0 comments/ 13041 views/ 8 favorites Brandy's Ranch Ch. 01 By: ProfessorR Copyright by ProfessorR © by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) ***** RANCH HANDS - part one Dean turned slightly, as his rising penis was blocking the view of Keira's anxious face. Her apprehension showed, perhaps not just because she was the newest girl in Brandy's Ranch, but also because of things she had said to him not too long ago. "Ironic, isn't it?" he mused as he readied a condom on the nightstand. "She's wondering if I'm angry and I'm wondering if I'm up for her after this week." It had been quite a week. He slid into bed and Keira opened her mouth to speak. Dean touched his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, smiled, and stretched out. His strong right arm drew her down, and instead of issuing apologies or explanations, her lips took in his filling manhood. ================================================================================ SATURDAY: The flight The plane was in the air and the seatbelt light was off. Dean switched on his laptop. Normally, as a retired agent for a small and underfunded U.S. government intelligence unit, he would not have done this in the tight confines of airline coach seats, but perhaps he had grown careless. Anyway, when he thought about it later, the rare appearance of an empty center seat made his viewing seem more secure. And - at first - it was just text on his screen. The young woman in the aisle seat was listening, eyes closed, to the headset music. It was a letter from me that he was reviewing, a request and an explanation. You will remember Brandy Adams from the case titled "Sound Experience". She had achieved one of her objectives, opening "Brandy's Ranch" in a Nevada county where well-regulated prostitution was a constitutional right, almost as important to the locals as the Second Amendment. But she was trying to raise the standards - and as a businesswoman, the income - of the industry by introducing new concepts. Brandy's Ranch bordered on a lake, had a work-out gym, and a cook who turned out great meals. And, it had the feature that led to the invitation to Dean. Each of the girls' rooms in what were called "pleasure pods" had a computer linked to Brandynet. Of course, for those who needed inspiration, there were a variety of pornographic resources in the Favorites list, but what Dean was to launch was the customer satisfaction survey. Brandy's idea was to use SurveySimian to rate the customers' experiences and their potential interest in returning, trying new services, etc. ================================================================================ A few weeks before Dean had headed west, Chloe Demeter and I had joined Brandy and Rick, her new right-hand man, for a few days. Chloe, prize-winning photographer, had been assigned by a leading website to document this new-mode brothel. In the late afternoon and evening, Rick and I had to stay clear of the customers, but in the morning I enjoyed joining him on his maintenance rounds. Even compact florescent light bulbs need replacing eventually, especially with so many on all night. "Brandy needs someone knowledgeable to test the SurveySimian system," he remarked one morning as I helped him shore up a broken bed leg. "You'd be good at that." "I don't think I would be the right man. I never told you, but I'm sort of ambivalent about prostitution." Rick had a quizzical look. "I mean, I wouldn't knock a man or woman for it, but it never appealed to me." "I see. We run into that here in Nevada, too. The sheriff stops by some mornings for coffee with Brandy and me, but on First Responders Night he's home with his wife while most of his off-duty deputies are down here taking advantage of the half-price special. [Brandy foregoes the house share of the charges, but her girls receive their normal 50%.] Did I tell you that the paramedics are the fastest?" "No, you didn't..." and our conversation drifted away to other topics, including Rick's progress in dealing with his PTSD. Rick and I watched from the porch of Brandy's ranch house on the hill above the rest of her property as the SUV's and limos from Reno cruised into the dusty parking lot. Some of the men edged cautiously toward the lounge chairs at the lakeside, others walked confidently as though they had been there before. Brandy welcomed them, chatted with returning customers, answered nervous questions from the new comers. Then, she waved toward the girls' rooms and they came out in bath robes. When I first saw this, I was puzzled, but one by one, they slipped out of the robes, revealing their well-exercised figures in a variety of bathing suits. One was topless - "that's Caitie, she's something of an exhibitionist" commented Rick. I remembered that Chloe had mentioned her as one of the girls who was willing to be photographed for the more erotic photos in the website series. Into the sun-warmed water they plunged, splashing about, tossing a beach ball, dumping handfuls of water on each other. The surface and shallows sparkled in sunlight; the deeps were heated by mysterious thermal springs. "Taylor, there, the one splashing everyone by slapping her hand on the water, she's bisexual. Very popular." "With who?" "Oh, some of the customers, and when she's in a two-on-one the customers don't notice if the other girl is uneasy about it, as she's having so much fun it's... infectious." I thought he should have used a different word, but then that is my bias coming through. The girls disappeared behind a screen while the heightened lust drove the eager customers to adjust their requested services upward. The swimming line-up, Brandy had found, was worth thousands each warm night. "She started that as Italian Night," Rick explained. "It was in honor of the Italian premier, I don't remember his name, but he invented Bunga Bunga parties. We had some of the girls tossing big bowls of spaghetti and tomato sauce at each other." I winced. "Yeah, you're right, it was easy enough for the girls to get cleaned off - and Jennifer, she's the MILF in the group, had her john lick it off. He paid extra to shower with her afterward! The real problem was cleaning up the furniture next morning." I was learning that everything had a price, but making the maintenance man unhappy went over the limit. Later that evening, with the quick jobs departed and the girls bedded down for overnight with the big money guys, Chloe and Brandy joined us in the ranch house in front of a snapping fire log. The light flickered magically on their faces and I glanced at Chloe, wondering if she had learned any things with the girls that might come up tonight when we hit the sack. I knew I would be happy just being with her, but curiosity was getting to me. And what was the whispering about between her and our friend, the madam. "I need your help, Richard," Brandy said. She explained, in more detail, how she wanted to start the SurveySimian software with someone who could evaluate the survey fairly. And she wanted her girls to feel that it was fair, with the first results from someone who knew what they were talking about. "What if I start out with seven and a half minutes with some 19-year old Marine?" Rick imitated whining Kaylynn. Brandy gave him a stern look and then laughed. "Yes, she can be a bitch," Brandy admitted, "but she was right. We need a master cocksman ideally." "That's not me. I've always had some connection with the women I've been with." I sounded stuffy, I suppose. Chloe winked at Brandy. I supposed at the time that Chloe was kind of apologizing for my puritanical approach [yes, the Puritans believed in meaningful sex]. "Let's go to bed, Richard." Chloe's face was flushed from the warmth of the fire, or was it from within? I happily took her hand as she led me down the hall, away from the awkward conversation. I was imagining all sorts of possibilities and was enjoying the gleam in her eyes. I noticed my penis stirring within my clothing; as if it was teasing me with bits of pleasure in its desire to escape into adventurous territories. We embraced, long and hard, and then I began to unbutton Chloe's blouse. It wasn't bodice-ripping; I thought I was being slow and sexy. But suddenly, a husky female voice behind me disagreed. "Let me do that," Taylor offered in a catlike purr. Chloe grinned. So that was what the female whispering had been about earlier in the evening! Dressed in a gold-trimmed oriental robe and slippers, Taylor moved catlike, reaching around me so that her breast pressed against me while her hands took over the unbuttoning - and the caressing of Chloe's breasts. I can't report everything that happened - my mind was a bit fogged. I did remember the menage a trois etiquette rules, I guess - to "come with the one you dance with" - because Chloe and I are still on good terms. I vaguely remember Taylor sliding to one side and letting Chloe kneel over me. I definitely remember finding the strength from somewhere to deliver powerful strokes deep into Chloe's soul, and have a cloudy recollection of Taylor riding behind her, her hands skillfully stroking Chloe's most tender places. Chloe was sighing. As my excitement climaxed, happy tears and joyful vocalisms came from her half-parted lips. Most of my energy must have gone into Chloe, because all else of that unexpected pleasure that I recall was Taylor easing my condom off and expertly disposing of it. Chloe and I kissed wildly and then I fell into a deep sleep. Hours later, I awoke beside Chloe. Taylor was stirring on the other side of her. She had been sleeping with one arm across Chloe's shoulders. Our surprise partner winked at me as she rose, sinuously reclaimed her robe and slippers, and vanished through the same passageway that she must have used to join us. At breakfast - which tasted better than ever - after the teasing remarks about what big appetites Chloe and I had that morning, I explained that I knew just the man to test every girl in Nevada, if necessary. Much as I had to admit enjoying the free sample, my prejudices were still mine. And that is how - a couple of weeks later - my friend Dean ended up on the plane winging toward Reno and Brandy's Ranch. I remembered his hilarious story about hiding out in a Bang-kok brothel for a fortnight while an outraged Singapore businessman hunted for him, something about seducing the man's mistress and getting her to steal back from the businessman the stolen plans for some U.S. electronic gadget. I had heard that Dean had retired, and was pleased to learn that he would take the assignment. Neither of us knew that it would become more complex. "It'll be a nice vacation. No