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Flesh

By: thenry



The house was built for someone wealthy, but that was a long time ago. The ceilings sag even though the chandeliers have been removed, and the molding has mildew at the corners. The floor-to-ceiling windows are bolted so we can't go out onto the porches, anyway. It's a halfway house. The Grand Central House for Recovering Women.

The windows are nice, though. Some of the panes have been replaced with newer glass, but the original ones are thick and have bubbles in them. The view out through these is my favorite part of the room.

"Honey, if you just gonna stand there, we ain't ever gonna get you unpacked," Mimsy says. Her voice is sweet, and thick. I don't think she has any real power here, and when she hugs herself inside the door frame I notice how her large breasts give her arms just enough space to squeeze before belly protrudes from beneath shirt. I imagine if she tied her purple sarong any higher it would be in danger of falling off.

I look down at my one bag. "There's nothing to unpack, Mimsy." She says everyone calls her Mimsy.

"Then we still just gonna hafta do something." She walks over and huffs down to pick up the carpet bag at my feet. She sets it up on the bed, almost reverently, before she starts tossing my clothes around the room. 

"What are you doing?" I ask with my hand in front of my mouth. My hands are so thin the fingers look like insect legs when I move them. 

"Well, since you don't got a thing to unpack, I just tryin to make the place homier." She flutters her hands as if that could lighten the load on her ankles. Or maybe to shake free the last of whoever stayed here before. "You wanna be called somethin besides 'Honey?'"

I can't help myself now and laugh. "Yeah, my name is Angel." Mimsy is safe.

Ms. Dorazon is the fitness and psychological coordinator of the halfway house. She is one of those who think the two are the same. I think Ms. Dorazon could bring legwarmers back in style singlehandedly if she didn't care so much about working here. She runs all of the daily activities and group sessions and is the only real supervision in the place, though there must be someone else besides Mimsy who checks up on the guests. 

Ms. Dorazon is taking me on my first day tour of the facility while everyone else is enjoying reflection time outside. I nod in all the right places. I will meet the rest of the guests at the group session. She tries to reassure me about how much independence is allowed us here, but it's clearly in small packets. She taps a mechanical pencil against a black spiral notebook at a tempo suggesting her interest.

"Angela, your previous counsellor thought you were playing her to get out more quickly, but her supervisor had you promoted from the program because of the progress you had shown medically," she begins.

Because I wasn't suicidal, I think, they let me keep my hair grown out long. It's amazing what you can fit into a bun, and how much of a difference a few pounds can make when you only weigh eighty-five.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

Her tapping accelerates. "Because I would like you to understand that I don't have some man breathing down my blouse who can undermine my authority and overrule my decisions." Ms. Dorazon's lips become very thin when she smiles.

"I hope you don't think that I- " I begin.

"No, no. I just want things to go smoothly, for you to get the best care you deserve here," she says.

I duck my head a smile a little bit. It makes me look twelve. She hasn't decided if I'm going to be a problem or someone she can have. Rumor among the hospital inpatients was that someone here at Grand Central wasn't above providing personal comfort and attention to a guest if she needed it. Her pencil tapping slows.

"Could I join your arobics class tomorrow? They wouldn't let me get much exercise at the hospital because they were always worrying about my weight. I feel like I'm getting out of shape.

Ms. Dorazon's lips become a bright red pucker while she thoughtfully considers my request. Why not play nice; I'm harmless. "As long as I see you eat a healthy dinner tonight, I don't see why you couldn't start some healthy exercise tomorrow," she says finally.

I smile bigger this time and duck my head again, tucking hair behind my ears. "Thank you Ms. Dorazon," I say, and she smiles too.

"I have to make some notes here," she says, tapping to indicate her notebook for what must be the thousandth time, "so why don't you wait in the rec room for group session to start?"

I ride the near edge of scamper to the door out of the room.

To one side of the rec room is a circle of molded plastic chairs, some green and some yellow. I sit on one of the ends and watch the rest of the guests file in from the yard. It's easy to identify the other anorectic. Anorexia Carrier, my counsellor told me I should call us, just like it's a disease. There are eight women total here at Grand Central, and when Ms. Dorazon arrives she takes one of the two empty chairs in the circle. Juirly will not be joining us for today's group session, she says, becasue she hasn't demonstrated herself to be responsible of the others' feelings after what happened yesterday afternoon. I do not know what happened yesterday afternoon.

"We have a new guest at the house today," Ms. Dorazon begins. "Angela, why don't you tell us all why you're here." And suddenly I'm blushing and hating myself for it. 

It's not supposed to be this way, I'm not supposed to be going first. I'm not ready. I look down and all I see are stick arms and stick legs. I look to the first girl to the right, and she is hugging her long, tan, pockmarked legs and sniffing the air around me. And I look further down the circle and they are all looking at me. At me. And what they see are sticks and bones. Sticks and stones. No, skin and bones. I hate this part of me that isn't in control.

"I - I don't think I can do this, right now," I say.

"Now Angela, part of what we are trying to do here is get you used to trusting other people," she says as if talking to a child. It's not supposed to be this way. Well she is supposed to think I'm like a child, but harmless, but not this way.

"It's too soon." I'm whispering.

A woman with a red face says loudly, "Yeah Ms. Doro it's too soon. Juirly just left." The girl across the circle with Down's Syndrome comes over to hug me in my chair. I look at Ms. Dorazon and then up at the wide set eyes above me like some gorilla has decided to take me for her own child.

"I'm not a retard," the big girl says. She slurs the words with her fat tongue.

"I know," I say just to her.

"No you don't," she says and walks back across the circle.

"I can see we have a long way to go," Ms. Dorazon sums the first five minutes.

"How was your first day Angel, Honey," Mimsy asks me later that afternoon. I've been staring out the windows of my room imagining that this was my house and the windows were closed only to keep the cool air in. Other than an iron bedframe and sagging ceiling, the room boasts hard wood floors, a marble topped dresser, and a set of wrought iron table and chairs that used to live outside. The door has a mirror on its back. The mattress is thick and already had sheets on it when I arrived, but I pulled them aside to see what kind of stains are characteristic of the room's visitors. There weren't any.

"First day's always hardest," she continues as I haven't replied. "I hafta go cook, so I'll check on ya'll after dinner. It's at seven." She pulls her head and closes the door behind her, and I can hear her amble up the hallway to the stairs. Now I can see myself in the mirror. I look away.

The roots of anorexia mean "without appetite," or "without hunger." Whoever named the disorder was misguided. It's not about body image, it's about control. The sight of my own body disgusts me. I'm not short, but I have the body of a child again. I feel like a child. But I have the large bony head of a woman. On top of a stick neck it looks like a giant insect head. Or a baby chick's head with large eyes and a tiny soft beak. 

I have already identified a loose baseboard beneath the bed. Anything starchy from meals will decompose quickly between the walls with no outward signs of decay. There were no signs of rodent droppings, so I will have to do something else with meat. Without a private bathroom, flushing through the toilet becomes risky. We'll see.

I still haven't spoken since fleeing here to my room following group session. I do not trust my voice.

"My name is Juirly," someone , Juirly, says behind me. I haven't heard the door open, and when I turn has already been closed. Juirly has closely shorn hair, and stands with her arms at her sides with the backs of her palms facing forward. Look at me I'm normal, she projects, but she is standing in front of the mirror and I can see the scars that line her forearms. No one trusts you if you're suicidal. I'm not suicidal.

I look at her and blink. She looks at me and blinks, then ducks her head. "They're about to let me out," she says, "because I'm cured even though I don't want to leave. What's your name?"

When I don't speak, Juirly opens my dresser and begins going through my things. I realize silent won't work. 

"My name's Angela," I begin, "but -"

"Mimsy told me to call you Angel," she says. "She wanted me to come over and explain why you should want to be well."

"So Ms. Dorazon can cure me?" I ask.

"No. You wouldn't be here if you weren't cured. The hospital wouldn't let that happen. But you probably weren't ever well."

"Ms. Dorazon can make me well?"

"No. But she will release you from here when she thinks she has." Juirly has finished with the top two of four dresser drawers. Finding nothing of interest she turns to lie down on my bed. I am still standing by the window. I turn and sit at the table.

"Are you well?" I ask. She closes her eyes, and I watch her sleep until dinner time.

Mimsy has cooked a feast. A country feast, which would be my least favorite kind. Fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes bathing in butter, melting robin eggs with blue pupils, chilled beetle bodies in tartar sauce, crunchy fingernail tuna salad. I look again and can't find the fried chicken anymore, but crispy mashed worms. I know this isn't real. I know this is real to me.

Juirly had woken herself and said, "I'm hungry on schedule. Let's go to dinner." I am sitting between her and the wide eyed Down's Syndrome girl now. 

The Down's Syndrome girl looks more like a gorilla the more I watch her. "I'm not a retard," she says.

"I know," I say.

"Yes, you do," she says, and I feed her ants one at a time throughout dinner.

Juirly watches my hands carefully all evening. She sits next to me with her leg touching mine beneath the table. I don't mind. I have control.

