horn of the saddle. The look she gave me swelled my head with power. My other head swelled, too. There is nothing like the rush of a woman discovering her own sexual pleasure. Helping Lisa learn to fly was delightful.

I stood beside her and unzipped her blouse and jumper, pulling them forward so they lay in loose folds around her ribs. The bra underneath was Christmas red. She gave me a sultry pout.

"Do you like it?"

"Can't stand it. It'll have to go," and I unhooked the back and slid the straps down her shoulders in record time.

If there is one picture I will always return to in memory, it is this: the sight of this beautiful woman, riding a tree branch, wearing just her boots and a few rumpled clothes around her loins. Lady Godiva never had it so good, and for that matter, neither did I.

I stepped in close beside her. My hips were level with the branch, so it could have been my wood between her thighs. Her breasts were exactly even with my lips. At last I could embrace her, for professional reasons, and I did so.

Her nipple was ambrosia in my mouth. I let my tongue speak directly to her skin about all the things I could not say. My other hand massaged the breast-in-waiting, palming her nipple and squeezing the creamy flesh.

She melted into the moment. With a final hard suck that made her gasp, I switched my attentions to the breast I hadn't pampered in twenty hours or so. My handwork became more insistent, my thumb a little rougher over the protruding tip, and she gasped again.

It might have been the dappled shade of the apples trees that made her shiver, but I choose to think my ministrations were the cause. I felt, rather than saw her body rocking forward as she ground her sex against the burled wood under my jacket. The bough bobbed up and down, and the drying autumn leaves rustled a soft music in time to our rhythm.

Lisa squirmed in my arms, unintelligible bits of words falling from her mouth as my sucking became more strident. I pressed the palms of my hands against her shoulder blades, smashing her chest against my face. I pinched her airborne nipple just a little harder than I thought was necessary, and with a shriek of joy she clasped the back of my head, and came all over my coat.

Of course I could not manually verify that this was so. Would that I could have felt her, probed her slippery valley and curled my fingers toward her g-spot. How sweet it would have been to send her into violent spasms of bliss.

It was hard, damnably hard, to focus on the glass as half full. Here was a beautiful, passionate woman clinging forcefully to my shoulders, her back arched and her breasts high in the air, trembling in the aftermath of what I gave her; yet I wanted more. I wanted all of her, naked in my bed, for hours upon hours as I caressed every sweet inch of her skin. I wanted to kiss the backs of her knees, to dart my tongue into her secret places.

She opened her eyes and caught the hunger in my stare. "Was I too noisy?"

Her blush made me smile. "No, not at all." 

I helped her down, handling her carefully, as though she were fragile. She lifted the red lace cups to cover those amorous mounds and turned her back. Together we dressed her and made her presentable again. The leaf I noticed in the strands of her hair, I left alone. The simple reminder of our passion was pleasing.

As we walked toward my car, she remarked how fortunate it was that no one had interrupted us.

"Don't be silly. Who do you think I work for?"

"Wish Fulfillment," she laughed. "I should have guessed."

As slowly as I could I drove back to the main building. It was awkward not to kiss her goodbye. Instead I lifted my palm in a friendly wave.

"See you tomorrow."



30 Days or Bust: Day 05



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

As it happened I did see Lisa on the morrow as promised, but not the way I intended – not at first.

My sister's daughter, Marie, had just turned eighteen. As a birthday gift, I agreed to go with her to buy a car. Marie thought she was going to be buying her own car; I was along for the ride, so to speak, to help her learn to negotiate the car-buying process.

The fact is, however, my job pays pretty well, and I could easily afford to buy my niece a reasonably nice ride. This was my secret intention: to let her go through the paces, and simply pick up the tab myself.

I took Marie to my regular dealership. The manager saw us coming and popped right out.

"Nice to see you, Mr. Grant," he greeted me.

"Wilson, hello. This is my niece, Marie."

"Hello." She extended her hand and he shook it. My eyes sent him a warning, and it wasn't about making a sale. Marie is undeniably beautiful. With her green eyes, black hair and porcelain skin, she would have bewitched any man.

Being of the male persuasion myself, I have a pretty fair idea what goes through a man's mind when he lays eyes on a lady like that. Wilson got my hands off message loud and clear, but he still had to work to keep his tongue from hanging out.

"Right this way, Miss."

The salesman chattered away and made small talk, asking Marie what kind of vehicle she had in mind. I said very little so that she would have an opportunity to assert herself.

Soon enough she was pointing to a low, sleek number with an excited look on her face. I laughed.

"Not a very practical choice, baby."

It was a looker though, done up in British racing green with a cream leather interior.

"Please?" she pleaded.

Wilson was already opening the driver's side door. Marie was quick to bound into the driver's seat, where she ran her hands over every surface, caressing the machinery like a lover.

She looked up at me, eyes sparkling. "This one! This is the one!"

I held out my hand and helped her out of the car. It was impossible not to smile.

"Anything for my sweetheart," I said, closed my eyes briefly and kissed her forehead.

When I looked up, my feelings of affection for my niece vanished. Shock stunned my veins. Not twenty feet away was Lisa.

I wondered how long she had been standing there, probably within earshot, hearing me call a good-looking woman baby and sweetheart. Our eyes met. Her face twisted in pain, and she turned to go.

"Lisa! Wait!"

Thank god she was not into theatrics. She did wait, and let me catch up with her.

She said nothing, just waited for my explanation.

Gingerly I touched her arm. If this was going to be our first fight, I would soon find out if she would slap me.

"I'm helping my niece buy a car." I gestured back at Marie and Wilson, who were waiting with WTF expressions on their faces.

Lisa looked confused. "That's not your wife?"

I laughed in shaky relief. "I do not have a wife. My sister has a daughter."

"Your niece..." Her words came out slowly, as if she were tasting them.

"I would like you to meet her."

This was a bad idea. You never, never introduce a client to your family. First, they get the idea that they are becoming part of your life. Second, there's always that question relatives love to ask: How did you meet? My family thought I designed fonts for a living, and I sure wasn't going to enlighten them any time soon.

But I did want these women to meet. The thought of a miscommunication with Lisa was unbearable. I practically dragged her over to Marie, where the two regarded one another with keen interest.

It quickly became evident to the professor that Marie was no more than an undergraduate waiting to happen.

"I'm Lisa Arthur. I teach biology over at the university."

"Oh. How do you and Uncle Mark know each other?"

* * *

Ten minutes later I was talking alone with Lisa while the garage worked on her car. Marie was out road-testing the sports car, a nervous Wilson riding shotgun.

"I'm so embarrassed," she confessed. "I know better than to make assumptions. I'm sorry about what I thought..."

"It was an easy mistake to make. Listen, I was going to come by later. Is after dinner okay?"

"Sure." She smiled.

I relaxed. It would be a few minutes yet before the Short One returned from her adventure. Lisa and I made jokes about that 'helping out in the lab' line I came up with.

"I guess we should work on our story."

I side-stepped that. "My family thinks I design fonts for a living."

"What?"

"You know. Typefaces. Serif, sans serif." I doodled on the back of a waiting-room magazine.

"Oh, I see." She traced the designs with one finger.

A little silence settled between us. I wondered what she would think if she knew what I had done with the jacket she rode in the forest yesterday.

All the way home her hot wet cum stain had pressed its kiss into my spine. As soon as I got home I locked the door and stripped. I took that blazer into my bed and buried my nose in her fragrance. I rubbed my face, my lips, against her wet spot. Finally I took it in my mouth, as I wanted to take her sex in my mouth. How sweet it would be to drink from the source.

I stroked myself as I thought about her riding that branch. I remembered the sight of her lamb's-wool, and changed the memory into fantasy, so it was my wood she rode. I could picture my cock sliding into her soft, curling bramble, feel the tight glove of her flesh encasing mine. Since it was fantasy, I would pump into her slowly, prolonging her ecstasy. The truth was I was so hot for her now, it would be hard as hell not to let go too soon.

I spattered directly against the last of her fading bodily fluids, wanting to be as close to her as I possibly could.

"Penny for your thoughts."

I kicked myself. It is lame, to want to be with someone so much, that you don't even hear what they are saying. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 06



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

It amazes me that not quite a week has gone by and Mark is – I don't know how to describe him – still an enigma, yet somehow like an old friend.

A very sexy friend.

The hurt and shock I felt when I saw him with his niece. This really is the part where I need to sober up. Even if it hadn't been his niece, so what? This is what he does for a living. He escorts women. He gets paid to kiss them, caress them, fuck them, and make sure they have a good time.

He is getting paid, even now, to suck my tits and make sure I have a good time.

It is agony.

Heaven knows I would give myself over, body and soul. I am ready. The things that cross my mind these days – foolish. There is no way this can work out, and the smart thing to do would be to stop, forget the contract, just stop everything, and go back to my normal life.

Except my normal life would be so boring now, so stale and empty. I almost feel like a different person. Last week I was a respected scientist, a dignified person, & now I think, kind of tight-assed really. This week I'm just hot & bothered all the time, distracted & sloppy. Christ! There's no comparison. Who wants to go through life never having any fun??

I might as well relive my latest adventure with my stud ... Last night he came over, as promised, and proceeded to send me to my room.

(This right here, to anyone who knows me, would be laughably unbelievable. I do not, especially not for some male, do as I'm told.)

A few minutes later I heard water running in the tub. It was no surprise when my sex therapist knocked on the bedroom door and let me know I should undress.

He didn't have to tell me twice. Eagerly I stripped, not bothering to hang up my clothes, and tugged on a silk kimono.

It seemed like it took too long as I sat on the bed, waiting. I tried not to be too impatient. Finally he knocked and opened the door.

"Ready?"

I smiled and nearly whispered, "Yes." My heart was in my throat as he led me down the hall.

In the bathroom he took my robe and hung it on the back of the door. For the first time I stood completely naked before him. His professional mask slipped for a moment as he looked me up and down.

I stood still, neither embarrassed nor proud, as he took his visual inventory. At last he took my hand and helped me into the tub.

"This might be warm," he warned.

Cautiously I dipped in one foot, and instantly pulled it back. "Ah!"

"Take your time."

He made me think of a riding instructor I'd had as a girl: disciplined, but kind. Gritting my teeth, I put one foot in the water. Mark kept hold of my hand as he knelt.

As I stood with one foot in the tub and one out, he talked me through it.

"Let's get you used to the water. I'm going to help you." He dipped a sponge and lifted it, squeezing it near my knee. The water didn't seem as hot. He looked up at me and smiled.

"How does that feel?"

"Okay."

He doused my leg a few more times, gradually moving higher. It didn't seem to bother him that his face was a few inches from my crotch. Yet I could feel the wind of his breath, breezing softly against my pubic hair. As he spoke, as he breathed, he teased me into ardor.

Partly to move closer, I lifted my other foot into the water. It was hot.

"Good job," he approved. He lifted and squeezed the sponge again, wetting my legs. Again he stopped at mid-thigh. He wasn't holding my hand now, just touching my legs as he worked.

"Ready for the next step?"

I nodded.

He stood and put his hands at my waist. "Kneel down. Don't worry, I've got you."

Carefully I lowered myself, first to one knee, then the other. He sat on the edge of the tub and began fondling my breasts. His boldness took my breath.

"I think your nipples are swollen," he observed softly.

"Yes," I choked. He lifted the weight of my bosom in his hands. Almost clinically he inspected each nipple and stroked it with his fingers. Then he took one aureole in his mouth.

I let out a little gasp and he withdrew. "Did that hurt?"

"No." I shook my head.

He tended my anxious glands with his hands and his tongue, gently squeezing my mounds and sucking my nipples, not too hard.

With one hand I held the back of his head and with the other I clung to his shoulder. Mark seemed in no hurry. On and on he tended me as I moaned, arching my back to thrust my tits more deeply into his mouth. He gnawed a little, nipped a little.

I could feel my girl-juice running down my inner thigh.

At last it was too uncomfortable to kneel on the marble. I shifted my position. He pulled away with a sucking noise and again laid his hands to my waist.

"Time to sit down."

It wasn't physically difficult to maneuver, but the hot water seared into the crevice between my legs. The hot wet pain made its own pleasure.

"Open your legs. All the way now, come on."

When I obeyed, Mark took my hand. He laid his middle finger on top of mine and guided it to my pussy. Then he curled his finger, so I probed at my entrance.

When he was sure of my masturbation, he leaned me back against the tub pillow and started soaping my breasts. It was shamelessly hedonistic, and I reveled in it.

He looked pleased with himself as he worked up a lather and played with me. I wiggled and moaned, enjoying the attention.

It was impossible not to notice the iron bar in his sweatpants. He saw me looking and gave a little smile.

"Hands to yourself, Dr. Arthur."

"That's what I'm doing, Mr. Goodbody," I sulked, and penetrated myself as deeply as I could. I thrust my hips.

It was my turn to smirk with satisfaction. He was gazing down through the water, watching as I finger-fucked myself. My curls moved like seaweed. I used both hands to pry apart my labia, then pushed back my hair.

I have never so wantonly exposed myself to a man. I discovered I liked it. The color in his face, his lips slightly parted, the sound of his breathing rewarded me. His hands were spread wide over my breasts; I could feel my points pressing into his palms.

Our eyes met for one hot moment. He licked his lips and said, "Come for me, Lisa."

His hunger was my command. He pushed a few bubbles out of the way to get a clear view. I circled my clitoris faster and faster. My mind whirled too, a maple seed in the wind, as he squeezed my breasts almost too hard.

I cried out, twisting in orgasm. My body let fly a small milky cloud. Instantly Mark scooped it up, or tried to. He let my cum wash through his fingers, and slowly rinsed me off.

As he helped me from the tub and wrapped me in a giant towel, he was again the perfect gentleman. We didn't hug, or kiss, though god knows how much I wanted to. It would have been nice if he had so much as dried me off.

But it isn't his job to do that. His only mission where I'm concerned is to train my breasts to give up their milk.

I pull myself back to the lessons of gratitude – to be grateful for what I have, rather than focus on what I don't. I'm cuddled now in a soft terry robe. I think I'll sleep well tonight. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 07



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Life as a sex worker, even a very well-paid one, is less than Joe Average might think. Fucking women, day in, day out, might seem like a fun way to earn a living.

The truth is it has its drawbacks. Ever kiss someone with bad breath? Have sex with someone when they're too drunk to fully realize what's happening? Welcome to the party.