pressure, no expense sheets," I told him. "Well, I'll probably put pressure on myself. Sex everyday for a week? I haven't done that since..." "Yeah, I know, Bang-kok!" "Well, actually, more recently than that." Dean grinned. "But it's still classified." ================================================================================ The plane's engines droned on. Dean scrolled through the copy of Brandy's business plan that I had attached. And then he came to the attached web pages that pictured each of Brandy's girls with a curriculum vitae that included career goals, education, hobbies, and her sex work specialties. All of the boxes were filled out, except that at the end there was an empty box with notes describing a bright new face who would be joining Brandy's team soon. Dean was impressed, scrolled the pages up and down, and momentarily forgot about his seatmate. "Please! That may appeal to you, but why do I have to look at your pornography?!!" The young woman had awoken from her drowsy state. Dean realized that he should have been more discrete. Still, he felt that her comment about a screen view that required leaning toward him was overly strong. "It's not pornography, it's a catalog for a bordello." "Well, I'm glad that you clarified that! How is that different?" She turned frosty. Dean liked the way her blue eyes flashed daggers at him. He wondered if her question was just rhetorical, but decided to take it seriously. "It's a lot more honest than pornography. Pornography just sells a false image. Prostitutes sell a real experience." Dean decided that she had meant the question as rhetoric, but had taken his answer more seriously than she had wanted to. For a moment, Dean had fingered the entwined images on the medallion in his pocket from the School for Social Expression [really the School for Sexual Expression, but he was used to filling out training warrants for young agents who took classes there under its public name]. He thought about how it would feel to watch her going into a trance, and then being able to ask her about her feelings. And, as he looked over her trim figure, it was easy to imagine suggesting successfully that she join him in bed to discuss those feelings. But something told him to behave, as she turned away and closed her eyes. He snapped the laptop shut and leaned back in the seat as best as one could. For a moment, he let himself remember the days when pretty stewardesses kept coming around offering treats, pillows, cigarettes, liquor. And, perhaps more, as he fondly recalled. Now, he was unlikely to be interrupted by a flight attendant for any purpose. Was his age beginning to show, or was it their age? Maybe their staff cutbacks? The retired agent snapped his mind back to the task coming up. He went over the catalog again, reviewing what he had learned. Jennifer was a MILF, her photos demonstrating that time, weather and gravity could be dealt with gracefully. "Benjamin Franklin was right," Dean mused, trying to recall the famous cocksman's quote about his preference for older women. Franklin's portrait had greeted the few visitors to the headquarters of Dean's agency, as perhaps the first U.S. agent to successfully enjoy sexual adventures overseas on behalf of the taxpayers. But Dean also found himself reviewing the mental images of Taylor, Caitie, Kaylynn, Jessica and Chrysta. Already, he was forming some ideas about their personalities, but he would be rating them as professionals. Caitie's photos had been the most explicit. Kaylynn posed in a baby doll outfit, looking spoiled. Taylor looked like she swam every day, in great shape, but without the gym muscle bulges that some athletic women acquire. Jessica, perhaps an African-American, was an artist and Chrysta was a budding intellectual, based on their academic backgrounds, favorite books and hobbies. And then there was the open box for the new addition to Brandy's team. She was expected to arrive before the week was out, so Dean would be busy for each of the six nights he would be in the Silver State. ================================================================================ SUNDAY: Caitie Dean and the paying customers found chairs and recliners by the lakeshore. Some of the men were in Reno for a convention, so had egged each other on to try a visit to Brandy's Ranch. It was some sort of techie gathering, and he made a mental note of the website that some discussed. One of the younger men in the group had never been to a Nevada "ranch" before, but had learned more about it through the web than one of the older men who claimed to be a regular on these convention side-trips. On the other hand, they had beaten the rush by arriving a day before the convention; the older man had worked out a package rate with Brandy the old-fashioned way, by phone. The billing, of course, would be for a special seminar. It would be, the group leader smiled, an "educational expense." Brandy had offered him her list and he chose "Hard Lessons Coming - Course 202" as the "business course on economic trends" for his firm's auditors to check. Dean was fascinated watching them work out who was going with who. Or was it whom? His grammatical musing was interrupted by topless Caitie perching on the arm of his chair. The others were paired off and filing down the path toward the pleasure pods. "I guess it's just you and me now," she purred. She leaned over as if to whisper something, letting her breast graze his arm. She paused to look for a reaction; Dean realized that she was nervous, but trying to project an air of bravado. He said nothing. She wiggled her flame red swim bottom at him. The flashy gold stripe down the side caught the light. Some men seemed ready to drool at that sight, she told the other girls later, but the retired intelligence agent made no move. "You're here to rate us, aren't you?" So that was it, he thought. The rumor mill had been at work. The underdressed blonde's exhibitionist tendencies had already expressed her insecurity. Now she thought that her work was being inspected. Dean still said nothing. He looked deep into her eyes, his face expressionless. Caitie looked back, challenged, wondering, a bit apprehensive, barely noticing that her swimsuit bottom - which had so quickly dried in the Nevada desert air - was becoming wet on the inside. Nor did she notice that her stiffening nipples gave away her unexpected desire for kisses as the couple's copulatory gaze stretched out to seeming infinity. Dean began to speak in low, measured tones. Other sounds were distant, but he encouraged her to notice how relaxing they were: the slight breeze in the trees, tiny waves lapping at the shore, giggles and some music coming from a far corner of the pleasure pods. It felt only natural to fall into deep rapport with Dean. Utter relaxation as she drifted off - she thought for just a moment. Dean, of course, as he debriefed Brandy and me later, did not need to explain the post-hypnotic suggestions he was offering. "Time to get to work," Dean said as he took her hand. Somehow, as the walked toward her room, that did not seem offensive. And why, she wondered, was she so turned on? This was just another guy. Get his pants off and suck him and/or fuck him! She tried to tell herself that, she admitted later, but instead she yearned to have his power penetrating her. Barely into her bedroom, she stripped off her swim panty and pressed herself fully nude against his clothed body. He looked down into her glowing eyes and smiled as she nuzzled herself against his growing hardness. Stepping back, he admired her wet, blonde curls for a moment before they were pressed firmly against him again. Caitie's desire for Dean's sex completely erased her insecurity. And, she was enjoying her femininity now, instead of thinking of her work as a grind. Confidently, she slid a hand over his chest and down to his pants zipper. The sound of the zipper going down its track was good to hear now, reminded her of her boyfriend long ago. As Dean's organ emerged from its captive briefs, like her boyfriend, she thought, he's just a normal guy. Then Dean whispered something in her ear - "look again." She blinked and sucked in her breath. As Dean's cock began its inexorable rise, it was growing to exactly the size of the largest one that she had ever taken in. Of course, she did not understand that she was imagining that swelling sword via a post-hypnotic suggestion - Dean had learned over the years to overcome his vanity and not get carried away with that suggestion, lest he frighten women. They would imagine him exactly fitting. He WAS guilty of pretending to struggle to get the condom on over his supposedly engorged giant. He had not, he confessed later, rid himself of all bad habits. Usually, Caitie had to call on her experience with drama classes once her john was inside, but as she admitted later, she could not remember any of the lines that she usually delivered. In those delicious moments, her subconscious took charge and carried her upward on waves of pleasure. Sensitive to her responses, he let himself go as she climaxed, but only tumbled to her side after the last tremor had shaken her. Brandy's Ranch Ch. 01 In the morning, it happened again. She expressed herself that way, as if she was the survivor of some natural phenomenon. For a while, she lay with Dean's arm around her as he whispered some more thoughts that she could not recall consciously later. As she started to drift off again, she realized that Dean was climbing out of bed. His penis hung slack and lolled aimlessly to and fro as he headed to the computer terminal. Before he had finished logging in, Caitie was cuddled against him. Not anxiously, though, but rather out of curiosity. She felt like they were on the same team now. She peered around him to see the typical hotel-like survey questions first, then jumped up and down and squealed a bit when Dean answered the questions about her favorably. Then, of course, there were the demographic questions. Dean checked 55+ for his age and Caitie blinked. That had been forgotten. As they dressed for the complimentary morning swim that Brandy had introduced for overnight guests, Dean explained that the purpose of his visit to the Ranch was to test and comment on the survey form, not to evaluate the professionals. But, he continued, he had written down some words on a sheet of paper that he folded over and handed to her. If she had a client that she especially wanted to enjoy, she could just say those trance words and she would recall how she felt with her first boyfriend and how she felt with Dean. As they walked down to the beach, they passed some of the other overnight