I have so much control I am not thinking about what I am eating. Lift, chew, swallow. I do not hear the crunching, I do not look at what I am eating, and I am in control. Occasionally I look to Ms. Dorazon, smiling shyly, seeking her approval. She likes that I have taken to the gentle gorilla. She doesn't like that Juirly has taken to me, but it's alright because I'm new and don't know any better.

Juirly's leg rubs my own, and I look at her and smile. With her left hand she points, frightened, at a small roach crawling around her plate. Maybe. She is still careful to keep her scars from view. I hold her other hand beneath the table.

Originally the house was constructed with a ring of rooms on the second floor, all of which have been converted to single bedrooms, around a center of closet space and two bathrooms. All of the divisions within the center have been removed, and the space converted into a public bathroom. Another step in trusting other people, it was explained to me on the afternoon's tour, but really I think it some kind of twisted safety measure. The hospital had private bathrooms.

But at least the showers are divided. There are only mirrors over the sinks. If the disease is not about body image, it should not worry me if anyone might see some part of my body. I don't know what that says about how many times I have to check the curtain behind me before I can take off my robe in the shower. I don't look down. I do not touch myself except to wash my hair and then let it cover me. Hair is safe. I am safe here.

I haven't needed a bra in a long time, but I still wear one even to sleep. It's the indelible mark of womanhood I've clung to. I haven't had a period in two years.

Sleep comes slowly in a new place. The air is still and heavy. I half wish for someone to talk to, like Juirly, but then I would be needing her. I do, I think, need someone. It's been a long time, since anyone, but back then maybe there were too many. I do not touch myself.

"Come in," I call when someone knocks at the door. I think I'm tired. It's Ms. Dorazon.

"Were you sleeping, Angela," she asks softly.

"No, really, please come in, Ms. Dorazon."

She seems uncertain about something. "No, that's alright," she says. "Will you come and see me tomorrow morning, after breakfast?"

I make some general shy and uncommittal noises as if asleep already. She seems satisfied. I do not know what I want. I want to be away from all of this.

When I dream I am in control, of everybody I've met here. I'm bigger than everyone else. All of the girls I've seen are sitting in a circle around with big wide eyes. Mimsy brings Ms. Dorazon in on a wheelchair.

When she speaks, it is with an old and creaky dream voice. "Angela, will you tell the girls what you are really afraid of?"

I look at Mimsy, who is making eating motions. So I pick up Ms. Dorazon and eat her. She crumples up like tinfoil. She tastes like spearmint.

I look around at the girls. Juirly is there. She has a large penis that moves like it's breathing. It has a shining head. Something is happening to me. Inside me.

I look up at Mimsy again. I don't know how, but she is motioning that I need to throw up like a mother bird and feed all the babies around me. It feels like there are ants crawling around inside of me, and then I am throwing up. But I can't give it to anyone, because there are worms in it.

I am throwing up, I realize, awake. Someone is there and I am clinging to her. It. Flesh, pounds and pounds of it like I can climb inside. Mimsy. I'm just heaving up nothing now. It feels like ants are crawling in my throat.

"I threw up all over you," I say softly when I am able.

"Shhhh, now, its alright," she says back. When she hugs me I feel completely covered. Safe. Sometimes the human need to touch is irresistable. Sometimes my need to touch is irresistable.

Touching, being touched, I am falling back asleep when I hear a voice. I lift my head out of Mimsy to see Ms. Dorazon in the light of the hallway. I don't listen to what she is saying, and I don't mind the smell or wet at all.

When morning comes, I don't go to breakfast. I don't go to see Ms. Dorazon, and I don't go to her arobics class. It's not a real class, anyway, just her exercising alone in a black leotard and pink legwarmers while three of the girls stand and half follow. You're supposed to take the legwarmers off, I want to tell her. She wouldn't like that. Someone changed my clothes overnight. Someone touched me, saw me naked.

When I don't go to lunch, Juirly brings me some food and asks me if I want her to stay. I don't, I say, and after she leaves I put the food into the wall behind the floorboard. During the afternoon Mimsy comes in with some new sheets for my bed so I have to move. While she's changing the bed, she passes on a message from Ms. Dorazon that group session is mandatory.

I do go to group session. When I arrive everyone is looking at me. Even Ms. Dorazon.

"You don't have to say anything today if you don't want to, Angela," she says to me, but it's too late. Today I'm crying. Big retard girl hugs me again, and I hate her, too. I was so close to being out of all of this.

Later, Juirly comes to my room again. She knocks this time, but comes in anyway when I don't say anything. Juirly's wearing a green t-shirt with horizontal stripes, a black skirt, and tennis shoes. Her head is fuzzy and soft.

"Ms. Dorazon asked me if I thought you needed to go back to the hospital," she says after awhile.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"She wants to send you back to the hospital," she says. I sit up in bed, and she comes to sit next to me.

Juirly starts talking again. "My Dad was a history professor. One day before the crazy got too bad and he killed himself, he came to me and asked me to remember something for him. A quote. 'I tried to imagine martyrdom running backward like a broken clock. How sweet to abdicate divinity, to climb down from the cross, to travel from transfiguration to simple wisdom and arrive at last at innocence.' Robert Charles Wilson. I never forgot."

"What's that supposed to mean," I say, tired.

"It means that it might not be bad to go back," she says. "Maybe you can go all the way back."

"I don't want to go back, I want to go away."

"You don't want to go away," she says, "I've been there. You want to go back." She puts her arm around me, and I put my head on her shoulder. It's alright when she touches me.

I realize I can see her nipples. She holds her breath when I touch one of them lightly, releasing it only when I put my hand back in my lap. I do not touch other people. Maybe.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asks.

"I don't want to go back," I say. "I want to go somewhere new." 

Flesh & Blood



It started off as a joke. Just a guy's night out, four lonely programmers moaning over how long it'd been since any of us had gotten laid. I think I made a comment about one of the women nearby at the bar, and after a moment of all of us silently drinking in her beauty, someone else snickered about her looking too "high-maintenance." 

Then the inevitable comment arose: "One of us should build the perfect woman. Y'know, one who will cook and clean and only open her mouth for one thing." We laughed it off, as we had a thousand times before, and went back to drinking our beers. But something that night was a little different, I guess. Maybe I'd downed too much alcohol, or maybe I was just tired of being shot down every time I tried to approach a woman. I hadn't had sex in over a year and a half, save for pleasuring myself, and the urge was always there no matter what I did. Whatever the reason, that joke somehow seemed more and more like a good idea. The other guys had already forgotten the comment, going off into a discussion about something work-related. But that one little joke stayed in my mind for the rest of the night, playing over and over in my mind like a mantra, and I began to wonder if it just might be possible.

The next morning, when I was sober and back to my usual analytical self, the idea seemed even more intriguing. It might prove to be a worthwhile experiment. After all, for most bachelors, it would be a good investment. Not to replace real flesh-and-blood women, nothing would do that. But for a young man not ready for a commitment, or for the men who simply wanted nothing more than sexual relief, why not? The more I thought about it, the better it seemed. It could mean a significant decrease in sexually transmitted diseases, because anything that might be a taboo or curiosity could be explored without real harm. Programming could make it so where you could have the partner of your dreams without busting up a marriage or risking the dangers of the HIV virus, and when you were ready to settle down, you could just get rid of it and be happy with your new real-life woman. I sat down at my drawing board for the afternoon, thinking out a design for my creation. 

I think I told myself several times that this was "just for kicks," that this was just to see if it actually could be done. But really from that moment, I was obsessed. I didn't sleep at all that night, perfecting the plans I'd jotted down on paper. It didn't matter, I had two weeks of vacation time that my boss was just plaguing me to take. He was overjoyed when I called him the next day and told him that I was going to finally take the time off. Designing my invention and building it were two different stories. I'd done some informal animatronics work in college, but I'd been provided with the materials and not had to build from scratch as I was now. Thankfully I've always been a packrat, and I had enough appliances and spare computer parts lying around to supply a small army of programmers. 

After days of "trial-and-error" of discovering what parts could be used where, I finally came up with a working skeleton of what my beauty soon would become. Fueled by only three hours of slumber a night, coffee and cigarettes, I alternated between building my creation and writing the programming to control her. I gave her a solid metal frame, to encase the parts and joints, modeled after the female skeleton. She was jointed the same as a real woman, at the fingers, elbows, wrists, knees, and every other way a woman could bend. 

For her eyes, I bought a rather expensive china doll and shattered it to get the beautiful blue eyes that they'd used on it. I modified the eyes to be able to "see" using infra-red technology. I used several battery packs for remote-controlled cars to power her, but I created a special system so that while one was being used, another was being charged at the same time so she would never run out of "fuel." My biggest expense was for the "skin" I used to flesh her out. It cost a small fortune for yards and yards of the soft latex that was used on most sex toys these days. 