Then there are the ones whom you just don't like – people who are callous, snobby, rude, or whatever. I get paid to make their sexual fantasies come true, and for the right price, I do it. There are some wealthy regulars. They're lonely for a reason.

Everyone says it's easier for women to fake passion, and that's true. A little lube and you're all set. Not so for me. And it's harder to get hard when you've pretty much seen it all. Sex is the epitome of pleasure for most people. It can still get repetitive.

I mulled these thoughts and still had to admit, this job was different. Lisa was different.

I like her. It's hard for me to find a habit she has that disgusts me or turns me off. She's clean and doesn't exterminate her skin in a gaseous cloud of perfume. She's classy, but not gaudy. And dear lord, most of all, she has a mind.

It all seems tied together with her. I don't quite get why she has this thing for trees, but the passion she has for her work, and the careful way she goes about it, makes an impression on me.

There is something about why she wants to do this thing – to lactate – that makes her different from the average client. Most women, I take them out to dinner, we go back to their house, we fuck. Or I'm a stud on their arm at a big corporate party, or something. Despite my company's reputation, I haven't really come across much that is unique. Basically, most clients want to feel pampered and get laid.

But Lisa – Lisa. My job this time actually makes me hard. My job is to find her every day, wherever she is, walk up to her and suck her tits. Jesus. One erection after another, gone to waste at the hand of man.

Take today, for example. I knew she was at a fancy luncheon. All I had to do was park myself discreetly at the end of the bar and wait until she went to the ladies' room.

The hotel has a contract with Wish; trust me, such a thing is not uncommon. They've seen me follow a lady in there before and they all know – or think they know – what I'm doing in there.

I leaned against the marble vanity, listening to her tinkle and flush. She seemed only a little surprised to see me.

While she washed her hands, I stood behind her and unbuttoned her blouse, watching in the mirror as her face flushed and her brassiere came into view. I kept my face impassive and handed her a towel.

Before she was quite done drying her hands, I had her up on the sink and my lips on her skin. It was a minor violation to lay a soft kiss, just below her collarbone. I'm not supposed to be making love to her, just milking her.

This was easy to forget. She parted her knees for me to step in closer and I finished unbuttoning her blouse.

Today's bra was a scrolling emerald green with stretchy, seamless cups. Her soft breasts seemed to look up at me, nipples beseeching my attention like a child begging for one more good-night story.

My own cheeks were hot as I laid my mouth to her peak, saturating the cup of her bra all the way to her tender skin. I moved my head back for a moment to admire the round wet spot. Soon, with any luck, this would be her milk, and I would be drinking.

Lisa's eyes were closed and her head was thrown back, her legs even wider apart. It would have been more than nice to put my hand on her crotch and feel her arousal. Countless women I had laid in this very spot, all of them moaning and enjoying the illicit thrill of a hundred people just outside the door. I barely restrained myself from thrusting my hardness against this woman, the one that I wanted and simply could not have.

Her hands gripped my shoulders as I lifted that sweet breast from its cradle. I breathed, hot and damp, onto her nipple and she shifted forward with a whimper.

"Please..."

I devoured her then, sucking her almost violently, squeezing and massaging her other breast. Lightly at first, then with increasing ferocity, I pinched her nipple as she squirmed in my arms.

Her heat was obvious. I very nearly lost it when she sank her hands into my hair and pulled my head closer. My mouth made a sucking noise as I dragged it from one breast to the other. Lisa whined again and twisted her body.

Which of us ached more for orgasm, I don't know. But it was at that moment that I decided to go shopping for the good doctor. I'm going to choose something my size, and see if she likes it.

I lifted my head away from her body.

"Put your hand between your legs," I ordered.

She did so. "Mark – " Her voice cracked as she said my name.

"Take yourself, Lisa. Come for me."

Her cheeks turned even redder as she unzipped her dress pants and gave herself a hand. Her body vibrated as I returned to work, sucking and lightly biting at her delicate skin.

I gripped her waist, sucking her breasts in faster succession, squeezing them in my hands. She trembled.

I pulled away and her eyes opened. While she was looking in my eyes, I pinched both nipples simultaneously. The shock of it did the trick.

"Tchagh!" flew from her mouth. Her body bucked like a wild thing. I could almost feel myself inside her, feel those vaginal muscles wrenching against my aching cock.

"Lisa," I groaned.

She collapsed, shaking like a sprinter after running a tough heat. I let her forehead rest on my shoulder while she recovered.

Very carefully, I touched her shoulders. My hands slid down a little ways. She responded by rubbing her cheek against my shirt. I wanted so much to embrace her then, to kiss her neck, her face, her ears, and most especially that wise mouth of hers.

But I pulled away, helped her get dressed, and sent her back to lunch. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 08



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

I was dreaming about Lisa. We were in the ladies' room, but this time it was different. She was naked from the waist down and bending forward over the marble sink. I was inspecting her beautiful bottom.

In the dream, there were no limits. I could make love to her as I pleased.

I placed my hands on that magical pair of curves, the place just below her midriff where the hips begin their lovely swell. I have always loved that part of a woman.

I rubbed her ass, simply enjoying the feel of skin on skin, and she murmured her pleasure. Then I knelt and guided her feet to shoulder width apart.

It was then that I saw she had shaved only the very bottom of her pubic hair. A sweeter pear would be hard to imagine. I drank in the sight of her plump, pink labia and steamed my breath upon the delicate flesh. Lisa moaned and wiggled again. As she did so I could see her lips slide around, obviously lubricated and becoming more so.

It had been my intention to kiss the backs of her thighs and knees, to lick her inner thighs and tease her on my way back north. I forced myself to do this, peeking often at her treasure and enjoying her soft groans. She said my name and begged me to kiss her there. She spread her legs wider.

Soon enough I lifted my face to her womanhood.  I held her ass cheeks apart and poked my tongue in her ass, which made her jump and giggle. Then I got down to business.

Lisa, my Lisa. A more beautiful shaven pussy I have never beheld. Deliberately I dragged my tongue along one full pouting lip. My nose was right up against her, getting wet with her juices and dizzy with her scent.

I nibbled; she gasped and got wetter. I could not resist, at this time, dipping my tongue in her sweet little honey pot.  That's what it is there for, after all. Right away I could tell she'd been eating a lot of fruit. She was as sweet as she was sticky.

The other lip deserved attention, too. I licked its full length, as far as I could, breathing hotly against her sex the whole time. Then I rolled that succulent flesh in my mouth. Lisa wiggled her ass, sending me her signals of pleasure and urging me to continue.

Finally I held her apart with my thumbs and moved into full-out oral attack. This was the tongue-lashing she richly deserved. She fell forward into the sink and spread her legs as wide as she could. I ate her until I couldn't breathe any more, slurping in the girl-juice she sent my way, and lastly wiped my face on one velvety cheek.

I had to feel her. There are so many ways to finger a woman, and I didn't know yet her favorite touch. This was a joy, not a concern, because I looked forward to showing her everything I knew. My middle finger got the honor of becoming my first Lisa-naut. Her groan was deep and loud. I curled my finger, stroking her inner walls.

Just as her cum was raining in my hand, she opened her mouth again, but instead of animal cries of orgasm, I heard a brass gong sounding.

The disorientation only lasted a moment. I smacked the alarm, not too hard, and stared up at the ceiling.

At the same time, the phone rang. I answered it with a growl. It was my boss, Jantzen.

"Just checking."

"Checking what?" My voice was still gruff.

"Making sure you aren't spending the night with Lisa Arthur."

I sighed loudly. "I'm a professional, Leo."

"Good. You're taking Doris Perkins to an art show tonight."

"You said the Arthur case was dedicated. I'm not supposed to have any other clients this month."

"Mark, in a perfect world, it would be. But Shaun has a cold and Tyré is on vacation. It's your turn to take a hit for the team."

"All right, all right," I grumbled. "What time."

"Pick her up at six. Her Wish is the same as ever."

* * *

Doris Perkins was a widow with a shrewd mind for business. Under her insightful, if sometimes brutal control, her late husband's fortune had flourished. She was, in a way, a Godmother, but not the sweet fairy kind. More like the kind who would make you an offer you couldn't refuse.

A fixture in the tony circuit, she was constantly surrounded by people, and yet I have never met someone so alone. Her trust levels tended toward the negative end of the scale, and she expressed herself through facts rather than emotions.

I felt sorry for her.

The guard had my name on his list, so I was ushered through the gates of the Perkins manse with no trouble. A short distance on, a valet took my car, and a modest limo drove me to the palatial front doors.

"Mr. Goodbody." The butler gave me a nod of approval. He had a fetish for all things on time. "Madame will be down in a moment."

"DAHH-ling!" Doris flounced down the winding staircase and held out her hand for me to kiss. I did so, then turned up her palm and traced her lifeline with my tongue.

Doris was pleased. "Naughty boy," she smiled. The folds flexed around her beetle-black eyes, but thanks to Botox, not by much.

Every time I saw this woman, I wondered if in another life she would have been a kindly grandmother. Without the excess makeup and overdyed hair, without the too-white teeth and artificially wrinkle-free skin, she might have looked ordinary, even approachable. But what stood before me was a caricature of sorts, a bad joke of a human. I had to wonder if she really liked herself.

We swept into her limousine and headed downtown. This was always the most awkward part of my date with her, for we really had no interest in one another's affairs. I told her how lovely she looked, and she preened, accepting her due. We made small talk until the grand entrance.

Then things became much easier. I was her boytoy, charming and attentive, fetching her drinks and occasionally caressing her when someone was looking. People crowded near, hoping to gain her favor in this life and the next; for surely a nod in the Perkins will would be in the form of six figures or more.

I followed her into the ladies' room. She chose a private chamber within, and lay back on the velvet fainting couch.

"Vultures, aren't they."

Her flat, rasping pronouncement surprised me. I looked up from massaging her feet.

"The patrons of the arts?"

"No, no. All of them out there. They hover around, waiting for me to die, pecking at me even now. They want my money," and she said it like it was a dirty word.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. This was just as well. Doris seemed to be in a ranting mood. I continued to tend her feet, slowly and thoroughly, as she spoke.

"...bowing and scraping, they make me sick. Fakes, all of them. Not you, though," she went on. "You never pretend you love me. I always get an honest night's work out of you. What's your name, anyway?"

"Mark," I reminded her. I had serviced the lady a handful of times. Maybe she had so many servants, for so many things, she couldn't keep track – or didn't bother to.

"Mark," she reflected.

Doris leaned back and sipped her drink. She nodded to herself, as if she had come to some sort of conclusion. A faint humming sigh escaped her lips. 

By now I had reached her knees. Doris adjusted her skirts. The rustle of satin might have been the opening bell of the Merc.

Her lacy crotchless panties were in full view. The grand dame lifted her knees, anticipating the moment of glory.

With a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she commanded me to get on my knees and lick her pussy. I slid my hands under her arse and got to work.

Unbidden, the dream of Lisa floated into my mind. I forgot all about Doris Perkins, her money and her vultures, and made love to my woman. Smokers don't taste so good, but you know, mind over matter. I ignored this minor distraction and kissed her anyway.

Shamelessly I laid wet French kisses between the lace parentheses. The passionate assault made Doris slam her drink on the little side table. Something fell. I didn't stop. I went for the kill. Soon enough she quivered and shouted.

Delicately I teased the bud of her clitoris with just my tongue, but she pushed me away from her swollen button.

"Too sensitive." My employer was breathing hard. "My god. Who is she?"

I picked up her handbag where it had fallen, and gave it to her. I didn't tell, and she didn't ask again. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 09



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Madam Perkins' Wish, as ever, was to appear in public looking as if she had just had sex on the premises. She was so flushed and rumpled as we left the ladies' room that she definitely got her heart's desire, and I very nearly thought she was going to ask me into her home. But no; she merely pressed a nice bit of cash into my hand, as if I had been a good waiter or hairdresser, and with a final smile, bid me good-night.

I was longing to see Lisa, or even call her on the phone. But the deal spelled out one contact per day, so tomorrow would have to do.

There was one thing I could do to cheer myself up: shop for her present. I logged on to Blowfish. Surely there would be something elegant for my scientist, something both aesthetically appealing yet primally satisfying. Me! I thought with a smirk. But obviously, I couldn't tie a red bow around my own cock and present it, so I shopped for something as similar as possible.

It was pretty late before I got to bed. In the morning I slipped over to the local sex shop, my mind full of ideas. Usually browsing the toys was amusing because of the people. There are the novices, who look permanently embarrassed, and plainly hope they won't be seen in such a place. Then there are the pros like myself who might as well be buying a phone. You want one that does this, or has that feature, or comes in blue. Smirk.

The proprietor was an old friend. "Hi, Danielle," I greeted her.

She brightened and stepped over. "Looking for something special?"

"Something for a lady, yet something to set her passion free."

Danielle quirked her brows. "She must be special."

I nodded solemnly. "She is."

Together we picked out a nice, firm replica of man-meat and Dani took it up front to wrap. At the last minute I pointed to a package of assorted condoms in the display case.

"Throw those in, too, please." I had no idea whether Lisa enjoyed different textures, but it would be fun to introduce her to some new pleasures.

Danielle tied the bow with a flourish and zinged my credit card. "You want a bag for that?"

"Please."

Now I had a brown paper bag with rope handles. This was much more my style. I prefer not to attract attention. Though there are occasional exceptions, in general, it's better for the profession.

My expectations fell the moment I walked in the door of her lab. Lisa didn't seem angry or even displeased, she was just -- different somehow.

"Oh, hi." She looked up from her microscope and waved at a row of stools. "Have a seat."

I settled the bag on the floor and my butt on the perch. Heaven only knows how many students had occupied this very chair, peering at some tiny specks and making sense out of them, or at least trying to.

Lisa ignored me. She stared through the twin lenses, then scratched something in a notebook. The intensity of her concentration was palpable. Two or three times she looked long and hard at her work, taking notes of some kind in between each visual inspection. I thought perhaps the answer to World Peace lay there and it was her job to decipher it.

A leaf or branch of some kind lay on the table beside her. It was kind of like a pine, only the needles were greener and softer-looking. Perhaps this was what all the fuss was about.

Maybe this wasn't a good time. I cleared my throat and was about to say as much when she finally looked up and slapped her notebook shut.

"Come on." She jerked her head toward the door. "There's a couch in my office."

