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365 Days Ch. 01

By: Dear_Dora



Introduction

A note to eager readers: I know from experience that it's sometimes irritating to plow through the setup in order to get to the "good parts." The introduction, here, is very well thought out and just oh, so funny, but not what you'd call "sexy." So, it's okay by me if you want to just zip to the next section titled "Happy Birthday."

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My younger brother had come into quite a bit of money, through no virtue of his own. I had completed college, started my modest career, and seemed to my parents to be the successful, middle-class son they had always wanted.

Roger, on the other hand, was always the black sheep. He was a reluctant student even in elementary school, and when the going got a little tough in high school, Roger not only didn't get going, he stopped going altogether. Faced with an ultimatum from our father, Roger worked his way through the series of minimum-wage jobs that a high-school drop-out was most likely to get. Roger's attitude and work ethic was such that he never lasted long no matter how undemanding his employment might be.

Roger was not without his charms, however. Unlike me, and much to my consternation while we were growing up, Roger had both good looks and a winning charm, whereas I was, politely put, plain looking, very awkward and shy -- what is now called "a nerd." This perhaps contributed to my academic success, and Roger's lack of it. Whereas I had nothing to distract me from my studies, Roger's social life used him up entirely, leaving nothing for school, or later, for work.

So it was, that besides many jobs, Roger also went through a long series of girlfriends, starting when he was in middle school and I was in high school. Before I ever had a date, Roger had an interesting and varied sex life, dating and bedding many of the prettiest girls. He was so charming and such a "devil" that his romances during middle school included not only the seventh- and eighth-grade girls in his own school, but several of the most desirable girls in my own high school, as well.

After I graduated and went on to college, I had regular reports from my few friends still in our home town that Roger remained the social butterfly and successful Romeo that he had been from the first. Roger retained his taste for women and girls of all ages, which frequently got him crosswise with the fathers of teen-agers and, increasingly often, the boyfriends and husbands of grown women.

Women of Roger's age and middle-class background, and girls of high-school and college age or older, date with more purpose than Roger was accustomed to, and soon they began to see through Roger's charming demeanor. Although Roger might have been fun to know and perhaps fun to date and even possibly fun to bed once or twice as a fling, he was much less than a good marriage prospect.

Even more so when Roger finally flunked out of school, and rather than enrolling to repeat his courses, simply gave up on education all together. I was away at college at the time, struggling to keep up my studies; I had several jobs, trying to pay for my own education because our parents had recently died in a car accident. As a result, there was no one to counsel Roger to try again for the education that was likely necessary to ensure his future happiness and success. 

He fully expected to be able to parlay his good looks and charm into a successful life in the adult world, having known no other course, nor having been held to any higher standard. Unfortunately, in that, he was correct.

Roger first worked as a clerk in a convenience store. That job he lost because of fireworks with the management about in-store fraternization with other employees, which is to say, he got caught by the assistant manager with a much younger clerk (a female clerk ... Roger had never swung both ways) "en flagrante" in the stock room. The assistant manager was much more incensed by the two of them leaving the cash drawer unattended than by any moral reservations about their behavior, but nevertheless, they both lost their jobs.

Roger's next position was as a pump jockey, a position foreign to much of the country nowadays, but mandated in Oregon where we live, by a law forbidding drivers from pumping their own gas. Again, Roger lasted only a few months before he had established a reputation for pumping much more than gas, particularly in the case of attractive, wealthy ladies driving large, expensive SUV's. Roger had by then realized his best hope of financial success in this life was to worm his way (so to speak) into the bed, heart, and purse of some wealthy woman before he lost his looks.

Unfortunately for Roger, most attractive, wealthy women driving around in large, expensive luxury SUV's, even in this liberated day, are already attached. Their money and position and expensive SUV's generally have come by way of their rich and powerful husbands. These husbands are generally not men who are easily duped, and Roger quickly found himself at odds with several of the more powerful men in the community, who saw to it that his future in the oil industry was terminated.

Finally, Roger landed a position as a barista at a well-known franchised coffee shop whose name rhymes with "Starbuck's." Never one to let the grass grow under his feet, Roger soon struck a more than casual acquaintance with several of the customers and other (female) baristas.

So it was that one such young woman, daughter of a recently-immigrated-but-not-thoroughly-documented couple, became pregnant with Roger's assistance. This had happened before, but to Roger's good fortune, the girls and/or women involved had been able to dispense with the "problem" quickly and at no expense to Roger.

This time was significantly different. Maria's parents were completely uninterested in finding a way of easing Roger's embarrassment, and extremely interested instead in securing their daughter's happiness while protecting her reputation. A wedding was hastily arranged, and Roger's sudden interest in travel abroad was curtailed under the persuasive and muscular influence of Arturo, Maria's imposing and profoundly protective older brother.

Arturo was not a bad guy, but his main interest was in his sister's welfare, and luckily for Roger, he actually came to like my brother. Not enough to allow him to wiggle out of his responsibility to Maria, of course, but enough to present the newly-wedded couple with one hundred PowerBall tickets as a wedding gift.

And so it was, that in the scant seven months between their wedding and the birth of their son (my nephew Ramon,) Roger and Maria became multi-millionaires. One-hundred-seventy-five-millionaires after taxes, to be exact.

Nor was Roger a bad fellow, either, actually, just careless and a little self-centered. Maria, on the other hand was generous but unexpectedly hard-headed about business matters. With the help of her brother, Maria retained a good financial advisor and a good attorney, and went about setting up a series of trust funds and investments which assured their little family of three a secure, not to say luxurious, financial future for a long time to come. For eternity, probably.

The generous side of Maria's nature revealed itself in a series of magnanimous gifts to her family. Of course, she gave her loving brother Arturo, who had bought them the fortuitous lottery tickets, a large lump sum of cash, enough that Arturo himself also felt obliged to make use of their financial advisor and attorney to protect his new assets.

To her mother and father, Maria (and Roger also, of course, in that the money legally belonged to both of them) gave a large cash gift, carefully manipulated to assist their getting proper immigration papers (as only sufficient cash in the appropriate hands will do), and acquiring also for them a suitable new home and a sustaining endowment.

The couple also replaced Maria's parent's regular payments to uncles, aunts and cousins still in Mexico with a permanent annuity that forwarded substantial checks to Los Mochis every month thereafter.

In their immediate family, they were left with me as somewhat of a problem. Roger and I had always gotten on well, but we were never close, in part because Roger resembled the butterfly of the family, whereas I remained more the hard-working ant.

Roger asked Maria's permission (in as much as, in their marriage as in most, his wife was the actual and unchallenged head of the household) to give him a small amount of money ("small" by their newly elevated standards) and the discretion to buy me a gift in celebration of their good fortune, a request that she granted.

... continued in "Happy Birthday" ...

365 Days Ch. 02



Chapter 2: Happy Birthday

Another note to eager readers: Looking it over, I now see that this section has quite a bit of "setup" in it, too. Sorry. I'd appreciate it if you'd slog through it, 'cause it does get kind of sexy right near the end and the rest of the story will make more sense if you do, but I'll understand if you want to jump ahead to the section titled "Cyndi, Day One (Morning)."

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So it is that we come to beginning of our story, in which the first installment of Roger's gift to me showed up on the doorstep of my small apartment one excellent spring Saturday morning a little over a year ago.

"Hi! My name is Cyndi!" said the pert young woman on my doorstep.

Cyndi was wearing dark brown walking shorts and a dark brown windbreaker and baseball-style cap with a yellow-gold logo that looked like that of a delivery service whose name rhymes with "UPS." She was quite a small young woman, but pretty, and as I said, pert (whatever that means, exactly). She stood there, holding some envelopes and a package, waiting for my response.

I have developed a defensive shell into which I crawl when confronted by beautiful women and which I use to protect myself from both the abuse they often give me and from the disappointments I have faced so often in their presence when they have treated me with even a small amount of interest. But I was still blinking away the sleep in my eyes, and pulling my robe more tightly about me when I answered the door that Saturday morning, so I wasn't quite prepared for combat in the Battle of the Sexes.

"Yes?" I croaked, clearing my throat for the day, "how may I help you?"

"I have a message and a package for you!" said Cyndi with her radiant smile, robin's egg blue eyes, and white teeth completely inappropriate for that time of the day. Although I've often been disappointed by beautiful girls, I'm still as appreciative of a good effort at sexual manipulation as the next guy, but not at six a.m. when I had but moments before been sound asleep.

Cyndi (I could tell how she spelled her name from her impertinent chipperness, even if she hadn't been wearing a nametag) held out a manila envelope with a big, bold "#1" printed on it. I looked at it, squinting in the glare of the low morning sun to see that it was addressed to me, in my brother's distinctively sloppy handwriting. I took the envelope from her, and looked up, holding out my other hand, expecting her to follow it with a package of some sort.

Cyndi, mistaking my intention, shook my hand. "Pleased to meet you!" (Cyndi seemed always to speak with exclamation points.) "You must be Mr. Owens! Mr. Dale Owens!" emphasizing my given name, I suppose to distinguish me from Roger who had sent her.

"Yes. Yes, I am." I responded, mindlessly, sleepily, continuing to shake her hand.

"I can't give you the package until you read the letter," Cyndi said. "And I can't really give it to you out here."

I belatedly let go of her hand and stepped out of the doorway, gesturing her to enter. "Oh, yeah, excuse me. Please come in for a minute."

Cyndi came just inside, pushing the door closed behind her, as I opened the envelope. Inside were four sheets of paper and a check for $36,500.

The fourth sheet of paper was a printed list of names, in the tiniest type I'd ever seen. I squinted my bleary eyes and could see that the names were all apparently women, starting with "Cyndi Wilson (Cyndi)." In each case, there was a similar nickname in parenthesis after the proper name. There were 365 numbered names on the list, grouped under three headings: Professional Escorts, American Evenings, and Elegant Alternatives -- escort services.

The third sheet was a list of several names, addresses, and phone numbers, including the three escort services, a pharmacy, a physician, an emergency clinic, a catering service, a laundry, and an adult bookstore.

The two front sheets were a typed letter with the salutation in my brother's tortured scrawl:

"Happy Birthday Dale!" (he had scribbled),

"Thanks for coming to our wedding and for your nice gift of the toaster." (The wedding had been before they hit the jackpot -- I figure now they could probably afford their own toaster.) "As you may know, Maria and I have been trying to share a little of our good fortune with our family, and I thought you might appreciate a little something personal from me to you.

I know you've always been a little envious of my "social successes" with girls and women, and I was always envious of your capacity for hard work and a successful career. I guess I've made a success of myself now ... by luck of course, but still. So, for your birthday, I thought you might enjoy a year of the sort of "success" I have always enjoyed.

Cyndi is the first installment of my gift for you. Tomorrow morning, Rachel will come by your house to replace Cyndi. I recommend both Cyndi and Rachel highly. Every day thereafter, the next girl on the enclosed list will arrive at your door before you leave for work in the morning, and yesterday's girl will go home.

The girls are instructed, and I might add, enthusiastically willing, to provide for all your needs and desires in any manner you choose (if you know what I mean.) I know you won't abuse them of course, but I also know from experience that sometimes folks get carried away with themselves, so I have attached the addresses of my personal physician and a clinic where you can go if the need suddenly arises. For some reason.

I'll take care of the bills; the girls are "paid for" as are the medical arrangements and everything else, except as I describe below.

I know you've still got a job, so I've also provided the names of the escort services these ladies work for ... if you prefer, you may call the escort service the night before and postpone the arrival of the girl for the next day until after work that day, in which case, you may keep that girl, and the next day's girl (if she also doesn't come until after work) with you for an extra day, as well -- two half days each, but concurrently. You may do this cumulatively, foregoing all your girls during the entire work week if you wish, and thus have six girls on Saturday night, seven on Sunday. You may do this any time you like, as often as you wish, with the following exceptions: Monday morning, all the girls have to go home, and you have to start over for the next week. No more than seven girls at once! (You dog!)

No going back. Once a girl has left for the day, you may not summon her again. (After the year is up, of course, you're free to do as you please, at your own expense, so maybe you want to keep notes?) Except for the workday provisions mentioned above, no keeping a girl for more than 24 hours.

You may certainly take the girls out for a good time, and have parties, but the girls must stay overnight at your place exclusively. The girls will be happy to go out with or entertain your male friends at home if that's what melts your wax, and your friends are free to use the other services I've arranged for. But all of that must take place at your house. If there's any trouble, such as complaints by neighbors, contact Captain Gene Stewart of the county Sheriff's Office -- he's been alerted to the circumstances and will take care of you if needed (also paid for!) But please, try to be reasonable: no setting up shop for yourself and charging admission to your parties!

You will note that the first 120 girls work for Professional Escorts, the next 120 work for American Evenings, and the final 125 girls work for Elegant Alternatives. Within each group, you may rearrange the schedule of escorts as you please -- Cyndi has a notebook full of photos and resumes of each of the "Professional Escorts" girls. But you may not "visit" any girl out of the order listed if it would move her out of her escort company's group. You will discover why later.

Have fun, brother! I know I would!

Happy Birthday,

Love and Best Wishes,

Your Loving Brother,

Roger

P.S. Needless to say, Maria doesn't know anything about this, and it would be better for all concerned if she never did. Each girl will drive herself to your house and back to their offices in one of two fully-restored '67 GTO's; the cars are for you to use to squire the girls around. After this year, they're yours to keep (the cars, not the girls, you dog!) Between you and me, as far as Maria is concerned, the cars are your whole gift.

P.P.S. The check is to cover the extra food and entertainment expenses you will encounter with your new "lifestyle." The catering service will bring you a nice supper for two with wine each evening, but you'll have to pick up the tab for breakfast and lunch, and for movies, shows, parties, or anything else you might want to do, should you ever decide to leave the house (you dog!) The laundry will deliver a fresh set of bed linens every morning, and the girls will strip (the bed, you dog!) the old stuff for them to pick up, and make your bed for you. The girls will take care of their own clothes, cosmetics, birth control, and other incidentals.

P.P.P.S. Dr. Smythe, my personal physician, is also listed on the attached reference sheet. She will personally give each girl a general physical as well as a gynecological exam, on my tab, before they come to see you. Immediately before! Each girl will bring a certificate that she is free of STD's, just to keep you from worrying on that score. Cyndi has hers with her now."

I couldn't believe my brother. What a jerk! He knew how defensive I was about my shyness and nerdity, and here he was, just rubbing it in with a lame practical joke! "Some joker, that asshole, my brother," I mumbled to Cyndi after reading the letter a second time.

"He said you'd say that!" said Cyndi, reaching out her hand to offer me another letter. This one was in a regular letter-size envelope with my name scribbled on it and "#2" written in bold laundry marker in the corner where a stamp might have been.

I opened the letter.

"No, Dale, seriously. This is for real! Look over at Cyndi!"

I looked up from the letter; Cyndi had set down her letters and the package, and was quietly unzipping her brown windbreaker. She held it apart to reveal her perfect breasts with their exquisite little nipples extended out like an invitation.

"You can touch me if you'd like!" Cyndi said, her face in a big, eager smile surrounded by a halo of honey-blond hair.

It's not like I was virgin at that time, but ...

Well, it's exactly like I was a virgin at that time. I had no idea what to do. I just reached out a finger in a daze and pressed Cyndi's left nipple like it was an elevator button, expecting her to scream or pull away. Instead, she put her own hand over mine, stepped nearer to me, and pressed my hand tightly against her breast, her incredibly warm, soft, firm, curved, fleshy beautiful breast, and then began to move it around a bit.

"C'mon, Dale," Cyndi said, "you can do better than that! Touch me all over! I know you want to!"

I did want to. I dropped the letters on the floor while Cyndi quickly skimmed off her jacket and shorts. She looked so sexy there by the front door in nothing but her tennis socks, her shoes, and her little brown baseball cap. I had developed a painful and obvious condition, but I wasn't at all sure how to go about solving that particular problem.

"C'mere, silly!" Cyndi said as she pulled me toward her. She reached out and grabbed both of my hands and used them to move my arms into a hug around her waist. She pushed my forearms down until my hands rested on her butt. Her warm, shapely, soft but firm and beautiful butt.

"Ooh!" said Cyndi, "I see you aren't completely shy!" she said as she rubbed her lower torso against mine. "Let's see what we have here!"

Cyndi stepped back a step or two and pulled off my tacky old terry-cloth robe, while I just watched her movements in stunned silence. Then she reached up (Cyndi was much shorter than me -- maybe only five-one or so) and began to pull off the t-shirt which formed the upper half of my pajamas. I could see where this was heading!

"Oh!" I sputtered. "Oh, uh, oh, no! I just ..." I stepped back from Cyndi, but she held on to my shirt, and it slipped off over my head as I retreated. I was left with nothing but my boxer-style pajama bottoms and my fuzzy slippers. Cyndi, smiling sexily, advanced toward me as I backed up some more, very nervous. Suddenly, I felt the wall behind me. She had me cornered!

"C'mon, now!" said Cyndi, as she dropped to a squat in front of me. "Let's have a little look-see, shall we?" And she suddenly skimmed my shorts down to my ankles. In my shyness and shame about exposing myself to her, and my general anxiety about women, especially pretty ones, there was nothing left of my "condition", in fact, I may have gone negative for all I know, and I'm afraid I didn't make a very good accounting of myself for little Cyndi. My face must have shown my chagrin.

"Oh, honey! Don't worry! This happens all the time!" Cyndi scampered back to the door, giving me a startlingly frank view when she bent over to pick up the remaining mail she had brought with her. Seemingly pointing her assets, so to speak, right at me, she looked back at me while bending over. "Roger said that might happen!"

Cyndi stood up, came back, and handed me the small lumpy package she had brought, and another letter, this one marked "#3."

Shaking, I opened the letter:

"I'm not surprised. I know you're not still a virgin (are you?), but this is all probably much too sudden! If you need more of these, call Dr. Smythe!"

Cyndi opened the package and handed me the contents: twenty bubble-wrapped sample packages each containing seven blue tablets, each stamped with a brand name which rhymes with "Viagra."

"C'mon, hon," said Cyndi, taking me by the elbow, "let's go get ourselves more comfortable."

She started to guide me to the back of my apartment, but I had forgotten that my pajama shorts were still wrapped around my ankles, and I stumbled. I grabbed Cyndi tightly to keep from falling.

"Oh, yeah, hon! That's more like it!" she said, laughing as she helped me extract myself from my underwear and fuzzy slippers.

As we passed the kitchen, Cyndi got me a glass of tap water and helped me remove one of the sample blue pills out of it's damned little bubble pack. If they don't want you to have these pills, why do they give them to you? I took the pill, and Cyndi led me back toward the bedroom, where I began an amazing adventure.

... continued in "Cyndi, Day One -- Morning" ...



365 Days Ch. 03



Cyndi -- Day One (morning)

Cyndi, as I have already described her, was unforgettable. Although she was my first, and I have since had a busy, busy year, I can yet picture her in my mind's eye, smell her fragrance in my mind's nose, and feel her hot, firm but yielding flesh in my mind's fingers to this very day.

Let me say this about Cyndi: She was totally at ease with our agenda, and totally at ease with the fact that I had no idea whatsoever what to do about it.