Called "CyberSkin," it was soft and pliable and felt as real as you could possibly get without having true skin. I developed a heating system that would warm the latex from beneath, and made her mouth and tongue and loins self-lubricating with tiny recycling pockets of warm water. I used implants for her breasts, and for her lips, sex, and ass, I used the sex toys modeled after the real pussies and mouths of talented porn stars. Her hair I made with a firmly attached wig, long blonde curls that reached down to the plump curves of her latex-covered thighs. Lying on my worktable, it truly was a work of art. I kissed her pliable mouth and proceeded to finish her programming. 

I gave her the best sexual techniques, everything a man could ever want, and also I gave her the ability to learn, so that if there was something new desired she would learn it easily. I programmed her with the skills to masterfully use all sex toys and deviant devices, from whips to lubes to handcuffs. Her voice I created soft and pure. When all my programming was done, I implanted the chips of information in her head, and stood ready to run my first test. In a week, I had played God, and created woman…now I just had to bring her to life. 

Taking a deep breath, I flipped the switch and waited quietly for my creation to rise. There was a quiet purr as the inner mechanisms roared to life inside her, and her closed eyelids opened, and she sat up. Her head turned and looked at me, and then her mouth opened in a sweet smile. "I am Diva," she said like I had programmed. "You are my master. What is your will?" Joy surged through me. I had done it! Riding high on the excitement and arrogance, there was only one more test I had to do and that was to try out her skills. "Diva," I commanded, "I want you to come here." She swung her legs over the side of the table, and got to her feet, walking over the floor to me. I marveled at how relatively soundless she was, just a few clicks and whirrs as she moved across the carpet to stand before me. 

"Shall I undress you, master?" My beautiful robot asked, and I nodded. Her fingers stripped me of my garments, undid the button on my fly, and slipped the t-shirt over my head. When my boxers hit around my ankles, I was already semi-hard. 

"Suck me," I commanded, and Diva dropped to her knees slowly. She encircled the shaft of my cock in her hand, and I felt the soft, wet lips engulf the head. The inner walls of her mouth were hot as she took me all the way down, until her lips pressed against the curls of my pubic hair. I had given her the skills of an oral sex master, and she used them as I had programmed, to tease and suck and tantalize me. Her head bobbed on my groin, her lips running up and down the veins of my cock, one warm hand rubbing the fleshy sacs of my balls and tracing the soft strip of skin leading from my balls to my anus. I twisted my fingers in her hair, fucking her perfect face, but I had to command her to stop. 

Her extreme skills were driving me too close to the edge, and if her mouth was this delightful then I had to sample her other orifices. 

"Diva," I panted, "I need you." She stood, and then smiled. Turning around, she bent at the waist, grabbing her ankles with her hands. 

"You are my master," she purred. "You may take me as you wish." Bent before me, both her pink folds and the tight, puckered hole of her butt were exposed, both open for my choice. I guided my shaft to the tunnel of her ass, pushing inside. In real life, I had never had the fortune to experience the joys of anal sex. But now I was thrusting inside this tight hole, not only feeling the walls contract and loosen around me to heighten my pleasure but also feeling the latex-covered globes of her ass slapping against the front of my abdomen. I was groaning, and Diva was talking dirty, building my desire to a fever pitch. "Yeah," she chanted with each thrust. 

"You're my master. Fuck me. Fuck me in my ass harder!" Her groans and purrs were straight out of a porn queen, and I grabbed her hips, slamming into her fast and hard. 

"Jesus," I groaned, and she contracted tight against my cock, sucking me deep in the soft tunnel. The orgasm was explosive, pouring up from my balls through the iron-hard length of my shaft, the head of my member firing rope after rope of hot jism into her. I grunted and pushed deep, emptying my seed into this living sex doll, until I was completely spent and sated. When I pulled free of her, I sat down on the floor, my legs too weak to support me anymore. 

My creation was a success. 

Diva gave me a few moments to rest, then got to her hands and knees and crawled over to me. Her soft lips came up to kiss me, her rubber-covered tongue sweeping my mouth with the skill of a whore. With talents better than I had anticipated, she aroused me again, and this time she took control, pushing me back to the floor and squatting over me. 

"Let me please you, master," she begged, and her hands guided the swollen knob to the entrance to her sex. I had made her to be a virgin the first time I took her, and as my shaft slid into her lubricated nether mouth, I felt the barrier inside her snap, which made me fully erect and ready to fuck. She rode me, and the soft sound of her pussy sliding up and down my shaft was a potent aphrodisiac. When Diva felt my climax was close, she wet one finger in her mouth, and then drilled the wet digit deep into my ass. Feeling her impaled upon me and impaling me sent me into the second most-intense orgasm I'd ever had. "Enough, Diva," I groaned. "Go clean yourself and shut down." She rose off my body and I heard the click of her gears as she went into self-cleaning mode, then she sat down in a corner of the room and turned herself off. Exhausted by the sudden abundance of sex in my life, I happily made my way to bed and slept.

For the remainder of my vacation, Diva and I experimented with every fantasy I'd ever had. She was programmed to perfectly mime anything I asked of her. I indulged in taking her once as a Catholic schoolgirl, and letting her dominate me as a beautiful dominatrix. She played the role of helpless victim as I "raped" her, and she used a strap-on to show me what the pleasures of being with a man would be like. Her ability to learn and accept new commands made her perfect. 

She cleaned my home, and cooked my meals. And I had the most intense sex of my life, night after night; any way I wanted it without worry. It was perfect, ideal, and I couldn't wait to get back to work to tell everyone exactly what I'd done. The Monday following the end of my vacation, I returned to my desk a happy, sated programmer. And all of my co-workers were eager to find out my little secret. They ganged up on me in the break room, surrounding me like a pack of wolves while they waited for me to divulge my horny details. "So tell us, Bill," one guy commented, a grin on his face. "Who was she, and what did she do to you? You've been walking around this office fucking glowing all damn day."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I teased, acting as though I would head back to my desk without a single word more. 

"The hell you don't," my good friend Matthew chimed in. "Spill it. She had to have been hot, or you wouldn't be so cheerful coming back from a two week vacation." 

"Okay, okay…." I sighed with a smile. "Remember that night at the bar, when we were talking about making the perfect woman?" They nodded, looking at me expectantly. I couldn't contain my grin of pride as I admitted, "Well, I did it."

"Did what?" Matthew snorted. "Made it with that high-maintenance chick you were scoping out?"

"No. I really did it. I made the perfect woman, just like we were talking about. One who cooks and cleans and does everything under the sun, even things a real woman wouldn't." I waited on baited breath for the awe to fill their expressions, for the realization to dawn on them. Instead, they exchanged glances and burst into uncontrollable laughter. My pride-filled grin melted into a vengeful scowl as they clutched their sides in mirth, obviously finding my statement the best joke of the day. "Yeah, right," someone chuckled, slapping me on the back. "Good one, Bill." 

"No, really, I'm not joking…." I growled, but most of them were already dispersing from around me, heading back for their desks. I caught Matthew's arm on the way past me. "Matthew, I'm not lying. I really did make her." 

"There's no way," he protested. "Not in two weeks. No one could build anything close to that on the money we make, and even so, there wasn't enough time."

"Look, I know it's hard to believe." I sighed, running fingers through my hair. This was not the reaction that I had expected to get, especially from Matthew. "I tell you what, come by after work. You can see her, even try her out, for God's sake." Something in my eyes must have convinced Matthew at least that I believed my story. He nodded. "Okay. I'll follow you to your place after work." 

When our shift was done, I drove home slowly, excitement building in my chest as I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Matthew's BMW crawled behind me at a snail's pace. Obviously he thought he was coming over to humor my whims. He was about to get the surprise of his life. We parked outside of my apartment complex, and then headed up the flight of stairs to my front door. Matthew's eyes got huge when I opened the door, and he saw Diva resting in her corner. "Did you build this?" He murmured, striding across the carpet. He circled my creation, gaping at her. "Wow, Bill, this is amazing. She almost looks….human." 

"You haven't seen anything yet," I announced. "Diva, we have company." 

At the sound of her name, Diva blinked to life, rising to her feet. "Welcome home, Master," she purred. I walked over and planted a soft kiss on her plastic mouth. 

"Diva," I announced, "This is Matthew. Welcome him, won't you?" Matthew backed against the wall as Diva turned, her eyes locked on him. "Hello, Matthew," she said, and came over to press her body against his. 

"Welcome to our home," Diva greeted. Then she planted a lusty kiss on Matthew, wrapping her arms about his neck. Matthew was shocked at first, his body rigid beneath hers. But the skills of Diva's kiss relaxed him, and he melted into her arms, enjoying the passions she showed him. When she backed off slightly, he gasped, looking from my satisfied face to her waiting body. "My god, Bill, you really did do it. I didn't think-I mean, how did you…."

"Don't worry about that," I laughed. "You haven't seen the best part yet. Instruct her to do anything you like. She'll obey your commands, even if she doesn't yet have them programmed." 

"Uh….okay." Matthew shifted from foot to foot, excited and more than a little unsure of how to proceed. "Diva, I…uh….I'd like a beer, please."