customers. Dean saw their expressions, registering that he was an old guy escorting a young woman who looked as though she could float down the stairway on her own joy. And getting out of bed so late! When they headed out to the warm waters of the lake, the other women were desperate to get away from their johns for "just a moment" to grill Caitie. Their curiosity was pumped up by something that had not occurred to Dean - she was wearing a swimsuit top AND bottom. Both being green shades, the fact that the patterns and material did not match was not too egregious. What surprised them was to see her looking sexy without looking trashy. Kaylynn paddled over to them. Even with her sharp tongue, the flaming redhead managed to find something nice to say, pointing out that mismatched swimsuits were the latest. Dean reflected to himself that the fashion industry was messing with one of his favorite indicators of a woman's night of passion at a beach resort. "A gold dollar for your thoughts," laughed Kaylynn, splashing him. She had noticed Dean's attention wandering. "If you want something red to think about, my regular canceled for tonight. Some legislative committee meeting, he said. I'm open." Dean turned towards her and she felt their eyes lock. ================================================================================ MONDAY: Kaylynn Despite her bitchy reputation, Kaylynn had a smile on her face as she joined the parade of half-clad beauties in the nightly line-up. Even though she knew that she would be with Dean tonight, it was a requirement for all of the girls to participate in this traditional activity. And, after all, Dean would be gone by the weekend and some of these men would be back to Nevada again. Kaylynn prided herself on her strictly businesslike approach to the sex trade; it complemented the accounting classes that she was taking at the community college. The smile, she told herself, was just good customer service. Perhaps it was that attitude that made her wonder why she had been thinking of having sex with Dean all day, or at least since she had teased him about having something red to think about. Of course, she mused, she was too common-sense to believe the rumors that Dean hypnotized people. The red sports car that she had driven into town had seemed to be steering itself as her mind drifted off. Caitie had hinted that Dean's sex organ went deep, but what did she know? Kaylynn had a year or two more experience, which is a long time in their line of work. As the car drove itself on the country road, she had looked down into her sundress and wondered if he would like the bright tan lines - almost sun-burn - on her fair skin. She tugged the elastic band of the dress out a bit and looked at the pale patches around her nipples. They were firmly erect. For some reason, she was reminded of the time when she had a row with Taylor, who had teased her about someday having sex with her. KayLynn did not feel strongly set against lesbian sex, but she was against free sex, and Taylor knew it. "Damn" she muttered, as she swerved to avoid a rabbit in the road. Why was she so focused on what would be just another suck and fuck? And why was she as wet as a groupie meeting a rock star? Those thoughts had replayed in Kaylynn's mind throughout the day, as if in an endless loop. Each time, they ended in realization of her wetness, and then they began again. And why did she keep remembering Taylor, too? The replays only ended after the line-up when Dean's eyes locked with hers again. They paused on the path to her pleasure pod and Dean said something to her. All she remembered later was admitting to him that she would do anything for him, to have sex with him - and to relieve the erotic tension that had been mounting within her throughout the day. "You'll have the chance to prove that," she remembers Dean saying, and the way he said it sounded wonderful, not ominous. It started out about as she had expected. Johns couldn't resist pulling down the elastic bodice of her sundress, and that's just what Dean did. She felt his admiring eyes enjoying her widespread cleavage, the pink triangles of soft skin around her nipples, and then everything changed. Taylor walked into the room. Or, perhaps strode into the room. She was wearing what Kaylynn recognized as her dominatrix outfit. She was carrying a dildo. "What's she doing here?" Kaylynn gasped. Dean looked deeply into her eyes again, pressed against her in an embrace and said nothing as their heartbeats began to synchronize. Then he spoke in measured tones. "You said you'd do anything for sex with me, didn't you?" Kaylynn's swollen vagina lips told her to admit that was true. "Let's not waste time, time is money, right?" Taylor teased Kaylynn with words and then touched her nipples. "I just have an hour before the Zoning Commission meeting is over." She smiled across Kaylynn's shoulder at Dean. "There's a big condo project in review and the developer is bringing a couple of the commissioners over to celebrate their approval vote - when it goes through." Dean and Taylor swiftly removed the rest of the redhead's clothes. Resigned, she knelt submissively before Taylor. Dean enjoyed the pink bottom outlined by her sunburned back. "You really want to make love to me, don't you!" Taylor asserted. Kaylynn balked at replying, until she saw Dean's gaze slowly taking in her nude figure from toes to eyes. When their eyes locked again, she knew that her words had been true. Eagerly, she offered her lips to Taylor's prominently displayed vagina, framed as it was by leather leggings. The two were soon engaged in washing away their former ill-will, as Dean watched their applied passion with amusement and some pride. The dildo, he noted, went in smoothly. Taylor's expert touch stroked Kaylynn to deeper and deeper pleasure and then as her body glowed almost as red as her hair, the redhead's back arched powerfully. Even Taylor's strong embrace could not hold down the power of the orgasm she had induced. Kaylynn was soon stretched out on the green sheets. She had chosen them to highlight her hair, Dean suspected, and it worked. Her wet sex curls looked as though they were on fire and her red head glowed on the green pillow. Taylor quietly wiped off the wet dildo with a facial tissue and swung off the bed, motioning to Dean to take her place. A look of accomplishment crossed her face as she strode out of the room, ready to receive the Zoning Commissioners. Dean took Kaylynn in his arms, simply holding her for a bit until her breathing returned to normal. Gradually, their heartbeats merged. It felt so warm and comfortable as their bodies seemed to melt together. She had never fully experienced this feeling before. Instead of calculating her hourly rate, she was becoming a part of him. Or vice versa - her mind felt cloudy. Every muscle seemed to have already spent itself with Taylor and now Dean's manhood was asserting its power. Somehow, she remembered to hand him a condom, and watched with half-closed eyes as he expertly rolled it on. She stretched out as invitingly as she could - without raising her limp body off the sheets. Her head remained on the green pillow as Dean moved over her. He did not seem fazed by her passive acceptance as he entered her. But she wondered about that only for seconds. She vaguely recalled later how her conscious mind seemed to switch off and her subconscious mind switched on. She was not under Dean's control, as in some porno hypnosis films she'd seen. She was in the power of ancient forces within her, as her most primitive urges were released with each of Dean's strokes. The skilled movements of his thick penis - afterward that's how she insisted it felt, not long like Caitie claimed - signaled to her inner urges to accept his semen. She wished, oh she wished! that the latex barrier did not have to remain between them. And now she was begging him to come in one breath and whimpering for another orgasm with the next. Dean looked down into her eyes as she pleaded for him to come. As those eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, she felt the most massive orgasm yet to come. Dean smiled as he sensed it building around him. "Fuck me hard, I need you..." she screamed impatiently as her hips bucked powerfully on their own. Totally lost was the cool, calculating bitch as Dean threw himself into his own pleasure with this new, accepting woman. Now she was worthy. She blacked out as she felt his hot jet of semen filling the condom. She barely could remember seeing Dean rising to roll off the wet condom, then walk over to punch his entries into the computer. She felt no anxiety as he did that. Her subconscious would not let her. Of course, you can guess the rest. In the morning, she was remarkably nice to her co-workers and answered their eager curiosity about her night with Dean (and Taylor) with friendly banter. Of course, there weren't as many questions about Taylor, as it seems that she had been through the rest of Brandy's stable of fillies already. As we learned later, she was more enthusiastic with the johns after this experience. And when one of them was disappointing, she learned to remember Dean. It turned out, of course, that her income increased! ================================================================================ TUESDAY MORNING: Brunch One of Brandy's ideas for dealing with the mid-week drop-off of male interest during conventions was to introduce her Tuesday Brunch. Her chef - Rosemary Salazar - exceeded her already good reputation. "Good enough" was replaced with "excellent." Everyone sat around under big umbrellas against the strong Nevada sun. Some of the women swam out to an anchored float where the thermal upswells bubbled up, others chatted with the few customers, who Dean concluded were all regulars. Mimosas refreshed. There were even "Hermosas" for non-alcoholic customers and staff. Kaylynn perched on the arm of Dean's chair, wanting to stay close to him, but tolerant of his interest turning to Jennifer. Dean found her - Jennifer - easy to chat with, perhaps because she was closer to his own age. Or, at least, he realized, within the Rule of Seven (dividing his age in half and adding seven years). But she was cynical about Dean's project and the use of SurveySimian. His musing was interrupted by a happy shout from several of the staff. "It's Joe Martinez!" A beat-up pick-up with dusty Idaho plates was pulling into the yard. A middle-aged Mexican-American gentleman climbed out and waved a well-worn rancher's hat at a couple of the girls who were running toward him. Belying his age, he swept one under each arm and twirled them