Cyndi first sat me down, then pushed me back onto the messy and unmade bed. For an instant, when she was right in front of me and as I was sitting there, I noticed for the first time that Cyndi seemed to have gone prematurely bald. Not on her head, of course, but in another place on which I had always imagined hair might grow. In fact it was a place where I knew hair usually grew on adult women, from long study sessions with reference magazines and on the internet.

Right after pushing me back onto the bed, with my legs still hanging over the side, Cyndi kicked off her shoes and sox, tossed her cute little brown cap across the room, climbed up onto the bed with me, and swung her leg over me, straddling my chest like she was planning on riding me, somehow.

"Now, here's an idea of something we can do while we're waiting for that little pill to take effect," Cyndi said. She moved her legs over my arms and trapped them in the crook of her knees. "Like what you see?" asked Cyndi, but I was unable to really see anything except her naked and bald crotch. Then I realized that that's what she was referring to.

"Oh, uh, yes, I suppose," I stammered, "It looks ... nice!"

"Oh, dear, you are a sad one! The right answer to that question is always 'Oh, YES! You look wonderful ... you're beautiful!' You never say 'it' looks this way or 'they' look that way. It's always 'you,' and it's always 'wonderful,' or 'fantastic,' or 'sexy,' or 'beautiful'! Okay?" instructed Cyndi. "Now, let's try that again!"

"Okay," I said.

"Like what you see?"

I tried to marshal my thoughts to remember what exactly I was supposed to say. "Oh, YES!" I gushed, trying my best to seem enthusiastic, "you look terrific!"

"Better," Cyndi said, "but that little hesitation there makes me think you had to think about it and that maybe you don't really believe you like what you see, but you're just saying that to make me feel good. So let's try it again, okay?"

"Okay."

"Like what you see?"

"Good Lord, yes!" I spit out.

"Much better," said Cyndi. "Now do you know what to do to make me really believe you like what you see?"

"Uh, well, I've read about some things," I said.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," Cyndi said, "I'm sure you've spent quite a bit of time reading and looking at pictures in here."

"But, you know," I said, "I've always been a little concerned. I think you're talking about, uh, well, me licking you?"

"Yeah, hon, that would be it," answered Cyndi.

"Well, Cyndi, uh, don't you pee out of there?" 

"Yeah, Dale, I do," said Cyndi. "But you need to get used to the idea that what we're about to do may get a little messy, and you probably will be happier if you just try to lower the bar a little bit about bathroom issues and hygiene hangups! You think you could do that for me? In the interest of learning a new skill? Huh?"

"Well, sure," I said, "I guess. So I should just go ahead and do this? No matter what it tastes like?"

"Yeah, you romantic devil, why don't you just give me a lick? I promise, it won't do you any harm."

I tentatively stuck out my tongue and lightly licked upwards along Cyndi's pouting groove. It wasn't really all that bad.

"Yikes!" cried Cyndi jerking upwards suddenly. Reverting to exclamation-point-talk she said, "Gentle is good, but not so gentle! You just tickle when you do it like that! I won't break ... try it again, but a little more firmly!"

So, I licked upwards again along her groove, pressing my tongue against her a little more firmly, when something happened, and my tongue slid into the groove, where there was a whole different taste and texture.

While Cyndi was saying "There we go!" I was sputtering and spitting, sure I had breached some kind of barrier and gotten a mouthful of some sort of organic, disgusting girl-stuff.

"You are the flatterer! You really know how to make a girl feel special!" said Cyndi with a clearly sarcastic tone. "Am I really that gross to you?"

"Oh, no, Cyndi," I stammered, turning my head to wipe my tongue on her thigh. "I'm sure you're fine! It's just, well, I've never done this before!"

"Really?" Cyndi said, again with her sarcastic tone of voice. "I could never guess! Look, Dale, give this thing a moment's thought, okay? Every girl tastes a little bit different, but this is pretty much what girls taste like, okay? While we're waiting for the little pill to kick in, this is a good way to help the girl, meaning me in this case, get ready for the fun stuff later. Get it?"

"Uh, yeah," I mumbled, "I guess so. But what I read, it sounded, well, more pleasant, more fun, and maybe, um, tastier!"

"Yeah, well, fun is where you find it, big guy. This is one of those things that gets better with experience. If you'll just give it a chance, you might actually get to like it!" said Cyndi. "In the meantime, I can feel from something nudging at my butt that our little blue friend is having an effect!"

Cyndi swung her leg over my torso again, releasing my arms, which had begun to go to sleep. "Here," she said, "scoot yourself all the way up onto the bed."

I swung my legs up off of the floor, and lay back along the length of the bed next to where Cyndi was sitting, instead of cross-ways the way I had been before. I had sprouted a stiff new appendage; it was much bigger than I remembered it ever having been before. The entire room seemed to taking on a slightly blue tinge.

"Well, well, Mr. Dale!" Cyndi said. "Let me give you some show-and-tell oral instructions!" Cyndi pulled back my skin and licked me a bit, then lowered her head and moved her lips and tongue in ways I had never imagined, and I have a pretty good imagination. She didn't seem at all reluctant or hesitant, and it felt just grand. She was at once gentle but insistent.

"See, there's how you do it," Cyndi said, briefly interrupting her demonstration to my dismay. "You need to keep in mind the four basic E's that make for satisfactory foreplay: Enthusiasm, Energy, Endurance, and Exploration. Now, if I promise to keep going with this, do you think you could keep up your end of the deal along those lines, Dale?"

I was very eager for her to proceed, so I was sure my Enthusiasm would be excellent. I had only just got out of bed, and Cyndi had certainly gotten me excited, so my Energy was at an all-time high. The little blue pill seemed to be taking care of Endurance issues, and this whole endeavor was totally an Exploration, at least for me, so I said, "Oh, my, yes!"

Cyndi straddled my chest again, but this time, facing away from me and leaned forward to continue her demonstration project. I followed through on my promise by delving deeper into the mysteries of her groove.

Although what she was doing to me was very distracting, I soon became enthralled by what I found there between her legs. Using my thumbs, I spread her groove open, and you know what I found? Another groove! Only this one was formed by two folds or flaps which pursed out within the enclosure formed by the outer groove. Where they came together at the front, there was some kind of little nubbin; when I licked or nibbled on this nubbin, Cyndi seemed to respond noticeably. Her response didn't seem to be an objection, though, so I continued my Explorations, occasionally getting distracted by whatever it was she was doing to me at the same time.

I attempted to look within this second groove, thinking that perhaps women are like those little Russian nesting dolls, and maybe there would be an infinite number of grooves-within-grooves if I just kept looking. But alas, no; inside this second groove, there was merely some kind of deep recess. This recess was quite soft, spongy to the touch, and moist. As I explored further (mostly by feel now, as it was too deep and dark in there to see clearly, not to mention I was applying my mouth and tongue so I was unable to see much), this channel seemed to be becoming ever more moist, or even, dare I say it, sopping wet, and more than a little slimy.

"Cyndi," I said, taking a breather from my efforts, "are you quite alright? There seems to be quite a leak or something here! Am I doing something wrong?"

"Shut up Dale! Just go back to what you were doing, and keep it up!"

I noticed a sharp decrease in pleasure when she had stopped what she was doing to say this to me, so I assumed she was also feeling the same. I resumed what I had been doing, delving deeper into her recess with my tongue and fingers, while retreating back to her entry from time to time to massage her tender grooves and that curious little nubbin, which seemed to be becoming very sensitive, and was now maybe protruding a bit.

I'm glad Cyndi had mentioned to me the need for me to relax my usual standards of hygiene, as by this point, my entire face was becoming quite covered with the moisture from within her grooves. I could feel some sort of moisture also literally dripping from myself where she was so busy, as well, so I assumed she thought this was normal for these proceedings.

Suddenly, Cyndi started bouncing up and down on my face, simultaneously clamping my cheeks between her thighs and moaning loudly. For such a small person, Cyndi seemed to be quite capable of clamping me firmly in place there between her legs, regardless of any inclinations I may have had toward escape. I intended to inquire whether she was okay, but I found myself unable to disengage from licking at her grooves. Cyndi, however, had quit her own ministrations to me, and was devoting her entire attention to assisting me in my efforts there below her.

Her moaning had gotten quite loud, and soon grew into shouts of apparent joy and/or pain. I was unsure which, as my ears were quite muffled by her thighs and my hearing was further interfered with by her thrashing about upon my head. But I assumed a best case scenario, and continued in my efforts.

After a minute or two of this treatment, Cyndi's knees tightened even further, and I thought my brother may have set this whole charade up as a pretext to further some diabolical plot of his to have a hired assassin crush my skull. But just as I was about to succumb to the combined effects of skull compression and anoxia, Cyndi suddenly stopped moving altogether, and froze in position. Her entire torso throbbed a time or two, at which point, she relaxed her death-grip on my head, and slumped off the top of me, to fall to the my side on the bed, breathing heavily and moaning slightly.

"Cyndi, Cyndi!" I implored. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured very quietly, completely without exclamation points. "Give me a minute, huh?"

I was able to see that she had apparently been very stressed by this whole encounter, as besides being out of breath, she was covered in perspiration and quite flushed.

On the other hand, other than being soaking wet over my entire head, I by contrast had never felt better. I still noticed a strange sort of blue lighting effect over my entire bedroom, but I couldn't determine where this was coming from.

I also noticed that my rather large protuberance was still in full bloom, and also soaking wet for some reason. I finally realized that Cyndi must have spit all over it for reasons of her own. She was a very strange girl, but I was certainly willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in this area about which I knew so little and she seemed to be so accomplished. While Cyndi continued to recover there beside me, I used a corner of the bed-sheet to mop my face and crotch dry.

"Well, that was fun!" I said to Cyndi, as she seemed to be calming down somewhat. "Now what?"

I had always admired the breasts of woman acquaintances, but sadly, my direct acquaintance with breasts, per se, was pretty superficial. I had noticed, from time to time, that when some women moved about, their breasts followed only reluctantly, resisting their motion by deflecting and distorting in various interesting ways. A few times, my careful observations of these phenomenon were not so well received by the women being observed, if I may say so, for reasons I don't fully understand.

My detailed knowledge of the female human breast was mostly visual, obtained again by way of determined research on the internet and in magazines. Ever the inquisitive student, I have always been curious to learn more about breasts' texture, taste, and odor if any.

Cyndi, lying here on my bed, breathing heavily, did not seem to mind so much my detailed inspection of her breasts. In fact, when I tentatively reached out to touch them again, she smiled and pushed out her chest to assist in my inspection.

I was pleased to discover that breasts, at least Cyndi's breasts (and I knew even then that they might not be representative of all women's breasts) were somehow simultaneously firm yet extremely pliable. Their overall texture was wonderfully soft and they were quite warm.

I knew about nipples, of course, but I was surprised to see that the textured field surrounding the nipple proper was not just sort of the foothills of Mt. Nipple as I had assumed, but rather a sort of terrain all their own, which I later came to understand to be called the areole. This circle of skin around the nipple proper seemed, in fact, to be quite rough, and yet also soft and pliant all at once, covered with what appeared to be tiny proto-nipples.

"You getting' a good look, there, Dale?" Cyndi said, startling me right out of my contemplative inspection. I had leaned in for a closer look, and my nose was nearly touching her sternum.

"Oh, yes!" I barked, pulling back suddenly. "Sorry, your breasts are just so fascinating!"

Cyndi laughed. "Well, your choice of words could be a little more romantic, but you're at least being flattering now! Go ahead, look as much as you want ... I don't mind!"

When I had started looking before, Cyndi had been breathing quite rapidly, and her whole upper torso was flushed. The nipple at the center of each breast at that time stood out quite a bit from the surrounding flesh. But now, after a few minutes respite, her nipples had recoiled or retracted somehow, and were just minor protuberances, no more significant than my own (although nestled on a much nicer background).

I tentatively reached out an index finger and gingerly poked at one of the nipples. Its structure was quite a bit firmer than that of the surrounding breast, and rebounded immediately after each tender poke. I noticed, however, that as I poked a few more times, the nipple began to grow again, as if coming to life.

"Oh, that's interesting!" I remarked.

"You really want to see something interesting," Cyndi said, "lick at one of 'em, or suck on it a little bit!"

Cyndi seemed very orally fixated, but I followed her advice and licked a bit at the other nipple. It had no noticeable taste, except maybe a little oily fragrance, which I assumed to be her perfume or body wash, and maybe a bit of saltiness from perspiration, I guessed. In comparison to the slow emergence of the other nipple under my touch, this one grew much quicker and to a much greater protuberance than the one I had been poking at.

"It's growing," I observed.

"Yeah, Dale," said Cyndi, "that's a good thing!"

I pursed my lips and grabbed this newly-enlarged nipple tightly with my mouth, then began sucking, hard.

"Jesus Dale! Not so hard! You'll give me a hickey right on my boob!" said Cyndi. I could see that intensity control was going to be a learning area for me for a while ... don't lick too softly, but don't suck too hard. Okay, noted.

I spent a bit of time alternating between Cyndi's delightfully soft and supple breasts, sucking (gently!) and licking (vigorously!) one, then the other. I was learning a great deal, supplemented by some additional explorations with my hands on the sides and perimeters. I decided that her breasts felt like nothing less than two sturdy but supple leather bags full of warm milk!

"Yeah, I guess they would feel that way," Cyndi responded when I told her of my analysis. "You know, Dale, I'm not really sure you need to tell me everything you're thinking while we do this, okay?"

"By the way," Cyndi said, "Not that you've asked me, but I like what you're doing there!"

"Oh, good," I said, "I like it too! May I do it some more?"

"Sure, honey. But, I have another idea that you may like even more. Get up on your knees right next to me here," she said as she patted the bed right next to herself.

"Now, try touching all over my boobs with your cock instead of your hands."

My penis was swollen to the largest, stiffest condition I had ever seen it in. It was almost painfully erect. I used it as Cyndi directed, rubbing the tip of it all over her breasts, leaving a trail of sticky fluid all over her chest. It was pleasant, in a different sort of way from using my hands or my mouth, but all in all, if anything, it made my penis even more painfully stiff.

"Look, Cyndi," I said, "this is fun, and thank you. But my penis is actually starting to hurt it's so swollen. Is there anything we could do that might relieve that a little?"

"Oh, Dale, you little rascal!" Cyndi said, although I didn't know what she meant by that. "Sure, there is!"

Cyndi scooted herself to the edge of the bed, and lay back so that her hips were poised right at the side of the mattress. "Now you just hop on out of bed there, and come on around over here, Dale."

I climbed out the other side of the bed, and walked around to the side where Cyndi's legs projected out, then bent at the knees and continued down so that her feet were on the floor, as if she had been sitting on the bed, but fallen backward.

"Now, you just come on in here," Cyndi said. She was propped up on her elbows so she could see what was going on down at the edge of the bed, and she widened the space between her knees and patted her inner thighs. I stepped forward, my foolishly enlarged penis flipping and flopping as if I were a dog wagging his tail.

As I arrived between Cyndi's thighs, she reached down between us. She grabbed my erect shaft, and using it as a sort of handle, pulled me toward her until the tip began to lodge into those folds I'd noticed earlier. Cyndi lifted one foot off of the floor and used it to reach behind me and pull me ever further into those folds.

A strange and pleasant sensation overwhelmed me. Something tight, moist, and warm surrounded my aching penis, making me feel immediate relief, and yet paradoxically making me feel a new sort of urgency.

I pulled my penis back a bit and looked down at it. It was still rudely inflamed, swollen red and purple, but now the first inch or so of it was also slimy with moisture -- I supposed from within Cyndi's folds. I hadn't pulled the tip of my penis all the way out of her; as I withdrew, my cock pulled with it parts of Cyndi's inner layers.

"Interesting," I observed.

"Fuck me," Cyndi said, and I wasn't quite sure if she was making a sarcastic comment about my observation or was making a simple request. The huskiness of her voice and the lack of an exclamation mark suggested the latter.

In any case, I decided that my penis had felt much better when inserted into Cyndi's opening, so I pushed it forward again, embedding it as deeply as I was able.

"Yeah, there you go!" Cyndi remarked. 

Oddly, as soon as I had myself fully embedded, I felt an irrational urge to withdraw my penis again, and then, having withdrawn it, I felt an equally strong urge to plunge it back in. Completely illogical, but in each situation, fully embedded or nearly completely withdrawn, my over-riding interest was to immediately be in the other position.




365 Days Ch. 03



As a result, I found myself pushing and pulling into and out of Cyndi with increasing frequency. The resulting feeling was a weird combination of intense pleasure, slight discomfort behind my scrotum, and a sort of loss of critical thinking capacity. I decided that these feelings were acceptable, and continued to plunge and withdraw as fast as I could. I soon found that Cyndi was helping by alternately lifting and dropping her hips off of the bed in concert with my plunging motions. I was glad that she was willing to be so helpful.

Even with Cyndi's help, however, our situation was becoming precarious; I felt as if at any moment, on one backstroke or another, I might come completely out of Cyndi's torrid enclosure, and furthermore, as if Cyndi herself might slide completely off of the bed and plunge to the floor, ending our delightful encounter with a bad bruise. Not only that, but these thoughts were distracting me from my primary interest at this exact moment, which was paying strict attention to what Cyndi and I were doing to each other.

So I grabbed hold of Cyndi tightly by gripping the meat of the back of her thighs with my hands and squeezing while pulling her tightly toward me then pushing both of us hard back onto the bed, thus inching our way up into a more secure position on the bed while ensuring that I didn't become dislodged from Cyndi's tropical recesses, as I felt sure that, as good as it was so far, there was still something more to come of this activity.

I was a little concerned that Cyndi might object to my insistent grabbing at her legs and forceful shoving into her. But, on the contrary, although Cyndi seemed to have foregone actually speaking for the time being, she made it quite clear through grins, grunts, and the occasional "Oh, My God, Yes" that what I was doing was okay with her. At one point, I was worried that I may have hurt her, as she stiffened, arched her back, and let out a deep, throaty moan ... almost like an inarticulate yell for assistance. I paused what I was doing briefly, but she quickly reassured me by screaming at the top of her lungs "For Christ's sake Dale, don't you dare fucking stop NOW!!!" Always eager to please, I resumed my efforts.

As a result of my efforts to keep from falling off of the bed, we ended on top of the bed, with me actually lying directly atop Cyndi. Although the feeling of her luxurious breasts cushioned under the weight of my own chest was extremely pleasant and somehow amplifying for the increasingly positive sensations I was receiving near my waist, I knew she was too small to support my weight on her slight frame, so I forced her knees apart with my own, and knelt slightly to remove most of my weight off of her shapely torso. I also propped my upper body slightly on the mattress using my upper arms, which left my lower arms positioned well to manipulate Cyndi's conveniently-located breasts.

My worries about the logistics of this campaign having been relieved, my mind was clear enough to concentrate on the business at hand. I caught Cyndi's eye, and smiled at her as I continued to pound my embarrassingly erect member into her apparently still-receptive slit. Which slit, by the way, after her back-arching spasm as I pushed up onto the bed, seemed even juicier and slimier than ever, if that was at all possible.

Cyndi's arms and hands, in this position, were completely free of other obligations, and as she smiled back at me, she grabbed my head behind my ears, and pulled my face down toward her own.