"Certainly, Matthew," she beamed. Turning on her heels, she strode to my kitchen, bringing a cold beer and a bottle opener back to him. "Here is your beer." 

"A beer?" I chided him. "I thought you had more imagination than that." After he took the beverage from Diva's hands, I smiled at him. "Watch. Diva, undress for our guest. Let him see your beautiful body." She reached her hands up slowly to do my bidding. Around the house, she wore only a black satin robe. Her mechanical fingers undid the ties, and she let the fabric drop to the carpet. I watched Matthew's eyes skim over her full breasts and down to the folds of her sex. She turned to give him the view of her buttocks.

"Diva, come show him what you're good at, darling. Come over here and take out my cock." Matthew's eyes widened as she followed my instructions, coming over and unzipping my fly, removing my organ from the depths of my khakis. 

"How shall I take you, Master?" She asked silkily, awaiting my reply. 

"Bend over and grab your ankles," I ordered. She did, and I gripped her fleshy hips, entering her with one great thrust. Matthew's eyes went glassy. He had yet to even open the beer, the bottle barely hanging in his limp fingers as he watched me withdrawal and then plunge in again. With Diva's pussy muscles working me, it was hard to talk, but I looked over at Matthew. "Want to give her mouth a try?" 

"Sure," He rasped. It had been just as long for Matthew as it had been for me, before my Diva had relieved me of my sexual dry spell. He walked over, and Diva obliged him, raising up to undo his jeans. She pulled the denim and the soft fabric of his boxers around his knees, and looked up at him. "Mmmm, Matthew," she moaned before taking every inch of him down her throat. We fell into a natural rhythm, fucking Diva; I would thrust, pushing her mouth down on his shaft. 

It was an erotic sight to watch her mouth around Matthew. I'm not gay, but Matthew was well endowed and watching her soft lips stretch around his thickness was like watching a well-hung porn star fucking his starlet companion. Matthew's fingers made fists in Diva's synthetic hair, her suckling obviously pleasuring him more than he'd ever been. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack with the passion he was feeling. The only sounds in the room were the soft squish of our cocks plunging into Diva, and the moans that were pulled from our throats as she did her magic. Suddenly Matthew's eyes flew open, and he gripped Diva's head tightly between his palms. "I'm going to cum," he panted, "but I don't want to shoot in her mouth. Can I do it anywhere?" 

"Anywhere," I groaned. The ecstasy in his eyes was driving me closer to my own impending explosion. "Do it, do it, Mathew." 

"I'm going to cum on this fucking slut's face," He panted, obviously driven out of his mind by pleasure. Matthew never would have talked like that to a woman, but with Diva he was living out his fantasies as only she could let him. He pulled his shaft free of her mouth, fingers working up and down the skin furiously. Diva encouraged him with little coos and erotic words, and I watched him grow impossibly tight, the head of his cock so swollen I swore it'd split. His whole body went tense, and he cried out once. Erupting with his orgasm, Matthew sobbed again and again as strand after strand of white pearly fluids splattered on Diva's cheek, nose and lips. He fell to his knees on the carpet, sated, watching while I grunted and filled her latex pussy with my own jism. 

"Diva, go clean yourself, then make us some dinner," I ordered. She whirred away to do my bidding, leaving Matthew and I to button ourselves up again and collect our thoughts. Later, over our meal and beers, Matthew told me what a miracle I'd created. "But you shouldn't tell the others," He rasped, watching as Diva made her way around the kitchen, cleaning up. "Let's keep it between us. We should save up, manufacture these babies when we have enough start-up capital. It's going to be the wave of the future." We talked business, then Matthew and I shared Diva one more time before he left. I felt like the happiest man on the face of the Earth. 

The next day at work, I was surprised by a visit from the boss at lunch. He dropped by my desk, a woman in tow on his heels. "Bill," he announced, "This is Lola. She's going to be working with our company, and since you've been here the longest, I want you to show her the ropes around here."

"Okay," I accepted. My portly boss waddled away from the desk, relieved from the burden of the young trainee, and the woman pulled up a chair from a nearby desk to sit beside me. "Hi," she said with a friendly smile. "I'm Lola." I took a good look at her as she offered her hand for me to shake. She was small, what people called 'petite'. In heels, she must have stood only around 5'4." She was incredibly appealing. Must be an Italian, I noted, looking at her smooth olive-shaded skin and her thick mane of black hair. Her bottom lip was full and plump, and I couldn't take my eyes off the way she bit it lightly when she smiled shyly. I couldn't tell much of her figure beneath the plain suit she wore, but behind her glasses her brown eyes sparkled happily. I shook her hand and watched her fuss in the depths of the black leather purse she carried. She fished out a small notebook and a pen, and waited for my instruction. "I'm new at this," she confessed. "I just got out of college a week ago, and your boss recruited me from the graduating class. So I'm hoping you might show me the ropes, how all this works in the 'real world', per se?" 




Flesh and Blood Reality



When Greg left Janet to go and live with another woman it came as no great surprise to her, the bloom had gone off the marriage a long time ago. Greg made no difficulty about money, and he could well afford it being an executive in a robotics engineering business. 

Janet got the house as well, and so there was little in the way of material problems for her. Her difficulties lay elsewhere, specifically when Greg departed she was seven months pregnant, in addition she had their nineteen – approaching twenty – year old son, David, living with her. 

The pregnancy had come about because Greg had said "It'll pull the marriage together." Janet had thought this a vain hope since such pregnancies are more likely to pull the marriage apart, but she acquiesced and stopped taking the pill, not even sure that at thirty eight she could still get pregnant. 

The parting when it came had not been exactly affable and Greg, as if to justify his action, had gone with a parting shot.

"Now I'm gone you and that boy can get on with the fucking."

That had cut deep because there was an element of truth in what Greg had said. 

When David had been born Greg had been delighted and remained delighted for some time, but then things started to go off the rails. Janet was devoted to her son and in return he had adored her. This had brought about a rift between husband and wife, Greg thinking that Janet paid more attention to David than to him. 

To Janet it seemed that it was downhill all the way in the marriage. Greg began to neglect her and she turned to her son for the sort of affection she needed, this in turn led to even more neglect by Greg and consequently Janet turned even more to her now teenage son.

It is not altogether fair to blame Greg for ending the marriage. Jealous of his son's relationship with Janet, he sought his affection elsewhere and by the time he made his ill advised suggestion of another child it was really all too late.

Just how much Greg understood about Janet's relationship with David is uncertain, but as the marriage gradually fell apart and Janet and David grew closer, a sexual element crept in. 

Not that Janet would have considered letting that element become a physical reality because for her there was that dread trio of underage sex with a boy, adultery and incest, and to her these would be insurmountable barriers to giving physical expression to her love for David.

Things changed once Greg had left her; firstly David was no longer under age; secondly, Greg having gone to be with another woman, the adultery aspect seemed less important, and in any case she knew that eventually there would be a divorce. 

Incest still remained as a barrier, and being well on in her pregnancy, and experiencing the grief that can occur in the break up of even a really unsatisfactory marriage, Janet was not inclined to worry about an incestuous relationship with David, or a sexual relationship with anyone for that matter. And so that aspect of her life was in abeyance.

* * * * * * * *

David was ambivalent about his father leaving Janet. On the one hand he was furious that his father had left when Janet was pregnant, on the other hand he was pleased to have his mother to himself. 

Following in his father's footsteps he was studying robotic engineering, a very demanding course. Somehow he also followed in his father's footsteps and began to behave more like a husband than a son towards pregnant Janet, perhaps even more so as he fussed and fretted over her well being.

When eventually Janet went into labour and gave birth to a girl, David was almost the archetypal anxious father pacing the waiting room. He would even have gone to witness the birth if he had not been barred by the hospital authorities. 

Janet had been anxious that David would resent having a baby sister around the place, but on the contrary he acted the anxious husband and father. He took particular delight in seeing Janet breast feed the baby, and that was something that Greg had found distasteful to watch.  

Janet was deeply moved by David's obvious concern for her and the baby and their relationship, already very close, moved forward another notch. Janet felt some unease about this now very intimate relationship with her son. It was not so much the potentially incestuous nature of the relationship, but the thought that David's relationship with her - the time he spent with her and the baby - might be deterring him from establishing relationships with girls. 

As Janet recovered from the birth and her heartache over the break up of her marriage started to fade, her previously strong sexual appetite returned. Given David's care for her and their mutual love, there was some inevitability about what happened next. It was never put in these terms, but if David behaved like a husband and father, he might as well be one.

In our sexual fantasies we tend to imagine ideal romantic circumstances usually involving a spacious bed. If and when our fantasies become reality it is often when we least expect it, and not always in the comfortable and spacious bed. So it was for Janet and David.

Normally during the evenings David was in his room studying. Janet had taken up a correspondence course that promised to turn her into a writer of fiction. The truth or falsity of this claim was yet to be tested but she'd had one short story in the local newspaper. 

On the night in question they decided to set aside their tasks and spend a relaxing evening together. Sitting together on the divan they had watched a somewhat boring film on television. When the film ended the television was turned off they sat on, David's arm round Janet and her head resting against his chest. 