I trailed in her wake, still curious about this new Lisa. She led the way across the hall and into her private sanctum.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Uh-oh, here we go, I thought. The classic exchange let me know I had stepped in something soft. Now my job was not to sexually satisfy this woman, but to find out what was wrong, and how bad it was. Correction: how bad it was to her. Perception is reality.

Every man alive knows that when a woman says nothing is wrong, he must proceed very, very carefully, or suffer arctic consequences. Ten times out of ten, she wants to talk about it. She just wants to know first that she has your complete attention and respect.

Lisa sat beside me on the worn loveseat and started unbuttoning her blouse. She looked kind of pale and really, almost ready to cry.

Gently I closed one hand over hers.

"You can tell me. What is it?" I kept my voice easy and neutral, in no way patronizing.

She stopped undressing, but fretted and looked worried. "It will ruin the methodology if we don't."

By now I had a pretty good clue. "Are you hurting?"

She gave a mournful nod. "Yes."

"Will you let me look?"

Another nod. Her hands fell away from the half-open shirt. With absolute care, I undid one more button, and unclasped her bra. I kept my movements slow, reassuring this nervous filly. The oyster halves came apart and I pushed them aside.

"You're swollen. When did you start?"

"This morning after breakfast." She looked so unhappy.

I palmed the puffy nipples. "Does this hurt?"

"No. But I'm sore, and if you suck me I'm afraid it will hurt, but if you don't, then it won't be every day, and it might not work, and I don't want to screw this up. Do you see what I mean?"

I nodded, knowing her mental entanglement was to some degree the result of chemical imbalance. People make jokes about what women are like when they're menstruating. The compassionate truth is that it must be hellish, to be biologically seized every 28 days. I can only imagine it's like getting high against one's will.

I looked for a way to lead her out of the darkness. For the moment I wrapped her clothes around her chest.

"There are a couple of options, you know."

Her eyes searched my face. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, one thing we could do is I could suck you very gently. That would keep the daily continuity."

Lisa digested this notion. "And the other choice?"

"We could skip it" -- she winced -- "and I promise I'll work with you for as long as it takes, even after the month is over."

My last words made her face light up, as if I'd promised a pony ride to a child.

"Really? You would do that for me?"

"I know this is important to you."

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes. "Thank you so much." Her voice was nearly a whisper. She leaned back on the loveseat, inadvertently showing off her feminine profile.

It's true I cared very much about her feelings and what she was going through. It's also true that the sight of her lifted, half-naked bosom was causing a swelling in my pants. She had lovely breasts, beautifully proportionate to her figure, and I very much wanted to lick those cones.

For a moment I went away to fantasy land, picturing Lisa straddling me as I sat on the couch. She would impale herself on my raging cock, her hands around the back of my neck, and I would look up at the sweet tableau of her breasts, her hazel eyes ... she would kiss me ... 

Her eyes snapped open. "Okay. Go easy on me."

My promise was solemn. I finished unbuttoning the smooth shirt and met her eyes. She seemed a bit more relaxed now, a bit more like herself.

I bent my head and kissed one nipple. This generated no complaints, so I opened my mouth and laved her with my tongue. Good so far. I barely sucked her at all, mostly just probing my tongue against the rose-petal skin.

"Mmm," she murmured. "Do the other one, please."

With pleasure. I shifted my attention to the other peak. Twisting my head this way and that, again I barely gave suck, letting my tongue do most of the work. I swirled my tongue around her tender nipple, offering sexual comfort.

Lisa dug her hands into my hair and whimpered. It was the sound of a woman in pleasure and pain at the same time. A man has to learn how to please his woman at this time, and the only way to learn is through trial and error, because each woman is different.

I gave a little nip with my teeth.

Her body arced and stiffened. "Ah!"

I pulled back. "Was that too hard?"

"No, yes," she said, and petted my forehead. She smiled at me. Her eyes crinkled up at the corners and I thought how she would be so beautiful when she was forty, fifty ... it was the way her eyes twinkled when she was happy.

I smiled back. "Good," I answered, and went back to work. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 10



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

If it hadn't been for Malavika, my trusty graduate assistant, I might not have noticed the package at all -- or not for several days, maybe. We were cleaning up in the lab, prepping for the next day's classes, when she spoke.

"Dr. Art'eur? C'est une package, est-il le vôtre?"

I looked up in momentary confusion. Mali was holding a plain brown bag by its rope handles. A faint memory rang -- Mark, coming in the door -- holding just such a bag -- I hadn't given him a chance --

"Oh yes. Just leave it, Mali, I'll get it." I smiled at the young Indian woman. Her work ethic was impeccable, so much better than that of most American students. She did not share their sense of entitlement!

Malavika dipped her head in a light bow and put the bundle on the bench. Hopefully she would not notice the faint blush in my cheeks. If she did, protocol would prohibit her from ever saying anything, to me or anyone else.

She finished her chores and looked around. "If t'ere is not'ing else, ma'am?"

"All done, Mali. See you tomorrow."

Again the mild bow, and my GA left.

I was burning to open the package, but my discipline held. The delayed reward was far greater.

After locking the door, I took off my shirt as I had every day for two weeks, and dragged the digital scale to the edge of the counter. One at a time I weighed my breasts and made notes accordingly in the password-protected file.

There was some gain. I had to consider it might be a consequence of my cycle. It might or might not be the result of my consort's attentions.

Measuring was next. I bent at the waist and laid my ear against the counter, so my breasts hung straight down. Carefully, as objectively as possible, I ran the tape from armpit to breastbone, checking the respective horizons. Again I noted a slight increase.

Sighing, I put the tools away and fastened the clasp. Then I reached inside the cups to adjust my nipples. They were sensitive, tender to the touch, and the thought of Mark crossed my mind. He never really left my thoughts these days.

I cringed at the thought of him in someone else's arms, yet I knew this was his job. It blew my mind. Of course prostitutes exist, but I'd never actually met one, much less hired one. How could I reconcile images from the movies with the man I knew?

And, I had to admit, was falling in love with. Impossible -- impossible. Yet here he was, a perfect vision, smart and sexy and somehow -- ethical. I could not yet add up all the pieces.

Musing about this mysterious man, I palmed my breasts and closed my eyes. I replayed those moments in my office. If it weren't for the contract, things might have played out differently. I imagined him very gently inserting one finger between my sore labia, brushing a knuckle against my clit. My breath would rise in a tortured intake as he tempered my entrance. Could I take him in now? Maybe. He seemed to know an awful lot about women.

My breath caught, remembering that brief bite at my nipple. Wetness blossomed between my legs. I squeezed my breasts a little harder and moaned his name.

My eyes drifted open and the plain brown package came into view. Even walking toward it was an experience in fascination. What could it be? Something jangled along my spine. I tucked the gift carefully into my backpack and made a quickstep to my car.

This was no time to be reckless, but I could not help speeding a little on the way home. A close call at an intersection sobered me up. Careful, be careful, I warned myself.

But I didn't want to be careful any more. I had been careful and disciplined all my life, inside the classroom and out. This was my adventure, all mine, and I meant to enjoy it while it lasted.

I zipped home and whipped out the package. Inside the bag was a box wrapped in brightly colored paper. The design was like an abstract silk necktie. I fondled it and feathered the bow beneath my hand. One word was on the tag: "Lisa."

At the last minute, I couldn't untie it carefully. I ripped open the beautiful box with a flourish.

What was inside made my jaw drop. It was a penis! Or, at least, a reasonable facsimile of one. Involuntarily I let out a gurgle of surprise. I simply couldn't believe it. There was a little box of condoms, too.

Thankfully the clamshell wasn't the bulletproof kind. As my fingers came into contact with the skin-like appendage, a strange feeling swept over me. It was weird, but I almost felt as if I were touching Mark himself.

I bowed my head and nuzzled the phallus against my cheek, then brushed my lips over the ridge and the tip. Somehow I knew that he had given me a gift resembling himself. I shook my head. There was no evidence to back this up. I felt certain anyway.

"Hello," I murmured.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to go to bed early. I laid the thing on the bedspread and took off my clothes, fantasizing that Mark was watching me undress. Maybe his ghost was in the room; maybe he was thinking of me right about then.

Time lost its relevance. I slid between the sheets and pulled the toy into my arms. My kisses were slow at first. I explored every inch of Mark's cock, taking my time and nosing my way slowly down to the orbs at the base.

I gravitated to a face-down position and started licking the mushroom's edge. All I could think of was Mark, the way he looked, the way he smelled. His aura made me think of a grove of pines: clean, masculine, authentic. I liked the way he always seemed like a horseman, relaxed in the saddle. Instinctively I knew that this was the way he would mount me: in control and yet working with me, drawing me out completely.

My mouth was now full of cock. I hummed against it, lifting and plunging my lips up and down. How deep was my desire to give him pleasure! Yet I wanted more; I needed to feel him inside me.

By the second day of my cycle, the pain was typically fading into the twilight. This time I barely felt it; desire was my master. I lay on my back, naked as the day I was born, my knees high and wide.

Slowly I nudged the phallus into my wet, sticky crevice. My body was salivating for this first touch. Spontaneously I clenched and moaned at the probe. It was exquisite. With one hand I gripped my lover's cock and guided it slowly in.

With other lovers, at this moment, I had thought of biology. Abstract questions about why the universe was set up the way it was would wander across my mind. Why were there so many nerve endings down there, driving humans into madness? I used to be in awe of the magnificent design, its relentless determination that life would continue.

Such coherent thoughts were ragged and rapidly falling apart now. I could only think of Mark, confident that somewhere in this town, sometime today, he was masturbating and thinking of me. He was thinking about my hands stroking him, my mouth praising his sex. It was all feeling. I became the awe; I became the wonder.

I pushed the head and watched as my body swallowed it. That flared edge felt so delightful as it moved in. I pulled it out and pushed a little further, causing another flush of magic goosebumps. Out and in. In and out.

"Oh, Mark, fuck me," I breathed. "Mark..."

"Lisa."

I opened my eyes in shock. He stood there, framed in the bedroom doorway. His eyes swept over me, taking in the details: my flushed cheeks, my legs wide open. I had one hand on my breast. The other was clenched around the base of the toy where I worked it on my sex.

Caught, I froze for a moment. Then I looked him in the eye, parted my lips, and continued to fuck myself as he watched. I made sure he could see everything. The only sounds were our breathing, the wet sticky sounds of my pleasure, and a bird singing outside my window.

Mark nodded his approval and came to sit on the bed beside me. I paused my actions.

"Don't stop. There's no need to stop," he said. He put his hands on my shoulders and dipped his head to my breast. "Don't stop," he murmured once more, and the now-familiar tongue traced the edge of my aureoles. He whipped my nipples with the tip of his tongue. I groaned and squirmed.

"Please suck me," I begged.

His answer was oral, but not verbal. I was delirious with desire. The moment stretched out and collapsed at the same time. I masturbated furiously, shamelessly calling the name of the man who was right next to me, so close and yet so far away.

The frustration was agonizing. I wanted to feel his hands all over my body, not just my breasts. I wanted his tongue in my mouth, in my honeyjar, everywhere. Goddammit I wanted to make love to him.

The next time he came up for air, I put a hand on his collarbone.

"There's another way you could help my breasts."

He looked faintly amused. "Oh yeah, what's that?"

"You could donate some homemade lotion." I quirked my brows.

He gave a thoughtful nod. "Of course. If you're swollen, your skin needs extra care."

"Very special care."

I could hardly believe it when he stood up and started peeling. Technically it wasn't necessary for the shirt to go, too, but I made no complaints.

We had rounded another curve -- this one potentially dangerous. Mark was as naked as I was now, and damn, he was fine. Occupational hazard, I suppose. I'd seen the pictures in his file, but nothing matched living color.

"How about some inspiration?" he wisecracked. Then his grin faded slightly. "Touch yourself, Lisa. Show me."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I slid the head of the phallus between my labia and tickled the tip against my clit. Instinctively I bucked my pelvic bone, wanting penetration. I gave it to myself.

All the while, Mark handled himself. His eyes smoldered with lust.

"Try it this way." He gripped my hand and tilted the base of the toy, so the head stroked my inner walls. A sharp spike of pleasure pulsed in my sex. Orgasm played its centrifugal force through my limbs. I jumped, bumping into his hand where it lay between my thighs.

He pumped his handle faster. "Yes, Lisa, yes!"

At the last moment I pulled out the dripping cock and placed it in my mouth. I looked in his eyes while I sucked on it. He groaned.

"God that's hot ... ohhhh..."

His cream spurted. Hastily I held up my bosom to catch it. He looked into my face as he came all over my breasts.

When he was done, he fell silent, and simply rubbed his sperm into my skin. I lay back on my elbows, enjoying the rare massage. You can't get this at a fancy spa, I thought.

Suddenly I was tired. It was a good tired, the kind that follows satisfaction. Mark kissed the tips of my nipples to cap off the generous rub-down.

"You sleepy?" he asked.

"Kinda." I was a little embarrassed. I let my head drop back against the pillow, wanting him to curl up with me, knowing that wasn't going to happen.

Gently he touched my face. "Go ahead and take a nap. I'll lock up."

I trusted he would. Suddenly I let go of my yearning. A clarity came over me: our relationship was what it was. It was obvious we wanted each other. I felt like everything would work itself out.

When I woke up, he was gone. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 11



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

My interlude with Lisa was almost too intense. I didn't know how much longer I could resist the urge to make love to her properly, then spoon with her, touching my lips to her neck as she fell asleep.

At home in the shower I could not stop fantasizing about spending the night with her. I thought about how it would feel to find my mast rising between her cheeks, to wrap her tightly in my arms and feel around down there. Her groin would be sticky with my cum. She would be slick and hot and wanting me inside her again. I would take her, grasping her breasts and giving her the hard, satisfying fuck we both needed.

The gift had been, I thought, out of a sort of compassion. Since penetration was not in the contract, I figured to arrange a sort of mercy orgasm for the lady.

What I didn't realize at the time, I swear I didn't, was that all along I had been picturing her using it. When I walked in the door and saw the staff in her hand, -- saw her pushing it into herself -- god I almost passed out. I stared in fascination at the action. Here was this nice, brainy scientist, wantonly fucking herself in front of me.

I had a hard-on in the shower. Jacking off was getting to be tiresome, but something had to be done. I couldn't exactly go the grocery in this condition.