Then, Cyndi did something that momentarily distracted me both due to my reaction of surprise and due to the fact that I had to deal again with the height of the bar concerning bathroom issues and hygiene hangups. As she kissed me, Cyndi opened her mouth and licked her tongue across my lips, apparently trying to force them open.

Now, in the first place, I was acutely aware that she had not too long ago been using these very lips and tongue to lavish attention on my erect penis, a fact for which I would be eternally grateful. Still, the feel of her very warm, cushiony, tender lips and lively, sinuous tongue writhing eagerly outside the currently sealed entrance of my own mouth was an almost irresistible temptation to permit entry. Nevertheless, I admit to more than an little reservation about admitting those lips and tongue to my own mouth while so acutely aware of their so recent previous duties.

On the other hand, she seemed completely unconflicted about the fact that my own mouth had also been recently employed in similar hi-jinks on and in the most private parts, the most hot, slimy-wet parts, of her own body. In fact, if anything, her tongue seemed to be seeking out and retrieving all the moisture I had collected from her, as if she actually liked the taste of her own secretions on my mouth and chin.

Figuring I was here to learn, and as it is often best to learn from others' example, I opened my own mouth to explore the possibilities of new flavors and textures I might thus encounter on Cyndi's face, as long as it was so conveniently available.

I had no sooner opened my mouth and tentatively stuck out my tongue than Cyndi's tongue bolted in the door, so to speak, and commenced a thorough exploration of my gums, the roof of my mouth, under my tongue, and, in a physical feat I still am amazed at, the surface of my own tongue, twisting hers such that our tongues were slathered together, bud-to-bud, as it were. I felt it only polite to reciprocate, so I invited myself over and took an accompanied tour of the inside of Cyndi's head.

I have mentioned that earlier, I had found the practical aspects of maintaining our balance and stroke depth quite distracting from my enjoyment of our encounter. So you might think that this tongue-battling, lip-massaging, face-licking behavior which had now commenced was also a bit of a distraction for me. But, on the contrary, it seems that there is, at least in me, some kind of undocumented direct connection between the nerves in my mouth, lips, and tongue, and those in my penis and scrotum, for after Cyndi and I had established a protocol of tongue gymnastics within one another's mouths, I discovered an increasingly urgent need to accelerate the hydraulic pumping which had been continuing unabated throughout all of these other diversions.

Actually, the need was not so much to accelerate the pace as to emphasize each plunge. Cyndi was totally in synch with me on this once I started to poke around in her mouth. It was at this point that I quit "plunging my erect member into Cyndi's wet and willing slash" and manically started "pounding my cock into her cunt."

In response, Cyndi again lifted her hips up off of the bed, arched her back, and met my every slam forward with a similar slam upwards of her hips, which carried along with them, of course, her juicy cunt. Now that we had embarked on mouth-to-mouth negotiations, however, we were not ready to relinquish them, so we simply did it all at once.

A new feeling began to assert itself into my consciousness. It was slightly similar to, but a much more insistent version of the sensations I usually got behind my scrotum when, while doing my internet research by myself, I would realize I was about to need two Kleenex. Similar in the way squirting a squirt gun is similar to using a fire hose. Not real similar.

"Cyndi," I whispered, finding myself a bit short of breath and with a mouthful of Cyndi's tongue. "Cyndi, something's about to happen!"

"Oh, yeah, baby!" Cyndi growled back at me. "Something's about to happen to me, too! Let's do it together!"

And at that, I felt Cyndi's hot, damp, caressing tunnel around my penis turn into a hot, damp, boa constrictor around my penis, which, surprisingly, is a very positive experience.

Cyndi turned rigid again. My hands clamped down onto her breasts really hard as that feeling behind my scrotum jolted up to front and center. Cyndi bit my tongue, and, oddly, it felt good. Cyndi screamed out an unintelligible phrase which I think contained the word "fuck," and I suddenly felt a torrent of molten metal surging through my penis into the deepest parts of Cyndi's slit, where the end of my penis happened to be at that exact moment, held in place there by the fact that I seemed to be momentarily paralyzed.

I heard a noise like a very large black bear might make at the moment it gets it's paw caught in a cruel snap trap -- a deep, throaty, dangerous and prolonged growl! I was distracted by my own internal feelings, so it took me a second to realize that it was I who was making this noise, behind which I heard poor little Cyndi, still rigid below me there on the bed, screaming out in her much smaller voice, "Oh, my fucking God, yes!"

Cyndi went limp below me, and I myself went limp right on top of her. I was surprised to realize that my still half-hard penis (thank you, little blue pills) was still lodged in her, but slowly, sensuously, worming it's way out of her sloppy, slimy, hot and flaccid lipped opening as we fell apart on the bed, her to the left, me to the right.

I work out about four times a week. Not counting the drive to the gym, time for changing clothes and taking a shower, and driving back, I actually exercise for about an hour each time. And I work out really, really hard.

But I gotta tell you, I was sweatier, limper, and more exhausted at that moment lying beside my new friend Cyndi than I have ever been after a trip to the gym. If Freddy Kreuger had come in the room intent on cutting up the two of us into strip steaks, I would have had to just lay there and watch him do it, because I simply couldn't move.

"You okay?" I asked Cyndi.

"Fuh!" she replied.

"Was that okay? Did I do okay for my first time? Was it good for you?" I asked.

"Dale," Cyndi said. "It'd be a lot better if you'd just shut up right now, but I'll tell you this. I'm really gonna hate leaving tomorrow."

I said no more, but I took that as a yes.

... continued in "Cyndi, Day One -- Afternoon" ...



365 Days Ch. 04



Cyndi -- Day One (Afternoon)

I don't think I'd ever been more excited in my life, and Cyndi seemed to have shared in my excitement about what just had happened. So, imagine my surprise when we both reacted to this high level of stimulation and excitement by falling asleep.

I dreamed about a landscape made entirely of breasts ... soft, undulating hills of breasts, some topped with lovely ornamental temples, strawberry in color, surrounded by strawberry patches laden with fruit, others surmounted by only an ornamental circle of darker earth, with the suggestion of a cover in the center for a subterranean silo of some sort, from which might emerge, with the proper tender loving care, yet another alluring hill-top temple.

Slowly, something was intruding into my pleasant dream of the land of nipples. But the intrusion wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, the something that called me to the surface of my consciousness was a warm, gushing pleasure, which, in my dreamlike state at the edge of sleep and waking, reminded me of the warm relief and temporary pleasure I used to get from wetting the bed when I was a boy.

But this was not bladder control problems, I could sense that much even in my sleep. This was MUCH more pleasant than the best of those. I slowly roused and came to realize that something warm and wet was wrapped around my erect penis, and was slowly sliding up and down my shaft while constricting itself to form a tight, all-enshrouding sheath for my member.

Cautiously, I opened one eye. I was in my own bed, and it was the middle of the day. My head was propped up on the pillow, and there, down below me, in the approximate location where one would expect to find one's manhood, was a tousle of blond hair, rustling quietly as the head bearing it moved slowly up and down on my shaft.

"Hi, Cyndi! Thanks!" I said.

The head turned, and Cyndi's face turned to look at me with a radiant smile. "Hi, yourself! You looked like you were having a nice dream. I'm sorry if I disturbed it, but I thought I might add some special effects for you!"

"Oh, don't apologize!" I said. "I was basically dreaming about you, and it was very nice! But what is it you're doing there? That's really very nice, too!"

She flashed me one of her 1000-watt toothy smiles and turned her head back away from me to resume her oral work on my erection. She was draped over my torso, facing away from me, her left arm on one side of me, resting on the mattress, her head on top, and the rest of her flowing away to my right. I had a terrific view of a very sexy back and a previously under-noticed butt that I soon realized needed more study.

I bent forward enough to be able to reach her ass, but being careful not to disturb the delicate maneuvers which she was conducting in the regions of my crotch. I was able to get close enough to her to pry open her ass cheeks with my hands. This is an area of anatomy I had never really contemplated before, let alone had an interest in studying.

I don't know what I expected to find, exactly. Again harkening back to my earlier concerns about sanitation and bodily functions, I guess my original expectation was of a sweat-soaked valley, dark from uncleaned excrement, fetid, humid, and foul.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when what I found was a clean, soft, very warm, fragrant (I'm not being sarcastic, it mainly smelled of soap and/or body oil) landscape of attractive female flesh. I could plainly see the puckered orifice of Cyndi's rectum, but at just that moment, it was snuggly closed for business. I encountered no forests of body hair, as I may have feared, and I don't know to this day if it was simply a feature of Cyndi's anatomy that she was hairless there, or whether she included this valley when she cleared the brush elsewhere in the vicinity.

At the head end of the valley was a small soft mound which quickly gave way again to a shallowing vale and eventually ended in a graceful three-dimensional horseshoe curve before continuing up onto the Cyndi's downy lower back.

The landscape in the other direction was even better. After passing Cyndi's asshole again, I could see that there were only a few fractions of an inch before the contours of her cleft began to form additional wrinkles, which dropped down between the enfolding outer lips of her slit, to be lost forever in its mystery and darkness unless, perhaps, some bold explorer again set out to penetrate those depths.

While Cyndi continued to suck her way up and down my shaft like an express elevator in a big hotel during a convention, I began to sense that weird combination of feelings behind my scrotum, that mixture of intense pleasure, slight discomfort, and pressing urgency that I knew would soon become irresistible. But before surrendering myself completely to that feeling, I did something that surprised and shocked even myself.

I stuck out my tongue, rolled it into a cylinder as best I could, and started to lick (not too lightly, mind you, but not too assertively, either) along the flow line of Cyndi's butt crack. I started at the small of her back, up over the plump little hill there, swooping down into the deep pink valley, and along it to the Grand Canyon. My mind recoiled at what I was doing, and sent me a crudely-worded telegram to "be prepared for my first taste of shit straight from the source."

But my tongue refused to be dissuaded, and plowed steadily onwards, tasting nothing other than perspiration, body oils, and maybe a little something carried over from our earlier activities.

But I noticed, as I passed the Grand Canyon, Cyndi's successive strokings and vacuumings of my erect penis took a sharp uptick in intensity.

I pushed on, passing over that bridge of material between the anus and the vulva which I have since come to know as the "taint." Again, the flavor and aroma was surprisingly pleasant.

At last, I arrived at the more familiar territory of Cyndi's outer lips. Serious delving into these treasures as I had done before would have to wait for a later opportunity, as her legs were together and I simply didn't have proper access; I certainly didn't want to divert Cyndi from her current task, either.

But I noted that the entire region seemed to be suffering from a series of small earthquakes, as Cyndi wiggled around in response to my explorations. I noticed also that a small but productive artesian spring had sprung forth from between Cyndi's lips, and availed myself of a little sip before wandering back to her nether regions.

I wandered through the taint again, and decided to bivouac on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. For one thing, I noticed the strength and frequency of the earthquakes there grew significantly when I was dragging my tongue through the Grand Canyon region. For another, I sensed imminent eruptions from Mt. Foreskin in our immediate future.

I closed my eyes, and leaned forward, pressing my nose into Cyndi's asshole, as my penis erupted into her waiting mouth. Her wet, soft, warm, caressing, stroking, sliding, lapping, squeezing mouth.

It is my unconscious habit to count things as they happen. I have a talent for remembering the pattern of a repeated noise, like firecrackers or gunshots, and can easily replay them in my mind and count them accurately at my leisure. So with this ejaculation. With my nose buried in Cyndi's ass, I felt rather than heard a quick series of spurts leave my penis, and I was rather too busy appreciating the aesthetics of the experience to count them right then.

But shortly after I settled down from my orgasm, I subconsciously counted my ejaculations into Cyndi's mouth. Ten. There can be no doubt, although I find it very hard to believe myself, as I'm sure I never ejaculated with more than three or four spurts before in my life. But there can be no doubt ... I shot exactly ten spurts of semen into Cyndi's mouth that day upon waking from our nap.

Not to say the last spurt could have been much to speak of in terms of volume ... I'd just had one of the most massive orgasms of my life maybe a half hour previously. Like the anemic guy at the Red Cross Blood Drive, I don't think I had a lot more to give. And I hadn't even had my juice and a cookie yet.

But what the tenth spasm into Cyndi's mouth lacked in volume, it made up for in intensity. To say I was an excited boy understated both my age and enthusiasm substantially. But I began to notice something physically that I was to come to be very familiar with in the days and weeks to come.

Besides an amazing and profound feeling of pleasure and joy, there was also a very real twinge of pain, like going back out to play hockey even though you twisted your ankle the previous day. Like finishing your ice cream cone even though you've got brain freeze. Like burning your mouth on the first piece of the best pizza you've ever eaten in your whole life, but not being able to stop your self from eating the whole thing despite the pain.

To put it plainly, my scrotes hurt by the time I was done with that cum.

But tempis fugit, as they say, and as soon as I had relished the afterglow of Cyndi's wake-up gift, I resumed my explorations of her butt crack.

I curled up my tongue again, and began running it around the wrinkly rim of her anus.

This activity intrinsically summons up lots of salivation, which I simply let run down the tube of my rolled-up tongue onto, into, and around her asshole. My mouth was very wet, but her ass was soon even wetter.

Cyndi lifted her right leg, placing her foot flat on the mattress up behind the left leg's knee. This gave me a little more room to work with (especially, I gleefully noted, should I decide to renew my expedition to the Love Canal.)

I was determined however, at this juncture, to prove to Cyndi that my limbo bar of excretory and sanitary hang-ups was not just lower, but lying on the ground next to the bonfire. So I took the plunge, as it were, and pushed my tongue into her asshole.

Cyndi jumped involuntarily, resulting in my tongue pulling right back out of her ass. I pulled it back into my mouth, and contemplated the taste there before proceeding to decide whether to resume drilling or simply roll over and throw up.

The taste was, finally, a little earthy, a little less sanitized, a little less composed of soaps, oils, and emollients. The taste was, not to put too fine a point on it, quite a bit like the smell of shit.

But right at this point, Cyndi groaned, writhed her back such that her beautiful butt rolled back against me, and reached behind herself to grasp my head and pull me forward into her ass crack again.

Well, okay, it tasted a little shitty, but bigger things were at stake here. I knew I needed to power through this -- I had a lot to learn, and I wanted to do something nice for this Cyndi person who had done so many nice things for me. Maybe I didn't really love doing this particular thing, but hey, who knows, maybe in time, I would learn to like it ... to love it, even?

So, I tightened my tongue again and used it to swab around Cyndi's ass hole, plunged it in, and licked her all over that general region. Cyndi either continued to make very encouraging noises, or a sequence of goats and cows came through the room. "Aaaah! Mmmm -- Ooooh!"

Cyndi grasped one of my hands - which were, you will recall, being used to pry open and keep apart the globes of her shapely ass - she grasped one of these and guided it down to her labia, inside, to the front, and there guided me to find and stroke the little lumpy nodule I'd discovered earlier at the juncture of her inner lips. When she removed her hand, I took the clue and didn't follow, but stayed to twiddle around in there while I mainly concentrated on lathering and polishing her anal zone.

Again, the sheep, goats, and cattle came through, while at the same time, the earthquakes resumed, this time in force. I had everything I could do to stay in contact with ground zero (oh, yeah, and in the case of the fingers on my right hand, ground one or what ever you'd like to call her clit).

After a bit, Cyndi's moanings, groanings, and thrashings around suddenly stopped as she went completely rigid, trapping my poor head with its poor tongue tightly in place. I hoped first that this was a good thing going on for her, and second that it would soon be over, as I was cramping up and couldn't breathe.

Sure enough, Cyndi's rigor mortis quickly subsided, and she fell limp back against me. I pulled my self back a bit, leaned up and forward to see her face, and asked, "Was that okay?"

By way of answer, Cyndi grabbed my head and pulled me forward for another one of those deep-penetrating kisses. I was delighted. So much so, that it didn't even cross my mind until much later where both our mouths had been just prior.

Cyndi smile up at me and said, "what do you say we grab some lunch?"

... to be continued in Cyndi -- Day One (Lunch)!



365 Days Ch. 05



Cyndi – Day One (Lunch)

I was wondering why I was so tired out.

When Cyndi asked "what do you say we grab some lunch?" I realized that I hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day except the water I'd used to wash down the little blue pill. I hadn't really noticed how hungry I was, but then, my mind had been occupied elsewhere.

And I was so thirsty! I wonder where all my bodily fluid had gone to?

I scrambled around and found both of us some shorts and t-shirts to wear. The shorts kept falling off of Cyndi, so she just went with only a t-shirt. Small as she is, it covered pretty much everything. Mostly. Most of the time. Actually, it was almost more distracting when she wore the t-shirt than having her walking around totally nude. So I left well enough alone, as I liked it that way!

I hadn't really been expecting company, so the pickings were pretty slim in the kitchen. We rummaged in the refrigerator and the cabinets and finally settled on a balanced meal of left-over pizza, some frozen French fries heated up in the microwave, Cheerios with chocolate milk, slightly mushy pears, Power Bars, kosher dill pickles, and frozen juice bars, all washed down with Cokes. I also popped another little blue pill.

We also found some spray whipped cream, for which Cyndi invented a great new serving suggestion involving no dishes, and for which clean-up was the main attraction. I think if they showed this serving suggestion on their label, sales would go up one thousand percent.

After lunch, and especially after Cyndi's whipped-cream dessert idea, we were pretty funky, so we took showers. Well, we took A shower.

Usually, after I shower, I just dry off and get dressed. But Cyndi showed me the advantages of rubbing baby oil all over myself. Which is to say, SHE rubbed baby oil all over me. Then I rubbed baby oil all over HER. Then she rubbed herself all over me, and so on, until we were all hot and sweaty again, and had to take another shower.

We finally did get out of the bathroom, but somehow, we never did get dressed that afternoon. I mentioned to Cyndi that I couldn't remember everything she had taught me that morning, so she suggested a review, which we actually went over a couple of times. As kind of an extra-credit assignment, Cyndi instructed me in the use of The Grand Canyon as yet another place to relieve my erection. I was amazed to find it at once similar, yet quite different from exploring her vagina, and Cyndi seemed to enjoy the novelty of it, as well.

At first when we tried it, I tried to simply push my penis, which was ready to go again and hard as ... I don't know what ... hard as an erect penis, I guess, into little Cyndi's asshole, but all I accomplished was to smash the spongy tip of my cock flat against her and nearly fold the length of it in half. Before I could ask Cyndi if she knew of a better way to go about this, she said, "Oh, sorry Dale, I should have known you'd need some guidance. Don't you have any lube around here?" She looked around, then looked at me, then said, "Of course you don't. Just a sec!"

She hopped up and went into the bathroom and came back with the same bottle of baby oil we'd just been using as an extra-shower inducer. "Here ya go, Dale, just splash a bunch of this around on me, smear some on yourself, and things should go quite a bit easier!"

I got a little diverted here, and was starting to worry out loud about all the various, copious, and not altogether sanitary fluids we had been depositing on my bed. The surface of my sheets was starting to become kind of gamey, and it was becoming harder and harder to find places to play with my new friend that didn't have uncomfortable chilly puddles of one kind or another. Actually, I was more worried about permanently ruining my mattress beyond repair than anything else, even comfort.