He felt her stir slightly and he looked down at her. He saw her eyes fixed on him, large blue eyes and they seemed to be silently questioning him. He touched her long dark hair, stroking and running his fingers through as he had when a child.

She moistened her plump lips with tip of her tongue and when she spoke her voice was soft and low; "Kiss me darling." 

He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her in the way he always had but there was something new in her response that made left him breathless when their faces parted, and she continued to hold him tightly to her. Janet was wearing only a loose fitting dress and she felt very vulnerable. She was not wearing a bra so her breasts were naked. She put her hand behind his head and drew his face to hers, and they kissed again. She pushed his mouth open with her tongue. 

If David had any doubts about where they were heading they now fled. He pulled the thin straps that were holding her dress up from her shoulders and peeled the dress down. His hands found her swollen breasts and she felt a pang of pleasure – she knew what was going to happen and was powerless to stop it. He gently pressed one of her breasts and she felt her nipple spurt warm milk and she flushed with embarrassment. "Oh God, I'm sorry but I can't help it."

"It's all right" he said, and caressed each of her breasts in turn and they became slippery all over, "It's normal, very sexy," he said.

He shifted their positions and brought his face to her chest and started to kiss her breasts and stroked them at the same time, and gradually she relaxed and started to enjoy the sensation.

She felt another sharp pang of pleasure as she leaked again, but this time she didn't mind. She felt his tongue touch her tender nipple, and she thought, "My God, if he sucks them I'll come."

It was as if he read her mind. He closed his lips around one long nipple, pulled it into his mouth and sucked while holding the other nipple between his fingers, squeezing, gently and rhythmically.

Helplessly she yielding to the sensation, as her breasts squirted milk, one into his hand the other into his mouth, the feeling was so exquisite that she shuddered uncontrollably and moaned, "Oh God oh God oh God," until it died away and she relaxed..

"Did you come?" He asked.

"Yes, didn't you notice?"

"I almost came," he said.

"Really?" She ran her hand down his body until it reached his jeans and she pulled down the zip. Her hand encountered his penis, standing upright. She grasped it. She wanted to give him as much pleasure as he had given her. Stroking it gently she bent over and kissed its head and then took it into her mouth and sucked.

"Oh mother, it' beautiful," he murmured.

She still sucking his penis she started to masturbate him and saw his hips start to move up and down in rhythm with her hand.

Ceasing to suck him she said, "I want you to come, I want to see it shoot out."

She speeded up her masturbating her gaze fixed on his penis. His hips were jerking faster and suddenly he arched his back, thrusting his pelvis high and groaned as a streak of white semen shot out from him.

Involuntarily she cried out, "Oh my God!" then gazed, fascinated, as the little slit in the head of his penis shot another jet and then another, and a fourth, spurting into the air and landing on his chest and her arm and in her hair; and then he collapsed.

She was lying beside him with her head on his thigh. His penis was still stiff. She leaned over and kissed it. She could taste a trace of salty semen on its head. 

He moved again and completed the removal of her dress, her panties and then his own clothing. Naked she felt his face nuzzle between her thighs.

She wanted him to give her oral sex. She opened her thighs invitingly. She felt him kiss her, his tongue starting lick along her slit and probe between the lips of her vulva to push his tongue into her vagina. After a while he lifted her legs over his shoulders.

She felt vulnerable and greatly loved as his tongue continued to move along her vulva, pausing to push deep into her vagina and then lifting to tease her tingling clitoris. She held his head over her clitoris, making him concentrate on that, and she began to lift and lower her hips.

She felt his fingers pushing into the moist interior of her vagina. The muscles of her body began to tense for the climax. She began to come, shaking like a tree in a gale as she ground her genitals frantically against his face.

She finished and he leaned over her and kissed her mouth. Her woman smell was on his face. 

She lay on her back and his hand was on her vulva opening its lips, and then his penis nosing in, and she was surprised that he had got hard again so quickly. "It's been so long oh God it feels so good," she said passionately.

He began to move in and out of her, slowly at first and then faster. His face was above hers gazing at her. Then he bent his neck and looked down their bodies to where they were joined. Suddenly he slowed his pace, thrusting deeper.

He looked into her eyes and said, "Kiss me while I come," and he lowered his lips to hers. She thrust her tongue into his mouth. His back arched and his head lifted, and he gave a cry like a wild animal, and she felt him spurt into her.

When it was over he lowered his head and giving a deep sigh of contentment, he kissed her mouth, and then raising himself to his knees he kissed each of her breasts in turn. Finally he kissed her vulva, and she moved her hips to push against his lips. The thought of him licking her while it was still dripping with his semen and her female fluid almost drove her mad and she came immediately, crying his name until the spasm passed. For him to do that to her told her of the deep love he had for her.

They lay side by side in silence for a while and then softly she said, "Why are you such a great lover?" 

He smiled at her and said, "Because I love you."

"And I love you my darling," Janet whispered, let's go to bed and do it again."

And so began a beautiful love affair between mother and son, a love affair that ended only with Janet's death at age seventy two.

* * * * * * * *

About six months after Janet and David became lovers Greg, finding that the love of his life was not quite as loving as he had imagined, tried to return to Janet. He was surprised to find her pregnant again, but then, Janet had been taken by surprise as well.

That David was the father was not revealed and Greg supposed that Janet had taken on some lover other than her son. Even so he said that he still wanted to return to Janet if she would agree to give up her lover, and Greg would accept the child as his. 

He had no chance of being accepted back by Janet whatever the deal, because in David she had found her ideal lover – a fantasy lover that had become a flesh and blood reality.



Flesh & Blood



"Oh, that's easy," I laughed. "Almost none of a college degree works in the real world. But I can show you what does." I felt like an ass after the words had left my lips. Lola had just graduated; obviously she had to be proud of her accomplishment, and I had just belittled it right to her face. But to my amazement, she burst into a peal of laughter that turned heads our way in the office building. "Good," she chuckled. "I was hoping all that crap wasn't going to be used daily. If you'll teach me, I'll be happy to learn….Bill, was it?"

"Yes," I smiled down at her. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Lola." She smiled back, and her warmth radiated through my body like sunshine. I had a feeling things were going to get a lot hotter between beautiful Lola and I.

A month passed, and Lola and I grew closer. I taught her the ropes of the company, and even the boss stopped by to tell her how impressed he was with her 'fitting right in'. To thank me, she invited me to lunch at her place, where she treated me to good old-fashioned Italian cooking. I learned, as she stripped off her jacket to slip on an apron, that she hid a killer figure behind her business attire. I grew more intrigued with Lola by the minute, and unconsciously because of it, my time with Diva dropped off considerably. I had gone from making love to my robotic beauty from every single day down to once a week, and even as I pounded her latex flesh, it wasn't her I pictured in my mind. It was Lola, Lola of the dark hair, Lola of the beautiful eyes and the curvy legs. 

The more I saw of Lola, the less important Diva seemed to be, and eventually I started using her only for housework and the occasional quickie. The day came when I finally got up the courage to ask Lola out for a real date, and I was ecstatic when she gleefully agreed. I pampered her that evening. I took her to a small and cozy French café in town, followed by a trip to hear the orchestra play in the local music hall. Halfway through their performance, she snuggled against my body, resting her head on my chest just below my shoulder. I relished the smell of her perfume and the warmth of her small body protected in the circle of my arm. When finally our date came to an end and I took her back to her home, Lola stood on her front doorstep like an awkward teen on her first date. "I really enjoyed tonight," She told me in this happy little husky voice. 

Before I knew what was happening, she lunged forward and pressed her mouth to mine, giving me a goodnight kiss that involved a lot of lip-meshing and tongue fencing. My hands had barely gotten to sweep an once-over of her delicate body before she pulled away. We were both trembling from the live current of desire our kiss had invoked in both of us. "See you tomorrow," Lola whispered, then opened her door and disappeared into her apartment. I was left with the taste of her on my lips and the blood surging through my veins like a little wildfire in my body. I was still on cloud nine when I arrived home and fumbled with my keys to open the door. Before I could even fit the metal key into the tumbler, the apartment door clicked open. Diva was standing there, waiting for me. She had obviously turned herself on and had been awaiting my return. "Welcome home, Master," She greeted, moving to give me a kiss. I avoided her synthetic mouth, instead pushing her aside as I headed for the kitchen. She followed me like a little robotic puppy. "You are home late from work, Master. Shall I make you dinner?"

"No, Diva," I commanded sharply. "I've already eaten. Why did you turn yourself on?"

"I was concerned when you did not come home, Master." Her voice was smooth, careful. I had to remind myself that she was a robot, and understood little more than I wanted her to. 

"Don't bother, Diva. I will come and go as I wish. Do not turn yourself on again without my permission." I finished the soda that I had fished from the refrigerator, aware of Diva's intense gaze upon me. She came over, obviously eager to serve me in any way. Her hand came up and cupped my half-erection through my pants. "Shall I serve you? Shall I take care of this?" She didn't wait for the answer, but began to undo the metal teeth of my zipper. I felt suddenly revolted by Diva's actions. Lola had given me this desire, this fueled passion. To have Diva quench the thirst another had instilled in me suddenly felt cheap and wrong, and I pushed her hand away. 