"Persistent, aren't you," I spoke to my appendage, and reached for the liquid soap.

It was easy to picture Lisa, a hundred different ways. In her lab, in her office. Raking leaves in the yard, her nipples protruding through a thin black t-shirt. Riding the bough in the apple orchard. Spilling her cum on the lining of my jacket. I had cuddled that jacket all night, smelling her.

It didn't take long. I rinsed off, dressed, and got ready to go to work. I don't mean a job. I mean, to the office. I was now one-third of the way through the Arthur contract, and due to check in.

Although I couldn't think of a particular reason why I should have an office, especially one with a desk instead of a bed, that was the way Leo Jantzen wanted it. He liked things to be professional.

There was nothing gaudy or sleazy in the lobby. A visitor might notice that all of the oil paintings, though tasteful and clearly expensive, featured nudes. Other than that the room was simple and modern.

Behind the receptionist's desk, Maria wore a grey double-breasted suit. A hint of white camisole reposed at the neckline of her jacket. Her dark hair was neatly tied back in a bun. She looked clean and professional -- no, impeccable. Just a touch of make-up accented her face.

We greeted one another and I passed through to the vestibule of Leo's office. It was the other half of the figure-eight shaped room; Maria swung around on her chair and invited me to have a seat.

"He's with a client right now, Mark."

"Thanks."

I wasn't the only one waiting. Across from me, by the window, a young woman leafed through the stable. The stable was a sort of coffee table book, except it was filled with photographs and text about the goods available at Wish. It lay open on a pedestal, like a dictionary.

My picture was in that book.

The young woman's profile was not strikingly beautiful, but pleasant. Despite her micro-mini and tiny halter top, she exuded an aura of shyness. Her skin was a clear dark color, like cocoa beans under caramel. Her calves were well-developed, so I guessed her sport as track ... or gymnastics, maybe. Her biceps weren't bad.

Now she looked at the book, glanced at me, looked at the book again, and looked back up at me. Yep -- she had found my profile. It didn't make me blush, this was what I did for a living, but she seemed to pink up a bit.

"So you like basketball, boy." She perched on the sofa beside me.

I nodded.

"Mind if I check your arm?"

Obligingly I pushed up the sleeve of my tee shirt. It has never bothered me to let a pretty girl pet my muscles.

"Hmmm..." She looked me over.

I smiled at her. "I'm sorry I'm not available right now."

"But you're in the book!" She wiggled, and the halter top struggled to keep her perky boobs reined in.

I made a sorry-about-that face and explained, "I'm on a long-term assignment right now."

"Oh." Little Miss was disappointed and I sought to cheer her up.

"There are lots of nice men here, you know. What's your name?"

"Nakita." The timbre of her voice held some kind of accent, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Nakita, I'm Mark." We shook hands. "Where are you from?"

"Jamaica, boy, of course. Can't you tell?"

The door to Leo's private office opened, sparing me further small talk. Behind my boss towered a hulk of a man. He was very dark-skinned and handsome enough to be my co-worker. Nakita's features looked like his.

He said her name and made a sharp gesture. The girl smiled at me and rose in one fluid motion. She fluttered her fingers in a cute wave and swayed her bottom at me as she walked away. If she was wearing so much as a thong under that tiny excuse for a skirt, I sure couldn't tell.

Idly I wondered what these clients had in mind, but they didn't hold my attention for long. Again, most people think their fantasies are unique. But it pretty much always boils down to basic fucking. Rarely had I met a woman who truly aroused me.

This made me think of Lisa, of course, and I pretended to read a magazine while I thought about what I would say to my boss. Various professional phrases floated through my mind.

At Wish Fulfillment, we really do try to respect our clients. It's highly unlikely my report would be, "This one is a great lay." Instead my boss might hear, "Her Wish was granted as described and she seemed satisfied with the services provided."

Lisa's Wish had not yet been fulfilled, but I could truthfully say she appeared to be satisfied with the progress. "Her responses to the treatment are encouraging." This would sound good.

The conference in Leo's office grew louder as the door opened. Nakita and her father (big brother?) were smiling and their voices sounded happy. The tall man winked at me and the girl gave a shy little giggle.

This was not good.

"Come on in, Mark," said Leo. The way he said it gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

One of the most important skills of the trade has nothing to do with sex. The ability to mask one's feelings comes in handy, too. I kept my face polite and joined the little group.

With a jerk of his head, the big man directed Nakita to wait outside. Smiling, she trailed her fingertips over my shoulder as she passed. I barely suppressed a shudder. Something seemed really wrong here.

The door closed like a bank vault swinging shut. Leo relaxed behind his desk while the stranger and I took the two clients' chairs. I kept my mouth shut, and waited.

Leo addressed the customer first. "Mr. Clarke, I'd like you to meet Mark Goodbody. Mark, this is Mr. Morgan Clarke."

"How do you do." I shook his hand.

My dossier was on Leo's desk -- another bad sign. There was a lot more in it than a snapshot and a few sentences. This was the file that got pulled when one of the ranks was under serious consideration for a job.

Within the past month, Lisa had looked at my file. The video disc inside showed me being interviewed, working out, and posing in the nude, among other things. Some people want to meet ahead of time, some don't. Some take a thrill in having sex with a stranger -- it ruins the effect to have a cup of coffee first. I had not asked Lisa about her decision.

Lisa -- what would I tell her? I was clearly under consideration for whatever the Clarke family had in mind.

"Mr. Goodbody, I would like to clear up a few things," Clarke rumbled.

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"It's not a problem -- " Leo started, but Clarke pushed a palm in his direction, cutting him off.

The big man faced me. "Nakita tells me you are otherwise occupied."

"I am currently on a long-term assignment." I spoke carefully, not wanting to cause offense, yet keenly interested in avoiding a snare. "There are many excellent workers on staff, however. All are highly skilled, or they would not be qualified to grant wish fulfillment."

Morgan Clarke tipped his head. "You're very careful, aren't you, Mr. Goodbody. Considerate of the feelings of others."

I met his gaze. "Yes, I suppose I am."

He poked a finger into my chest. "Then you are the one I want."

I didn't take the bait of his aggressive gesture. Instead I calmly asked what it was he wanted me to do.

He regarded me without smiling.

"I want you to deflower my daughter." 



30 Days or Bust: Day 12



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Inwardly I groaned. A man in love is not supposed to be going around poking virgins. Sleeping with other people, she knew I did that, but Christ!

"I take it the lady is of legal age."

"She is eighteen. It is past time." Clarke looked affronted.

That's your opinion, buddy, I thought. What about what she wants? I had nothing to lose, so I asked. "And this is Nakita's wish?"

The man looked somewhat surprised. "Of course."

I had my doubts. Young people will do almost anything to win their parents' approval. I knew a thing or two about that.

Abruptly I stood. "Then if you have no other questions for me?"

"Not at this time." Clarke smiled. He had a huge mouthful of teeth.

I gave Leo a terse nod and got the hell out. Nakita followed me with her eyes as I strode past, but I refused to look at her. It was all I could do not to bolt from the building.

For the first time, I seriously considered quitting my job.

But I knew that anger was a poor judge of decisions. I stalked down the hall to my office and shut the door. I needed some time to cool off.

Barely had I hung up my jacket and loosened my tie when there was a knock at the door. Expecting Leo, I yanked it open, ready to tear into him.

Morgan Clarke stood there with a strange look on his face. He did not look so haughty now.

"Mr. Goodbody, may I speak with you, please?"

"Of course." I stepped back and gestured. "Please come in."

The man perched sideways on my empty desk.

"I must explain to you about my daughter."

"I'm listening."

He hesitated, finding the words. "Her mother died when she was ten years old."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

Clarke nodded, accepting my condolences. "And I have done my best to raise her. As you can see, my little girl is now a woman."

The picture was coming into focus a little bit.

"She deserves to have a caring, positive experience. Obviously I cannot do it." He was almost pleading with me now. "Under normal circumstances, I would ask my brother. But he was killed at the same time as my wife. It was a terrible accident. No one lived through it."

He looked for a moment as if he might lose it. After a few moments, he recovered and drew in a deep breath.

"You are a stranger to me, but I feel my best course of action is to hire a professional. Nakita thinks you are--" he smiled faintly-- "cute. And as nearly as I can tell, you are a good man. You would be careful with her. Is it not so?"

I nodded. "Yes. That is so." The culture he described was not unfamiliar to me. In sociology classes I had learned that there were many traditions in which romance was not left to chance -- arranged marriages, for example. I simply had never met anyone who viewed incest, even between niece and uncle, as a matter of caring.

The new perspective was leading me to a change of heart. I reflected that few young ladies had the benefit of professional initiation. It wouldn't be easy, but maybe this could be managed like a mercy fuck. I sighed.

Morgan was watching my face.

"Okay, Mr. Clarke. I'll take care of your daughter."

"Thank you," he said, and meant it. He shook my hand warmly. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

That night I had a bad dream. I was in Nakita's bedroom. She was dressed like an exotic princess, adorned with a bracelet of tiger teeth around her bicep, and sparkling jewels flowing from her navel. Her eyes brimmed with expectation as I approached her.

Yet, even as I caressed her perfect body, I could not become aroused. I traced a fingertip along the furrow of her rib cage and watched her nipples harden. Through the sheer fabric, the dark brown circles invited my attention. I teased her, lightly brushing my hands across the sensitive bumps.

The girl moaned, anxious for more, and began to explore my chest and arms. I was patient. She was learning to touch a man. Soon enough, however, she found the limp sausage.

"It's her, isn't it? Your long-term assignment."

I could not deny the reason for my failure. "Yes."

"Then think of her now," Nakita whispered fiercely. "Make love to me as you would to her."

"Nakita... it isn't fair to you."

"But I need you! Need you ... need you ... "

The echo of her voice was in my mind when I woke. I sat for a long time, thinking about my life, and what I had done with it. Four years of college, gone for nothing. Parents and family who had no idea what I did for a living. The need for relative anonymity kept me from forming close friendships. I had enough money, but nothing in particular I wanted to spend it on.

Plus I was getting older all the time. How long would it be until my nightmare came true? Sure, a little blue pill could prop things up for a while, but the prospect of such a life depressed me immeasurably.

And now there was Lisa. It occurred to me that I wanted her as a sort of rescue, and this made me laugh out loud. The princess rescuing the handsome knight, for a change. But it was just possible that she could bring meaning to my life. I could settle down ... find a real job.

I thought of the old parable about the man whose beachfront home was flooded. A boat came by and the skipper offered the man a ride.

"No, thanks," said the man. "God will save me."

Conditions grew severe, the man climbed onto his roof, and a helicopter flew overhead. The crew threw down a rope, but the man wouldn't take it. "God will save me," he told them.

Finally the water rose all the way up and swallowed the man. He drowned and woke in the company of God.

"Why didn't you save me?" he demanded.

"I sent you a boat, and then a helicopter," God answered. "How much more saving do you want?"

I am not especially a believer in God, but I made up my mind at that point -- sort of. I was done going with the flow, which had landed me in sea of emotional nothingness. If Lisa would sail with me, I'd ask her to share a boat. Somehow, I would find a way.

* * *

My intended was unlocking her lab for the day. She smiled at me.

"Good morning. Come on in."

She locked the door behind us. The blinds were closed.

"Hey, you want some good news?"

"Sure, I'll take it. What's going on?"

Lisa looked very pleased with herself as she tapped her computer's keyboard. "Look."

On the screen I saw a chart that looked like a good stock market trend. Along the bottom edge was a series of dates, and the left axis seemed to be measuring something.

"Centimeters," I read.

"I'm gaining," she announced.

I stared, fascinated. "You've been measuring yourself?"

"Yeah. Want to see?"

"Yes!"

Chattering like a magpie, my scientist dragged some equipment around on the bench, unlocked a drawer and pulled out a tape measure. Then, without any hesitation, she stripped off her shirt.

"Would you please unhook me?"

"Of course. I am a gentleman, you know." I stood behind her and swished the braid over her shoulder. After completing my duty, I reached around and fondled her lovely curves.

"Mmmm..." I murmured. "Feels like progress to me."

Playfully she smacked my hands away. "Silly one," she grinned at me. "Do you want to see this, or not?"

"Very much." I let go. Her buoyant mood was infectious. I paid attention as she demonstrated weighing and measuring each breast. I even volunteered to help but she declined.

"An important part of science is consistent measurement," she explained. "It's very important, because if measurements are taken in even slightly different ways, the results will be contaminated."

"I thought contaminated had to do with fruits and vegetables."

"No, it has to do with inaccuracy, too. In fact ..." She turned her gaze to the clock. "I'll have to do this later again today. Timing is everything."

I could not have agreed more, but for different reasons. Instead I pointed to the lines on the screen.

"Couldn't this be a result of your period?"

"Ah-ha." Lisa stabbed her forefinger toward the ceiling. "Good insight, Mr. Goodbody. But I am done with my cycle, and the measurement is still increasing."

"So it is."

I turned to take her in my arms. We smiled at each other. She was special; I couldn't figure out why no one had snapped her up. Maybe she would see me as special, too.

Timing was everything. I'd have to think of a plan. Maybe -- maybe I should wait until after she lactated. Then my professional obligations would be over with, and I could pursue her outside of the workplace.

As if reading my thoughts, she spoke: "I'm sorry I don't have time right now."

"You have class?" I didn't think so, but didn't know what else to say.

"No," she wrinkled her nose, "a meeting. Ick. How about this afternoon?"

"Sounds good," I agreed.

She had not stepped away from my embrace. It was wonderful to hold her, even if I had a shirt on. Her naked body was that much closer.

Lisa studied my face, which was so close to hers. "Mark..."

"Yes?"

She swallowed and asked very quietly, "May I kiss you?"

I hesitated. "Okay, but no tongue," I warned.

The joke made her relax. "No tongue," she agreed.

She closed her eyes, tipped her head, and lifted her lips to mine. Her touch was butterfly-soft, as delicate as petals from a flower. I breathed in her scent, and got high.

It was impossible not to draw her close. My sudden erection demanded freedom from my trousers. I tightened my grip, letting her feel it.

If I kissed her any more I would lay her on the bench, right there by the microscope and digital scale, and tear off her panties. I knew it. I had to let go.

I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away.

"I'm sorry." My voice was rough.

She put her hands over mine. "I'm not."