"Well, in the first place, Dale, you remember that promise you made me about maybe lowering the bar a little bit on the sanitary issues?"

I acknowledged that I remembered it well, and was trying to be more open-minded. Cyndi said, "Well, honey, you've been doing good, but this concern about laundry would totally qualify as one of those things, not to mention that it's a real mood killer to have a guy stop things in their tracks when I'm trying to teach him how to fuck me in the ass in order to fret about his mattress! You know?"

I told Cyndi that I could see how that would be true, but I had paid two thousand dollars for that mattress and box springs, and as much fun as we were having, I wanted to own this bed for many more years, but not if it was all squishy and smelled all the time like my room smelled at that moment.

"Okay, Dale," Cyndi said, with the kind of frown on her face that I was much more used to seeing on the faces of beautiful women that I usually interacted with. "I'm maybe beginning to see why you don't have a girlfriend." Seeing her look at me that way actually kind of relaxed me a little bit, since I felt that now I was on more familiar ground. Next, she would slap me, storm out, and I would never see her again, if things followed their usual pattern.

But no! Cyndi looked like she was counting to herself for a few seconds, then smiled, but with a lot of teeth and stretched-out lips like maybe she really didn't mean it, and she said, "Here's what we'll do to get us through this. First, give me a few minutes and some new sheets, and I'll re-make the bed for you, okay? I'll put a couple of your big ol' bath towels under the bottom sheet to protect your precious mattress, too! That gonna work for you?" She hit that last "that" pretty hard, and I thought I maybe detected a little bit of sarcasm.

"That would be terrific, Cyndi!," I said, trying to make the interchange as upbeat as possible.

"And you know what else, Mr. Home Beautiful?" Cyndi asked. "I'll even call the service and ask them to include a mattress pad from now on when they bring new linens! How's that?"

"Sounds great!" I said. "And what should I do while you're doing all that?"

"Couldn't you help me ...? No, never mind, I'll tell you what you can do, pal," Cyndi started out, kind of brusquely. Then she paused a little bit, and seemed to be doing that counting-to-herself thing again that she was doing earlier. The she said, very sweetly, "Why don't you go make us some nice big drinks to share for when I'm done, huh? You know, the ALCOHOLIC kind of drinks? And, Dale, would you make mine really strong?"

I did as I had been asked. I found some ginger ale in the cabinet over the refrigerator from last New Year's Day, and most of a bottle of vodka. I got out the two biggest water tumblers I had, put several ice cubes in each, and filled them about half-and-half with ginger ale and vodka. I sipped one, and decided that Cyndi might not think it was strong enough, so I drank about half of it down in one long gulp and filled it back up with vodka. I made a mental note that my right hand was the one holding Cyndi's drink, and found my way back to the bedroom.

Cyndi was just finishing up making the bed, but she still seemed, I don't know, kind of tense. I said, "Thank you SO much, Cyndi, you're just fantastic!" trying to sound like I imagined regular guys would sound when they were trying to make regular girls feel good about them. Cyndi looked at me funny, maybe as if she thought I was being sarcastic myself, and then she saw the drinks I was carrying.

"Well, hell Dale, you don't fuck around when a girl asks you for a big drink, do you? What you got there?"

"All I had was ginger ale and vodka," I said.

"Sounds great," Cyndi said. "Why don't we go out into the living room and just relax a little bit and see if I, mean WE, can't get back into the mood?"

I told her that sounded like a grand plan, so we did. I wasn't certain by the time we sat down on the sofa which drink was Cyndi's, my memory suddenly didn't seem as sharp as it usually was for some reason, so I gave her the one in my left hand. She took a little sip, and said, "Oh, no! That's a bit TOO strong, Dale!" and switched glasses with me before I could say anything.

She took a sip of the other drink and spit it out all over my carpet. "Jesus, Dale!"

What had I done? Cyndi got up, and took her drink into the kitchen. I could hear her pouring most of it down the drain, then I heard her open another can of soda and pour it. When she came back into the living room, her drink didn't really look any different than it had before. She took a sip and said, "There, that's better!"

We sat for quite a while in the living room drinking our drinks while I told Cyndi about my work, and she told me about hers. All in all, I'd say she had the more interesting job. Over the course of maybe half an hour or forty-five minutes, we both had drained our drinks.

I was feeling a little odd. The room still looked slightly blue, but now it was also kind of fuzzy, and maybe rotating very slowly. I felt a battle going on in my crotch between that drink I'd had and the little blue pill over whether I was going to stay alert and hard or get all limp and fall asleep. Luckily, after a while, the room settled down a bit, and the little blue pill apparently won the battle.

Cyndi seemed to have mellowed out considerably, too, and was smiling at me like she meant it when she got up, took my hand, and led me back into the bedroom. She carefully turned down the bedspread, blanket and top sheet, and climbed up onto the bed, indicating that it was time to start classes again.

I climbed up next to her, and she got up onto her hands and knees, put her head down right on the surface of the bed, and handed me the bottle of oil. "Lots, Dale, use lots!" was all she said, then closed her eyes, reached behind herself to spread her cute buns apart, and just waited.

Okay, I told myself, I can do this. I'm a smart guy, I can figure this out.

I opened the spout of the bottle, and just held it over Cyndi's butt crack and squeezed. A steady stream of oil ran down over her, although I missed at first ... my aim seemed to be off a little, and a stream of oil ran down her butt and onto my sheets. I thought about saying something to Cyndi like "I told you so!" but then I thought better of it.

Anyway, I must have poured a quarter of what was left in the bottle into Cyndi's ass crack before she said, "Dale! Dale! That's probably enough, Dale!" I stopped pouring the oil, and Cyndi said, "Now rub it all around back there, Dale, and rub a bunch all over yourself!" I started to massage the oil around onto Cyndi's ass, when she said, "And, you know, Dale, when I say rub some around on yourself, I just mean on your cock!"

"Oh, no, I didn't know. Thanks!" I thought I had everything lubricated up pretty good, but Cyndi said she thought maybe I should try to get some oil actually INTO her asshole, so I poked a finger in there, and tried to guide as much oil in there as I could. Then, as she seemed to be loosening up a little back there, I tried the same thing with two fingers, then three. After about ten minutes of this, she was about as oily as I could ever get her, and she also seemed to be in a much, much better mood. I guess the drinks had taken effect!

"Now, just push it in there, Dale! But, go a little slow, and be careful, okay?" Cyndi said.

I tried again to push my cock into her asshole like I had before, but now that everything was so oily, it was slippery and I had a hard time getting myself centered in on the target. But I kept at it, as Cyndi sighed, and finally, I got the head of my dick seated right in the little pucker of her ass. I pushed, hard, and I thought I was going to rip the head of my cock right in half! When Cyndi had told me to be cautious, I thought she was worried about ME hurting HER, but if this was how it was going to feel, I wasn't sure I really wanted to do this very often!

But, just as I was thinking of giving up entirely, something gave and my cock just sort of slipped in there. Because it was so oily, and I had been pushing so hard, it went in just as far as it was long, and thanks to the little blue pills, it was pretty long. Cyndi gave a yelp, then another sigh, and I felt my dick surrounded by a nice, warm, soft pillowy area deep within her, plus a ring of piano wire or a strong rubber band right at the entry.

As I had when I had my penis embedded in Cyndi's lovely vagina, I felt that same illogical urge to pull myself right back out, then push myself right back in, back out, in, out, and so-on. As I said before, it felt similar, yet different to fucking Cyndi in the more usual place. The constriction around the base of my cock actually felt quite uncomfortable, but in a phenomenon which I have since experienced many times, that very discomfort perversely led a heightening of my overall sexual feelings. Cyndi reported that she had similar feelings, composed of both pain and pleasure at the same time.

Otherwise, it was okay.

While we reached a mutually satisfying orgasm this way (Cyndi screaming out, "Oh you ass-fucking weirdo bastard!" at the critical moment actually helped me achieve my explosion into he anus), all in all, I don't think I'll ever make ass-fucking a big part of my sexual repertoire.

... to be continued in Cyndi – Day One (Dinner and Beyond)!



365 Days Ch. 06



365 Days

Cyndi – Day One (Dinner and Beyond)

By the time Cyndi had reviewed our lessons the third time, and we had answered all the questions in the back, I suddenly found that I was tired and hungry again. I glanced at the clock, and realized that we had been "studying" for over four hours.

We were busy with yet another trip down the Grand Canyon when we were both startled by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

"Dinner's here!" squealed Cyndi, as she jumped up and pulled on her t-shirt, leaving me behind with my tongue hanging out. And not for food, either.

Oblivious to her rather exposed condition, Cyndi ran to answer the door, as I struggled to pull myself together enough to get dressed. I could hear a little discussion in the living room, and some metallic and mechanical noises, but before I could get my act together enough to get out there, our visitors were gone.

In their place, however, was a feast spread out onto my dining room table. There was a big crystal bowl full of tossed salad, a steaming platter of glazed baked ham with sweet potatoes, a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes with a tureen of gravy, two big bowls of vegetables, hot rolls and butter, a choice of drinks in a cooler as well as two thermoses of coffee, and pie for dessert. Cyndi said there was also ice cream in the freezer.

I have to admit, I was ravenous. We had had quite a workout that day, and now that the food was here, my mind shifted away from sex for the first time in hours, and I realized that my stomach was growling with hunger.

When I was a kid, I saw an old movie entitled "Tom Jones." The highlight of the movie was a scene in which two lovers devoured a feast, becoming more and more sensuous and sexual about it as they went along, making thinly disguised love to their food while looking leeringly at each other and drooling. Cyndi and I put that movie to shame.

By the time we were done, we had made some serious inroads into the food that had been left, but I doubt we had eaten even half of it. I started to get up to put the left-overs away and clean the dishes, when Cyndi said, "Oh, don't bother with that! The caterer'll clean it all up tomorrow!" She was back in exclamation-point mode again.

"I'll save some of it for lunch tomorrow," I said. I'm afraid my sanitation bar concerning leaving out food and dirty dishes was still as high as it had ever been, and I took the time to put the food away and to put the used dishes in the dish-washer. After I turned the dishwasher on, I turned back to talk to Cyndi, and she was gone!

I assumed she had gone back into the bedroom, but when I walked into the living room, I saw her there, sound asleep in the sofa, with her t-shirt charmingly rumpled up, exposing her cute, round butt to the world. I grabbed the comforter off the back of the sofa, and covered her up (as much as I hated to hide that beautiful butt), then I went over to the recliner and slumped back into a deep sleep myself.

When we woke up, the house was dark and silent. My first thought was that I had had the best dream of my life, and I could die now as far as I was concerned. Then, as my eyes adjusted, I could see in the dim light cast by the l.e.d.'s on my DVD player (which told me that it 2 a.m. Sunday morning), a little mound of something on the sofa. The mound was topped by a tousle of blond hair, and it was moving slightly and making little "mmm" sounds.

So, it hadn't been a dream after all! I got up and went out into the kitchen to get a drink of water. I turned on the light there, and it threw a dim glow out into the dining room and living room. I went back out, and sat on the sofa next to Cyndi, and gently shook her shoulder.

"Cyndi," I whispered, "Cyndi, wake up!"

"Huh?" Cyndi said. "Wha's going on?"

"Cyndi, it's me, Dale. We've been sleeping for hours!"

"I know. Let me sleep, Dale!"

"No, Cyndi! Pretty soon, the next girl will come in the morning, and I still want to fuck you a couple more times!"

Cyndi looked more alert, now. "Really?" she asked, "There's a new girl coming in a couple of hours but you want to fuck ME some more?"

"Yes, of course!" I said, now in exclamation-point mode myself.

"Well, I'm flattered, Dale! Hell, I can sleep any time," she said as she quickly skinned her t-shirt up and off of her beautiful little body, and pulled me down on top of her. "Fuck me hard, Big Boy!"

I had awakened with a slightly-reduced erection, the effects of the blue pill wearing off a bit after several hours, but now that I was pressed against Cyndi's sleep-warmed and sleep-relaxed body, my prick was all stiff and pokey again.

I felt down between her legs, and realized that although I may have been ready to go, Cyndi might still need some warm-up time. Remembering my lessons from earlier in the day, I slid myself down and applied my new and improved foreign-tongue techniques to her smooth lower lips, with never a single thought about hygiene or lowered bars.

Soon enough, Cyndi was sopping wet down there, and I could tell by taste that not all of it was from me slobbering all over her. Although, a good bit of it was. I knew I had accomplished my mission when Cyndi reached down, and pulled me up to where my face was level with hers, and licked my entire face, cleaning up all the juices I had just accumulated. Then, she gave me another one of those tongue-penetrating kisses that I had learned to love so much, and said, "you're such a good student!"

Cyndi scooted out from under me, and stood up, and I thought she was going away, but she just stood at the end of the couch and leaned over, resting her crossed arms on the arms of the sofa, with her butt pointed at the dining room. In this position, she was a delight to behold: her big breasts hung down almost to the sofa cushion below, and her golden hair cascaded down over her face and shoulders.

I slid along the couch next to where she was standing, and ran my hands under her pendulous breasts, lightly tweaking her erect nipples. "C'mon, Dale," she said, "time for another lesson."

"Get up, and walk around behind me, honey," Cyndi said, and I assumed she meant me. So I walked over to where, in the low light flooding out of the kitchen, I could see her lovely rear end and shapely legs. The arch of her back bent down to the arm of the sofa, resulting in the lips of her slit being very prominently displayed from behind. She was looking back at me over her shoulder, but even without additional tutoring from Cyndi, I got the general idea.

I took off my pajamas and stepped up until I cast my shadow over her, and I finally felt my protruding cock touch something warm and soft. I felt around with my hands, and I could identify the landscape I was feeling with a pretty high degree of confidence: legs, butt halves, Grand Canyon, taint, gooey slot. Ah, there it was! I stuck a finger in to hold my place, and with my other hand, I took hold of myself and guided the two towards one another. Without further ado, I successfully aligned my cock with her cunt, and slid right in.

I was delighted to discover that, in this position, three things were possible, or better, than I had experienced before.

One, I was able to push myself really deeply into Cyndi's hot slit; deeper, perhaps than I had been before.

Two, I was able to bend over, reach around to her chest, and feel her luscious big tits hanging down and swinging free, where I could push them around, pinch their nipples, flap them together, or even, eventually, slap at them.

Three, I was standing on my own two feet, so I was able to thrust much more strongly than I had when I was kneeling, and certainly much more than when I had been on my back with Cyndi riding above me (which I also liked, though, because I liked to watch her tits bounce!)

So, all in all, I fucked Cyndi a little more aggressively in this position than I had heretofore.

Well, a lot more aggressively. Cyndi yelped out encouragements to let me know everything was okay with her, and I started to feel a different feeling than I had before. Sexual excitement, to be sure, but also a feeling of power and domination. I thrust myself into her body as hard as I could, almost wanting to hurt her as well as wanting to make her feel good. I slapped her in the ass, first one cheek, then the other. I leaned forward, and grabbed at her tits, pinching her nipples with my fingernails, then slapping them one at a time, hard ... as hard as I could.

Through all of this, Cyndi seemed to grow more and more excited. I thought she might get mad or pull away from me, but instead, she reached back with her arms and grabbed me by the legs to pull me into her even harder and deeper. It seemed to me that she stiffened several times and arched her back, her nipples growing even larger briefly, and she moaned out her pleasure, "Oh, God, yes, Dale! You are one fucking fast learner! Harder! Go harder!"

I was pumping my hips so fast that my cock plopped out of her a couple of times, and when it did, she cried out, "God, no! Stick it back in! Never stop fucking me, damn it! Stick it in!" Which I did. I began to become aware of my scrotum (Cyndi had taught me that word!) flopping back and forth as I thrust into her, and I knew from that tightening in my crotch that I was about to erupt into her.

In the dim light, I gave one final violent shove and held myself embedded as far into Cyndi's cunt as I could possibly go as I began a series (8!) of fantastic spasms, shooting something hot deep into her body. Cyndi tensed up, too, and shouted out in a wordless exclamation, pushing herself up against me with her hands on the arm of the sofa straining to fulfill her own orgasm at the same time.

After I was finished pulsing into her, and as she was beginning to relax, I kept myself embedded and bent over and kissed her back. "I'm going to be real sorry when you leave in the morning!" I said.

"I'm going to be real sorry, too, Dale. But, trust me, you'll forget all about me pretty soon. The girls who are going to come here will keep your mind occupied plenty for the next year. I'm you're first, I know, but I certainly won't be your last, and from what you've done so far, I'm betting you will be real popular even after your year is over."



... to be continued in "Rachel – Day Two"



365 Days Ch. 07



Rachel – Day Two

I had actually hoped to fuck Cyndi at least once more before she had to go, but we fell into an exhausted sleep after our last efforts. We were sprawled together on the couch in the living room, me with one leg on the floor to keep us from rolling off, and the two of us clutching one another, but not entirely to keep from falling.

There was morning sun streaming in over the drapes when we were awakened by the low, loud rumble of some kind of street racer kids going by or something. Except that they didn't seem to be going by. They seemed to be driving right up my driveway, and the exhaust noise kept getting louder and louder until it suddenly just stopped altogether!

Cyndi threw the comforter off of us and jumped up. She peeked through the curtains to see what was outside.

"Oh, it's Rachel! You're going to love Rachel to death!" Cyndi squealed. After my last session with Cyndi, I thought it was possible I could love the both of us to death if I wasn't careful. Whoever Rachel was.

Cyndi ran to open the door before I could remind her that she was starkers ... naked as the day she was born (but a bit bigger and much better looking!) Cyndi squealed again like girls do when they greet one another, and I heard a door slam outside and an answering squeal from my front yard. "Rachel!" "Cyndi!"

I scurried to put on my pajamas, at least, and pretty soon, Cyndi was leading in another girl, or I should say, woman, by the hand. "Dale, this is my pal Rachel! Rachel, this is Dale Owens! You two are going to get along great, I just know it! Rachel, Dale is a sweetie, so you be nice to him today! Yesterday was his first time, and I may have worn him out a little."

"Okay," Rachel said, snapping her gum. She lifted her sunglasses to scope me out, and I could see that her eyes were a striking green color. She was quite a bit taller than Cyndi, and looked, if that was possible, even younger. Rachel had very red hair, worn extremely short and spiky ... not punked, but kind of like she had had it all styled and combed earlier before she got caught in that tornado.

Rachel was wearing only white painter pants overalls, apparently with nothing on below, leaving nothing to the imagination in the breasts department. Where Cyndi was short and buxom, Rachel was tall, very thin, and had only small breasts. Where Cyndi's boobs were large and bouncy, Rachel's were quite compact and firm, and I doubted they'd bounce even on a jeep trip. But still, pert! I wonder what that means, "pert?" Anyway, Rachel was looking me over pretty frankly, and she looked like she had a real attitude. 

Rachel's skin was bone white, except for where she had a couple of big tattoos – a bold black one around her neck that looked like a barbed wire necklace, and a multi-colored one on her upper left arm that seemed to be two snakes either locked in mortal combat or making love. I would have to ask her which, one of these times.