"No, Diva. In fact, I want you to go to the bedroom closet and close yourself inside. Do not bother me again until I call for you." 

Her eyes rested on me for a long moment, then she murmured, "As you wish." I heard her soft whirring footsteps as she made her way to the room, then the click of the closet door as she opened and shut herself within. I retired to the shower, where I bathed my body under the hot spray. Thinking of Lola, I used my soap-slick hands to bring myself to a quick and satisfying orgasm. It had been so long since I had done it myself that it felt new to me all over again. I cried out Lola's name softly as I exploded in my hand, leaving the evidence of my passion on the shower wall to be washed away from the spray. When I dreamed that night, I thought of my olive-skinned beauty, and the moment I would finally possess her as my own. 

It wasn't long before that became a reality. Lola and I enjoyed only a few more dates together before her hot-blooded Italian heritage kicked in. We were on our way to a movie, when she suddenly turned to me with eyes glowing bright. 

"Let's skip the flick, Bill," she breathed, leaning over to lick the shell-shaped curve of my earlobe. 

"Let's go back to your place instead." We made it to my apartment in record time, and she teased my desire to a full flame by stripping as we went down the hall to my place. We weren't even out of the public eye before my lovely Lola was skipping across the carpet, her dress in her hands and her heels hooked on her fingers, clad in only the skimpiest scrap of underwear and bra. She was gorgeous, voluptuous, and no sooner had I slammed the door behind us that I was pressing her against the wall. This was no robot, no mechanical woman. Lola was real and warm and alive as she panted under my ministrations. My teeth grazed the pulse in her throat, biting and nibbling at her nape. Her hands pulled my shirt open, sending the buttons scattering on my apartment floor. Just as eager, I yanked the soft lace cups of her bra down, exposing her breasts to me.

They felt so different from Diva's implants; this was warm flesh, warm and puckered and swollen under my fingers. Each touch on her skin made Lola writhe, each lick of my tongue across her tight budded centers made her sob. She pinched my nipples hard enough to enflame me, then kissed them softly enough to send me into a wild frenzy. When her small hand came down to enclose around my cock, straining against the front of my pants, I thought I would explode. No false woman, talented or no, could replace the spark and the heat that this real woman created in my heart and in my arms. I dropped to my knees and yanked the crotch of her underwear in two with one powerful motion. Spreading her thighs, I supported her weight on my shoulders and the wall, her ankles locked behind my back. I buried my face in her hot pussy and found her folds wet and creamy already. She came twice, riding my tongue and lips with expert abandonment, until she was quivering and hot. Her olive skin shone in the light of my apartment like a well-worked thoroughbred. 

"Take me to the bed, Bill," Lola begged me, dragging me up by fistfuls of my hair. "Make me spend again." I kissed her, letting her taste her own fluids on my mouth, backing her into the bedroom with careful thrusts of my pelvis against her soft stomach. She lay back on the bedcovers and I gripped my shaft, guiding the knob of my cock to the entrance of her tight hole. I eased into her, both of us gasping in uncontrolled ecstasy. 

Her tight hot slit conformed around me like a silken glove, and Lola moaned beneath me, arching her hips in a signal that she wanted to be ridden and ridden hard. I fought for control, trying to maintain a steady, forceful rhythm, watching her brown eyes close and her full lips part to emit little moans. Her body quivered under me, and we were so lost in our lovemaking that I failed to hear the noise until it was too late. I was in mid-thrust when the whirring steps stopped right beside me. I turned and saw Diva standing there, watching me, watching us. I stopped, flabbergasted, and Lola opened her eyes to see the source of our interruption. 

"What the hell is that?" Lola squealed, but her words died as Diva reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders. She shoved me, so that I fell back, my body withdrawing from Lola's sex as I landed a few feet from the bed on my ass. Diva reached down with the quickness of a viper, grabbing Lola around the throat and lifting her in the air. I could see Lola's air being cut off as Diva squeezed, turning her beautiful Italian face the color of an eggplant. "Diva, no!" I shouted. "Put her down!" 

"What can she give you that I can not?" Diva asked, still keeping Lola aloft. "I have been made by your hands to please you, and you ignore me. She is nowhere near as skilled as I am, yet you take her right in front of me. My only will is to please you, Master. When she is dead, I will be able to pleasure you again." 

"No!" I grew panicked, for Lola was fast slipping into unconsciousness. I had to think of something fast. "No, Diva, I-I don't want her." The words tumbled from my mouth as quickly as I could think. "I want you. Put her down. Come over here and please me." Diva had been gifted with the ability to learn, but she hadn't been capable of common sense. She dropped Lola to the bed, leaving the woman to choke and wheeze for breath as she came over to attend to me. 

Squatting over my fallen body, Diva stroked my softening erection back to full staff, then took me inside her. She crooned to me softly, riding my body, telling me how much better she could please me than any living woman. I lay there as she pound her synthetic pussy on my cock, feeling as though I was being raped, unable to think of how to end this hell. Suddenly Diva screamed, and began to twist wildly on top of me. In a moment's time, the last cry died from her lips and her heavy mechanical body collapsed on top of me. I looked over her shoulder frantically and saw Lola standing there, trembling and naked. In her hands were the battery packs I had used to give Diva life, some of the wires still attached where she had ripped them free of the robot's back.

I'd like to say things ended happily, but they didn't. When you make a monster, like Frankenstein found out, there's always a price to pay. Matthew lamented the fact that we couldn't make a fortune off of living sex dolls. Our friendship quickly deteriorated after that, though I was pretty sure he was trying his best to copy my own design to make a Diva of his own. Lola never told anyone, but she also abandoned me after I told her the whole story. To this day she carries a permanent scar on her throat where Diva had once held her, and she avoids me like the plague. After two weeks of working together after the incident, she quit and I never saw her again. I learned my lesson, and I destroyed all the evidence that Diva had ever existed. 

It's lonely now without Diva or Lola in my life, but I'm trying things the old-fashioned way now. I'm starting to date a few women, though none have been as wonderful as what could have been with Lola. I've learned now that synthetic love is nowhere near the real thing. No matter how wonderful and convenient the sex, a latex lover can never replace flesh and blood. There's no shortcuts when it comes to matters of the heart.



Flesh and Cat Burglars



This is part two in the 'Flesh And' series.  While it can stand as a stand alone story, I suggest to appreciate it fully, that you read Flesh and Thieves first.

This is a very short chapter, and it reads just like the action, fast and furious.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  Copyright © belongs to MJ Roberts, 2014. All rights reserved.  Please do not reproduce without permission from the author. 

Also, thanks to all the readers who have reached out and become friends. For all those who have sent compliments, this story is for you!

Enjoy!

MJ

Flesh and Cat Burglars

My phone rings. Not my encrypted anonymous work line, my personal line. Not a number I recognize. My family, their names come up. My friends text. Really, no one calls me on this phone. For a vague moment I think about answering it. Nah. I'm not going to answer a call from a number I don't know.

I let it go, see if they leave a message.

Beep.

They do.

I press my voice mail; play the message back.

For a second, breathing and silence.

Then. "I have a new assignment I can use a partner on." Oh wow, Mr. Big. "If you're interested." Another pause. "Shit, Effie, I miss you, I want you. Fuck. Come to Switzerland with me. God damn, you were so hot, and we are on fire together. I want it again, please. Just call me back, please. I'm sure your phone I.D.ed my number. Fuck."

Hang up.

Effie?

What? Effie?

I think for a minute. Not a guy to make a mistake.

Not Effie. F and T. Flesh and Thieves.  He's been thinking about me. I smile. I've been thinking about him too.

I wait a few minutes. I call him back.

I don't say hello. "Well, Mr. Big. What's the job?"

I think I can hear him smile over the phone at the Mr. Big moniker.

"It's a two-fold. I need to steal a necklace of a princess while she's wearing it and protect the other princess during the same time."

I laugh. "Piece of cake."

"So are you in?"

"You bet your fancy binoculars I'm in."

"Meet you in the airport in Bern; Friday at noon?"

"Absolutely."

We hang up. For the first time in my life I don't give a shit about the job. I'm looking forward to the sex. Oh fuck, I'm looking forward to the sex.

I remember last time.

He lifted me easily and slammed me up against the wall. Rocked me with his hard, huge length against my belly until I was soaked. Plunged into me, almost no foreplay, but fuck, we were both so ready, running high on adrenaline and anticipation.

God damn, now I was getting wet just thinking about it.

I call him back.

"Yes," he answers the phone.

"I forgot to say hi," I drawl. "I forgot to say every time I think of you I get wet. I forgot to say that if that wasn't the best damn fuck of my life, it was damn fucking close."

He laughs.

"Right back at you."

I made my voice as low and sexy as I could make it.