around once, then dropped them to wipe his brow. Dean heard Caitie call him "charming" and Kaylynn call him "generous." Jennifer explained to Dean that Joe was "kind." According to her, he even went out of his way to compliment the cooking when he stayed over for breakfast, a meal that some famished ranch visitors wolfed down without comment. With this sort of resumé, Dean just had to meet the man. He rose, shook hands, and invited him over to the chair next to him. Jessica stood near Joe, looking after his drink. Caitie sat on a folding campstool next to Joe, fanning him whenever the breeze over the lake slacked off. And afterward, Dean realized that meeting the retired Idaho businessman was the start of an entirely unexpected chapter of his week at Brandy's Ranch. ==================== Yes, this is the same Joe Martinez that we met in the climax of "Game of Love" in this website. To be continued. ### Brandy's Ranch Ch. 02 Copyright by ProfessorR © by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) ***** RANCH HANDS - part two TUESDAY MORNING: Brunch continued As Dean and Joe chatted with each other, Dean gradually began to realize that the retired Mexican-American businessman was planning on spending the night with Jennifer. Dean could see that it made sense, but he was already planning to test the MILF hand of Brandy's Ranch himself. Unknown to her conscious mind, he had begun to prepare her for that, slipping inside her subconscious, after realizing that she was the most cynical of the troop. He was not going to be able to give her a fair try on SurveySimian if she remained so hostile. Dean excused himself and went to find Brandy. Soon she had things worked out. Jennifer would go with Dean for this night, but Joe would have a complimentary salt and pepper menage a trois with Taylor and Jessica. For a moment, Dean thought the disappointed look on Joe Martinez' face would remain, but Jessica's enthusiasm about the idea was infectious. Joe grinned and rose, excusing himself. "I'm going to get washed up and take a little nap. Us old guys need to get rest if we're going to be up all night." He laughed and winked at Jessica, who winked back. Jessica and Caitie disappeared to their rooms to get ready for the swimming line-up. Dean was left alone with Jennifer. She was steaming. Dean now realized that Jennifer probably was expecting a big tip from the generous old guy, and that she genuinely liked him. And that she was testier than ever. He watched uneasily as she rose from her chair to head for her room. As he watched her well-endowed silhouette passing under the fir tree boughs, he could understand what Joe would have been thinking about on the long drive from Idaho. But now, her mind carried a tiny thought that was growing to allow Dean to open her to craving new demands. ================================================================================ AFTER THE SWIMMING LINE-UP That afternoon, two pairs of breasts emerged topless from the lake. Instead of just Caitie, the exhibitionist, there was also a display of Jennifer's generously full figure. As if that was not enough to arouse the male gallery, Jennifer grabbed Caitie in a frontal embrace that should have made the water around their knees sizzle. Customers hurried over to Brandy, eager to sign up for sessions with one or the other or both of the two. But Jennifer would not be available tonight, in spite of her subversive efforts. Brandy was in charge. Caitie reaped the benefit of their performance. Joe Martinez seemed to have adjusted, Dean chuckled, as he watched the rested retiree head towards the pleasure pods with Taylor on one side and Jessica on the other. Brandy's contribution to ethnic diversity - the playful trio - was almost skipping. Jennifer, on the other hand, was dragging her feet. "Okay, let's get it over with," she muttered to Dean. "I owe Brandy a lot, so I'll play along. I know she thinks this is a good idea, but..." Her voice faded as she slid open the door of her pod. "But what?" "This racket has been going on for thousands of years without ratings." Dean wondered if she was conscious of her age in what was usually a younger woman's occupation. "That's not quite true." She raised an eyebrow. "In pioneer Denver the Red Book was a guide to all the best bordellos and it had reader ratings of the more established women. It was sort of the Yelp of its day." They stood silently in her room for a minute. "Doesn't it occur to you that with your experience you have just as much chance of scoring a high rating as, say Jessica?" Dean watched her eyes as she took that thought in. It was hard to keep his eyes on hers when below her shoulders her breasts still sparkled wet from her swim. She quivered a bit as a diamond flash of water ran down her breast and her skin cooled. "You might as well take off the REST of your clothes," he said casually. He caught the blink of her eyes as her subconscious picked out the trance word he had given her earlier. Puzzled, she did as she was told. The customer was almost always right, she may have rationalized. "And now my clothes..." and her deft hands were at his buttons. Even standing close, her nude body within warmth distance of his, she affected an air of indifference. She was carrying out her job in a light trance, but just as stage hypnotists always assured their subjects, her mind was not being changed. "I know you're going to try and hypnotize me. I'll bet that's why Caitie thought your cock was super long and Kaylynn thought it was so thick. I think you'll find that I'm not falling for that stage magician stuff!" She snapped off his briefs. "See, it's just a typical..." Jennifer's voice choked in mid-sentence as Dean's manhood began to extend. Not that it was exceptionally long, but, as she gasped "it's swaying... like a snake!" "Now you know the REST of the story," Dean calmly intoned. "Watch it closely." It was the Indian Snake Charmer induction. Prepared in advance, Jennifer, his subject, now imagined that she was being hypnotized by watching Dean's seductively weaving organ. Actually, she already was lightly hypnotized, so she stood transfixed in spite of her apprehension, imagining most of the motion. "You seem to be enjoying this," he commented with a smile, looking down at her swelling breasts and firming nipples. His eyes slid down over her tummy to the full lips of her vagina. He grazed a hand down the path that his eyes had followed and found her becoming hot and wet. Weakly, she tried to scowl, to protest, but the rising tide of pleasure overwhelmed her. Dean teased her with his hard shaft, but Jennifer saw it throbbing, bobbing as its tip sought to tease her clit. What would this man do when he is deep inside? Later, she told her friends that all of her preoccupations about the survey idea faded away as her desire mounted. Then her professional cynicism ebbed as she became aware of her primal, aching desire to have his male power at her service. "I think we should head for bed," Dean grinned. "I'm frozen to this spot, remember?" She laughed in a tantalizing way. Dean felt his own satisfying wave of pleasure in realizing that she was shedding her attitude. He waved a hand and touched her forehead. Jennifer blinked and found herself kneeling to kiss Dean's erect - but now conventional looking - penis. She was filled with the desire to take control, to suck him dry now, to have Dean hobble out in the morning singing her praises. But Dean was in command and guided her to the bed. She watched as he smoothly stretched the required condom over his erect manhood. Then his skilled hands slid over her curves and she felt her legs instinctively spreading as he took possession of her vagina. Squeezing it gently, he began the motion that she knew would compel an orgasm, something that she had faked so many times. Now, she knew it was going to be real. Dean nibbled on her breasts. Jennifer let her conscious mind step aside as she felt her body begin to float deliciously upward. She was not the only person in the room enjoying her ecstasy. Dean was deep into her excitement. Neither of them heard the dark-windowed limousine roar into the yard. The siren of the sheriff's car following it blended with Jennifer's moans and little urging messages to Dean. Neither of them heard the gate clang shut; all cynicism gone, Jennifer begged to have Dean's hardness inside. Nor did they hear the shouting and arguing as Dean rammed to the rhythm that turned her warm spots into the overlapping lava of a hot volcano. As the first touch of morning light aroused her from deep sleep, Jennifer blinked and saw Dean, still naked, at the computer terminal. "Aren't you forgetting something?" She licked her lips and let the sheet slowly slip off her breasts. "I thought you were still asleep. And I'm hungry, so I thought I'd get moving." Jennifer noticed that his penis was the only part of him that began moving. He paused. "Did you have something in mind?" Dean smiled as he felt his balls begin to work. He hit "Escape" on the computer and walked slowly back to the bed. As Dean told me later, Jennifer's experienced lips and tongue brought him firmly back to life. She loved the feeling of controlling Dean's tired body, coaxing his sated penis back up to being the hard shaft that had pleasured her so deeply the night before. Her gentle tugging and nibbling reached perfection. Dean groaned and lost himself in her warm wetness. In spite of all his experience, he ... had ... to come. His well-exercised muscles flexed powerfully and shot a pure white stream over her tongue. As Jennifer told the other women during the topless swim that day, the ivory semen that had filled his condom the night before belonged to all of them, as it was generated by all the sexy thoughts of the day. But this morning's offering that she licked from her lips was hers alone. She smiled a triumphant smile for days after, but secretly yearned to have Dean's special touch again and again. ================================================================================ WEDNESDAY MORNING: Brunch discussion "We have a problem on our hands." Brandy's tone was serious. Dean and Joe had been invited to join Brandy and Rick for brunch. The mountain panorama around the lake was lit by glorious sunshine. Sparkles of light flashed on the water. Dean took another sip of the good coffee. Joe, as usual, was enchanted by the delicious choices on the full table laid out by Rosemary. Dean's trained eyes noted something sweet - not the food. Each time Rosemary came within range of Joe's place at the table, she leaned over to add or remove a plate in a way that revealed her mocha curves. Her