Other than that, the only article of clothing she seemed to be wearing was a pair of cheap rubber flip-flops on her feet. Oh, and seven or eight metal barbells poked through her skin in various places around her face and body. Seven or eight that I could see. She was quite pretty; except for the piercings and tattoos, she could have been a runway model with her long, lanky body and cute face. She'd have to develop that bored and disdainful look that they have, though, and quit looking so damn perky.

Rachel was carrying a package and a gym bag; she handed the package to Cyndi while continuing to look right into my eyes. "Hey, Dale! Good to see you. I know your brother quite well. Or, ahem, I used to know your brother real well! Haven't seen hide nor hair of him since he got married, of course. Nope, haven't seen him at all since then. Good guy, though! Lots of fun! Are you like Roger, Dale? You lots of fun?"

"Oh, Rachel, I said be nice! Dale is kind of shy ... he's not a big kidder like Roger in that way!" said Cyndi, as she opened the package to reveal that it was the clean sheets for the bed.

"Oh? And is he like Roger in other ways, if you catch my drift?" Rachel asked, wiggling her eyebrows and making an exaggerated gesture like a fisherman lying about the one that got away.

"As a matter of fact, Raitch, if anything, he's more like his brother in that way than his brother is, if you follow me," Cyndi said as she was getting dressed from the pile of brown delivery-person clothes which had been conveniently left right there by the doorway.

"Really? You don't say! Well, we're going to have to explore that, won't we?" Rachel said, snapping her gum again with a big, crooked smile on her face.

"Enthusiasm, Energy, Endurance, and Exploration, isn't that right, Raitch? You'll find Mr. Owens here has plenty of all of those, except maybe Energy right now ... I worked him pretty hard yesterday!" Cyndi said.

"And early this morning, too!" I added.

"Oh, Dale," Rachel said, "are you one of those 'early risers'?" She had a wicked grin on her face.

"Oh Raitch, you're terrible!" Cyndi said. "Dale, honey, could you see what you can scrounge up for breakfast while Raitch and I make your bed and talk some girl talk?" Cyndi said.

I hadn't followed that exchange at all, except to realize that both these women apparently knew my brother pretty well. At least, long ago, before he got married. Certainly not recently, since he got married. Certainly not!

Anyway, as the women went back into the bedrooms, I went to the kitchen. I found some milk and the apple pie from yesterday, and I even got out the ice cream ... what the hell. The coffee in the thermoses was still surprisingly hot, so I set out some plates, cups, glasses, and silverware as well as the food, and while I waited, proceeded to unload the dishwasher.

By the time I was done, the girls had returned, and Cyndi had even apparently found her cute little brown baseball cap with the gold shield emblem on it.

"So, Dale!" Rachel said with a big smile. "Cyndi here says you're fast learner. I know a couple of things we might study today, if you're interested!"

Cyndi and I sat down at the little dining-room table. "I don't know about pie for breakfast, but I'm afraid it's the best thing I've got," I said.

"Well, c'mon Dale, we haven't really even shook hands, yet," Rachel said. I reached out to shake Rachel's hand, although that seemed a little formal considering what we would likely be doing soon enough. Rachel hadn't sat down yet, so she stepped over, and took my hand, but instead of shaking it, she used it to pull me up to my feet, then leaned in and gave me a big sloppy kiss right on the lips. I immediately felt her tongue sliding along my lips, and I happily opened my mouth and pushed my own tongue forward. I was surprised to encounter another little metal dumbbell lodged in her tongue, and a big wad of peppermint gum nested in beside her lower teeth. Our tongues played with one another for quite a while, until Cyndi finally said, "C'mon, you two. I got to get going ... let's sit down and have something to eat. You gotta keep up your strength, Dale!"

"Yeah!" Rachel said, stepping back and slouching into a chair, "and pie and ice cream looks like a fine breakfast to me!"

After we ate, Cyndi gathered her things and started to go. I caught up to her at the door, and grabbed her for a final kiss. I was sad to see her go ... it would be really easy to fall in love with one of these girls ("women!" I reminded myself.) "You got time to double-team him, Cyndi?" Rachel asked.

"I think Dale's maybe not quite ready for that yet, Raitch. Bye, bye, Dale. You give me a call next year, okay? Seriously! Here," and she handed me a slip of paper with her name and a phone number on it. "This isn't the agency. This is my home phone. Just call me directly, and we'll go out on a date ... a real date, not for pay, just for fun, okay?"

"Whoo-hoo!" Rachel said, "a freebie! He MUST be a good student!"

Cyndi gave Rachel the stink-eye; I blushed and hugged Cyndi, then she went out the door, and climbed into one of the two classic GTO's parked in my driveway, fired it up, and sped away.

Rachel was lounging in one of the dining-room chairs, watching the tender scene between Cyndi and me at the door to my place. Once Cyndi had roared out of sight and I closed the front door, Rachel kicked her left foot into the air, and her flip-flop went flying across the room. She repeated the move with her right foot, but that flip-flop hit the wall and bounced into the living room. Rachel grinned, snapped her gum, and lifted her glass of milk to her lips. I noticed that she had parked her gum on the side of the glass. She drained her glass of milk, then retrieved her gum, stuck it back into her mouth, and commenced noisily chewing and snapping it again. "Yum!" she said. "Nothing like a big ole' glass of cold milk before a marathon fuck-fest, huh, Dale?"

I just stood there, dumbfounded. Rachel's whole demeanor was so different from Cyndi's. Rachel stood up, unsnapped the suspenders of her overalls, and just let them fall to the floor at her feet. As she stepped out of them, she was completely nude, now. I could see that all her hair was a brilliant red, and her snow-white skin was so pale and transparent that the network of veins on her breasts, hips, and the back of her joints were visible. There was not a spare ounce of fat anywhere on her gorgeous body – she had the well-developed long muscles of a swimmer or gymnast. Together with her height, her slenderness made it seem that she had the longest, most beautiful legs I had ever seen.

"C'mon, Dale-boy! Don't stand there gawking all day! Show me what you got!"

Rachel walked over to me, and I just about swooned watching her move that athletic body. The morning sun sparkled on another piercing just above her navel and one through her left nipple, and there was another tattoo, too, on her fantastic rippling tummy just above her pubic hair ... a color picture of a cute little bunny nibbling seductively on a carrot. Maybe the seductive part was only in my imagination.

"You look very fit, Rachel," I commented, as she yanked down my pajama bottoms.

"Oh, yeah? I do gymnastics; I'm on my college varsity team!" Rachel replied. "Well, let's see what have we got here? Oh, my! Cyndi was right! I think you've got your brother beat in the meat department!"

I decided that that was a compliment. "Thanks, I think!" I said.

"Oh, yeah ... that was intended as a compliment! If you've got Roger's attitude and talent, you've definitely got some potential!"

She was very lightly stroking my balls and cock; it made shivers run up my spine. I put my arm around her back and felt her muscles flexing under her skin there as she moved her arms. My cock had started to grow when she shed her clothes, and now it was getting really stiff. "Oh, goody!" Rachel said, watching my penis grow in her hand. "But, you know what, Dale? No offense, but you smell like a French whore-house, and trust me on that because I know whereof I speak."

How could I take offense at that?

"Tell you what: why don't you go 'freshen up' in the shower before the matinee? Don't worry, I'll be right here when you get back!"

"Okay. A good shower might pep me up a little, too!" I said.

"Oh, and Dale? Don't skimp on the soap, now, okay? I'm not kiddin' about that aroma!"

While I was in the bathroom, I not only showered, I used the facilities, popped a No-Doz and another little blue pill, shaved, and brushed my teeth and gargled. I put some goo in my hair and combed it into some semblance of order. As I emerged from the bathroom, on my way to the bedroom to get something to wear, Rachel spied me and said, "Where you going, Dale? I'm out here!"

"I was going to get something to wear."

"Oh, Dale, Dale, Dale!" She stood looking straight at me, and spread her arms to show off her naked body. "This, Mr. Owens, is the uniform of the day! Now come on out here, and let me check you out!"

I walked into the living room, still damp from my shower. The tip of my penis arrived a few seconds before the rest of me.

"Gee, Dale, you clean up pretty nice! Why don't you sit down on the couch over there, and I'll show you something I'm betting you've never seen before!"

I sat down on my couch as instructed, and Rachel literally jumped onto the couch after me, facing me, but straddling my hips with her knees folded back under herself. I hadn't even really touched her except for our kiss in the dining room, but she seemed to be totally ready, and started to lower herself onto my cock, reaching below her to help aim my penis into her waiting cunt.

I don't know what I was thinking, but I asked her "Rachel, don't you want to maybe talk, or just neck a little bit, first? You know, get to know one another, sort of build up some momentum?"

Rachel was suspended in mid-air, the tip of my raging hard-on just barely resting at the very-wet opening between her legs. She looked at me oddly, her mouth hanging open in shock. She even quit chomping on her gum, briefly. "Well, hell, Dale, sure, if that's what you want to do! I just figured we only have today, so why not get on with it? It's not like we're dating or anything, you know?"

"Well, yeah, I know, but I'm a little shy, like Cyndi said, and I just felt like maybe it would be good to, you know, work up to it, if you know what I mean." I must have completely lost my mind.

Rachel just looked at me oddly again, then her look changed to one of resolution, and she sat straight down onto my erection, and threw her arm around my neck. She grabbed my hand and guided it to her boob, then said, "Well, I'm nineteen years old, I'm a Freshman at State University here in town, and I took this job to help me earn my way through school, and also because I really like to fuck. You already know that I'm into gymnastics, so that's about it for me ... what about you?"

"Uh, well ..." I stammered, a little pre-occupied with the feelings in my crotch and the feel of her lovely little breast there in my hand, which I was diligently manipulating (not too gentle of a touch!)

Rachel helped me: "I already know that you've got a younger brother, Roger, and that he's quite the ladies' man. I already know that your folks died when you were in college and that Roger never went to college, and that Roger is married to a nice Mexican Catholic girl named Maria, and that Roger and Maria won the lottery, and that we're Roger's present to you. What else would you like me to know before we fuck?"

"Oh, what the hell," I said, "that's plenty!" I heaved my hips upward and my rigid cock forced it's way a bit further into Rachel's slender athletic body, and it felt just fantastic. My effort lifted both of us up off the sofa cushions, and Rachel hugged me tighter with the arm she had around my neck.

"Whoa! Now you're talking!" Rachel turned her head and spit her gum out onto the carpet, and commenced to wildly pump herself up and down on my cock. Her red hair seemed a little purple, now, and everything seemed to have that light-blue cast to it again that I'd noticed yesterday.

I was approaching the point of no return when Rachel just hopped up, disconnecting herself from my penis. "Wait!" I hollered.

"Just a sec!" Rachel said. "You're gonna like this ... I'm pretty sure you've never seen this one before!" She turned to face away from me, then sat back down onto my lap, and again guided my penis up into her well-oiled pussy lips. Her knees were again folded under herself, but she had to lean forward to get a decent penetration in that position. "Scoot forward a little, pal!" Rachel said.

I slid my butt toward the edge of the couch, and Rachel leaned even farther away from me, grabbing my thighs for balance. She slid her knees backwards, and tucked her feet up until they were lodged in my armpits, then slid her hands down the calves of my legs until her upper torso was bent down along the fronts of my legs and I could feel her firm little breasts pressing against me there. She was tall enough that her head was resting on the floor, now, and I was in a bit of discomfort as my cock, still tightly embedded in her cunt, was now bent way down and forward. My view was of her lovely tight ass, which had opened up a bit because her legs were spread to both sides of my body. I could see her cute little pink asshole, and I could see where my tormented penis was buried in her twat.

"Gymnastics, Dale! Where there's a will, there's a way!" Rachel said as she commenced pushing her legs against the back of the couch, pulling my cock somewhat out of her. The she pushed herself up and back with her arms, and my cock slid right back into her again. "Grab hold of my legs and help me out a little there, Dale, would you?"

I did, and I soon got into a rhythm of fucking her upside down that made me forget all together about the little bit of pain that bending my cock so far over was giving me. In fact, I quickly realized that the little jolt I got down there every time she pulled forward felt pretty damn good. Not only that, but my view of the proceedings was fantastic ... I watched every stroke as my hard-on pistoned in and out of her cunt, frothing up some kind of foamy mix of pre-come and vaginal lubrication around her opening. It was terrific!

It wasn't too long before I could tell that Rachel was beginning to tighten up with an impending orgasm. I was pretty close, myself. But I was beginning to worry about her being upside-down for so long, all the while exercising so violently. "You okay down there, Rachel?" I asked.

"Oh, hell yes, Dale. This is fantastic! What a head rush!" She said as her cunt clamped down on my penis and she yelped out with the beginning of a pretty strong orgasm. I pushed my hips up, lifting her head and arms off of the floor, and buried my cock full depth into her as I, too reached a climax, and I felt myself shooting several powerful streams of semen into her cunt.

"Yow!" Rachel squealed, "that's a good one, I can tell!"

We both collapsed in an exhausted heap, and when I relaxed and finally let go of her legs, my softening cock pulled out of her with a "fuck" sound, and she tumbled forward gracefully in a full somersault, and ended up squatting on the floor in the middle of the living room. She paused for a second, then stood up and spread her arms wide. She spun around with foamy cum dripping out of her and a big grin on her face, and announced, "Ta-da! And she scores a 10 for a perfect dismount!" 

I was so delighted that I just had to applaud. She took a bow, then came back over to the couch and straddled me again, then leaned down and gave me another big, tongue-y kiss. "Thanks, Dale. That was fun, huh? Bet Cyndi didn't show you that one, huh?"

She slid off of my lap to sit cuddling next to me on the sofa, and we spent the next half an hour finally getting to all that necking I had been talking about before.

By the time it started getting dark in my place, I was a total wreck, and so was my apartment.

Rachel's portable trapeze was wedged into the doorframe of my bedroom, there was gum ground into the carpet in the living room, I had rug burns on my knees, shoulders and the top of my head, and there was some sort of oily lotion all over the kitchen table. The mattress of my bed was leaning up against the wall, the mirror from my dresser had been moved over to the headboard, and the sofa cushions were stacked up in the bathtub.

I was exhausted and sore. Blue pills or no blue pills, I was done for the day.

I thought I had learned the basics the day before from Cyndi, but Rachel gave me a whole new perspective. I learned that those little shiny dumbbells had other uses than just looking funky. I learned that the snakes on Rachel's arm were in a sixty-nine with each other (and she said they were both girls, although I couldn't tell.) I learned that the bunny's mouth made cute little sucking actions when Rachel was orgasming, and I discovered by looking more closely that it wasn't a carrot that the bunny had in her cute little mouth. I learned not to judge too quickly when someone uses teeth, and definitely not to get startled and yank your wanker out suddenly when that happens. I learned that floor exercises and rhythmic gymnastics aren't only for the Olympics any more. Most important, I learned that, no matter how sexy your partner is, there is a human limit, modern chemistry notwithstanding.




365 Days Ch. 07



All in all, we had just a marvelous time.

After the caterer came and went, we stuffed ourselves (we somehow had missed lunch all together), then went into my bedroom where Rachel, still a bundle of Enthusiasm, Energy, Endurance, and Exploration tried to get me aroused one more time by wrapping her big wad of chewing gum all around my penis then seductively chewing it off. I responded by falling asleep.

The sound of the GTO arriving the next morning woke me up again. It was Monday, a work day, and I still felt totally wrecked. My balls ached, and my penis felt like the skin was actually worn right off of it. At least, the blue overcast had gone away again.

Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, I was sleeping on the mattress; apparently Rachel had managed to get it onto the bed and underneath me without waking me, then made the bed with me in it, and tucked me in.

The room looked completely clean and orderly. I went in the bathroom to relieve myself, and there wasn't a couch cushion to be seen.

As I wandered into the living room, I saw Rachel there, sitting on the sofa, reading a large, heavy book, fully dressed in a pair of tailored shorts, a polo shirt and tennies (with socks!), and the rest of the house looked like the Merry Maids had just visited. "How long have YOU been up?" I asked her, just as the doorbell rang.

Rachel got up to answer the door, and grinned at me. "I STAYED up until midnight. I only got up an hour ago or so. I had to study!"

Rachel opened the door, and there stood Monday's woman. She was even more opposite to Rachel than Cyndi had been. "Hey, Carmen," Rachel said, hugging the new arrival and escorting her into my apartment. "You need to meet Dale, here!"

... to be continued in "Carmen – Day Three"



365 Days Ch. 08



Carmen – Day Three

Rachel's gym bag was sitting by my front door. I gave her a really nice, loving kiss as she paused before leaving. One more time, I poked around on her tongue stud, playfully, and she giggled. "I'm living in the dorm, and I have no idea where I'll be living next year." Rachel said. "I'm up for a full-ride gymnastics scholarship; if I get it, I'm getting out of this business, no offense!"

How could I take offense at that?

"But Cyndi's right, you're a keeper! When this goofy present of your brother's runs out, come on up to the campus and catch one of our meets! I'd love to go out with you, if you're interested!" She kissed me again, walked out to the GTO, and motored out of my life.

Carmen was standing there, waiting patiently, with her hands clasped in front of her, several packages on the floor by her side. I turned around and shook her hand. "Hi, I'm Dale Owens," I said, feeling very awkward. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. Owens," Carmen replied with a sweet smile. "I'm Carmen Riogetto."

Carmen was much shorter than Rachel had been, about the same height, actually, as Cyndi. Carmen probably weighed half again as much as Rachel, though. But it was distributed very nicely. She wasn't what you would call "willowy," for sure. You might charitably say Carmen was plump. And she had the most enormous bosom I think I've even seen except for my maiden Aunt Prudence.

Carmen's skin was a kind of olive color ... not only a little dark, but with actually a kind of greenish-tan tinge to it. Not like she was sick, you understand, but like she just got off the boat from Italy. Her jet-black hair was long and lustrous, and hung straight down her back to the top of her butt. Speaking of her butt, it, too was ample ... not gross, but rounded in a very womanly sort of way. Carmen was wearing a very conservative black skirt and sweater over a collared white shirt. She had on olive-toned hose and low-heel pumps. After shaking my hand, Carmen stooped over to pick up her packages. In addition to the packet of linens, Carmen was carrying an over-night bag and some kind of big shopping bag. I stepped forward to assist her with her burden, and she handed me the big shopping bag, which I saw was filled with groceries.

But my first impression of Carmen was that whereas both Cyndi and Rachel seemed quite young, Carmen looked maybe forty – almost my own age! She was classically beautiful, with exotic black eyes, and a full, pouty mouth; overall, Carmen looked a lot like a short Sophia Loren at the same age – multo bene! There were just the beginnings of tiny crows' feet at the corners of her lips and eyes which betrayed her age.

Carmen made me think of when I was little and my Mom had foxy friends over to play cards. I would always hang around to catch a glimpse of the ones I thought were especially sexy. Several of them were divorced or never married. I always thought men were crazy to ignore beautiful women of that age. Oddly, my impression of Carmen was forever after colored a little by the fact she made me think of my Mom. I can tell you, in the time since that day, that association has caused me some very "special," and kind of disturbing, dreams.

"Mr. Owens, if you would be kind so as to set that bag about the kitchen table, I'll bring these things to the bedroom. Is it back this way?" she said, indicating with a nod of her head the hallway to the back of my apartment. She had the most charming trace of what I guessed was an Italian accent.