"Friday's so far away; there's so many things I didn't do. Suck that huge cock for instance."

I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Anyway," I say casually. "Just wanted to say hi and let you know I've been thinking about you." I hang up.

I smile to myself. Yeah. I'm the bitch. A total, total bitch.

Yeah me!

Friday is going to be awesome. 

Can you say mile high club?

* I've been to Switzerland once, for exactly four hours. I've never been to Bern. I know nothing about it. I do some research. Seems like it would be a really nice place to sightsee.

I have no intention of seeing any of it that isn't inside wherever the job will be, or the inside of a hotel.

I arrive in the Bern airport early. Mr. Big hasn't told me where to meet him. I consider texting him to tell him I'm here, but decide against it. There's a directory on a center kiosk-like thing, not all that different from some airports in The States and a lot of malls.

I study it.

Strangely enough there's a hunting and fishing enthusiasts shop. I'm assuming they have guns. And binoculars.

Seems like as good a place as any for a rendezvous.

It's the cleanest airport I've ever seen.

I find the sports store. I pretend to peruse the items in the window, trying to look inconspicuous and checking out the passersby in the reflection. I sense Mr. Big before I see him.

I turn around. There he is, in all black, looking hot as fuck.

Damn.

I couldn't help my huge smile. He smiles back at me.

Big doesn't hug or kiss me. But he gets very, very close in my personal space and leans down, his mouth close to my ear.

"Ready?" he asks.

I have never, in my life, heard a word more laced with innuendo.

"More than," I answer back.

He pulls back a little and smiles.

"Come on, baby, I've got a limo waiting."

A limo? That's unusual. Traceable. But...he must know what he's doing.

We walk, side by side. He matches his stride to mine, so much shorter than what his usual step would be. I'm on his left. His knuckles graze my wrist occasionally, but he doesn't try and take my hand.

He's smarter than that.

We go outside to where the line of limo drivers are waiting. A driver is leaning against his car with a very small white sign, 'Ms. F.N.T.'

I smile when I see it. Flesh and Thieves. 

This trip will be some of both.

My favorite.

The driver holds the door for me, and we get into the limo.

As soon as we're both in, before the driver has even gotten back in the car, Big yanks me to him and crushes his mouth onto mine. His tongue immediately delves in, with a ravenously hungry kiss that sets my body on fire.

When he breaks off the kiss to take a breath he says, "I've been wanting to do that for two weeks, since the day I woke up in the motel alone."

"So do it again."

He does. Even hotter and more passionate than the first time, if such a thing is possible. 

He knocks on the smoke-colored privacy glass between the front and back of the window. The glass rolls down. Big says something in perfect French. I'm not sure what. Directions probably. I don't speak French. 

Spanish is more practical. Come on, like I expect one day I'm going to wake up and find myself in Switzerland?

Ah...I guess so.

The glass goes back up, and Big pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling him. He's already hard. He fits me to him better.

So this is why he wanted a limo. Because he didn't want to wait.

You know, I like his style.

I smile against his mouth as he kisses me again. He rains hot kisses down my neck. Fastens on to a nipple through the thin fabric of my blouse. I moan and arch against him.

"Oh fuck," I whisper.

"Let's get this off," he says. He pulls my blouse over my head and throws it on the seat. He sets a world record in how fast he gets my bra off.

His tongue circles my nipple before he pops it in his mouth. He bites, softly, working the tip between his teeth.

My core floods, and I moan. 

My God, I missed him.

He moves to the other nipple, but fondles the first one softly. The juxtaposition between the soft treatment from his large fingers and the rough treatment of his soft mouth drives me crazy.

Is it possible to come from him just working my breasts?

No. I don't think so.

But oh, so close.

He stops to look at me.

"You're so beautiful, Effie. Every part of you."

Big kisses me again and robs me of of my pants in about two seconds flat. So apparently paintings aren't the only thing he's good at taking.

He pushes me down on the seat, opens my legs, and gives me one quick lap of his tongue, directly on my clit, and then stops.

I cry out.

God that first lick is so, so good.

I look up at him. His gaze is absolutely, positively devious.

Big stares at me. Then, very, very deliberately, he opens the privacy glass, just a quarter of an inch.

He smiles. Utterly wicked.

It's fine with me. For somebody who spends most of her professional time being invisible, I have an exhibitionist streak a mile long. I don't mind having an auditory audience.

I get wetter. Bite my lip. Nod.

He dives in.

I scream.

Oh, fuck. Nobody should be this good.

He has to pin me down as I writhe, trying simultaneously to get closer to him and farther away, because my synapses are searing so fast I'm afraid I'll break something with the force of the combustion that's heading my way so fast. Too fast.

Then I'm bucking upward, against his mouth, and moaning. Oh fuck, moaning.

He throws one of my legs over his shoulder, and uses his fingers to open me up even more. He works large slow licks, getting every single mountain and valley. Then he zeros in on that exact one tiny spot on the one spot that nobody knows about and works it so fast.

I scream again, louder, and come hard. Gushing.

"Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop."

He does.

"Just a preview," he says.

Oh fuck.

Who is this guy?

Aftershocks wrack me, and my body spasms.

"Beautiful," he says softly.

He takes his cock out of his pants. Strokes it. He doesn't remove any of his other clothes.

I close my eyes. I'm still breathing heavy. Another set of aftershocks roll through. I hear a condom rip.

Then his tongue is inside me, and I'm barreling toward another orgasm.

"NO!" I shout. "No, no, no."

He stops. Puts his hands up in surrender. "Okay," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you had enough. You know. To tide you over until you get to the hotel."

"Cocky fucker."

"Any second now," he says and poises above me. "Still ready?"

"For you? Always."

He plunges in. One long, fast push.

"Ahhhhh, fuck."

"Just want to make sure you can feel me," he says.

"You God damned mother—"

Except then he starts moving, and it's so good, he literally fucks me into shutting up.

He leans down and bites my neck. Softly. It's a counterpoint to how hard he's pounding.

I moan louder and louder. I can't help it. I have a second to wonder if the driver has an erection.

Then I can't think. Big hits a spot in me, and I come again. I've never come this way; I can't believe it.

"Oh, so good, F.," he says.

Big slows down, making his strokes rocking and sinuous. The sound that comes out of me is almost a song, the moan is so low and long and melodious.

"That's it, baby," he says, "That's it."

A tear starts rolling down my face. Then another. I can't even explain why. Relief that I'll get to experience this once in my life maybe.

Maybe he notices. Maybe he just notices my change to silence.

"You okay, love?"

I nod. "More than okay. Sublime."

He smiles at me. That big, honest, guileless smile.

Oh God.

Big had stopped pumping for a second when he asked me if I was okay. He resumes. Slower.

"You ready?" he asks.

For what?

I nod.

He pulls out. Turns me over and moves me until I'm on my hands and knees. Slides back in.

Then he starts moving. Fast. Faster.

Harsh.

Fierce.

Primal.

Wonderful.

"Unh, unh, unh." A deep grunt is forced out of me when he bottoms out at the end of each thrust. He's so big, from this angle he's reaching the end of me and giving my inside a little tap that almost hurts. It's edging the pain/pleasure barrier. Keeping me adrenalinized, and scared, and excited. But it's so good.

My heart is seizing up. 

"My feet are burning," I say. I say it again, louder. "My feet are burning."

He keeps up the steady torture. I can't go much longer like this. I have a mini orgasm. Electricity exploding everywhere. Maybe I can go a lot longer.

But my body sizzles hard.

"Hurry." My voice is breathless, it sounds almost teary. "Please. Hurry."

He moves me around again. Like I'm a tiny rag doll he has no problem manipulating. Then I'm sitting on him, straddling him. My legs wrapped around him, and that big cock nestled in me.

He leans me way back, supporting me. He easily moves me up and down.

Slowly.

Faster.

Slamming.

Big is grunting now, the first sounds I've really heard him make.

"Close," he whispers.

With a huge roar, I feel him twitch and come. I collapse against him.

"Not bad," he says.

"The traffic threw me off," I say. "I was trying to backseat drive."

He chuckles slightly.

He doesn't get soft right away, so he stays inside me for a minute.

"Get dressed, baby," he finally says. "We're burning so much gas traveling in circles we're creating an energy crisis."

I smile.

I dress.

Big taps gently on the window, and closes it up that last inch.

About five minutes later the limo stops.

The driver opens the door for me. I don't know whether to look him in the eyes or not. I vote for not. I look down. My cheeks are red.

I hear Big talking to the driver in French. I look up. Big hands him a hundred.

So much for not memorable.

I look around. We're at a tram station. Smart. If anyone tracks down the driver or the company and asks, all he can say is that he let us off at a public transportation depot.

I smile at Mr. Big.

Who is this guy?

Who the fuck cares?

"Time to look in on the two princesses?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "We have time. The ball's not until tonight. I thought we'd inaugurate our room first."

I smile at him.

Sounds like a plan.

#

 Dear Reader,

If this story pleased you, then please be so kind as to honor me with a high five. It will mean a tremendous amount to me. It's only a mouse click away. The power is under your clever little fingers.