30 Days or Bust: Day 13



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

The next day I saw Lisa in the morning, for I would spend the balance of the day preparing to relieve Nakita of her virginity. Our big date was set for eight o'clock. Her father had paid for my services for a full night.

Lisa was at home, curled in a soft blanket on the couch, adoring an early snowfall. It was just a light dusting, a harbinger of winter. The roses on her deck still had flowers facing skyward. I imagined their confusion, or maybe disappointment, that their time was drawing down.

She hugged me lightly in greeting. "It seems like just yesterday I was raking leaves in the yard."

I remembered that day very well. I remembered setting her down somewhat brusquely for attempting to touch my cock. These days I longed for the feeling of her feminine hands on my manhood. Yet I was compelled to remain professional for as long as possible.

After the contract, I reminded myself. Then we can be together.

It didn't seem like a good idea to share my thoughts with her until our official business was complete.

Still, thoughts are not always communicated in words. As I undressed her to the waist, our eyes were speaking. Gently I parted her brassiere's front clasp and took her breasts in my hands.

Her face flushed. I took my time massaging her creamy mounds, varying my strokes so as not to be too repetitive on any area of skin. We did not speak as I made love to her. The grey morning light crept in through the white sheers; in between the panels, snowflakes danced in silent pirouettes.

We stood for a while in front of the big bay windows. Occasionally I would quietly ask, "How does that feel?" and she would smile, "Wonderful," or ask me to move to a slightly different spot.

One might think that a man would grow bored of handling the same pair of tits every day for two weeks, but anyone who thought so did not know me and Lisa. I never tired of handling her lovely body, and she always seemed to welcome my touch.

At last we sat down on the sofa and I ministered to her orally. As I sucked and lightly bit at her nipples, I kept squeezing her breasts, encouraging them to let down their milk. They did seem larger. I took one breast in both hands and worked my thumbs from the base up the hill, like a skier making a herringbone up a slope. I traced the chevrons with my tongue.

As I repeated the technique on her other breast, she made a little sound. By now I knew her range of noises. I lifted my head.

"Had enough?"

She gave me a gentle smile and touched my cheek. "I think so, for now."

I resisted turning my face to press a kiss into her palm.

"How was your measurement yesterday?"

"Good," she smiled. "Another three millimeters."

"How much is that in English?" I figured I knew, but I wanted to prolong our time together, even by a fraction.

"About an eighth of an inch. Every little bit counts."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

For a moment we just looked at each other. We were making some kind of journey together. I asked her where the balm was.

"It's in the bedroom. I'll get it." She started to rise.

"No, stay put, I'll get it." Our voices were tender with one another.

The little jar was on the nightstand. Next to it was a petite, spiral-bound, lavender book, beside which lay a pencil. I couldn't help wondering if she had written my name in those leaves, but of course, I didn't look. There wasn't time, and even if there was, I would never violate her privacy.

Besides, if she had things on her mind where I was concerned, I'd rather hear them from her own lips. I plucked her bathrobe out of the closet and wasted no time returning to her side.

She was cuddled in the blanket again. I parted the folds and dipped my finger into the cream pot. Lisa drew up her shoulders, holding up her bosom to accept my attentions.

Smearing the lotion on, bit by bit, was almost more erotic than suckling her. Her wet nipples stood at attention. I took my time, starting at each apex and working my way out and around.

"Looking good," I commented.

"Thanks, I grew them myself."

We shared a chuckle as I finished up. I peeled the blanket away and settled the robe around her shoulders.

"Thought you might want this."

"Thanks." Her eyes glowed warmly at me. More than ever I wanted to kiss her and lay her down, then and there, and make love to her. It would have been so easy to slip my hand inside her robe. I had a feeling she wouldn't say No. My cock looked up, asking, Now? Now?

Not now, I mentally hissed at it. Down, boy.

Lisa looked at the lump in my pants and grinned. No remark was necessary. We joined hands and stood up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor."

She held my coat for me and opened the door.

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Goodbody."

* * *

This Journal Belongs To:

Nakita Rae Clarke

Private! Keep out! 

It is so old-fashioned to write with pencil and paper but this is the only way I can think of to write it all down and keep it for one person -- me, Nakita. If I wrote about it on my laptop, someone might find it. And I want to remember this magical night for always.

Papa said he would buy me a stud when the time came, since Uncle Teddy is in Heaven with Mama, and he kept his promise. Obviously it's wrong to own people, but Papa explained that this is just renting, and the people being rented don't mind. I guess it is kind of like being an organ donor.

I had Becka braid my hair special, with gold extensions, and a tiara of tiny white shells. This was also the time to wear a fine dress from the trunk in the attic. It was Mama's. Very short, with a high tight neck, and slits like rays of the sun spreading out all around below the collar. I wish my breasts were bigger, but I still felt very pretty.

Mr. Goodbody (I think this is not his real name) (his first name is Mark) came to pick me up exactly at seven, and we went for a romantic private dinner in a big round greenhouse. I will have to look up the name again. It was some kind of special Botanic garden.

Anyway the important part is how romantic it all was. The fountain was shaped like donuts within donuts, and there were little twinkling white lights woven through the trees, as if it were Christmas, and it isn't even Halloween yet.

The driver swept right into the big glass palace, so we never had to set foot outside. Even the garage was grand, two stories high at least, with tall sheer curtains. There were trees that grew in spirals. It was like a fairy tale. My family has money, but I had never seen anything like this.

Over dinner we got to know each other a little bit. I explained to Mark that I am training for the Olympics, and I will someday win a gold medal.

"Track?" he guessed.

"How did you know!?" I put down my fork and smiled wide in amazement.

He shrugged and looked modest. "You have the legs for it. Which is your favorite event?"

"The marathon. I've been training since I was fourteen. I ran my first half-marathon when I was fifteen. This year will be my first Boston."

"So, no time for a boy friend?"

Maybe he thought he was joking. Of course there is no time. Training is my life. I have no idea what other girls do, much less boys. This I tried to explain. My friends are my private tutors, coaches, and the house staff.

"What about the internet?" he wanted to know. "Don't you meet people online?"

Again I shook my head.

"There is only one internet computer in the house, in Papa's office. It is strictly forbidden. I have a laptop to write school assignments on."

He was curious about what Papa did for a living, and I was proud to say my father is a self-made man. Papa is a marine merchant, always directing big boats to go from one country to another.

Mark's eyes were friendly and understanding. He was a very good listener. I felt more and more comfortable with him, and knew I had made a good choice.

Dinner went by quickly, and we went for a walk through the beautiful gardens. There were flowers like white gloved fingers of brides, and some that changed color halfway through. Some had no smell. Some smelled like apples.

Then we came to a section of trees, which I thought was not as interesting, but Mark wanted to go through. He paid particular attention to the little pines, learning their names and touching their branches. I watched him and it came to me that everybody has their favorite. Flowers to me are prettier. Maybe this is the difference between women and men.

At last he took my hand. My heart raced at his touch. I gave his fingers a squeeze, and we looked at each other, and smiled. He gestured toward a padded bench, and we sat down.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for his arm to drape across my shoulders. I leaned against him. His warmth radiated through me. The blood in my veins jumped and sang as I lifted my face to his, and he kissed me.

His lips were softer than I thought they would be. I slid my hands inside his dinner jacket. Under his shirt I could feel his body, his back and chest and ribs. My heart pulsed in my throat.

His lips traveled to my ear, where his warm breath made me shiver, and then he found my neck. I discovered my neck is so -- I don't know the right way to describe it -- sensitive. For the longest time he kissed me there. All I could say was "ohh ... ohh ..." over and over again.

A funny throbbing started between my legs. Even writing this I feel it again. Some kind of liquid leaked into my pants. That part of me felt, sort of heavy and fuzzy. And alive, so alive. Every bit of my skin tingled when he slid his hands up my thighs. The throbbing grew more intense. I knew he was going to touch me there, and I wanted so badly for him to, yet it felt just dangerous too.

His mouth was exploring the sun-ray slits in the fabric of my dress. Honestly, I had not thought of that when I put the dress on. I shuddered as his kisses went from my collarbone to just above my breasts. My nipples were standing up and I wondered if he could tell.

Ever higher his hands rose up my stockings. I threw my head back and let him kiss me wherever he wanted to. I was even sorry that the design of the dress only went so far. This did not stop him and to my shock, he kept on kissing his way down, his mouth landed on the very point. Through my dress and corset I could feel his tongue working. It was wet, and warm, just like the place between my legs. My head started to swim.

Just as his fingers played with the garter snap of my stocking, he spoke.

"Nakita, are you okay?"

I opened my eyes and saw him as if in a dream.

"Yes, yes," I answered.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"Yes." I felt like I was melting. My tongue felt thick but I knew what I wanted. "Make me a woman."

"Okay," he agreed.

He rested the palm of his hand on my mound and I tried to hold still, to let him do it. I felt like we were walking through a forest, and he knew the way.

Lightly he brushed his fingertips along the top edge of my panties. The wetness in my crotch increased -- it was thick and hot. I helped him lift my skirt, so he could see me.

"You're beautiful, Nakita."

His hushed words, and the look on his face, made me feel queen of the world. He stroked his hands all over my groin and thighs, making me squirm. I sighed in delight as his lips fell to my bare tummy. Though he was so gentle and sweet with me, something inside me was clanging as if I were running beyond my stamina.

Then -- oh then -- he kissed my crotch. I startled. He looked at me again to see if I was okay, and I nodded and smiled. But when he lifted my leg and moved it so I straddled the bench, I struggled up. My limbs were wide apart.

"What if somebody comes?"

"No one will bother us. I promise."

"You're sure?"

"I have made it so."

"Okay," and I leaned back and let him touch me some more. The feeling of magic surged back. His tongue darted against my panties, like it was making a tattoo. I moaned at the luxurious pleasure. I was so slick now, I could feel my parts rubbing against each other, and when he inserted a finger, I burst open like a flower.

He probed my secret place, feeling the warm liquid gold that my body made, and then put in two fingers. If this is what sex was like, I never wanted it to stop, and was only sorry I had not done it sooner.

Inside and out, he felt me all over. Sometimes I put my hands on the back of his head, especially when he was kissing me in places where no one had kissed me before; sometimes I rested my hands on his shoulders. I really wasn't quite sure where to put my arms, but it seemed like Mark knew what to do. So I laid back and let him do it.

Then he fondled the little button of pleasure, moving around it in circles at first, around and around like a whirlpool, building a tension in me, almost like I had to sneeze. Then he touched it hard, and a wave of pleasure crested through me. I cried out. The noise I made echoed off the walls.

Even as I squirmed and rolled, breathless, Mark was above me like a reassuring presence. I gasped and panted.

"Are you ready?"

I didn't see how this could get much better, but I told him I was. He unzipped his pants and pulled his thing out. It looked scary.

He saw my fear and offered to let me touch it.

It was strange. The skin of it was soft as anything, yet it was so firm and upright. It sounded so stupid to my own ears, but I had to ask:

"Will it hurt?"

"It might. You tell me if it hurts too much, and we'll stop, okay?"

I watched him very carefully, and he looked like he was telling the truth. I leaned back and told him I was ready.

He rolled on his protection, lay on top of me, and fit the tip of his arrow between my legs. It was big -- bigger than his fingers were.

"Does that hurt?"

"It feels so big, but I think I'm okay."

He pushed in a little more. It started to hurt a little, but in the strangest way, the pain felt good. My hair stood on end.

He sort of murmured to me, like one of my coaches. He said things like, You're doing great, and he said my name, and I don't remember what else. Mostly I was just so aware that the most incredible thing was happening to me, and as he started moving back and forth, I knew I had only ever seen the world in black and white, and now it was in full color. It was marvelous. How anybody could ever live without this, I have no idea.

Faster and harder he thrust, and the tension that had built in me before seemed to be building in him. My breath caught in my throat and I shivered. Little needles of pleasure spiked through me, and then inside me he felt stiffer than ever, and he groaned: "God, " as if he were dying.

His body pulsed inside mine, and we held each other tight. A last little shudder of pleasure sprinted through me. His weight felt good on me. We panted, our breathing slowing, slowing, and his hardness went soft. Everything was sticky and wet down there.

I hardly remember getting dressed, or even the midnight ride home. What I will never forget is that last, final glimpse of my stud. After he gently kissed me good night, on my cheek -- as if he really were my Uncle Teddy -- he climbed into the limo -- and the last thing I saw was the pale blur of his face.



30 Days or Bust: Day 14



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

I didn't sleep all that well, even though I was home before midnight. Guilt rode me hard.

When exactly is a person unfaithful? Lisa was not my wife, she was my client. Technically I owed her nothing more than two more weeks of work, and we could go our separate ways.

The fact was that I did want her to be my w-- at least girlfriend. I simply could not reconcile my line of work with this desire. She probably wouldn't be too wild about it, either.

Something had to give. As I turned over various options in my mind, it still seemed best to me to finish the contract. At the very least, I knew clearly that I wanted to fulfill Lisa's Wish.

After dinner, I went to her house for our appointment. As always she was glad to see me.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

One corner of her mouth pulled. "My breasts hurt today, like they do when I'm on my period."

"That could mean we're close."

"Yes." She nodded.

"Okay, let's get you into a warm bath."

I ran the tub while Lisa went to her bedroom. She met me in the bathroom wearing only her robe, and perched on the little spa chair to talk.

"You know, Mark, you spend so much time asking me how I'm doing, but I feel like I never return the favor."

"It isn't a favor," I corrected. "I'm supposed to take care of how you are doing."

Her smile was impish. "Does that mean you won't tell me how you're doing?"

I turned from adding potions to the hot waterfall. "Lisa, when I'm with you, I'm always doing fine."

I turned back toward the tub, reminding myself that I didn't want my emotions to show, at least not yet.

Thankfully, she didn't press the issue. From where I knelt, I went to help her into the tub, but was caught short. As she slipped off her robe, I could not help seeing that she had shaved her pubic hair into a heart.

My face was less than a foot away from this lovely spectacle. The curls had the appearance of golden roses, fit snugly into a candy box. Slowly I reached out a hand to touch her new coif.

"Do you like it?"

I looked up at her. "Did you do this for me?"

"Yes." She blushed a little.

I don't know how a man can be expected to resist such a gift, at least with a kiss hello, but somehow I did it. I patted her soft muff, just once, and took her by the hips to guide her into the tub.