"Uh, yeah. But, please, Carmen, why don't you call me 'Dale?'"

"Oh, no, Mr. Owens! You're the customer, and I must always address you with the greatest respect!"

"Well, okay Carmen. But then, I'll have to call you Miss Riogetto!" I said with a big grin, teasing her.

She was not amused, and frowned a little at me. "Thank you, sir, but I'm MRS. Riogetto. And it would be more appropriate if you called me Carmen."

I was a little confused. Carmen didn't seem to be at all like the other "escorts," or my idea of what an "escort" might be. She seemed like maybe a straight-laced housekeeper or maid, instead. "Uh, Mrs. Riogetto, er, I mean, Carmen, who sent you here today?"

Carmen brightened considerably. "Oh, Professional Escorts, of course, Mr. Owens! I'm part of your brother's gift to you!"

"How do you know my brother?"

"Oh, Mr. Owens," Carmen said quietly, looking shyly down at the floor. I wasn't sure because of her dark complexion, but she seemed to be blushing. "Mr. Roger Owens has been one of my best customers for many years ... since he was just a boy!"

"Oh, really? Somehow, I just can't picture you and Roger together!"

"Well, Mr. DALE Owens," she said, peeping up, flirting from under her long black eyelashes, "I will be glad to show you everything Mr. Roger and I have done together. I'm sure he would be happy to share!" At which point, Carmen turned sensuously and went back into the rear of the apartment.

I took the groceries to the kitchen and unpacked the large cloth shopping bag. There were eggs, bacon, bread, butter, coffee, milk, orange juice, cans of soup, mustard, mayo, a variety of lunch meat, olive oil, a six-pack of Cokes, the makings of spaghetti sauce, a box of noodles, some Italian ice cream, and two bottles of Chianti. By the time I had put everything away, Carmen had returned from putting her things in the bedroom.

"Oh, Mr. Owens, please, you should just sit and relax. I would have put everything away. I'm going to make you a nice breakfast!"

"I'm sorry, Carmen! I've got to get ready for work. I don't know if I'll have time for breakfast with you this morning."

"Nonsense. Go take your shower and get dressed, and by the time you get back, I'll have a hearty breakfast ready for you!"

Frankly, that sounded pretty good, so I did exactly that. Not only did Carmen have a great breakfast ready for the two of us, she also had made me sack lunch to take along to work. As we ate, we exchanged pleasantries about my brother and her work for the escort service. She was too shy to reveal any seamy details, but it soon became clear to me that she was, like the others, basically a prostitute. Being very careful not to offend her, I sort of hinted that it was odd for a married woman to do the kind of work she did. Did her husband know she worked for an escort service?

"Oh, no, Mr. Owens! Primo wouldn't allow me to do this sort of work. He thinks I am working for a domestic cleaning service."

"Carmen, I guess it's none of my business, but why DO you work for an escort service? Do you have an unhappy marriage?"

Carmen looked down at her lap again, as if ashamed of what she was going to say. "Oh, no sir. I work for Professional Escorts because the money is VERY good, but most of all, because I love what I do for a living, and I pride myself that I am VERY good at what I do. My husband travels a lot for his work, and I get very lonely, and, you know, very, well, very frustrated! My husband certainly wouldn't understand, but I feel so SATISFIED when I please one of my clients. Not to mention of course, I just love to fuck!"

I had heard a lot in the last few days, but I have to admit that Carmen had shocked me yet again. "Well, Carmen, I don't quite know what to say about that. But thank you for being so honest with me!"

"Oh, yes, sir. It would be a SIN to lie to you!"

I shook my head, and finished my last cup of very strong, very delicious coffee.

"Now, Carmen, I'm going to have to leave you all alone here, today. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"Mr. Owen, Professional Escorts is fully bonded, and you can trust me completely to take good care of your house in your absence!" she said.

"No, no, Carmen! That's not what I meant at all! I just don't want you to get lonely by yourself here all day!"

Carmen laughed out loud. "Oh, Mr. Owens! I will be so busy, I won't have time to get lonely!"

"Busy? What are you going to be busy doing?"

"Well, no offense Mr. Owens, I know you're a young, single man with no one to take care of your house for you! I will have a full day's work just cleaning and tidying up your cute little house!"

I looked around, perplexed. After Rachel had worked on my house last night, I don't remember it ever having been so clean. "Okay, fine, Carmen. And no offense taken. Help yourself to anything you need. How much do I owe you for the groceries?"

"I am happy to bring the groceries as my gift to you, Mr. Owens. If you could, though, it would be helpful if you could leave me maybe fifty dollars for supplies I might need today!"

I gave her fifty dollars our of my wallet, grabbed my sack lunch, and took off for work. I drove my old Honda; I didn't think I was in the right frame of mind to drive a strange, overpowered muscle car right then. I had a LOT to think about.

I was understandably distracted at work that day. I tried several times to call my brother, but his phone was always answered by their butler, who responded to my requests to speak to Roger by saying, "I'm sorry, sir, the other Mr. Owens is not available at this time to come to the phone. Shall I take a message?"

"Yes, Chauncey, the message is the same as the last three times I called: please have Roger call his brother Dale, at work or at home, day or night, as soon as possible. I really need to talk to him! Urgently!"

"Very well, sir. I will transmit your message along with your sense of urgency."

"Thanks, Chauncey. Bye!" Cheeky bastard! He could at least make an effort to find my brother, or tell me where he'd gone so I could get hold of him! I hung up, and went back to going over my accounts without really seeing them. I was thinking hard about the implications of this last weekend and the 'present' Roger had given me. And, of course, I was giving a LOT of thought to Cyndi and Rachel and what we had done together. That was also hard thinking, if you get my drift.

I also called home, wondering how Carmen was doing. But there was no answer. My own answering machine came on, and I talked to it as if she were there but maybe reluctant to answer my phone. "Carmen, it's me, Mr. Owens. I mean, Dale! If you're there, please pick up the phone!" I waited for a while, but eventually, the recorder cut me off, and I was listening to a dial tone.

Soon enough, it was lunchtime. I deferred going out with the guys as I usually did, and got my sack lunch out of the refrigerator. In it were two sandwiches, toasted and cut into wedges. There was a baggie full of bite-size veggies ... carrots, celery, green peppers, Zucchini slices, all with just a hint of spiced olive oil. There was a little bottle of Chianti, and a can of Coke. There was a fantastically sweet orange, peeled, sectioned, and with the seeds removed. There was a Snickers bar. The were two paper napkins and two wet-wipes. And a stick of chewing gum. And a mint. And a note: "Hurry home, Mr. Owens. We have much to do and not very much time!" With a little smiley-face.

There were a couple of women who ate with me that day in the lunchroom. They watched me work my way through this lunch, and pretty soon, they were giggling, which finally broke out into outright laughing when I opened the note, especially when I blushed while reading it.

"New girlfriend, Dale? She's really gunning for you!"

"Or did you move back in with your Mom?"

I glared at them, but then realized they were just pulling my chain. "Well, in the first place, my Mom is dead. ("Oh, Sorry!" "Not your fault ... you couldn't know ... and thanks!") And, I don't HAVE a girlfriend," I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

THAT emptied the room pretty quickly, so I finished my lunch, pocketed the note (I knew better than to throw it into the trash can in the lunch room!), put the Chianti back into the fridge, and went back to my cubicle. A couple of hours later, I went back to get the Chianti. I needed it.

By the time the end of the day had come, I still hadn't heard from my brother. I really don't think I got any work done, either, and whatever I DID do, I knew I would have to review again when I had my head on straight. Maybe in a year.

Of course, traffic was terrible going home. When I finally pulled up into my driveway, I saw that the GTO had moved. Apparently, Carmen had gone out during the day.

As I approached the entrance to my apartment, Carmen opened the door to greet me. She was transformed!

Carmen was wearing a low-cut dressing gown, a diaphanous black something which spilled down over her ample breasts, hugged her waist, then cascaded to the floor. As she moved, the gown moved in such a way as to reveal her shape within it. It was the most sensual piece of clothing I had ever seen, and for the first time, I was thinking maybe Carmen could be fun as well as nice.

Carmen pulled me gently into my apartment, closed and locked the door behind me, and ushered me over to the sofa. I looked around the room and thought perhaps I had gotten the wrong address, somehow.

Carmen had shampooed the carpet, and it looked like a completely different color. She had actually painted one of the walls in the living room, the wall which continued back into the bedroom area; it was a deep, rich red. On it, Carmen had positioned a dozen elaborate Italian tiles in an artistic way. There were new potted plants around, and she had put tasteful (stain resistant!) slip covers on both the sofa and my big, overstuffed recliner.

All the miscellaneous cords I had strung around to connect the stereo, DVD, TV, and computer were somehow hidden away. She had apparently disposed of my extensive collection of cobwebs, which I had kept in the corners of the room.

The room was lit romantically by candles strategically placed here and there, and there was a fire in the fireplace that I had never used before. In front of the fireplace was a fluffy white flokati rug. The room had a fantastic new odor composed of equal parts of a woody candle fragrance, fresh bread, and something spicy and appetizing. My mouth was watering, partly from the smell of food, but largely from watching Carmen's bosoms jiggle around as she walked me to the couch.

"You sit, Mr. Owens, and relax." She bent over to remove my shoes, giving me a fantastic view of the most beautiful, not to mention the largest, breasts I had ever seen outside of my extensive research on the internet. And the occasional movie. And my Aunt Prudence.

She sashayed into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of crusty Italian bread, olives and cheese slices, and two glasses of wine. She sat down immediately next to me, leaned against my shoulder, and asked if I was comfortable.

I said I was, but that I was kind of tense after a weird day at work and the nasty drive home.

"Oh, Mr. Owens, I'm sure I can help you with THAT!" Carmen stood up and shrugged out of her gown, and I suddenly realized what my brother liked about her. Nothing about her body looked over age twenty; she was the complete sex goddess. She was rounded everywhere, with generous hips, shapely legs, and, of course fantastic breasts. Her breasts (I just couldn't bring myself to think of Carmen's breasts as "tits") were large, but didn't sag in the least. And, at that moment, they were tipped by nipples that projected out at least as far as the last joint of my little finger ... what is that, maybe ¾"? Carmen was neatly trimmed, with a short patch of jet-black hair below her tummy, but which stopped to reveal her pussy lips, cleanly shaven. Carmen had a little tummy, but it fit her ... it didn't have ugly rolls of fat, just a slight bulge, which gave her the look of one of those fertility goddesses.

Carmen knelt on the floor before me, and reached over to open my belt and the fastenings of my pants. She said quietly, "Lift a little, please," and when I did, she slid both my pants and underwear gently down off of my hips and legs. She set them aside, then carefully leaned forward and took my now-erect penis into her luscious mouth.

What Carmen did to me then was so different from what Cyndi and Rachel had done with their mouths that it really deserves a name of its own. I don't know what; maybe "heaven's delight" except that's some kind of candy. But that's actually how she treated my cock, as a delicious treat for her, and that's how her lips and hot, wet mouth felt as she slid her head up and down my shaft.

I didn't really want to cum in Carmen's mouth – she still made me think of my mother a little. But she was too good, and soon, I was spurting shots of semen into her talented mouth, and she swallowed. When I had finished, Carmen licked me almost dry, then carefully slid my underwear, then my pants up my legs. She asked me to stand, then she lifted them into place and fastened them. She slipped into her gown again, and said "Now, do you still feel tense?" I could honestly say that I didn't.

We had a fantastic Italian dinner, complete from a chilled tossed salad to spumoni ice cream, then Carmen suggested I go take a shower and get comfortable in the bedroom while she cleaned up.

When I left the bathroom, I saw that all the candles in the living room had been extinguished, and the fireplace doors were closed. The front of the house was dark. I walked into the candle-lit bedroom to find Carmen naked on the bed, lying on her side with the covers turned down, and two glasses of wine on the night stand.

Intercourse with Carmen was completely unlike anything I had experienced before. She wouldn't allow me to hurry; she insisted that we go slow and enjoy one another. Before I finally entered her, I had rubbed my penis over every inch of her body, and had already ejaculated on her twice – once under her arm, and once in her face. She just smiled and encouraged me to continue, which I did.

When we finally fucked, it was a gentle, sensuous genital massage that we gave to each other, and because I had already come so many times, it lasted for a long, long time. Carmen kept me going by whispering the sexiest and most sinful things into my ears, things about what she liked that her husband would never do, or how she had abased herself when she was a young girl in Italy. Carmen told me that sex without love was a myth, and that she had truly loved every man she had ever been with.

At long last, we were unable to resist quickening our thrusts, and we climaxed together, with a lot of noise from both of us. It was as if it was my first of the day, very powerful, but it also was a very emotional cum for me, a mixture of love, thoughts of my mother, a fascination with Carmen's giant, oscillating breasts, and the culmination of a superb aesthetic experience which she had orchestrated. I realized that I hadn't resorted to the little blue pills, either.

By that time, it was ten o'clock, and I was getting very sleepy. When I yawned, Carmen said, "Mr. Owens (which I thought was so sexy since we had just had amazing sex together), you will kill yourself if you keep up this pace. Why don't you call the service and postpone the girls for the next couple of days? It will let you get some perspective on this strange present your brother has given you, and also let you get some rest. Then, on Friday, you can have a regular orgy with this week's girls!"

I really wanted to get to sleep, but what she said made a lot of sense, so I rolled over and found the page of phone numbers, dialed the agency and told them to delay the tsunami of "escorts" until Friday evening.

After that, I fell into the deepest, most restful sleep of my life, and dreamt seriously perverted dreams about my mother and her friends.

... to be continued in "Day Seven – Ruth, Denise, Carol, and Melinda"



365 Days Ch. 09



Ch.9 - Four at Once

Day Seven -- Ruth, Denise, Carol, and Melinda

I was less distracted at work the next day (Tuesday), because I knew there weren't any new girls (women, damn it!) coming over tonight. Not that the idea didn't cross my mind from time to time. But I re-read the message Roger had sent me in envelope #1, and realized that I would have FOUR girls (women!) from the escort service at my house on Friday evening, and that they would be staying with me until at least noon on Saturday. Not only that, but ANOTHER girl would arrive Saturday morning! So, for at least half the day Saturday, I would have five women in my house, each eager (at least, if Cyndi, Rachel, and Carmen were typical) to fuck my brains out.

As enthusiastic as I might be about meeting and screwing several beautiful new young women, and as proud as I am of my new-found Enthusiasm, Energy, Endurance, and Explorations, and in spite of my male ego, even I realized I might be in over my head on this weekend.

So, instead of sitting in the lunchroom again enjoying the terrific sack lunch Carmen had made for me (I had noticed that there were four more of them in my fridge after she left this morning), I took the opportunity to go out to lunch with three of my cohorts in the office. We weren't exactly "friends," but we spent a lot of time together at work, and frequently ate lunch together.

After we were seated in an out-of-the-way booth in the restaurant and had our sodas, I cleared my throat and mentioned that I was having a party on Friday, and was wondering if anyone wanted to come?

I was not surprised when the invitation didn't get a real big, positive reception. I know I have the reputation as the office dead fish. I had never gone out with these guys after work, never gone to a bar to watch a game with them, or just have a drink with them, never invited any of them over for dinner, and of course had never been to one of their houses for dinner either. Not that a couple of them hadn't invited me; I just always turned them down, until they stopped asking. I think the others socialized outside the office, but by the time my work-day was done, the last thing I generally wanted to do was see guys from the office some more.

Rich, the guy from the cubicle next to mine looked at the others with a little grin, and spoke first: "Wow, Dale! What kind of party are you having?" I imagine he was thinking I would maybe be trying to sell my guests patented plastic food storage containers, or something.

"Well, it's a funny thing," I started out. But then I decided that I couldn't tell them the whole story about my brother's gift, so I improvised, "It's just going to be, you know, a regular sort of party. Four cute, single girls who are friends of my brother will be staying at my house Friday night, and I was wondering if any of you guys might like to come over and help me keep them company?"

My brother's reputation preceded me; I had told them enough stories about him that they all knew he was a horn-dog, but they also knew his women were generally very good-looking and, well, exceedingly friendly.

"Uh, sure, Dale!" Dan said immediately. "I'd be glad to help you out there!" Dan, I knew, had recently broken his engagement with a woman who unfortunately had turned up pregnant with someone else's baby. He had been understandably shy about getting "back into the game," as he called it, but I guess this situation sounded like a combination of minimum risk and maximum opportunity. Dan seemed genuinely excited about coming over to my house.

"Yeah, I'll have to see what Donna has in mind for Friday, but count me in!" Fred said.

"Uh, Fred," I said, with a worried frown, "I guess I'm trying to say that this party isn't really for wives and girlfriends, since I'm gonna have four unattached women there. They're actually, uhm, what you might call, er, 'escorts.' I think there might be, uhm, problems if ..."

"Yeah, Dale, I gotcha." Fred said. "What I meant is that I'd have to be sure Donna wasn't counting on me being with HER Friday night. We usually try to get together, but recently, she doesn't seem to be as excited about going out on Fridays after work as she used to be, so I imagine I can be there. You said cute, right?"

"Oh, yeah, they're real cute!" I actually had no idea WHAT they looked like, but I figured, they all work for an escort service, so odds are, right? "You'll like them a lot!"

"Count me out, I'm afraid," Richard said. I wasn't surprised; Rich was married. "I have to get home to the ole 'ball and chain' you know! Linda's keeping me on a kind of short leash recently!" Rich said that last with a big smile, but I felt that there was maybe more than a little bit of true feeling behind the expression. Recently, he seldom talked about how great his marriage was, like he used to do.

"Oh, that's okay, Rich! I completely understand. But you know you're still invited if you find you can spring loose for Friday night! It's all above board and innocent!" I said, sarcastically. "So, I'll have drinks and some snacks, you know, maybe a little music, some dancing, whatever!"

Dan smirked, "Yeah, it's the whatever I'm looking forward to! Too bad it's all so above board and innocent!"

They all laughed. If they only knew.

I finally got the nerve to drive the other GTO to work on the next morning (the OTHER other one, Carmen had taken back to the service on Monday morning. I assumed the girls would come in it on Friday. Wait, that didn't sound quite right ... what I mean is, I assume the girls coming on Friday would use it to get to my place.)

Fred and Dan saw me pull into the parking lot at our office and just gaped at me.

"Wow, Dale! You're really coming out of your shell!" Dan said, as the two of them came over to "ooh" and "ahh" over my car. "Where'd you get the wheels?"

"This looks like a frame-off restoration, guy! Where'd you get the dough for a car like this?" Fred asked.

"My brother, Roger, won the lottery and gave it to me as a gift," I said. I didn't mention that I had another one almost exactly like it. "And it's not really a restoration," I explained, as they looked under the hood and poked their heads in to check out the interior. It's a what they call a 'resto-mod.' All the mechanicals and convenience items are state-of-the-art and completely up-to-date. The body, frame and interior, though, are original!"

As we walked into the building, we were joined by Rich. "Whose fine Goat is that out in the parking lot?" Rich asked.

"That's Dale's! Can you believe it?" Fred answered.

"You're kidding! Wow, Dale, you're really coming out of your shell!" said Rich.