blouse was open one button lower than it was supposed to be. Dean took in the scene with a smile. "It's hard to imagine a problem right now, with this..." and then the retired intelligence agent stopped. One of the sparkles of light was not off the lake, it was higher up on a hill. "Would someone be aiming a telescopic sight in our direction?" he said, as calmly as possible. "Or a telephoto lens?" "I hope only a lens," Rick offered. For a moment, Dean thought that Rick's PTSD was kicking in, but after a cliffhanger pause, Rick continued. "Brandy," he cajoled, "these guys are friends. Tell them what's up." "Okay..." She stirred her coffee, which did not need stirring, then took a long sip. "Late last night, an unexpected guest arrived. Actually, two unexpected guests: Don Juan Negrin, the Ecuazeulan Consul General from San Francisco and his American student intern, Keira Daly." "What is the problem?" Dean queried. "From what I gathered from him, his wife is related to the current dictator, and she didn't approve of him taking cute Keira for a few days in Reno. Somehow, the papparazzi got wind of this and the couple had to sneak out of their casino hotel in what should have been the whee hours and head for someplace more secure. Someone steered them to us." The office phone rang and Brandy excused herself. "So, anyway," Rick picked up the story, "the consulate put out a press release saying that the consul was on a routine trade mission, trying to drum up business for his country's struggling economy. But that didn't stop the photographers from chasing him up here. Lucky thing that the county deputies were on the ball. When his driver said they were headed to Brandy's Ranch, they waved the limo through and then stopped the chase by writing all kinds of tickets on the media folks. Now the bandits have paid their fines and are crawling through the brush with long lenses, trying to get pictures." Brandy returned, her model smile replaced by a scowl. "That was the sheriff," she explained. "He figures that he can only keep the deputies in this area for a couple of more days, and then his overtime budget will be shot." They sat there silent for what seemed like a long time. Then Joe Martinez spoke. "Dean, wasn't there a movie about sneaking some hostages out of trouble?" "I'm not an expert on extractions," Dean offered, "but my agency got me out of some scrapes before. You're remembering that movie, 'Argo'? Maybe we can come up with something." He took another sip of coffee. "Let's talk with the happy couple." "They're down in the extra pleasure pod. They don't dare go out in the daylight." Rick led them to the out-of-the-way spare pod, explaining that it was only used when big conventions were in town. Brandy had arrangements for occasional service by some grad students who had big loans to pay off. Another flash of reflected sunlight told Dean that their movements were being watched. Rick rang the bell. "You!" Keira Daly answered the door. Her blue eyes focused shsrply on Dean. Her trim figure was covered with one of the Brandy's Ranch logo bathrobes (for sale in the gift shop), but Dean recognized her as the prude on the plane. He resisted the urge to say any number of ironic things about finding her here. "Where's Don Juan?" he asked instead. Keira nodded her head in the direction of the bathroom. From behind the half-closed door, they could hear the sound of someone vomiting. "We'll wait. Make yourself comfortable." He motioned for Keira to sit on the edge of the bed. She huffed and climbed all the way on the bed, leaning on piled up pillows as if bored with everything. Her robe slipped off one leg, showing a well-shaped thigh. She did not try to straighten it. Dean and Joe took chairs. Rick waited in the doorway. Water ran in the bathroom and then the runaway diplomat emerged. Dean had expected a suave Valentino type, but if the senior diplomat had been that, the comparison was lost somewhere along the way. The man's face was pale and he was bleary-eyed as he plopped onto the edge of the bed. Keira reached out to him, but he ignored her. When he spoke, in a frightened voice, it occurred to Dean that Don Juan was thinking entirely of himself. "You must get me out of here," he addressed Rick. "My career will be over! My wife's cousin will have me killed! And, so close to my pension," he added. "Señor Negrin," replied Rick, "don't worry. These men and I are going to think of something." He looked at Dean. "Right now, I think you'd better stay indoors. I have some ideas, but we need to talk this over some more. I'll ask Brandy to have one of her girls check on you to see if you need something." Dean did have some ideas, but nothing jelled yet. The three men trudged away up the gravel path to Brandy's porch. They were joined by Jessica. "Did you notice how much Señor Negrin looks like Joe? I mean after Negrin calmed down." Rick was musing. "Well, we're about the same age and height, but..." Joe was reluctant to be compared with the sniveling South American. Jessica, the artist, was the one who put the pieces together: "With some make-up, we can make you look just like him! Then you can walk around here, be Negrin's double, while he escapes!" "How would he escape? The limo is a dead giveaway." The dusty limo was still parked in the yard, its driver smiling blissfully as he snoozed in the front seat. Rick noted that the uniformed wheelman must have already had his complimentary blow-job, another promotional idea of Brandy's. Limo drivers were now so enthusiastic about taking conventioneers to Brandy's Ranch that they practically shanghaied customers, but he did not think that this case warranted the incentive award. "Joe, how much is your truck worth?" Dean asked. "I couldn't sell it. I've had it through thick and thin," the retired businessman retorted. "$2400!" asserted Dean. "I couldn't even think of..." "$2800!" Dean interrupted. "A collector offered me $3300 for it." "Sold to the Ecuazeulan government for $3300!" Dean announced. "I'm not sure if their money is good," Joe muttered. He started to ask what they would do with the truck, but the wheels in his mind were turning faster than he could get the words out. Dean began laying out the plan that in some form had also occurred to everyone on the porch. "Late this afternoon, maybe better at dusk, the "journalists" will see what they think is Joe Martinez drive off in his beater - I mean collector's - truck by himself. Just like when he came in." Dean paused and looked around to see if everyone was following him. Then he continued. "They'll also be distracted by what they think is his intern frolicking with Don Juan by the lakeshore. Which is the youngest girl here?" "Chrysta," Jessica responded. "We can dye her hair." Dean had not had Chrysta yet, which is probably why he asked who was the youngest. Chrysta sometimes was asked by nervous politician customers for proof of her age. They apparently never stayed in doubt of her maturity once they "entered her playground"; her laughing extension of the cradle-robbing image she portrayed as an offset to her real intellectual talents. "Good. Then when he turns up alone in his hotel room, the paparazzi will have some souvenir photos that aren't him and the intern and that don't have any market value." Joe Martinez laughed. "Sorry, Joe, but I don't think you'll have a future as a porn star." Some other details were worked out. The limo driver would give Joe a ride to the Reno airport. The payment would just cover the "walk-up fare" back to Boise, Joe noted in a sardonic tone. The payment itself would be run through Brandy's charge slips with its innocent name. Joe would take it as a credit toward future visits. And so forth. Dean slipped away to the "hostages" pod. Something had been bothering him and finally he realized that he needed to ask Ecuazeulan Consul General Negrin a question. "Can you drive a stick shift?" "No, of course not. I always have a driver, anyway!" he sneered. Dean noticed that Keira now looked contemptuosly at her recent lover. They must have been talking with each other. Perhaps, thought Dean, she has had enough exposure to his selfish side. Dean did not have time for this man's attitude. He was there to get Brandy out of the tabloids, and ethics were as useful to him now as a used condom. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his badge that included the intertwined symbol of the School for Sexual Expression. "What is that?" sighed the diplomat. "Relax. Just take a close look at it." Dean responded in measured tones, smoothly penetrating Don Juan Negrin's subconscious. Keira watched in awe. Dean noted her shifting her legs to a more comfortable position as she witnessed the easy way that he smoothly brought her recent lover under his control. And then her mouth dropped open as Dean suggested a man to man discussion and then asked him a few questions. Tantalized, she smiled as she felt the wetness between her legs - until this exchange. "Was Keira your first lover from your staff?" "Heh, heh! Of course, I take lovers regularly. That is a - you call it a - fringe benefit." "Was Keira your first choice for this trip?" "I thought of Carlita first, but it was the wrong time of the month." "Who is Carlita?" "The consulate public relations officer. Easy to satisfy, wonderful muscles in the tight places. She worships me. But she is a good Catholic, too, and uses the rhythym method." "And Keira?" "Interesting, but she takes things too seriously. Still, it is good to have her when Carlita is not ready." Dean glanced across the room. A tear ran down Keira's cheek and Dean suddenly felt he had taken questions too far. He returned to the strangest hypnotic induction he had ever conducted, trying to get Don Juan to focus on how to drive a stick shift pick-up truck. Mostly, he concentrated on developing in the diplomat a willingness to learn from Joe Martinez. It was not easy. Brandy's Ranch Ch. 02 The good news was that by the end of the session Keira's tears were gone. With growing interest, she watched Dean patiently working. Had he not been so focused on his subject he might have noted the increasing look of determination on her face. He might have even noticed that she went into the bathroom to change her panties. ================================================================================ WEDNESDAY EVENING: Plan into action Fortunately, Joe's truck was parked in a secluded spot. It took several tries that afternoon before he could get the frazzled and frightened diplomat through steps in driving that were second nature to others. That done, Joe went with Jessica to be made up as Negrin. When they returned