"You'll be the death of me, Lisa Clarke," I mumbled.

"Hey," she laughed. "I'm Lisa Arthur. Who's Lisa Clarke?"

It was my turn to redden. My cheeks burned spectacularly as I mentally cursed myself.

"Nobody." I rolled my eyes. "Some days I'm just a space cadet."

For the second time in this awkward conversation, Lisa let me off the hook. It wasn't that I wanted to lie! I just could not think of a way to say, "Oh, I had a tough day at work last night. Had to deflower a virgin. Her name was Clarke. Slip of the tongue, see..."

Yeah -- that would go over great.

I forced myself to the here and now and got Lisa into the bath.

"Lie on your front this time. Let's try to ease those bosoms." I handed her the bath pillow and helped her arrange it under her chin.

Lisa sighed. Then her eyes opened and she looked directly at me. "I just want to get to know you, that's all." Her voice was tender and sincere. "I'm not trying to pry."

"We can do that." I lifted water in my hands and let it flow over her back. Then I picked up a natural sponge and gave her an easy rubdown.

"I was born in Chicago at the University of Illinois medical school hospital. I have one younger sister..."

"Whose daughter is Marie ..."

"That's right, you met Marie. She's very happy with her new car, by the way."

"You're a nice uncle."

"I try not to spoil her too much."

"And your family thinks you design fonts. Would they give you a rough time about your line of work?"

"I don't really know if they would or not. But my mom is ..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words.

Lisa waited patiently.

"My mom is a lady. I'd never want to hurt her feelings, and parents always think they did, or didn't do something, to make a child turn out the way they have."

"Some of that's true," Lisa mused. Her eyes were closed again as she enjoyed the warm bath.

"Yes, some. But ultimately we're responsible for our own choices."

"Yes."

She lay in silence for a while as I lathered her naked back and rinsed it off. Her buttocks, twin oval islands separated by a steep cleavage, beckoned. I soaped them up, keeping my attention on the hills and not the valley. It would have been nice to explore the landscape, but as usual, I kept my own desires on a very short leash.

I found myself staring between her legs, hoping for a glimpse of the point of that heart. As if reading my mind, she parted her thighs, and I drew in a breath. A woman's inner thighs are just so sexy to me. They point the way to the promised land.

"So how's life been treating you lately?" Lisa's voice interrupted my lustful thoughts.

"Oh, it has its ups and downs."

She chuckled. "Sounds like a professional pun, for you."

I gave a little snort. "Yeah, you could say that. Hey, how are your breasts feeling? Any better?"

"A little, I think."

"Well, let's get you rinsed off, and I'll give you a massage."

Docilely, she agreed. As the water ran down the drain, I used the hose to rinse her off.

"Hold up your hair, please."

Lisa complied. With both hands folded behind her head, elbows akimbo, her breasts sprang forward. I ran the head of the hose around her neck. The water sluiced over her feminine curves and dripped off the peaks.

I leaned forward and licked a few droplets of water off of her nipples.

Then, thinking up a professional reason, I pulled away long enough to tell her that this step had to precede the lotion, because lotion tastes terrible.

"Of course." Her voice was husky. "Get back to work, please, or I'll fire you."

Her words triggered an idea in my mind, but this was not the time for analytical thought. I worked my way down her body, rinsing off her arms, then sucking her nipples, rinsing off her back and belly, tending her nipples again, and so on.

I alternated sites, taking special care with the dark golden heart which was her gift to me. As the water poured over her groin, she spread her legs to shoulder width apart. Her request, though unspoken, was obvious. I looked up to see the desire in her eyes, then rayed the water directly on her sex. I angled the shower head so it pointed up at her perineum. She moaned.

"Turn around," I told her.

She obeyed.

"Lean forward, Lisa, I need to get all the soap off."

She placed her hands on the tile and bent at the waist. Her shapely bottom was right in front of me, and with her legs spread, I had a nice view of her most secret curves.

I sprayed the water thoroughly, up and down her vertical line. In the background her moaning was soft, but definite. It should have come as no surprise to me when she grabbed her cheeks and held them open.

I watered her rosebud. Had to grit my teeth not to stroke it, pet it. All I could think of at that moment was penetrating her, sliding one finger up her ass and another into her golden-pink cunny.

My cock felt like a crowbar, and Lord, I wanted to pry her open.

Lisa straightened, looked over her shoulder, and gave me a wicked smile.

"Is everything clean, Mr. Goodbody?"

Lightly I smacked her fanny. "Out of the tub, doctor. You've had about all I can stand."

Pouting, she held out her hand. I helped her dry off this time, though I shouldn't have. The caresses through the terry cloth only teased me more. Once dry, she didn't bother with her robe, choosing instead to knot a towel around her waist.

She led the way to her bedroom, and I did not object.

She cast aside the towel and lay back on the bed. Her eyes were less comical now -- instead they glimmered with lust.

I arranged pillows under her head and back before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Her beautiful naked form lay spread out before me, like a banquet from which I could only sample one bite.

Though I longed to bury my face between her thighs, her breasts were certainly no punishment. Lightly I lipped at her nipples. Her naked belly whispered against my t-shirt.

How tender and sweet were those twin peaks, like the first dainty flowers of spring. I teased them to fuller erection, brushing my lips over and around them. Beneath me, Lisa made little noises of desire.

She grabbed the back of my head. "Stop tickling me. Be harder."

One should never argue with a lady in heat, so I opened my mouth and gave the nearest tip a deep, open kiss. I worked on her slowly. This moment deserved to last.

She winced when I nibbled.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Please suck me."

Once again I did as she bade me. At first I wasn't sure. The wetness might have been my own saliva. But then there was a flavor, not quite sweet yet not quite bitter.

Lisa made a grinding noise in the back of her throat. "Harder."

It was happening at last. Her breasts were finally giving forth their milk. A flush of sharp arousal pushed through my whole body as I nursed at her breast. The other breast was starting to dribble against my cheek, so I turned my attention. I cupped its round softness in both hands and gently milked her. A fresh wave of milk was my reward.

"Oh, God," moaned my lover, "don't stop. Don't stop!"

Little tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes, so great was her passion.

I kissed her eyes, intending to comfort, but the flare of sexual heat engulfed us both. The next thing I knew we were kissing with an intensity I had never experienced. Her wet nipples brushed against mine, streaking my t-shirt in erotic patterns.

She broke from our kiss long enough to whisper, "You're fired."

"Thank you," I groaned. My clothes were off in an instant. As suddenly as if we had not waited so many days and nights for this moment, we were together, finally, completely. The nude length of her was intoxicating. Skin to skin, we groped each other everywhere: her mouth to my ribs, my hands to her ass. Little giggles alternated with deep moans.

"Finish me, please finish me," she panted.

"Yes." This time instead of being careful to only do my job, I wrapped her in my arms as I laid my mouth once again to her teat. While my eyes were closed in reverence of the feminine divine, she startled me by stroking my cock.

"Oh, God, Lisa."

"Shhh," she whispered. "Drink from my breast."

I did so, elated that it wasn't work any more, and at the same time, incredibly distracted and aroused by her play with my cock. It was like being a teenager again.

When the flow slowed down, I backed away to speak. "Lisa, you're going to make me come."

She kissed me, and did not take her hand away. Then she leaned down and rubbed her lactating nipple up and down my cock. Lightly but insistently, she jerked me with one hand while guiding her breast with the other.

My hair stood on end in sheer ecstasy. I watched her head in my lap and reveled in the sensation of a woman making love to my cock. To say it had been a long time would be the understatement of the century. For once, someone was tending to me, instead of the other way around. And when her mouth closed over my head, I was lost. She swallowed my fluids, as I had swallowed hers. Over and over I pulsed in her mouth.

"Too sensitive," I gasped. Instantly she withdrew her touch. We stretched out together on the bed, pulling linens over our spent bodies. Thigh to thigh, breast to breast, we held each other and murmured loving bits of air.

We made love many times that night. As much as we drank from one another sexually, our emotional thirst was even greater. Silently I vowed to spend the rest of my life making her happy, if she would let me.

I quit dwelling on what to do next. Somehow my worries went away. For once I slept peacefully (if you can call 7 minutes, interspersed between 473 minutes of passion, "sleep"). Lisa and I were together, and tomorrow I would find the right moment to tell her I loved her.

Little did I know, trouble would soon be at the door.



30 Days or Bust: Day 15



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Of all the times I made love to Mark that night, clearest in memory is the moment when I was on top. We held hands, our fingers interlaced, as I rode him. The smells of our sweat, our sex, mingled to make a musk uniquely our own.

The flush of mutual discovery was in full bloom. Some deeper connection was being forged as he cradled my ass in his lap. The image of Shiva and Shakti flashed through my mind and I shivered. Mark's eyes shimmered into mine. Again, stronger than ever, I had the eerie sense that he could read more than my thoughts; it was as if we knew each other's emotions.

"Come here." His words were soft.

I let him draw me down into his horizontal embrace and stretched out my legs on either side of his. He was still deep inside me. I turned my head sideways to lay my head on his shoulder and he stroked my hair. Our lovemaking was at once intensely sexual and deeply comforting. I could not escape the feeling that I'd waited for this man all my life.

Mark held me, stroking my back and butt. I reveled in his touches. We rocked one another in a rhythm that was gentle, but insistent, and soon, I turned my face to run my lips over his skin. He lifted his head to accept my kiss. While his lips were soft, his stubble was scratchy, and the combination gave me another shiver. My nipples grew harder and as he traced the swell of my breasts, I whimpered.

He rolled us over and lifted my body to maximize the angle of penetration. What a god he looked! The moonlight carved his pecs and arms into bas-relief; I could see him staring at me, too. His eyes traveled downward to the place where our bodies joined. Lust etched his features as he fingered my stretched labia. He took his time, exploring the living seal around his cock. My hips instinctively jerked upward, and he flicked a glance at my face, then resumed the intimate probing.

No lover had ever touched me this way before. Our carnal knowledge of one another was going deeper than fucking. He teased his way around my clitoris, then slid a finger inside, alongside his cock. I gasped.

With a whispered word he took my hand and guided me to do the same. It was kind of kinky, I guess, but it was erotic, feeling that connection, the place where our bodies locked together. Our hands got sticky and he interlaced fingers with me again, only this time he was on top.

He rode me then, slow and hard at first, with long strokes that made my body scream for release.

My squirming beneath him grew more desperate. I writhed, begged him to fuck me. "Please!"

"Yes." His voice was husky. "Yes, Dr. Arthur, I will fuck you now." He closed his mouth over mine in a thick, heavy kiss, nothing subtle about it, and suddenly thrust with abandon. The friction sparked, I cried out, and shuddered.

"Oh god Mark, I'm coming!"

"Come all over my cock, Lisa, I want you!"

Gasps, a series of wild cries, no words. "Ah! AGGHH!"

My body gushed all over his. Somehow he managed to pinch a nipple as my breasts bounced wildly below him, and that was it. My whole body yanked as if from some external force. Mark's face gathered tightly as my orgasm squeezed his cock. A moan escaped his lips. "Lisa," he choked. He grabbed my hips and held our bodies together with testosterone-driven strength as he pulsed inside me.

My cup runneth over.

* * *

Morning found us sprawled like dolls that had been dropped in the middle of play. The tangled sheets were fairly reaching for the washing machine. Bits of bodily fluids crusted at our groins.

For some reason the sight of Mark drooling in his sleep endeared him to me. He woke as I watched, wiped his face, and smiled at me in pure happiness.

We hugged and kissed but did not make a move toward a pre-breakfast fuck. I think we both knew we were worn out! Instead I kissed his forehead.

"Hello, sleepyhead."

He hugged me again and chuckled, "Sleepyhead, yourself. Where can a man get a cup of coffee in this place?"

I was already pulling on a robe. "Come on."

The sun was up and the birds were singing. I started the coffee while Mark relieved himself. He joined me a few minutes later, looking sexy as hell yet wonderfully ordinary in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

We could not seem to touch each other enough. We didn't speak much; our bodies were still talking, with little touches: with fingers, palms, lips, we caressed one another, reveling in the freedom to do so. We could belong to one another now.

Side by side, we took our coffee out on the deck. I switched on the radio. We held hands across the aisle of our deck chairs, enjoying the new sun in the sky, the saxophone of Mr. David Sanborn, and each other.

The music ended and the news came on. It was another sad tale of city life, some poor woman found dead in her home. I frowned, not wanting this intrusion into our romantic morning.

"Shit!" Mark exclaimed.

"What?"

"I know her." He lifted a hand to stop my questions as he listened intently to the broadcast, but the announcement was almost over.

"Police have not named a suspect but are in the process of questioning persons of interest."

The sports got rolling and I turned off the damn thing.

"I'm sorry, Lisa. Doris was a client."

I sobered. Paradise couldn't last forever, I guess. There were sure to be other clients from Mark's past ... maybe we ought to talk.

"Listen, Mark ..."

He was way ahead of me. "Lisa, I'm finished with the escort business. I know I have a certain history, but if you'll just give me a chance..."

The words tumbled out of him in a torrent. Apparently he had been keeping his feelings inside for a while. He came very near, or so I thought, to proposing marriage.

This made me just a bit uncomfortable. Wonderful sex, feelings of connection, a blooming romance but ... we'd known each other two weeks...

As gently as I could, I mentioned the length of time we had known each other.

"Of course." He looked abashed. "I don't mean right this second, I just mean..."

His voice trailed off and for a moment, silence descended between us.

My smile was gentle. "Why don't we just keep getting to know each other, and see how things go?"

His relief was obvious. "That would be great."

When the police showed up, we were kissing.

* * *

I'll never forget the surreal image of Mark in the back of the cruiser. The police just said they had a few questions, and asked him to accompany them downtown. They wouldn't say what it was about.

I think all of us were thinking about Doris Perkins, but no one said her name out loud.

The whole thing took less than five minutes. Mark was permitted to get his shoes on. Then he was gone.

Stunned, I sank onto the couch. This did not seem to be a situation for which arboreal research had prepared me.

For a few minutes I simply sat like that, gazing at nothing. Then: "Get hold of yourself, Lisa!" I thought. "Think!"

Yes -- that I could do. I strode down the hall with more confidence than I really felt, fired up the computer and dragged out a tablet of graph paper. Images, symbols? No -- try chronology.

The careful ritual of penciling straight lines, arranging time neatly on the X axis, soothed my mind into order.