"So I've been told," I remarked quietly, a little dismayed about how low their opinion of me must have been -- I had apparently sunk to the rank of snail. It was probably deserved, but still.

We arrived in "the Cavern," which is the name we all gave to the giant room we worked in, which was filled with cubicles, seeming to stretch out as far as the eye could see. Here and there, you could see just the tops of peoples' heads as they walked down the aisles, and there was a low hum of voices and business machines as people got to work. Dan and Fred peeled off at their cubicles, as Rich and I plunged deeper into the Cavern. When we arrived at my cubie, Rich stepped in for a minute.

"Look, Dale," he began, "if it's still an open invitation, I'd like to take you up on that party Friday night?"

"Oh, yeah, Rich!" I was genuinely glad Rich could come; he was the closest thing to a real friend I had at work. "The others are coming over straight from work."

"Well, I might be a little late, then. I've got to drop off the kids at their grandparents'. Linda is apparently having some kind of sales meeting up in Ponunka, and she's not going to be home until Saturday afternoon."

"No problem, Rich. It's all loose and casual. Get there when you get there! I'm glad you can make it!"

I started to get nervous again by Friday. I could hardly eat the last of Carmen's lunches. I had called Professional Escorts and told them that I was going to have some friends over on Friday evening. Their response was, "That's entirely at your discretion, sir." They agreed that the girls would come to my house at 4:00 in the afternoon. I was planning on taking off early to meet them before the guys showed up, Just to make their acquaintance, of course. I also asked them to have the girls (women!) set out all the party treats I had bought and prepared. They said they would pass the message along.

When I got home a little after 4:00, the other GTO was there. I thought I might have to do a little song and dance to explain to the guys why my car had a twin, but as it turned out, I had much bigger fish to fry tonight.

Inside, the place was all set up. There was music on, and the girls had pushed the dining table back to serve as a bar and make room for a dance floor. The snacks and drinks were all set up and ready to go. I introduced myself to Ruth, Denise, Carol, and Melinda. To my immense relief, they were each either very, very cute, or simply beautiful, and they had knock-out figures, too. I was a little surprised, and then embarrassed at my pre-conceptions, to discover that Denise was a black woman. She was wearing some kind of Afro-print wrap that showed off her spectacular figure, and her hair was worn in a very very short, tight Afro curl. She had bare feet. Ruth, the brunette, and Carol, the one with the auburn hair, were wearing flouncy party dresses, and sandals. Melinda was wearing a fire-engine-red velour jumpsuit with short-short legs and a pink t-shirt underneath. She had slave sandals on ... you know, those ones with the laces that wrap back and forth up the girl's calves and look so sexy? These wrapped themselves around Melinda's calves and looked SO sexy!

I had hardly had time to tell them about the guys who were coming over before the doorbell rang.

Fred and Dan had arrived together in Dan's car. I greeted them at the door, and when Fred stepped through into my place and got a look at the girls, he immediately backed out again, almost knocking poor Dan off my front stoop.

Fred grabbed me by my shirt, and pulled me out, too, then reached around me and pulled the front door shut. "We may have a little problem, here, Dale!" Fred said, his voice low and filled with concern. "How well do you know these girls?"

"Well, like I said, I don't really know them at all. They're friends of my brother Roger!"

"You said Rich is coming tonight, right?" I nodded. "What did you say their names are?" Fred asked, still talking in conspiratorial mode, and very worried-sounding.

"Well, the black lady is Denise, there's Ruth and Carol, and the striking one in the red jumpsuit is Melinda." I replied.

"No it isn't." said Fred.

"What? What do you mean, 'no it isn't'? No, what isn't what?" I asked.

"That last one's not named 'Melinda.' That's LINDA, Rich's wife!" Fred said.

"No!" I said. Fred made a grimace and nodded. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I don't see how that can be!"

"Oh, I'm sure, all right! I've been over to their house many times. And, last time I was there, Rich gave her hell for coming down dressed in that same red jumpsuit, and made her go back upstairs and change into something 'decent.'"

Dan was peeking through the slit in the front window curtains. "Oh, yeah, that's Linda, all right!" he said. "Oh, man, she looks hot! This could get ugly!"

Our attention was diverted by the arrival of Rich's car in my driveway. "Shit!" I said. I had to think fast! "Look, you guys go on inside, and I'll try to stall Rich out here. See if you can hustle her out the back door or something! Shit! Shit! Shit!" Some party this was turning out to be.

Fred and Dan went inside, and I heard a startled shriek when "Melinda" saw who they were, then a stifled cry that I guessed was a result of them explaining to her who was arriving right then out front.

Meantime, Rich had pulled up close to my place and gotten out of his car. He seemed really eager to get inside and meet the 'cute young single girls.' Who wouldn't be?

"Uh, Rich, how's it going?" I asked, lamely, trying to physically block his path. I could hear some sort of verbal fireworks going on inside, so I knew the coast wasn't clear, yet.

"Huh? It's going fine, same as it was earlier when we left work!" Rich said with a frown on his face. "Let's go meet those girls, huh?" He said, and breezed right past me and straight through my front door.

I waited for the explosion. But there was only silence.

I peeked my head inside, and there was a calm party scene. Ruth, Denise, and Carol were introducing themselves to Fred, who was already holding some kind of a drink. Dan and 'Melinda' were nowhere to be seen.

"Uh, hi everybody!" I said in a loud dramatic voice. "This is my friend, RICH!"

"Jeez, Dale," Rich said. "You don't have to shout! The music's not that loud!"

"How's EVERYBODY doing?" I asked, emphasizing the "everybody" so that someone might throw me a hint as to what the hell was going on.

"I'll kill that bastard!" a voice shouted out from one of the bedrooms. 'Melinda' stormed out of the back hallway, and laid into Rich, pounding on him with her little fists for all she was worth. "What the fuck do YOU think you're doing here?" she screamed.

"Linda?" Rich was holding up his arms to defend himself while trying to figure out what was going on. "I thought you were in Ponunka tonight at a sales meeting!"

At that point, it apparently dawned on Linda/Melinda that maybe she was in more trouble here than her husband was. Sure, he was looking to get laid tonight, but she had apparently been working as an escort for some time, unbeknownst to her husband. They both seemed to figure this out at the same time. A pregnant silence fell over the room.

Denise saved the moment. "Tell you what, you guys. Why don't we take this into the back room. I think you two have quite a bit to talk about that you probably don't want the rest of us to hear!" Denise took Rich and Linda by their elbows and 'escorted' them to the spare bedroom. We heard a door shut back there, and Denise came back in a few seconds, with a big grin on her face. "So, Dale! You're going to have to go quite a ways to top that for the rest of your party! You really know how to entertain!"

It broke the tension, and everybody laughed as we heard raised voices from the back. Carol leaned over and turned up the music, and those remaining out front started to pair up. Fred put his arm around Carol's shoulders and started to whisper something into her ear (actually, he was probably shouting ... the music was pretty loud, now.) Dan and Ruth sat down together on the couch, knee to knee, and seemed to be communicating somehow.

Denise and I headed for the kitchen. "Thanks, Denise," I said. "You're a life-saver!"

"For you, maybe. I'm not so sure about Melinda ... I mean Linda! She's going to have a tough time explaining why she's been named 'escort of the month' seven times in three years."

"Yeah, sorry. Kinda took the fun out of my party!" I said.

"Oh, I don't know about that!" Denise said. She raised up on her tip-toes, kissed me on the lips, then tugged me back to the doorway to look out into the living room. There were two flouncy party dresses on the floor over by the front door, and Ruth was on her knees in front of the sofa, giving Dan a blowjob. Carol was naked, on her back on the floor, and Fred had his head between her legs doing God-knows-what.

"Wow!" I said. "Those guys are fast workers!"

"Well," Denise replied, grabbing my hardening cock though my Dockers, "time flies when you're having fun, you know. And these guys aren't getting a new girl every day like you are! They just don't want to waste a minute of this evening!"

Denise rose up again, and gave me a tongue-probing kiss that curled my toes. But I was worried.

"Denise, no offense, but I'm worried about Rich and Mel ... er ... Linda. It's gotten awful quiet back there! I don't want any domestic violence here tonight!"

"Okay, good call. Let's go check!"

Denise and I crept quietly back to my guest bedroom, opened the door a crack, and peeked in. The door wouldn't open much due to the crumpled up lump of red velour on the floor. But it was just enough to see Rich humping wildly into Linda on the queen-sized bed.

"Okay," I said. "I don't know quite what happened there, but it looks like they seem to be working everything out."

"Yeah," said Denise. "And you know what?"

"What?" I asked.

"Right now, we're the only ones at your party who aren't having sex! What do you think we should do about that?"

... to be continued in "Day Eight -- Samantha"



365 Days Ch. 10



Day Eight -- Samantha (a)

I was slumped back in one of the dining room chairs looking out the doorway into the living room of my apartment in the first light of morning the next day. My nice, clean apartment was now a disaster. Literally a fucking disaster.

There were naked people everywhere, and piles of clothes, and spilled drinks and food, and stains from various bodily fluids on the carpet and slip-covers of the chairs and sofa (the washable slip-covers, thank you, Carmen!). My ears were still ringing from the blare of the music and the sounds of drunken revelry, and my head felt like it was going to split right open.

I tried to remember what had happened last night. It was pretty much a blur, but I could certainly recall the highlights.

First, everyone seemed to just enjoy a nice, wholesome, normal sex-orgy sort of fucking as we had paired off: me and Denise, Fred and Carol, Ruth and Dan, and, back in the guest bedroom, Rich and Linda, who weirdly enough, were actually man and wife.

As everybody was lounging around the living room in the afterglow of their first energetic orgasms, Rich and Linda came out to the living room and explained that they each had realized that Linda's work as an 'escort' was extremely exciting to Rich, and that he was actually looking forward to seeing the rest of us screwing her all night long. For her part, Linda admitted that she understood Rich's desire to stray, as she had probably been neglecting his needs as a result of her work-related activities. They had agreed that she could keep doing this job that she loved so much, so long as she tried to see to it that Rich was either included in her work or set up with one of her 'professional' friends. She also said she would be okay with Rich 'freelancing' as she called it ... finding 'dates' for himself when she was working.

I thought they were both acting extremely modern and civilized, and their agreement was just amazing and very convenient for this story. Rich put some throw pillows on the coffee table, had Linda lie down on it, and a line quickly formed to fuck his wife there in the middle of the room. Fred and Dan admitted that they each had longed to do so for years, ever since they had met Linda, and especially since she had come down that day at Rich's house wearing that red velour jumper. Rich probably lost a few points right then when he glanced over at Linda and mouthed "I told you so!"

I hate waiting in lines, and I hadn't really even had a chance to get to know Carol and Ruth at all, yet. In the Biblical sense. So, things went along okay for another hour or so, while Denise entertained Rich on the dining room table, Linda set out to entertain Fred first, then Dan on the coffee table, and I was going to keep myself busy with Carol, first, then Ruth on the sofa.

I was wondering what the big advantage was to having sex on tables, with all the nice upholstered furniture around, but Carol pointed out to me how nicely aligned lying on the coffee table put Linda's cunt for Fred there, who was kneeling on the floor, and how Denise's nice gooey twat was at just about the right height for Rich to stand up and slip it to her in the dining room. Although, to tell the truth, Rich, who is a little short, had to stand tippy-toes, which looked silly to me and was maybe distracting to him. Just my opinion.

I have to admit, Carol and Ruth and I spent a fair amount of time watching Fred and Linda doing their thing on the coffee table a couple of feet in front of us. Linda was a very attractive woman, and I could certainly see why Dan and Fred had had their fantasies. And I mentioned that, except for my years of independent research into these matters on the internet, I'd never actually seen a man and woman make love before.

Ruth, who was lounging on the floor beside Carol and me on the sofa, said that, as a matter of fact, I STILL hadn't seen a man and woman actually making love, as she doubted there was any love at all between Fred and Linda, and I thought she might be right, seeing how aggressively Fred was ramming himself into her tender cunt. Carol, pausing a minute from bouncing up and down on me while riding me cowgirl-style, disagreed, "I don't know, I think if maybe Rich gave her the kind of treatment Fred is giving her more often, she wouldn't be working for "Professional Escorts!" Now that Carol had pointed it out, Ruth and I could see that Linda really seemed to be enjoying herself, while Denise, on the other hand, who was being treated very gently and considerately by Rich, was yawning while Rich was doing his tippy-toed best to get her off.

It was about then that matters seemed to slide out of my control. Dan started complaining, loudly in order to be heard over the music, that Fred was taking too long. Fred, clearly irritated at being distracted from what he was doing with Linda, not to mention not liking to be criticized about his sexual efforts, said, "Shut the fuck up, Dan! There's Ruth right there! She's not doing anything!" Fred and Linda went back to fucking like weasels, trying their best to tune out the rest of us, apparently thinking the problem had been solved.

"Christ, Fred," Dan replied, "I ALREADY got a blowjob from Ruth. Been there, done that! I been waiting for years to pork Rich's wife! Can't you just get your rocks off and let me in there?"

Ruth took umbrage. "Been there, done that? Who you calling 'that,' asshole?" and she started clawing and scratching at Dan like she was a wildcat after a cold bath. In the dining room, Denise leaned over to see what all the fuss was about, and poor Rich came popping out at just the worst possible moment, spraying his stuff all over the table and all over Denise's thighs. He howled out his frustration, missing his goal by scant seconds after working so hard at it for at least half an hour. Rich came down off his tip-toes, and then started to hop around the dining room with a leg cramp in his calf.

Denise pushed herself back up to a sitting position on the very edge of the table to see what was wrong now with Rich, and apparently her butt slipped in Rich's cum there. She slid off the edge of the table and when her tail bone came down hard on the table leg, she let out a scream.

Linda, hearing yelling from both Denise and her husband in the dining room, and I guess thinking that Dan and Ruth's fight had spread to the other room, twisted up from beneath Fred and jumped up to go defend her loving husband. Forgetting, I guess, that she had Fred's longish equipment parked in her garage, so to speak.

I watched in horror to see the origin of the expression "getting bent" acted out right in front of me. Now Linda was screaming at Denise's supposed attack on Rich, Rich was still cursing, sitting on the floor of the dining room trying to massage his calf, Ruth was trying to tear Dan a new one with her bare hands, Dan was crawling on all fours, trying to get away from Ruth and also trying to make her understand that "been there, done that" was just an expression, for God's sake, and he didn't mean anything by it, and he was sorry, but not getting anywhere because Ruth wasn't in a listening mood, Denise was sprawled on the dining room floor screaming in real pain, and now poor Fred was groaning loudly, holding his crotch and writhing on the floor of the living room. Carol was basically oblivious to all of this, as she had just reached her climax, and was now bottomed out on me, clutching at my nipples and chest hairs and digging her fake fingernails into to my chest. I admit to being disappointed myself, since the pain in my chest, and of course my concern for my guests, had pretty much ruined any chance I might have had of reaching a satisfactory conclusion in Carol's cunt. And, frankly, I was also yelling pretty loud, trying to be heard over the general uproar in addition to the loud music which we had turned up to cover the earlier fight between Rich and his wife, as I was trying to tell Carol, "Let go of me, damn it! You're drawing blood!"

At this moment, the doorbell rang.

As I tried to get everyone calmed down, the visitor at the door became much more insistent, and started pounding repeatedly. I finally gave up trying to restore order before answering the door, and simply opened it a crack, peeping around the edge to see who might be there.

It was my neighbor, Bill Randolph and his wife, accompanied by Sherriff's Captain Gene Stewart. Bill started yelling at me, trying to ask, "What the hell is going on in there?" Captain Randolph gently pushed Bill out of the way, and moved between him and me. "Good evening, Mr. Owens. We've had a couple of complaints from this apartment complex over the last few days. Mostly noise complaints, you know, loud cars at all hours, women screaming as if they're being murdered, that sort of thing. Also quite a few parking complaints -- your neighbors have reported lots of unregistered cars at your apartment, delivery trucks, and improperly parked vehicles."

"I'm terribly sorry, officer. Things have been a little topsy-turvy for me the last week or so. I'll try to get everything under control!" I said, and started to close the door.

Officer Stewart had been down this road before, and had his foot stuck in the opening, preventing me from closing the door. I was unprepared when he pushed the door inward, and it flew wide open, revealing the naked orgy and mayhem that was my apartment at that moment.

"Oh, my God, Bill, you see! It's just as I told you! He's got WOMEN in there!" Lorlene Randolph screeched, not actually looking at any women, but looking instead at me, apparently just below waist level. Bill, on the other hand, just seemed interested in taking in everything he could before Lorlene caught on that he was getting an eyeful of the naked women she was yelling about. Captain Stewart simply stepped inside, gently pushed the Randolphs back out onto my stoop, and closed the door. And locked it.

I felt pretty foolish standing there in my birthday suit with my apartment the scene of what appeared to be either a great party or a poorly-planned gang fight.

Captain Stewart calmly walked across my living room, reached down, and pulled the power cord out of the wall. With the music gone, the howls of my guests, injured either physically or psychically, were much easier to hear, and one by one, as my escorts and my co-workers looked up to see what had happened, they started to go silent. A few of them tried to cover themselves up with whatever was at hand, and the others just stared slack-jawed at the armed officer in their midst.

In the echoing silence that followed, Captain Stewart said, in a level and calm voice, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I can see you are all having a wonderful time here tonight at Mr. Owens' party," although by looking around, it was actually quite easy to see that almost everyone was unhappy or in pain for one reason or another, "and we'd like to encourage you to enjoy yourselves!"

"However, in the interests of the other tenants in this apartment building, who include many families with small children, I'd like to request that you enjoy yourselves MORE QUIETLY!"

A murmur of agreement and apology ran around the room, as everyone suddenly felt sheepish about their contribution to the earlier racket.

"And, if you don't mind," Captain Stewart continued, "if your vehicles don't have a registered Sunset Slumbering Vista Pointe Estates' parking permit, please move them across the street to the visitors' lot."

There was a sudden shuffle of naked men looking for their car keys.

"AFTER you put some clothes on, people, if you please!" Captain Stewart added.

While my guests tried to separate their clothes from each others, untangle them, and put them on, Capt. Stewart pulled me aside. "I can see that you're enjoying your present from your brother, Mr. Owens, but I didn't really expect to have to come over here quite so soon after your birthday!"

"Sorry about that, Sheriff," I said. "I really have no experience with this sort of thing ... I mean, giving parties! Let alone orgies! I'm afraid I just kind of let everything get out of control!"

"Well, okay, but in the future, Mr. Owens ..."

"Dale!"

"Dale, in the future, please remind your guests to respect the other tenants in the complex, and try to keep it down to a dull roar."

"Oh, thank you, officer. Thanks for giving me ... us ... a break!"

I'll take care of Mr. and Mrs. Randolph," Capt. Stewart said, "they're frequent flyers at the Sheriff's Office. They call us once or twice a week to complain about almost everything, so we generally just ignore them. But we also got several other complaints from your other neighbors, and I finally realized that, in spite of the nice incentive your brother Roger gave me to keep you out of trouble, I was going to have to come over here. You can have a good time, you know, but if we get many more complaints, I'll have to write you up for a "disturbing of the peace" offense, if not "assault on public decency!" As it is, I'll have a little explaining to do as to why I didn't write you a citation this evening!"