to the standby pleasure pod, Dean was genuinely impressed with the resemblance. "Time to swap clothes, gentlemen," Dean directed. "Careful with those pants!" the diplomat snorted. He was standing in his boxers while Joe was trying on the expensive, lux-brand-name slacks. "He wasn't so touchy when I pulled them off him in San Francisco," Keira was heard to mutter. And then she swung her legs off the bed and approached Dean. "You won't have to use Chrysta to double for me." She paused for her words to sink in. "I'll go out there with Mr. Martinez." "You don't have to do it." "I want to. I want to." Without waiting for a reply, Keira snatched some clothes from her bag and headed for the bathroom, turning for a moment to issue what sounded like a directive. "Just don't let Don Juan leave before I'm out there with Mr. Martinez. Let him see what's going to happen!" Joe raised an eyebrow, but Dean motioned for him to stay quiet. Phrases about "a woman scorned" were coming to his fertile mind and now he was aware that Keira had given up on being the sexy plaything of the veteran diplomatic cocksman. He wondered how assertive she was going to be. Chrysta entered the room, expecting to swap clothes with the intern. Instead, she found herself waiting with the others - waiting for Keira. It did not take long for the angry intern to squeeze into the tight Tanga swimwear and the white, lacy cover-up jacket that she had brought for the eyes of Señor Negrin. She emerged from the bathroom, catching all eyes in the process. The diplomat scowled. Joe Martinez smiled. Chrysta looked her up and down enviously. Dean looked her over with increasing interest. "C'mon, Chrysta, let's both give 'em a show!" Keira took Chrysta - who brightened up - on one arm and Joe on the other. Señor Negrin scowled again. "Exhibitionist! I'm disgusted." He affected an air of disdain. But he watched. His eyes grew bigger. Well, actually it was not just his eyes that grew bigger as Joe Martinez' work-worn hands found the straps on Keira's swimwear easy to slip off. Dean began to wonder if he would have trouble getting the transfixed diplomat moving. The decoy part of his plan was working, though, as he noticed the late day sunlight reflecting off of camera lenses. Perhaps it was Chrysta's delicate tracing of Keira's curves, or maybe it was when Keira and Joe tore off Chrysta's clothing. Or it was when old Joe showed experienced deftness in caressing Keira's breasts. Or probably, it was when the two young women bracketed Joe and nuzzled their nude curves against him from each side as they splashed together in the warm water. Whatever point they had reached, it was the last straw for Señor Negrin. "Disgusting! No sense of shame!" he blatted out as he turned toward the truck. He stalled the engine on the first try, and angrily let the clutch snap in on the second. Gravel pelted the nearest pleasure pod and then the diplomat vanished in a cloud of oily exhaust. To Dean's relief, the camera lens reflections continued to focus on the impromptu sex show, indicating that the diplomat likely was not being followed. The frolicking trio forsook their warm bath and happily dried each others' glistening bodies with the fluffy towels that Brandy kept stocked near the water's edge. Then they helped each other dress (Joe had to go back in the water to fish out a couple of items that had come off last). Dean had to admit to himself that he was a bit jealous of Joe. Chrysta was about Keira's age and now was offering to teach her some tricks, with Joe as the beneficiary. And, Dean thought, Joe's wisdom might be part of the attraction of intellectual Chrysta for the older man. ================================================================================ WEDNESDAY NIGHT: All the nudes that fit the prints Jessica's pod was decorated with her watercolors: scenes of the Sierras and a couple of impressionistic nudes that Dean recognized as self-portraits of Brandy's most artistic sex worker. And, the biggest surprise, an almost nude sketch of our friend Chloe! "She asked me to pose for her photo series, so I asked her to pose for me," she explained. "I'll use that sketch to paint a watercolor. But, let me get your attention," she giggled. Dean realized that he had been staring wistfully at the sketch. Jessica was well-dressed in a shirt blouse and skirt combination that set off her dark skin, with lots of buttons. She fingered each as she undid herself before his penetrating eyes. Dean had heard that Jessica had been married for a while and he was reminded of his instructor at the School for Sexual Expression. She had explained that one of the pleasures of taking married women was that they dressed so well for their sexual rendezvous. Of course, said his instructor, it would feel great to frolic on a first date with a woman who insisted that she never had "done it" so quickly before. A graduate of this program would come to consider that normal. But a sensitive graduate of this program, male or lesbian, would appreciate the anticipation and thought that the married woman put into extra-curricular love-making as an event. That had certainly become Dean's experience. Anticipation is what Dean felt as Jessica's skirt fell to the floor. As their eyes locked in the pre-coital gaze, neither of them even noticed that the television was still on. Jessica had been watching 'The Price is Right'. She was somewhere between Chrysta and Jennifer in age, but like all of Brandy's stable, she kept in timeless shape. As his old instructor had suggested, her lingerie was exquisite. Some of the bordello's workers favored traditionally garish colors. With the 1950's back in style, blazing red panties stretching over blond curls to some even seemed trendy. Jessica's flowered print bra and panties complemented her African-American skin tones in a much more sophisticated way. Enjoying his reaction, Jessica leaned forward to allow Dean's fingers to deftly unclip her bra. His experienced hands slid around her sides and onto her swelling breasts to tease them, tantalizing her, promising her more than the usual grabby married customer. Instead of relying on hypnosis, Dean had made fulfilling foreplay his choice, trying the technique of David Shade. Partly, that was because feeling herself gliding into hot, wet ecstasy appealed to her artistic spirit. Partly because age was catching up with Dean. It felt delicious - the gentle tugging as she fingered his swelling manhood - the moist kisses - the thrills that coursed through her body as he adroitly fingered her. He loved the challenging strong curls that framed her pink invitation to pleasure. And it was easy to imagine her in missionary style, with those curls clutching at his own. But Dean had a different plan for Jessica. They lay entwined until her legs had to spread open for the deep vaginal orgasms she now demanded. Dean ordered her to her knees. Her dark curves wiggled glowing black ivory invitingly in front of him. She barely was conscious by the time he slipped into her, but prepared with deep orgasms, Dean's powerful reach into Jessica's innermost pleasure centers jolted her awake. Or perhaps it was the playful slap on her rump. She felt him leaning over her, capturing her breasts with his experienced hands. She still remembers longing for him not to have been wearing a condom, wanting this special man's semen to fill her needs, but all she recalls from after that is sharing the explosion with him. According to stereotypes, Dean should then have fallen asleep, perhaps snoring. But, as was usually the case when he had tightly focused his energy on juicy sex, Jessica dropped into a deep slumber first. It was then that he noticed that the tv was still on. A cable news anchor was reaching the bottom end of her half-hour, time for the junkiest stories. (Despite, Dean supposed, having run teasers on them throughout the evening.) DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS!~~~! "Was Don Juan Negrin, the Ecuazeulan Consul General from San Francisco on a sex junket to Reno?" Well, the story finally - to Dean's amusement - stated that he had appeared from his Reno hotel room all alone to speak at a development conference. And his spokeswoman "Carlita" issued a statement from the consulate assuring that he had the Ecuazeulan people's warm support in spite of the bare lies spreading with nakedly false photos. The story they had milked for hours had gone limp without reaching a climax. HOT TIME IN NEVADA SMALL TOWN!~~~! "What's up in Xxxxxxx County? Exclusive pictures show sex orgy on the lake!" They saved the best for last, thought Dean. Extremely long telephoto lenses produced shimmering, hard to make out, images of today's nude frolics. Whenever the image tightened up, it was fuzzed by pixilization. All the while, the anchor made double entendre remarks, while continuing her shocked tone. Then a commercial followed, appropriately for an erection-enhancer. Dean wondered how much new demand the outraged publicity would bring to Brandy's Ranch. Or were the viewers just expected to masturbate with these thoughts in their darkened living rooms? The retired government agent smiled and then joined Jessica in deep slumber, their bodies touching intimately. He could fill out the on-line survey in the morning. ================================================================================ THURSDAY EVENING: Class Act It was Chrysta's turn. Dean wondered if she might feel short-changed after all the attention he had already given to the other women, but it seemed that the exciting events of the last couple of days had washed away any other thoughts. She was pleased that Dean was impressed with her library, which covered a broad range of topics. The Kama Sutra was represented, as well as Japanese pillow books and the hottest literary novels. There were some collector edition copies of Playboy with the great literature that so many of her customers had forgotten to read in them. Matt Bai's truthful book about the rise of sex scandals was on the bedside table. Beneath it was an old high school sex ed textbook. Dean pulled it out. "Ohhh," she laughed. "That's just a prop! Just give me a minute," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. She grabbed some clothing out of the closet and slipped into the bathroom. Dean was puzzled; picked out more titles and kept browsing. Chrysta stepped back into the room. She was dressed in a porn director's idea of a sex ed teacher: black-rimmed glasses, a prep school monogram on the unbuttoned blazer, her bare curves beneath its maroon cloth leading to those 1950's red panties. They even had cute ruffles discretely placed. She