Google filled me in on all the details of Ms. Doris Perkins. Apparently she had been quite the society matron. Her influence was known to make or break artists, actors, politicians. It mostly seemed to boil down to money. That was all right, then, I thought. In my opinion, money isn't really all that. Besides, Mark had plenty of his own.

After some consideration, I made a notch to signify when Mark might have last had contact with Doris. I hoped it hadn't been when Mark was with me, so I pushed that one to the far left. Another notch: the date of her death.

All I had left was today's date, and then the future stretched its long blank line. I made the final hash mark, resisting the urge to write "You are here."

Then I sat back and tapped the pencil against my teeth. It didn't seem like a lot to go on. The first two blips seemed awfully far apart. That worried me. If Mark hadn't been anywhere near Doris for over two weeks, why would the cops be wanting to talk to him?

Maybe the timing didn't matter. Maybe they were just hoping to gain some information that would help solve the case. Maybe they didn't really think he ... killed her.

This was the thought my mind had been circling around, trying to avoid: maybe I was dating a homicidal nut job.

"He just doesn't seem like that kind of guy," I said aloud.

But those kinds of things did happen. Quiet neighbors, nice guys, even sweet mothers sometimes had something terrible to hide. Their friends and spouses never knew until some event rocked their world.

I steered myself back to rationality. Speculation could only cloud my thinking. If ever there was a time for lucid objectivity, this was it.

Briefly I considered calling Mark's employer, Wish Fulfillment, then decided against it. That was Mark's decision to make, or probably the police would do that. I didn't want to get mixed up in that.

I could not imagine saying to anyone I knew: "My boyfriend has just been taken downtown. What do you think is a good course of action?" I didn't even want to google advice. The situation was just too weird, and too personal.

The only person I had to call upon was myself. 

Careful thought. Careful thought. What was the desired outcome? Over how much of this did I have control? What was morally right, and what was safe?

I sat very still, thinking intently for several minutes. Then I knew what to do.



30 Days or Bust: Day 16



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Mark was so relieved to see me, he actually teared up. I gave him a tissue.

"Thanks." Otherwise he did not say a word until we were in my car.

"They think I did it. They think I killed Doris." He looked terrified.

"You didn't..." I wanted some kind of assurance but didn't know how to ask, exactly. It isn't like asking someone if they ate the last cooky.

"Of course I didn't!"

The next question was obvious, so he answered it before I could ask: Why do they think you did? 

"My fingerprints were on her purse. The last time I saw her, she -- " here he paused and drew a breath, seeing something in his mind's eye -- "She dropped her purse and I picked it up for her. They found my fingerprints on her purse. They think I did it," he repeated.

Then he looked me in the eye, his expression wild: "Lisa, you've got to believe me, I never hurt her. I'm not a violent person!"

"I believe you," I told him. "Come on, let's get out of here." I put the car in gear and headed for home.

On the way back to my house, Mark's phone rang. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw the number. 

"My lawyer," he told me. He spoke into the phone: "Yeah. Yes. How soon? No, not at Wish. Can I come to your office? Okay. I'll be there. Thank God," he muttered when he hung up. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "What a nightmare."

I've never experienced legal trouble beyond a speeding ticket, but yes, it probably would be a nightmare. It was partly that realization which had prompted me to get my ass down to the police station. I had quit thinking about my poor little rich girl self and started thinking about what Mark might need. A ride home would be nice. A friend would be even better.

It humbled me, and made me angry with myself, to have been so self-centered for so long. Maybe if I'd given more thought to others' feelings, I wouldn't be aging into a cranky, very single, old professor.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "It must have been an incredible ordeal."

"It was," he agreed. "They brought in her purse, it was in a plastic bag, they asked me if I recognized it ..."

We turned in to my driveway.

"You want some tea, or something? Are you hungry at all?"

"No, I need to go get cleaned up. My lawyer has time to see me at one o'clock."

I turned off the car. At first he twisted his body as if to leave immediately. Then he turned back around.

"Lisa, I'm so sorry about all this. I'd understand if you never want to see me again. I guess I am just a whore."

I took a deep breath, shaking my head no. "I'm not interested in judging you. How about let's talk when you feel ready?"

"Thanks." His eyes were full of gratitude. With some care, he leaned over and put his arms around me. When he pulled away, he seemed to hesitate over his next words.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just -- thanks." With a clumsy wave, he stepped out of the car and left.

For the second time that day, all I could do was sit there.

* * *

Several hours later, the phone rang. It was Mark.

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah, sure."

He didn't sound so good, and when he arrived, the look on his face suggested things were indeed pretty bad.

Without bothering to ask, I put a hot mug of chamomile in his hands.

"Tell me. What's going on?"

"Let's, uh, let's go sit down."

We sat on the couch. My eyes were wide with worry. Mark rubbed his face.

"Lisa, I don't know how to tell you this."

I held my tongue. He took a gulp of tea.

"My lawyer said he was trying to find me anyway. There's a reading on Monday."

"A what?"

"A reading, as in, of a will. Apparently Doris, ah, left me money in her will."

One would not think a man would be so glum upon winning the lottery. One would think wrong.

"So the police must think..."

"Yeah." He met my eyes, his face a mask of despair. "It goes 'motive, means, opportunity,' right? Or something like that."

My expression mirrored his. "This looks pretty damning."

The formal reading of the will was slated for Monday. It was Saturday night, so we'd have Sunday to cool our heels. The police had warned Mark not to leave town. Though not yet formally charged, he was definitely under the "umbrella of suspicion."

We talked about the situation for a while. In the movies, we would have gone out and solved the mystery ourselves, but neither of us was really up for that. If Doris had had scaly bark and a dripline, I might have lent some insight. She didn't. And Mark's talent did not extend to necrophilia, even if the dead could be persuaded to kiss and tell.

He told me about the fateful night she had dropped her purse. They had been fooling around in a back room at an art gallery. The circumstances didn't exactly cheer me, but strangely, neither did they depress me. Maybe when all this was over, I would feel differently ... maybe not. I had been honest with Mark: judging his past held no interest for me.

"She kept talking about how they were all vultures. Something like that," he remembered.

"Did she mention anyone specifically?"

"No ... she did say one thing, though. She said something like, 'All of them but you.' At the time I had no idea what she meant. I thought she was just rambling."

We looked at each other. Suddenly I started to laugh.

"What? What's so funny?!"

I couldn't stop chuckling. "She paid you to screw her, because you were the only one not trying to screw her!"

Mark started to laugh, too. We practically laughed until we choked, releasing some of the terrible tension. Finally I had to go blow my nose.

In the bathroom I saw that my shirt was wet. One of my nipples was leaking.

Mesmerized, I stared at my wet nipple. Slowly I circled the tip. The fabric was saturated. The hard little bump stood out. Gently I squeezed, milking myself. Between my legs, my sexual engine began to throb.

Mark appeared behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. We watched as his hand drifted to my other breast and began to massage it also. I could feel his erection growing against my ass. The twitching of his member aroused me more.

I lifted my shoulders and lolled back my head, watching as Mark increased his attack. Now he was using both hands, squeezing my tits and rolling them around. "Ummmm..." I moaned.

"Feel good?" His voice was a near whisper.

"Yes," I lifted my chest to push against his hands. "You know it does."

He started in on my neck, where I am very sensitive. His lips made love to the humming blood in my veins, nibbling, nipping, murmuring words of desire.

I turned and embraced him tightly. Suddenly we were wearing far too many clothes. I tugged at his t-shirt and even as he lifted it over his head, I was reaching inside the waistband of his pants. His eyes closed when I wrapped my hand around him. "Ah."

I wanted to get on my knees and take him in my mouth, and at the same time wanted to drag him down the hall to my bedroom. Urgency won out. I knelt and put my face in his groin, rubbing my cheek against his stiffness. Through the fabric of his low-cut briefs, I touched the head of his cock to my eyes, my nose, my chin.

It took little effort to get his pants down, and his cock popped out as if spring-loaded. I breathed in the wonderful scent of his skin, his sweat, the musky aroma of a cloudburst of sex getting ready to pour. "Mmmmm," I nuzzled him all over, lipping him at first, then tracing his masculine contours with my tongue.

He had the most pronounced, beautiful ridge I had ever seen. The smooth skin of his head tantalized me. With a wide, open tongue, I licked it in broad strokes, then gobbled him up. A drop of pre-cum greeted my taste buds.

My hands weren't idle. I held his hips, guiding his motion back and forth, rocking him on an invisible swingset, fucking him with my mouth. My body sang a song of tenderness and lust to his. I caressed his balls and gently slid a finger toward his anus.

He pushed me away. No explanation was needed. We were of the same mind. Together we stumbled out into the hallway, where we lay on the carpet. Instead of lifting my t-shirt, he simply tore it open, exposing my leaking bosom.

Immediately he began to suckle, and at the same time, thrust two fingers between my labia. I shuddered and nearly came. The relentless finger-fuck he gave me, combined with his nursing of my breast, drove me to pleasured agony.

"Fuck me, please!" I wailed. "Mark...!"

He grunted and fed the tip of his cock into my anxious, soaking pussy. I wiggled my hips to bring us closer together. It wasn't long before he gave me the hard banging I desperately needed, pausing once or twice to play with my lactating breasts. He milked me with his mouth and with his fingers. I shook with pleasure as his balls spanked my ass. Increasingly I lusted for his orgasm, wanting his pleasure, and wanting to feel him erupt inside me. I squeezed my thighs together, tightening the ride.

"Naught girl," he grunted, and then his eyes closed as the dark bell rang. His chin lifted. I thumbed his hard nipples and he jerked, groaning at the unexpected touch. His seed spilled in me to overflowing; the warm, sticky liquid ran down my ass and dribbled onto the carpet.

We lay together, breathing hard and rematerializing. Our flight landed gradually, drifting out of the warm air current to the stillness of reality.

We cuddled until we grew too cold, then put ourselves to bed. 



30 Days or Bust: Day 17



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Sunday was awkward. Mark's lawyer called back and counseled him against going out in public. If things got nasty, it could backfire; it would look like he had offed poor Doris, then gone out to dinner and a movie. In the end we decided the best course of action would be for us to stay at our respective homes. I hated it. This would be the first day in over two weeks that we didn't spend time together.

Nonetheless, the relationship between us was growing stronger. I mooned over him like a love-smitten teenager. I kept myself occupied with inane housework, but my thoughts churned.

Over the years I had dated men who were smart, or well-educated, nice looking, or well-meaning. None of them could hold a candle to Mark. The handsome ones were invariably vain. Colleagues always wanted to compete with me, as if my intelligence was some kind of threat. And I couldn't recall any whom I would describe as truly kind.

No; none of their ilk would ever do. Mark had treated me like a woman, and like a person. With him I felt whole, authentic, and relaxed. He had called himself a whore, and this irked me. The more I thought about it, the more I didn't like that slant. The term did not come near who he was or what he did. If anything, other men could stand to take a lesson from a guy who brought pleasure to women.

This gave me an idea, but I shook my head and ran the dishwasher. Thoughts of the future, our future together, might all be dashed tomorrow.

After a lonely dinner, I wandered my house. It seemed pathetically empty. Ghosts of memories moped in the rooms and halls. Mark had tended my body in every living space I had.

At first I thought maybe we could have phone sex, but I quickly discarded the notion. Phone records were too easy to check, and could be used against him.

Then I knew: I would go to the apple orchard. Back to the scene of the crime, as it where, where my lover had led me to ride a bough while he suckled my breasts.

It was perfect. Forests and wooded areas are my classroom, my cathedral. They belong to themselves, of course, but I was the steward of this special place, so in a way it was mine. Of all the ways I knew trees, I had never expected to know one in a biblical sense. Mark had given me a very creative lesson in my own field.

Grinning, I searched out the toy he'd given me and tucked it into a fanny pack along with a few other essentials. I debated wearing exactly the same clothes, but opted instead for navy, hunter, and black: the colors of the black watch. They were night-perfect, and in the night forest, I would make my own love.

My excitement grew as I drove near the place. Technically, there was no trespassing after dusk, but as a faculty member, I had a pass. If ever questioned, I could claim I was doing research. That's what it was: research. I smirked as the toll gate rose to let me by. It looked like an overgrown phallus, swinging to attention. Did I have thoughts like this before Mark awakened my body? Certainly not as often!

Having read my card, the light flashed a come-hither green, and I drove through. The sense of adventure made me feel like a kid on a secret mission. At the same time I thrilled at the joy and familiarity of my arboretum. This was my turf.

I parked right away in the empty lot and took the nearest trailhead. The white lettering of carved signs gave me directions I didn't need. Though alone, I walked quietly by instinct. There is never any need to snap branches or disturb brush, if you don't need to.

The September night was cool, but by the time I approached the orchard, a thin sweat ran under my arms and breasts. It echoed the growing dampness between my legs. I paused for a moment to take in the sounds.

What was that? I cocked my head. A bird? No -- there it was again -- a distinctively human sound. Somewhere nearby, a woman was expressing her pleasure.

Stealthy as a ninja I crept toward the sound. It came from the clearing I had intended to visit.

There in the moonlight, a pair of lovers had opened a sleeping bag to make a blanket. He was dark and muscular; she enjoyed the slenderness of youth. I watched as he nibbled at her neck. She hung onto him, her pale fingers splayed like starfish against his dusky skin, and threw back her head to give him full access.

I watched him give her a collar of love-bites; she'd have something to blush about the following day. She moaned and ground against him. In the deepening twilight I could see the hot fuchsia color of her blouse, and the pale khaki of her shorts. She probably wouldn't be wearing them long.

They obviously didn't intend to leave for a while, so I sat down to watch the show. I didn't mean them any harm. Without any conscious thought, my hand strayed under my long black skirt. I rubbed the wet crotch of my panties and it felt soooooooooooo good. Mmm.

Now the stud was peeling apart the woman's blouse. I gave him silent applause for enjoying her body slowly, like an ice cream cone on a hot summer's day. Button by button he exposed her creamy skin. Her brassiere looked to be the same hot pink color, and he clearly loved it. He put his mouth on the tip of one cone and gave her something to groan about. His hands were busily caressing her torso, smoothing all over as if he were sculpting her.