"How can I possibly repay your help, officer?" I said, fidgeting quite a bit trying to figure out a good position to stand in while nude with dripping genitals and having a chat with a policeman.

Captain Stewart looked around, stopping to study each of the delicious women, who now were all gathered in the living room, still nude of course, while the men were sheepishly waiting for me and the officer to clear door so they could go outside and move their cars. He smiled at the women, and mouthed a silent "hi" to each one, which they acknowledged with smiles and nods of their own.

I was waiting for a reply to my question when it dawned on me that perhaps Captain Stewart was making a veiled suggestion as to what it was he might like in consideration for his consideration. "Uh, Capt. Stewart, would you be interested in maybe staying and having a drink with us before you go?"

"Well, as it happens," he said, looking at his watch, "my shifts ends just about now, so I guess I'm off duty! Don't mind if I do!"

After the guys came back from moving their cars, everyone just felt like relaxing a while and having a drink. Maybe they were a little self-conscious about partying on with the new member of the party there -- a cop.

Captain Stewart ("Hey, I'm off duty, now, just call me Gene ... or 'Sir'", Stewart joked. At least we THOUGHT it was a joke!) settled in nicely, though, and seemed to enjoy lounging around my place in the presence of four lovely naked young women. Who would have thought?

Before he accepted a drink, he lifted the microphone off of his jacket's lapel, and pressed down the button. "Central, this is 423, Captain Gene Stewart?" He paused for a few seconds, then his belt spoke up. "Central. Go ahead."

"Listen, Molly? This call out to Sunset Slumbering Vista Pointe Estates turned out to be the Randolphs again. I'm going home from here!"

"Okay Gene. Central out."

Then Capt. Stewart groped around in his pants pocket and came out with a tiny flip phone. He opened it, tapped away for a few seconds, and stood, waiting, staring at my ceiling. I thought it was just one of those things people do while their mind is on something else, but I glanced up at the ceiling, and I could see what he was staring at: There was some kind of yellowish stain there that I hadn't noticed before, and it appeared to have a little drop forming from it, ready to drop down onto the carpet below. Capt. Stewart stepped away from the drip line a bit, and spoke into his phone, "Hi, honey. No, I'm going to be tied up for a while longer, and then I was thinking maybe I'd drive down to the Stumble Inn for a drink with the guys." Pause. "Sure, white or whole wheat?" Pause. "Okay! Don't wait up!" He flipped the phone shut, put it in his pocket, and smiled at me.

"Well, Mr. Owens, Dale, I'd sure be interested in one of those drinks you mentioned before, if the invitation's still open! And, while you're at it, maybe you could introduce me to all of your guests?"

The rest of the evening is a little hazy for me, because starting about then, we all spent about equal time drinking and fucking the girls. I can't really remember who did what with whom, but I seem to recall Gene Stewart's being a particular favorite of the women, especially when he let then ride him and wave his gun around in the air, pretending to be cowgirls. He did his best to buck them off of him, yet, when he succeeded a time or two, they each seemed anxious to immediately climb back aboard for another ride. I do have an image burned into my mind of Gene with his arm around Rich's shoulders, standing in the middle of my living room, watching Fred and Dan double-team Linda, Rich's wife. The part that I'll never be able to erase is the image of Gene bare naked ass, with only his gun-belt on. I never want to see that again.

Things went pretty well, I guess. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and I don't remember any more screaming or serious injuries. Denise's ass was okay, she said after everyone gave her kisses there to make it better. Gene told Rich to hydrate to get rid of cramps, and Rich attempted to do so using beer exclusively, which apparently worked.

And now, I'm sitting here, the only one awake, looking at nine other people in my tiny apartment, limbs, hair, necks, and genitals (and the occasional gun belt) tangled up in piles here and there, wondering how I'm going to clean this all up. I know I'm not allowed to call Carmen to come back!

I'm stirred out of my contemplative stupor when the doorbell rings. Oh, my God, it's Saturday's girl! Just what I need! Wait! Maybe she's good at housekeeping! Oh, what have I come to, that I'm more interested in a good house maid right now than another pretty woman to screw?

I pull myself up off of the dining room chair, and slouch over to the front door, stepping over (and on once, sorry, Ruth) naked people and puddles of something. I open the door, and standing there is a vision.

Standing there is a very tall and very slender woman, dressed entirely in black spandex, but with a tight black leather bustiere, with a floor-length open black leather coat, dark glasses, high-heeled black leather boots, and a little black military service cap. Her lipstick and nail polish are brilliant red, and almost glow in the morning light. She is absently snapping what appears to be a riding crop against her shapely thigh. Behind her, I don't see the other GTO, so I'm not entirely sure she is from the escort service.

"You took long enough to answer your door!"

"Sorry!" I said. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Samantha!" she barks out. She leans over, peering past me into my apartment. "It looks like you have been a VERY VERY bad boy!"

... to be continued in "Day Eight -- Samantha (b)" 



365 Days Ch. 11



Day Eight -- Samantha (b)

Samantha brushed right past me into my apartment, dragging a carry-on size "wheelie" suitcase (black, of course) behind her. After she had moved out of the way, I could see that she had arrived on a big black Harley ape-hanger hog, which was now parked in the Randolphs' designated parking space.

Stepping into my apartment to speak to her, I said, "Uhm, Miss, uh Samantha? I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to move your ..."

Before I could finish my sentence, Samantha spun around, smacked me smartly across my chest with her riding crop, and barked, "You will call me 'Mistress' or 'LADY Samantha' when I allow you to address me, worm!" as she seemed to glare at me from behind her sunglasses.

"What?" Swack!

"Oh! Yes, Lady Samantha!" I said. "But as I was saying, I'm afraid you'll have to move your motorcycle to the guest parking area across the street, or we'll all get in trouble, Mistress!"

For a beat or two, Samantha continued to stare levelly at me, her face emotionless, as if she were trying to decide whether I'd been properly humble enough in addressing her before she bothered to consider what I'd actually said. Behind her, everyone had been stirred out of their stupors by the noise near the doorway. Captain Stewart stumbled to his feet, still wearing only his pistol belt.

Samantha ... LADY Samantha ... spun on her 3" heel, and snapped Gene on his exposed rump. "You there, the one with the two guns!" which mystified me, because Gene only had one pistol in his holster, "Take these!"

The Mistress took a wad of keys off a fastener at her waist and threw them to Captain Stewart. Sleepy and unsteady as he was, his reflexes were those of a trained policeman, and, like a well-oiled machine not reliant on his alcohol-addled brain for guidance, his hand snapped out and darned-near caught them. Gene Stewart bending over, nude, facing away from me, to pick up car keys off the floor is yet another sight from that day that'll be burned into my memory forever. 

Unfortunately.

"Come HERE, Cowboy!" said Mistress Samantha, apparently mistaking Gene's .38 service revolver for an eighteenth-century Colt sidearm. Nevertheless, Gene stumbled over to her, all the while studying closely the fob of her key-ring, which was a human skull with elk antlers and rhinestones for eyes.

Here and there, the others were scurrying around to find their clothes and shoes, trying to get dressed through the fog of their hang-overs and sleepiness. I could hear the various other "escorts" grumbling:

"Oh, Christ! Not HER again!"

"Samantha? Roger must be nuts to put HER on the list ..."

"Do you think we could sneak out the back door?"

"SILENCE" the Lady Samantha shouted, and the room echoed with only the sound of her strident voice.

Swack! went the Lady's leather quirt against Gene's thighs. His eyes snapped up away from the key chain, and he glared at her. "That's better!" she said, "You must look me in the eye when I address you ... AND THAT GOES FOR ALL OF YOU!" she said loudly to include everyone else in the room.

"Crazy bitch," someone mumbled in the back of the room.

Gene had drawn his gun. "Now, look here, Lady whoever ..."

Before he could go further, Lady Samantha had snatched his weapon away from him, and was twirling it around on her finger like a movie gunslinger. I think she still was under the impression that it was a fake or a toy. "My, my, big boy, your gun is a BIG one! And so is THIS!"

"Give me my weapon back!" Gene ordered her.

Swack! "Silence, fool! And remember to address me as Mistress!" Samantha said. "I shall retain your gun for now. I just love to play with men's guns! You take your other gun outside now, like a good little boy, and move my hog over to the visitor's parking lot! We wouldn't want any trouble with the law!"

"Goddamnit, I AM the fucking law!" Gene shouted at her.

Swack, swack, SWACK! The last blow was aimed at, and squarely hit Gene on his "other gun," and he bent over in sudden pain. "Mistress! You will address me as Mistress! And, I must say, I do not like your tone! In this room, You are NOT the law! I am the law! Do as I have told you, and go move my ride!"

Gene, recovering from the sting to his gun, or perhaps it only got his clip, suddenly seemed more inclined to obey. He started searching around for his clothes.

"What are you DOING, my little mouse?" asked Lady Samantha sarcastically.

"I'm going to get dressed and go move your motorcycle as you asked," Gene said, then as he noticed her winding up for another smack with her riding crop, he quickly added, "Mistress!"

"Better! A little slow, but better!" Samantha said, taking off her sunglasses and parking them on the visor of her service cap, looking a little like Rommel in his Afrika-Corps pose. It seemed, in the glare of the light streaming into the dark room from the open front door, that her eyes were a glowing evil red. That couldn't be possible, could it? Surely, she was wearing some kind of trick, tinted contact lenses! Right?

Stewart was just standing there, staring at her to see if she was serious about him going outside to move her hog, stark, staring nude (except for his pistol-belt, of course.) He also seemed to be considering the question of her readiness to inflict more smacks on him with her riding crop, not to mention the fact that she also still had his service revolver, and was now pointing it generally in is direction, although with a limp-wristed hand, as if she had forgotten that she was still holding it. Again, he came down on the side of doing what she had said.

Since that day, I've come to know Gene Stewart much better, and I'd say he might also have secretly relished the opportunity to flaunt his manhood outside in public with the excuse that he was being forced to do so at gunpoint. I DID notice that he seemed a little, well, a little excited at the prospect. I'm sure he wished that his holster wasn't empty, but still, 'carpe diem,' I guess.

Gene shrugged his shoulders, grinned at me, and strode out the front door into the early morning light. A few seconds later, we could all hear that distinctive sound of a scantly-muffled Harley Davidson engine, sounding always as if the marbles poured into its cylinders this morning had just now gotten caught in the valves, and it was about to explode. The noise roared away.

Mistress pointed at me with her quirt, and ordered, "You there! You're Dale Owens, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered meekly.

She glared. "Your attitude is improved, but the proper form of address is 'Lady' or 'Mistress'! I won't spare you again!"

"Yes, mistress!" I yelped back, eager to avoid Gene's fate.

"And you will CAPITALIZE that 'Mistress,' mister!"

"Yes, Mistress!" I said, heavily emphasizing the initial 'M'.

"Better! Lift this case onto the table over there! The rest of you, sit down and be quiet!"

The others had started to become restless. Most of them were almost fully dressed, the odd article of clothing still unfound in the general havoc of my apartment. They seemed to be leaning toward making a fast exit, but when they were addressed directly with an order, they all sat down immediately, having, like me, seen how our Lady dealt with disobedience.

"You, you, and you!" Mistress Samantha said, pointing her riding crop at Rich and (Me)linda, who were sitting together, and then jumping to Denise, "Get your asses up and get the vacuum and some clean water and some air freshener and whatever else it takes, and get this pig sty cleaned up!"

"Always the black one, when it comes to the cleaning!" Denise was mumbling, but they all did as they were told, and soon, the three of them became an efficient cleaning crew spinning through my little apartment like a reverse tornado.

I lifted Lady Samantha's little black suitcase up onto the coffee table, and laid it flat, so that the zippered opening was at the top. The Mistress strode over, zipped the top open, threw it back, and I swear an evil green glow emerged from within. She reached down into the bag, her arm appearing to extend well below the surface of the coffee table, and started yanking out a bewildering array of devices and handing them to me.

"Lay these out on the dining-room table!" she ordered me, so I did. There were handcuffs, of course, both police style hardened-chrome steel ones and boutique fur-lined ones MEANT for the bedroom. There were:

• a couple more riding crops,

• a couple of cats-of-nine-tails,

• a tiny bullwhip, no longer than three feet when unfurled,

• two bamboo canes much longer than longest dimension of her case,

• some kind of bungee cord loop with a red rubber ball mounted on it

• a highly-decorated leather mask which looked like it might cover ones' entire head, except that it had no eye holes, 

• a selection of brightly-colored alligator clips,

• an electrical device with numerous wires, a rheostat, and a meter,

• some old-fashioned clothes pins,

• some black-rubber things that looked like sink stoppers,

• a device with two clamps, each with leather straps down to a hook, along with a selection of weights which looked as if they might be fitted onto the hook for some purpose,

• a veritable museum-quality display of models of "peninses of the animal kingdom," rendered in a sort of a firm but resilient semi-transparent, rubberized material, and ranging in size from, well, mine, to an elephant or perhaps whale, in various decorator colors but featuring black (some of which seemed to have an "intensity" dial on their base, and one of which incredibly had penis-tips at both ends and must have been a "second" because it was bent in the middle),

• several lengths of rope and elastic cording,

• several suction-cups of varying sizes,

(Here, I had to stop for a minute to re-arrange the items on the table, as I certainly had not expected quite so many things would emerge out of that tiny suitcase. Along about here, Sheriff's Captain Gene Stewart, still nude, but now sporting a lively erection and a sunshine grin, and flushed from his brisk trot back from the guest parking lot, returned from his errand with the motorcycle.)

• various bottles of lotions and potions labeled cryptically, "friction," or "fire," or "ice," or "bees," or "numb," or, most cryptically of all, "lotion,"

• a dopp-kit containing a little mirror on a telescoping metal wand, scissors, an electric razor, a conventional safety razor, a straight-edge razor and strop, a shaving brush, tubes of shaving gel, shaving balm, another lotion labeled "not soothing!" some witch-hazel, some isopropyl alcohol, a small bottle of Pace-brand hot sauce, a styptic pencil, and talcum powder,

• several rolled-up sheets of light-weight clear plastic,

• a wool blanket,

• eight fluffy over-sized bathroom towels,

• a pack of sand paper (mixed grit garnet wet-n-dry),

• a squirt gun,

• some "Bag Balm,"

• three cans of smoked oysters,

• a little wooden box containing a tattoo needle and inks,

• a baggie full of heavy-duty elastic bands,

• a reel of extra-sticky duct tape,

• another baggie full of some kind of vegetable matter,

• a pack of tiny, flimsy sheets of paper,

• matches,

• a box of universal, latex-free rubber gloves,

• a little box of colored map pins,

• a bundle of classic "Zorro"-style eye masks, except again, these were without eyeholes, so I guess, technically, they would be blindfolds,

• then a series of bizarre but ingenious aluminum constructions that the Lady unfolded, re-aligned, telescoped, positioned, and locked together into crosses, saw-horses, racks for hanging over doors, and indicated that I should arrange them here and there throughout the living room.

Lastly, she pulled out a complete set of professional video equipment, including three mini-cams, six battery-packs with rechargers, a supply of digital tapes, a machine for transcribing tapes to DVD's, two boxes of blank DVD's, three tripods, floodlights with stands, reflecting umbrellas, two digital still cameras, and a portable computer and power supply. And two walkie-talkies.

By this time, Rich, Linda, and a grumbling Denise had returned the appearance of my apartment to something close to what Carmen had managed, and were back sitting on the sofa with the rest of my guests, both fascinated and terrified by what Lady Samantha was removing from her bottomless carry-on case. ("Oh, CRAP!" Ruth spat out when she realized that one of The Lady's aluminum contraptions was effectively a high-tech stretching rack, like a twenty-first-century inquisition might use.)

When it seemed as if Lady Samantha had nothing else to remove, I edged closer to the coffee table and tried to peer down into the carry-on case. All I could see was that there seemed to be much more stuff in there before she snapped her riding crop in my direction, narrowly missing my most tender parts, and I quickly moved away.

"It's not too bad once you get used to it!" Gene Stewart whispered I my ear.

I glanced at the old clock on the wall, and it was now eight a.m., about four hours before Ruth, Denise, Carol, and (Me)Linda would be leaving to return to the agency. I assumed the guys would be staying as long as the girls were there, in spite of whatever it was that our new Mistress had in store for us. Not a lot of time to try out all these toys, and I sincerely hoped that once the party was back down to just Lady Samantha and me, that I wouldn't have to bear the burden of using the rest of them all by myself!

-------------------------------------------

By fifteen minutes after noon, as I waved goodbye to all of my guests, and as they weaved their ways down the driveway to their cars (or my GTO, as the case may be), every one was exhausted and emotionally drained, and each one was carrying their own personal DVD of the day's happenings. The ten of us HAD, in fact learned the use of, and tried out, every single one of Lady Samantha's gimcracks and whoosits.

None of us had even one unshaven follicle on our bodies except for the hair on our heads. Some of us had been lathered with stinging, burning, or icy-cold lotions (or more than one of these) and we would continue to feel their effects for at least another day.

I'm PRETTY sure that no one there would have permanent scars, although three (Rick, Linda, and Gene) now had colorful Sheriff's badges tattoo-ed on their asses.

Turns out that Sheriff Gene has pretty kinky taste and leans toward the submissive side, so whenever Lady Samantha found no takers for one or another of her more sinister devices, Gene was always Johnny-on-the-spot (wait, that doesn't sound right) and ready to volunteer to "give it the old college try!" (At about ten-fifteen, Dan had asked Gene what the hell kind of college he had gone to, anyway.)

Somewhere along the line, the Lady Samantha had shed all of her black leather, lycra, spandex, rubber, and quasi-military clothing and had reverted to that most stirring of all uniforms, her birthday suit. Once out of uniform, and disarmed, she relaxed the requirement that we address her as royalty, and thereafter responded to "Sam." Turns out Sam, too has a strong sub streak, and only play-acts her role as the domineering Lady Samantha. For the last hour of so, she had to direct the action (sometimes being very difficult to understand through her ball-gag) and issue instructions in the use of some of the more obscure devices.

Linda and Rich took it on themselves to continue to keep after the spills of oil, signs of loss of bladder control, and mars left by the equipment on the furniture, so by the time everyone had left, the place still looked in pretty good condition.

Once Sam and I were alone together in the quiet warmth of my apartment in the early afternoon, we had a little lunch and talked, sitting naked at the dining-room table, our food wedged into the odd spaces left by the various already-used sex toys. Sam told me about her abusive up-bringing and I asked her why, then, she would choose being an escort, particularly one whose specialty was so painfully close to her torment at home when she was younger.

She said she wasn't sure. She said that although she detested the memories of her abusive step-father, plain romantic sex with a man she cared for, basically did nothing for her. And she had never found a man who wanted to be her boyfriend after he knew what she really liked. Lots wanted to keep "seeing" her, of course, but none wanted to really spend time with her.

Soon, she was crying. I felt lousy about prying into her situation, but she said that she always ended up crying after one of her client "sessions," and it seemed to help her reconcile the two aspects of her life. So, we just retired to the living room, and as I held her and comforted her as much as I could, she continued to weep quietly, and eventually, we both drifted off to sleep.

... to be continued in "Day Nine -- Erin"