was fingering a ruler, sliding it slowly upward. "Are you a good boy? Or a naughty boy? Let me see if they warn girls about you in here." She flipped open the sex ed book. Dean laughed. She carried it off so well, he forgot about some minor aches and pains and began to feel like his old self. "It doesn't hurt, does it? Can we do it before curfew? All the other girls are doing it!" They teased each other with school days phrases. Chrysta confessed that she wanted Brandy to get an old Cadillac with a big back seat for customers who wanted to relive their youth. Dean was amused, although he had to admit having never tried that, always being too much of a romantic and wanting a beautiful setting without time limits, at the least a place where both could stretch out. "It's time for your final exam, Dean!" Chrysta adopted her classroom tone again. Dean concluded that hypnotically smoothing the way was unnecessary, as she eagerly snapped her passion red panties down over her firm rump. "I'm up for it!" was all he could get out before she pressed into him on tiptoes so her lusting sex lips could close around the hardness in his slacks. Her heat sent a clear signal; his manhood was not in doubt as she deftly stretched his briefs to disentangle it. Giggling, she reached for the ruler and played at measuring his rising statement of interest. "You're not hypnotizing me, are you? This ruler isn't long enough!" That wasn't true exactly, so they both giggled this time and she dropped the ruler. Turning to the bedside table, she picked out a condom. "Now will you demonstrate that you've been paying attention in class?" With practiced fingers, the retired agent ripped the foil open and then stopped for a moment. He squeezed a glistening drop of precum on a finger and caressed each of Chrysta's firmly outhrust nipples, enjoying the s-h-h-hiver that coursed through her petite body. Then he slipped into the condom. Chrysta stood before him nude, except for the comical black glasses. Calmly, she removed them and took Dean's hand and placed it over her vagina. Dean's steady hand cradled her warming sex and then he began to move his fingers. Chrysta tossed the phony glasses aside and looked up starry-eyed. He could feel and see her body chemistry at work now, flooding her logical brain with tantalizing yearnings, perhaps feeding her thoughts from the pillow books. She danced away from him and twirled onto the bed. "Dean!" she gasped, unused to foreplay from the customers. "I want your dick in me now." She wiggled her pelvis eagerly. But he lay down beside her, pinning her arms down. Leaning over, he sucked her small, but well-shaped breast closest and his hand extended his control of her vagina. His long index finger stroked her deepest spots until she forgot that his hard erection was still tightly held in her hand. Orgasms began to cascade as Dean ordered her to intense pleasure, all the while holding her arms down. "Oh, God, my pussy..." she started to blurt out something between breaths, and then she squirted her sex juice up and beyond anything she had experienced before. A cold shiver passed through her and her entire body seemed ready to resonate like a tuning fork. And it did. "NOW, you're ready to fuck." Dean laughed as she struggled to speak. Her eyes were glazed over, but she could feel him releasing her, feel his hands gliding gently between her thighs, feel her own instincts at his touch without thought spreading her legs wide. "You mean that was just foreplay?" The man who had just given her the most primeval pleasure said nothing as he rolled a luxury-brand condom over his hard staff. She shivered again, perhaps chilled, perhaps anticipating. He slid between her legs, scissors-style, and then went easily into her. Her wet curls danced with his, tangoed, tangled, but could not snare his powerful thrusting. Deep, deeper and then she had no choice but to come again and again. Chrysta did not remember anything after that. In the morning, she awoke with the bright Nevada sun glaring in. Dean, nude, his penis relaxed in the morning chill, was typing an entry on the computer. A little annoyed at its slow response, he read the on-line form aloud. Finally it was ready. "Submit!" he barked at the screen and punched the return key. Chrysta giggled. "I already did!" And she giggled again until Dean, his excitement beginning to lift, slid back in bed beside her. "This one won't go on your permanent record," he teased. ================================================================================ FRIDAY NOON: Dean 'helps' in the kitchen Brandy was off doing some management function, so it was just Dean, Joe and Rick for lunch. It was interesting to learn from Rick about Brandy's planning for a new added-value activity. She could use their help in trying it out, he explained. It would be sort of a 'toga party' with a special aphrodisiac dinner. Rosemary Salazar had been studying old - really old - recipes and experimenting with updating them. Rick recruited the two men to help him move furniture around to make room for some bean bag chairs and low tables. Rather than being bright, 1970's colors, these were what might have been Roman pastels. They chatted a bit as they worked and Dean learned that Joe had noticed Rosemary's apparent interest. It was not hard work with the three of them cooperating, so it was easy to banter, but Dean joked that Chloe and I, invited, but delayed in getting there, were ducking work. "I'll call Professor Williams, and see if they're ready to come," he offered. He headed through the kitchen to find Brandy to get my phone number. And literally bumped into Rosemary. It was not an unpleasant experience, cushioned as it were by her well-endowed figure. As they both apologized to each other, an idea popped into Dean's always active mind. "May I talk with you for a minute?" "Well, for a minute," she laughed. And then she tried to tease, but trailed off anxiously: "You're not going to try to hypnotize me, like I heard you do with the other women..." "I'm not going to try," Dean agreed, reaching out his hand for a handshake. A handshake induction that left her standing in a trance in front of him. Calmly he conditioned her with pleasant thoughts, dredging up his rusty Spanish to remind her of good times in her past. And, as he expected, learning of her serious interest in Joe Martinez. And, not surprising, of her having buried those thoughts on the assumption that she could not compete with Brandy's professionals. "As you prepare dinner this afternoon, it will be easy for you to think of Joe. Have you thought of how much Brandy's girls like him?" "Yes. They say he is a bull in bed, but a kind bull." She shivered. "You can imagine being in bed with him." "Yes." Dean learned that Rosemary had experienced loss twice in her love life - the death in Vietnam of her school days love and then the lung cancer death of her husband. She had shielded herself and what Dean determined was her powerful emotional and sexual needs by becoming mistress of her kitchen, a sort of dom in white starched cotton. "You can imagine many orgasms with Joe," Dean continued. "Yes." "You can imagine waking up with him and fixing him breakfast." Dean could not resist smiling. "Yes, si!" "When he kisses you, all of these feelings will come naturally." "Yes." "So powerfully that you will not worry about who else is in the room." And then he eased her out of the trance with pleasant images of her prospects with Joe. ================================================================================ FRIDAY AFTERNOON: Menu foreplay Actually, it was an unexpected invitation and I had to finish up one of my fraternity+sorority seminars first. It was as always satisfying to see students at the conclusion of one of my sessions who were enjoying adult pleasures after a single glass of wine, taking their time to savor each other's bodies, and with no thought of drunken abuse. As word circulated, women entered this particular frat house with eager anticipation. I left them paired off and hurried in a rental car to Brandy's Ranch. Chloe was already there. "I've been in the kitchen with Rosemary. She let me photograph her inner sanctum while she worked. She even recruited a couple of Brandy's girls to help." "What's for dinner?" I had just nibbled some snacks at the frat house, so was honestly wondering. Brandy's Ranch Ch. 02 "Well, it will start off with an Oyster Platter and Dungeness Crab Salad..." She was interrupted by Chrysta carrying in a replica statue of a well-endowed Roman god of some sort for the table decoration. "Then a choice of Carrot Ginger Soup or an Asparagus, Fennel and Orange Salad with Vanilla Curry Dressing." "Hmmm, carrots used in the Middle East to aid seduction. Ginger, stimulates the circulatory system, aids male and female erections. Asparagus, well I don't know about its chemistry, but everyone knows what they think of when they see a woman nibbling on a stalk. Fennel? Fennel?" "Particularly stimulating to feelings of love and lust to we women!" "Okay, let's load up on fennel. Oranges, high in tryptophan and niacin, warms up the body. The scent and flavor of vanilla increases lust and stimulates fertility. Wiccans I've had the pleasure of knowing like to burn a vanilla candle in the bedroom." I paused as Chrysta trundled by with a replica Roman goddess to face the first statue. "Is anyone going to get to the main course in this meal?" Chloe teasingly nudged me in the ribs. "If you're going to make fun and analyze the menu, go ahead, but I have work to do." She grabbed her gear and headed back into the bustling kitchen. I headed off to find my reserved toga. ================================================================================ FRIDAY NIGHT: Dinner service In the oil lamp-lit room, it did not take much decorating to carry off the toga party theme. I noticed that Rick and Joe were feeling a bit silly in togas, but as Chrysta and Taylor came and went with Rosemary's special dishes, they relaxed. Dean and Keira were seated side by side and seemed to be getting along. Chloe and I snuck teenager looks at one another in between her photo opportunities. Brandy was model-perfect as a Roman lady at the head of the table with Rick. She began with a formal announcement. Keira was going to stay on the ranch for a while. The new girl who had been expected had gotten an important post under the head of a major world sports association. Brandy was both disappointed and proud that she had chosen someone so accomplished. Keira was welcome to take part in the line-up or just have some quiet days for herself to sort things out. (Applause.) Keira