The lady hung onto his shoulders for dear life. Though her grip was adrenaline-fueled, I doubted he would have bruises on the morrow. His muscles were so powerful-looking, it would take a fellow line-backer's charge to cause even minor damage. Besides, I knew what she was feeling. Many a time as Mark had doctored my body, I had been so distracted that my mind was reeling. All I could do was hang on for the ride.

My juices were flowing freely now. I pushed aside the wet cotton and dipped a finger. My body felt like a ripe peach, the flesh unbelievably soft and wet. I stroked myself as I watched the man lay his woman down. His hand massaged her crotch and he watched her face as she shivered. It must make a man feel godlike, to bring a woman into a state of full arousal like that.

He used both hands to unsnap the waistband of her shorts. For a moment her own hands came down as if to say, No, don't, but he batted them away, easy as shooing a pair of moths. She rested on her elbows then, and alternated her gaze, looking first at his face, then down at his hands. She watched as he slowly unzipped her shorts to reveal the pink panties underneath.

She had to be soaking. I knew I was. A silver ring decorated her navel. His fingertip traced her bellybutton, then her bikini line, and her breathing grew heavy. He rumbled something that might have been You like that, and a wordless nod was her reply.

His cock strained visibly against his boxers. Tentatively the girl sat up and stroked him, and it was his turn to go still for a moment.

They teased one another, hands groping each other's genitals through what suddenly seemed like far too much clothing. I pushed my whole hand inside my panties and cupped my hot mound, my middle finger sinking in. It took a conscious will to keep from moaning.

The lovers murmured to one another, saying their names and professing affection, or maybe, just honest lust. She took off her blouse and her pink-clad breasts glowed like neon. The man pushed her back and tugged off her shorts. Perhaps he meant to enjoy the sight of her wearing the matching panties and bra, perhaps not; in any case, the underwear came off at the same time, and she was more nude than not. My eyes swept the length of her, down to her painted toes. Her pussy was clean shaven.

Her eyes went wide and she loudly said, "Marcus!"

His answer was lost because his face was between her thighs. She moaned and spread her legs wide. She called out to her maker as Marcus buried his face in her naked cleft. He rolled them over so that she sat on his face. From where I perched, I could see her undulating bottom. One dark hand reached around. Marcus gave me the finger, and then gave it to his lady, the hard tip probing at her tiny rectum. She smacked his hand soundly, a definite No, and the hand went away.

Immediately I wondered if Mark would ever take me in the ass. I'd never been very interested in anal sex. The one time I let someone try it, it hurt quite a bit. Since then, a simple "No" had sufficed. But knowing Mark's skill, it might be worth checking out.

The lovers rolled again. Marcus had had enough of the pretty bra. He stripped it from her without any fumbling and cast it aside. The co-ed's breasts were as pretty as her face. His mouth fastened onto one dark nipple. She whimpered. My own breasts were crying out for attention. They were leaking through my t-shirt. I pinched them lightly and they cried some more.

Marcus was multi-tasking, getting out of his boxers at the same time that he continued to play with his woman's breasts. He was well-equipped; I stared in fascination as he handled himself, then donned a rubber.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. I slipped the toy under my skirt and pushed the tip against my anxious sex. Involuntarily a moan grew in my throat, and the man glanced around, but seemed unconcerned. I froze.

Now he was poised between the girl's spread legs. He thrust two fingers inside her, checking her wetness. She gasped and bucked. He put the wet fingers in her mouth and she closed her lips, tasting herself on her lover's hand. He played with her, moving his fingers in and out, manually fucking her mouth.

His cock waved, and began its journey. She cried out at the penetration, and suddenly was all hellion, sharply lifting her hips to his. "Fuck me!"

"Oh yeah, bitch, I'm gonna fuck you hard," he promised.

I sawed the toy in and out of my own swollen cunny. Marcus worked that woman like a piston. Her pale thighs canted like roofbeams around his dark hips. Their syllables descended into gibberish as lust overtook them. Harder and faster I fucked myself with Mark's cock. I tried to be quiet, though the lovers in the glade were making quite a bit of noise.

Orgasm overtook me. My body spasmed and gushed. Thank god!! I held still, giving myself a moment to quiver and breathe. Then it was time to go. As much as I would have loved to watch the lovers peak, I couldn't risk being found out.

Carefully I rose to my feet and backed away from the clearing. They were rutting like animals as I tiptoed away. Twenty feet down the trail, their passion came to a final shouting match. The man's voice sounded as if he were dying. 

Maybe in a way he was.



30 Days or Bust: Day 18



All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

As tough as it was to teach on Monday, I had to admit it was better than moping around the house, waiting for a resolution to this awful situation. I really felt now that Mark could not have harmed Doris Perkins. He took his work seriously, and the welfare of the client was top priority.

Still, the hours dragged on until the last class was taught and the lab stowed away. I trudged out to the parking lot, wondering if I would see my lover today.

To my astonishment, the man in question came running up to me.

"Lisa! Lisa!" Mark looked overjoyed. He caught me in a powerful hug and swung me around.

"What is it?" I was bemused, but happy along with him -- something really great must have happened.

"Let's go over here." He dragged me over to a shaded bench. "Lisa, I'm cleared! I'm off the hook!"

"How??"

He blew a sharp breath and made a face. "You might not like it. I'm sorry," he added, sobering somewhat.

"Just tell me!"

"Okay." He sighed. "Um -- you know what I do for a living." I nodded. He was watching my face carefully.

"It turns out that, at the time of Doris' death, I was, uh, with someone."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. I was with a client, and she wrote it all down in her journal, and her father corroborates everything. So does the chauffeur -- "

"Her father?" My eyebrows went up.

"She's eighteen," he said hastily.

I shook my head. "Maybe we should discuss this in private." I looked him over, noting the suit and tie. "By the way, you clean up nice."

On the way home, Mark explained, somewhat gingerly, the job the Clarke family had hired him for. I was amazed, and a little bit grossed out. My boyfriend had been sleeping around, for money and a good cause, only a few nights before he professed his love for me... and jumped my bones. We were definitely going to have to talk.

I parked the car. "Are you sure you're serious about quitting the business?" I teased. "Don't you want to keep deflowering virgins and getting paid for it?"

"Lisa, please. I don't want to be with anyone else." I looked him in the eye. He appeared sincere. "I mean it."

I drew in a breath. "You do mean it."

He kissed me. "Come on inside. I'll tell you the rest."

"I don't know if I can stand much more!"

He laughed. "You've heard the worst of it."

Once inside, he continued: "So I was getting dressed for the reading -- I have big news about that, too -- and there was this knock on my door. It was Morgan and Nakita Clarke. He said since I had taken care of her, he would take care of me. He showed me the journal and everything, said they were going to the police."

"What if the police don't accept their testimony?"

"The waiter saw us, the chauffeur saw us, and my boss has my report."

"Wow." I shook my head in amazement. "Why didn't you realize all this before?"

"I just didn't put two and two together -- remember, the actual time Doris died wasn't announced in the news. But Morgan apparently has some inside connections. He was able to find out that her time of death was eleven p.m., and I didn't bring Nakita home until midnight."

My mood turned skeptical. "What connections? How can you trust him?"

Mark rubbed his forehead. "It isn't just trust, Lisa, I ... I think maybe I shouldn't ask too many questions. Nakita told me at dinner that her father was a maritime merchant, his business has to do with sending big boats back and forth from Jamaica."

"You think he --"

"Like I said, don't go there. I just hope he doesn't ask for my undying friendship."

I nodded. "So what happened at the reading of the will?"

"Oh!" Mark's laugh held little humour. "It's a good thing you're sitting down. You're talking to a millionaire."

"No way!!"

"Way. It was really dramatic. Doris' family was all gathered around, and some old guys in suits. She left them fifty bucks each, gave me ten million, and the rest to the MacArthur Fellows Program."

"The Genius Award? She funded that?"

"Yeah, you've heard of it?"

"Duh. So wasn't her family, like, extremely pissed?"

"You should have seen it. Doris' sister especially went nuts. She called the lawyer every name in the book and then some. Tried to attack both him and me."

I was agog. "Fuck! What'd you do?"

He shrugged. "I guess the lawyer anticipated trouble. Some security guys came in and made her leave."

"And now you have ten million clams."

He nodded. "Weird, isn't it. It doesn't seem real yet."

"Well, maybe it won't be. Counting chickens, you know."

"I know, but ... I just feel like everything is going to be all right."

* * *

That night, for the first time, Mark invited me into his home, his bed. The trust he extended was not lost on me. I was struck by it -- for all the women he held in his arms, he was intimate with none or few of them.

We lay side by side, facing one another by artificial starlight, our hands and eyes roaming as they would.

I told him about my own recent adventures -- the couple I had spied on in the apple orchard. Though obviously aroused, he proved a good listener.

"I never figured you for a voyeur," he remarked.

I giggled a little. "Me, neither. It just sort of happened."

"And this part" -- he stroked his middle finger down the cleft of my bottom -- "this excited you?"

I squirmed. "I don't know."

"Did you have a bad experience?"

I sighed. "Well, yes. My boyfriend at the time talked me into trying it and he, uh, ..." I gestured uselessly. "It didn't go so well. Kind of painful, really. It wasn't something I'd care to repeat."

"What if I told you it could be very pleasurable?"

I chewed my lip and thought about it. "Can we stop if I don't like it?"

"Of course! Lisa, I'd never do anything to make you unhappy."

Quietly, then, I gave my assent.

Mark looked pleased and happy. He opened a drawer and took out some things. There were different kinds of lube, some things I didn't recognize, and a dark velvet pouch.

He joined me in bed again. We sat naked, swaddled in sheets for a little warmth. On a pillow between us he unrolled the velvet purse. Inside, nestled like fine silver in the luxurious fabric, was a set of objects that graduated in size. The smallest was hardly bigger than my pinkie finger. The largest resembled a man's cock.

Immediately I realized what they were.

"I'm sorry you had that setback." His voice was edged with regret. "It wouldn't have been like that, if you were with me."

He picked out the smallest plug and gave it to me. "Here, you can see what it feels like."

An odd feeling of arousal curled in the pit of my stomach. Yet I hesitated.

Mark hugged me like an old friend and whispered in my ear, "You want to try it on me first?"

I pulled back and looked in his face, astonished. "Really?"

"Sure." He was confident.

"Okay. Uh ... what do I do?"

My teacher unsnapped a clear case. "These are called finger cots." They looked just like little condoms, and he demonstrated dressing the toy.

"Now you need lubricant, mostly at the tip." He handed me a plastic tube.

Then he rolled onto his back and lifted his knees toward his shoulders, fully exposing himself to me. His cock strained north. I knelt in front of him and gently lifted his balls with my left hand. With my right, I guided the arrowhead to his pucker.

The tip touched his ass, and I probed a little. "Oh, yeah," he groaned. "That's it, Lisa, nice and slow. Keep going."

Fascinated, I watched the toy go up his ass. I prodded and teased. My voice was husky as I asked, "Do you like that, Mark? Do you like it when I fuck you in the ass?"

"Yeah. Give it to me, Lisa...oh, baby...straight in, do it to me..."

My confidence increased, and so did my breathing. I screwed him a little more, pumping further in each time. His obvious pleasure drove me wild. I had a mad urge to take away the toy and slide my own finger up his ass, but I had an even greater desire to take him completely.

This I did. The arrowhead went home with no problem, and his anus snapped shut around the skinny neck at the base. Now a bright red ball handle hovered between Mark's cheeks. Under other circumstances, I might have found this ridiculous, but I was incredibly turned on.

"Mmmmmmmm," I scooted up and kissed him, wrapping my arms around him in a passionate embrace. "You are the most erotic man I have ever met."

His tongue slid into my mouth, darting and flicking. Shamelessly, he stroked my ass with his fingers. "Are you ready?"

"Please fuck me first, just a little," I begged.

He grinned. "As you wish."

I mounted him eagerly. My breasts swayed over his face as I rode, and he took full advantage, lifting his face to rub between them and all over. With squeezes and caresses he called my milk once more. Every pinch and pull made my nipples more responsive. Pretty soon he was nursing from my breast as his hips continued to jerk sharply, forcing his cock as deep as it would go. Then he grabbed my ass cheeks and slammed himself home.

It was too much; I came all over his cock. Just as I shuddered, I felt a cool, wet hardness touch my rectum, and before I knew it, the tip of the toy was penetrating my ass. I shivered and met my lover's eyes. They burned with lust, and I said one word: "Yes."

We were both breathing like athletes. I wet my lips as he guided the toy up my butt. He was gentle and slow, but relentless, and my pussy was like a fountain. I had never been so aroused.

He never left my gaze; he never looked away. "You're fucking my ass," I whispered. It was a feeling of wonder, and pure sexuality.

"Yes. I'm fucking you in the ass now, Lisa, and I'm going to do it again and again, until you're ready to take my cock in your ass, and you're going to love it, and beg me to do it again."

My nipples were diamond-hard. "Here it comes now, all the way," he warned, and with a final thrust, he plugged my butt.

I shook with orgasm, wailing his name and bouncing up and down. He erupted inside me like Vesuvius, spewing his white-hot load and mixing his cum with mine. It took me a minute to stop convulsing, and when I did, I was drenched with sweat.

At last I collapsed on his chest, heaving for breath. He cuddled me with absolute tenderness, as if I were the divine infant. "My sweet Lisa. I love you."

"I love you, too."

EPILOGUE

Mark was right; within a few days, it was all over the news that Verna Perkins had poisoned her sister by swapping out the meds that were in Doris' handbag. It was unlucky coincidence that Mark had handled the purse. He was cleared of suspicion, and inherited the money with no further ado.

I told him of the idea that had been brewing in my mind: that even if retired from active duty, he could teach, and would be quite good at it.

At first he wasn't convinced. I reminded him how well he had done when put on the spot in front of my class. "You didn't just lecture, you let the ideas come from them. You empowered them."

He raised his brows and reflected. "Yess..."

"You taught me a lot, too."

He grinned. "It was all you, Lisa, I was just your personal trainer."

"Be a trainer, then." I put a hand on his chest. "Start a school. You have a lot of talent and it would be a shame to waste it. Besides, don't you think Doris would be pleased?"

We talked about it for a few days, and Mark called his old boss, Leo Jantzen, with a business proposal. It made sense. Why not train male escorts in the craft of wish fulfillment?

Of course, Mark accepted his wife's suggestion that he draw the line at certain demonstrations.

He doesn't seem to mind.