blushed. "Penne Pasta Mediterranean with Grilled Shrimp" announced Rosemary as she served Joe. Her Roman costume had big arm cut-outs, ostensibly for working, which revealed much of her full breasts as she leaned past him. "Shrimp," I whispered to Chloe, "Vitamin B-12, aids in the process of energy transference toward lean muscle tissue, aids physical performance and stamina." "Now I know why they always call you Professor," laughed Chloe, "and you don't need to tell me what the Romans thought Penne Pasta looks like." Young Chrysta bowed to Brandy as she served her House Roasted Prime Rib. "The Rosemary Jus," she murmured, "was known to the ancient Romans for preserving female beauty and fertility!" "I'm not sure if Brandy should say 'thanks' or be offended," Chloe mused. Taylor brought Chloe her Grilled Hawaiian Wahoo. "The coriander spice was thought in the Arabian Nights to increase fertiity," I whispered. "Maybe I'd better keep you at arm's length tonight," Chloe giggled, "especially since this also has more fennel and vanilla." Then, she added a non sequitir. "Did you notice that with each course, the girls - and Rosemary - took something off?" I started to joke about clearing the dishes, but then realized it was true. Leaving a corsage behind after the first course seemed like a practical move. Their scarves had been next. Now, the main course, they were bare-shouldered, their togas only held on with gold-colored clips. We were all getting a little silly, but quieted down while stocking up on energy with the main course. When Brandy tapped on her glass for our attention. "Of course, Rosemary has prepared a chocolate fantasy for dessert. Ladies!" and she clapped her hands. Chrysta and Taylor appeared, dressed in slave girl costumes that revealed much in flashes as the flouncy material swished back and forth. They carried chocolate cakes, while Rosemary followed with carafes of warm chocolate and vanilla sauces. Both girls made sure to brush against us as they served, followed by Rosemary pouring the sauce over the plated cakes. At last, she reached Joe Martinez. "Before Chrysta and Taylor entertain us with the harem dance that they've been developing, let's give Rosemary a big hand for this dinner!" invited Brandy. "Joe, why don't you give her a big kiss." We never got to see the harem dance, not that it related to ancient Rome anyway. Instead, all of Joe's and Rosemary's pent-up enthusiasm for one another combined with Dean's hypnotic instructions and the ceremonial kiss turned into a passionate embrace. The older couple knelt to the floor and began making out like teenagers. I'm not sure who of us shed their toga first, but suddenly it was a Roman orgy. Rick scooped up Brandy and stretched her out on a side table, with Chrysta and Taylor 'assisting' them. In a scene worth thousands of dollars to the cable entertainment shows, if they could have pixilated it, the muscular war veteran pushed a serving plate aside and swung up on the side table to join his fashion model and the two women in an erotic foursome. Dean suddenly found prudish Keira reaching under his toga to tease his well-tested organ to life; they quickly exited, leaving Chloe and I extra servings of chocolate fantasy. Later, Chloe and I learned that in the spare pleasure pod, Dean turned slightly, as his rising penis was blocking the view of Keira's anxious face. Her apprehension showed, perhaps not just because she was the newest girl in Brandy's Ranch, but also because of things she had said to him not too long ago. "Ironic, isn't it?" he had mused as he readied a condom on the nightstand. "She's wondering if I'm angry and I'm wondering if I'm up for her after this week." It had been quite a week. He slid into bed and Keira opened her mouth to speak. Dean touched his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, smiled, and stretched out. His strong right arm drew her down, and instead of issuing apologies or explanations, her lips took in his filling manhood. Back in the dining room, our professional instincts - or voyeurism - had kept Chloe and me glued to what was unfolding. I thought. "Richard." I turned when I heard a familiar voice behind me. Chloe was draped langourously, sehnsüchtig, in a beanbag chair, her robe tossed to the side. Her black curls already damp, reflected the lamplight and her eyes burned with intensity enough to light the room. I tossed my robe aside - it was getting uncomfortable anyway. Grabbing the two carafes, I knelt before her and wordlessly poured chocolate sauce over one of her generous breasts and vanilla sauce over the other. I started to set them aside, but Chloe motioned for me to pour once more, over my rising staff. "Chocolate," she said, and I coated my manhood in the dark, sticky stuff. I have to admit that the maintenance man the next morning must have wondered why the beanbag chairs were so messed up. But it would have been worse, I would say in our defense, had we not licked so much of it off. What did not come off my lover's deliciously attractive peaks left them perfumed for the evening, something I could not help but notice every time my lips returned to them - which was often. Joe was mounting Rosemary now and she urged him on with increasing volume, eager for the powerful strokes she had heard the girls whispering about. Brandy's mind was floating around the room in ecstasy as Rick applied his recently learned techniques. Taylor had Chrysta pressed against a wall, breasts to breasts, slowly building the younger woman's orgasms to more powerful levels. "Let's leave them," I urged and pointed the way outside. "And bring your desire with you." Chloe teasingly ran her fingers through the wet curls that so tempted me. But she followed me. There was no one outside to see us. There was almost a full moon. It spilled its pure light across the ripples of the lake and outlined Chloe's curves. "My newspaper horoscope said that I should get away from it all tonight. I'm glad they haven't deleted that from the paper!" she laughed. "Grab a couple of these life belts then and let's swim out to the float." Neither of us is great at swimming, and it was slow going with dragging the life belts, but it was not too far to the float. We pulled ourselves up on it and the life belts became pillows. Chloe stretched out to purr with my caresses, but not for long. She caressed my manhood, eager to feel its masculine exploration of her femininity. We lay crosswise on the float as I caressed her clit with copious orgy-generated pre-cum, Chloe looking up as the stars began to swirl over her head. It was easy to slide into her hot, wet pussy and I could enjoy watching her increasingly intense expression as my pre-cum massaged into her, met her own enzymes, and began the wonderful journey through her pleasured body. My wiry curls twirled teasingly with her fluffed black beauty. The float rocked gently as a burst of soda bubbles from the warm springs beneath us bubbled up. Hot pulses gripped at my penis and before she could get the words out I knew that it was time. "You need my semen, yes?" I panted. "Yes, YES!" And Roman gods looked down enviously as two mortals locked in perfect ecstasy. Perhaps the float rocked wildly, but for certain some stars fell out of place. Afterwards, we lay on our backs to count the stars and see how many had been bumped loose. We talked in quiet tones, but interrupted ourselves with near giggles as we heard joyous words in Spanish erupting from somewhere back on shore. "Joe and Rosemary seem to be getting along well!" Chloe laughed in a kind-hearted way, happy for them both. "What do you think Dean and Keira are up to?" "By now, who knows?" We both laughed. "But I have learned some things from their experiences." "Like what?" Chloe queried. "A couple of sayings that seem to be clichés turned out to be true." I snuggled closer to Chloe, resting my arm across her tummy. "First of all, it seems hard to avoid as a fact that 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. Keira proved that. And second, 'a soft answer turneth away wrath'." "True, Dean could have been snarky with Keira on the plane. But I think you're missing something that a woman notices right away." "What have I missed?" I was sure that I had covered the bases. "Dean was the one who took charge in an emergency. Keira wasn't just turning away from Don Juan because he turned out to be a jerk - or whatever the Spanish word for jerk is - she was turning toward Dean." I had to admit that I had overlooked that point. "You deserve an award for that," I murmured as I slid my hand down to cradle her warm vagina. She purred. I whispered key words into her subconscious and felt the welcome rush of heat as warm cuddling turned to hot power. She moved her legs seductively, and I slid crosswise between them. At the time, I was not thinking about the sun coming up, I just wanted to be in a position to deliver sweet pleasures with my words, my eyes, my hands and, of course, to penetrate, enjoying the orgasmic rewards that Chloe was about to receive. But, this was the perfect position, as some early risers had noticed we were out there, but could not see as much as they wanted to. We saw what we wanted to. Our eyes locked as I hardened in her desperate craving and found the perfect rhythym to release the animal she keeps caged inside. It escaped from all the cares of work and the office games and political correctness. Now correctness was to fill her own need. "Give it to me!" she demanded, and from somewhere I found the energy for the fucking that she needed so badly. No, dear reader, I do not know how many times Chloe erupted as our hands roamed eagerly over each other. A gentleman does not keep count. Nor does he report on the magnitude of the surges that swept through her. I can say that it was full daylight as we wearily climbed out of the water. ================================================================================ SATURDAY MORNING: Afterwards We were greeted with splashes from the morning swimmers entering the lake. In the nude. Brandy walked up, tossing her robe to Rick, her million dollar body emerging before us. "You've started something, you two." She smiled. "We've talked about it and from now on, the morning swim will be nude or nothing." For a moment I wondered who she had talked with and then I noticed Dean standing there. Actually, I first noticed Keira, who could barely walk after their special night, leaning on Dean's arm. Dean was twiddling with his rapid hypnosis medal from the School for Social (Sexual) Expression. And Dean had a big grin. "I think we can guess who Brandy talked with," Chloe whispered to me. @@@@@