If you liked the story, drop me a note. Tell me what you liked and why, and how you feel. I love to hear from readers. (PG comments only please.) I read every note and welcome corrections, suggestions, and positive feedback. 

I'm already working on the next installment.

You can leave a public comment or use the contact tab on my author page to get in touch with me.  If you'd like to leave your first name and last initial, feel free to do so. I really want to know what you think. It just takes a minute.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks, sincerely;

MJ

 



Flesh and Heroes



Dear Readers,

This is the fourth installment in the 'Flesh And' series. While it works as a stand alone story, I suggest you read 'Flesh and Thieves', 'Flesh and Cat Burglars', and 'Flesh and Robber Barons' before this one, so you can see the progress of the relationship and get the stories in order. Your choice. 

The Flesh And series is a little more fast and furious than my usual romances, but I hope you'll like the change of pace.

When I wrote Flesh and Thieves, I expected it to be a one-time short piece. Just an escape from hard work on the 159 page-long Marcy's Playground. 

But fans asked for F and T to become a series, and I always listen to my readers. So now it's an ongoing set of stories. Some are shorter, with more sex, and some are longer, with more action.

Effie and Mr. Big are assassins, thieves, protectors, con artists, and lovers. Always on the side of the good, thwarting evil, and melting ice caps with their smoldering looks and body heat in the process.

Or, maybe it's just late and I'm punchy.

Enjoy!

- MJ 

*

I'm groggy. "Mmmn, I was having a dream that I was having sex in a limo."

Rich laughter. "Was it good sex?"

I wake up all the way and look over next to me. Large, warm body. Very large. Mr. Big.

"Yeah. The best."

"Then it wasn't a dream," he says and rolls on top of me. He looks at his watch. "No time for a repeat."

"Damn."

He gives a quick, sweet kiss. "Time to get up, Effie."

I remember his name is T. Right. Okay. "And I'm in Switzerland. Bern."

"All night long, babe."

He hops up. One quick move, way too graceful for a guy that's bigger than most cargo ships. 

"You get the shower first. Women take longer than men."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"If we shower together we'll never make the ball on time, Cinderella."

Whatever.

I shower quickly and walk out of the bathroom with just a yellow towel wrapped around my waist and nothing else, to throw him.

"Oh. Yikes!" he says. "I guess I could spare ten minutes, beautiful."

"Nuht-ah," I say. "I have to dry my hair. I'll do it out here. Bathroom's yours."

"Let's get this job over with in a hurry. Tomorrow I'll knock over a jewelry store and get you rubies of your own. We'll put them between those beautiful breasts of yours, and I'll ravish you."

I smile. He can steal, kill, fuck, and he knows how to give a compliment.

Life is good.

I point toward the bathroom. He picks up a small black toiletry bag and goes in.

He spends maybe five minutes in the shower. I hear the shower go off. I hear the bathroom door open.

I smell him, but, as usual, I don't hear his footsteps. I have my back to him. I'm bent way over, blow-drying my hair. So actually, I don't have my back to him; I have my ass to him. I'm still wearing just the towel.

T comes up behind me and fits his crotch to my ass, holding my hips firmly. "I don't need ten minutes," he says, his voice so low it warps. "Five. Two."

I laugh. 

He picks me up, throwing me high in the air and catching me cradled to his chest. He nips my shoulder. The blow-dryer bounces to floor, forgotten.

"One," he says. His voice is husky. T kisses me, and I melt into him.

"Later," I whisper.

"Aw, fuck, Effie."

He puts me down, sliding me against every part of his body, including his hard erection.

I pick up the blow-dryer and turn it off. My hair is dry enough to start styling. T looks at his watch again.

"Okay, T-dog," I say. "Back off. I need some time to make myself beautiful."

"You're already beautiful."

"Okay, rich-looking and beautiful."

"Got it," he says.

He grabs his garment bag and retreats back to the bathroom.

I throw my suitcase on the bed, and literally have the first hot flash of my life. The flashback is so strong, I actually feel his cock in my mouth. I'm full all over; the masculinity of him pressing in everywhere, scorching my body inside and out. His hands are gliding over my hips, my ass, slamming me into him.

I take a deep breath, dragging air into my throat, desperate to slow my frantic heart, which is beating 200 beats per minute.

He's in the bathroom, right now, naked. Changing into some fancy suit. I look over at the door.

Maybe I should have taken him up on that five-minute offer.

Although, we've already done it twice today.

We have a job to do.

I have to focus. My life could depend on it. Our lives could depend on it. In my business there are no bad thieves, protectors, con artists, and assassins. But there are plenty of dead ones.

Those thoughts sober me right up, and I open my suitcase take out my dress.

I have a quick, grim picture pop into my head. I see myself, wearing a version of my evening dress. In the vision, it's candy-apple red, although that's not the color it is in reality. The dress bleeds, smearing blood on T, and all the guests around him.

So, so not good.

I shiver.

I shake my head to clear it.

Nerves.

Although I've never had nerves before.

My dress is burgundy-colored, with a plunging neckline, covered in sparkles. It's almost ankle-length, but it has a very high slit up the left side, so I can easily reach my firearm, which I stow in my garter.

I have a black push-up bra that I wear under this dress, and it has a tight underwire. It's a good thing, because it creates, in that magical little spot—the small slice of space between my cleavage and the roughly triangular-shaped area between the lower curves of my breast and the tight metal of the wire—a secure hidden pocket, which I'm going to need. I have to have somewhere very accessible to drop the ruby necklace.

I'll be wearing a necklace of my own. It looks like tiny South American flute-pipes. It's tranquilizer darts. I don't plan on using them. But a girl should always have jewelry, right?

I put on a tiny feminine watch with small sapphires on it. It has a little compartment in it that can fit a poison pill. I don't have one. Maybe next time.

Mr. Big comes out. I have to stop thinking of him as Mr. Big. Fuck someone once, the nickname is okay. But after three times, I really should start calling him T in my mind. But Mr. Big just seems so right.

He's wearing a tux.

I give him a loud wolf whistle.

"Yeah, you should talk, baby. You look like a million bucks."

"Wait until I get my hair and make-up done."

He comes over and kisses me. "Do I have to?"

I laugh. I could get used to this. Oh boy, could I get used to this.

T pulls away from me and starts arming up. The tuxedo must be custom made for him because he is putting a lot of weaponry in there, and it never changes the smooth lines of his silhouette.

"You look totally hot. You are totally hot. Sure you don't want to hide a machete in there somewhere too?"

"I thought about it," he says. "But I really prefer my bare hands anyway."

"So do I."

He smiles at me.

T looks at his watch again.

I go to the mirror and start on my make-up. I'm pretty quick with it. I put my hair up in a fancy chignon. I put in sparkly hair sticks. They're sharpened to lethal points. I don't plan on using them. But always good to be prepared, right? They also make good lock picks. Fun for all.

I spritz a light spray of perfume in front of me and walk into it. I step into black sparkly flats. No high heels on a job.

"Ready."

"You look incredible."

"All in a day's work."

"Allons!"

I have no idea what the fuck that means. I don't speak French. My first guess is 'Let's go!'. My second guess is, 'What the hell, we're professionals, let's kick some ass.'.

T takes my hand, and we go downstairs and out the door. It's chilly. A light dusting of snow is falling. I should have brought a scarf or some kind of wrap.

There's a limo waiting for us. I'm relieved, VERY relieved, that it's not the same limo driver.

The drive to the mansion is short. No hanky panky. Ah well, maybe on the way back.

I wait for the limo driver to open the door and help me out of the car. I'm careful not to flash too much leg (or my gun) as I'm getting out.

The snow's falling down heavier now.

T offers me his elbow.

With the sparkling golden lights from the house, the snow transformed the landscape into a fairyland. I'm a princess going to a ball with a prince.

A princess with a gun.

He leans down. "You're the prettiest woman here," he says.

"We're not even in the door yet," I say.

"I don't have to be inside to know you're the most amazing woman of all."

I'm sure my smile is more dazzling than all the jewels in the palace.

T hands his invitation to a liveried servant at the door, and we're in. I look around. The place has more gold than Fort Knox. I mean this is like being inside a gold curlicue. Gold moldings. Gold stairway to the left. Gold vein in the marble floor. Gold fountain right in front of us.

"I'm going to go blind," I whisper. "Where are my sunglasses?"

T laughs.

"I'm going to scrape some of this off and put it in my bra," I whisper. "We won't have to take another job for the rest of our lives."

"Where's the fun in that?" T whispers back.

"Let's find our marks," I say.

We enter the main ballroom, and before we get ten steps, a portly man in a black and white suit including top hat, tails, and a grey and red vest steps in front of us. He reminds me a little of the Penguin from the Batman movies.

"Lord Centrell," T says.

"Mr. O'Brian."

Huh. Mr. O'Brian. Interesting.

I think the Penguin will usher us over to his daughter, but he just glances in her direction. She's walking down the gilded stairway. Mr. Penguin gets out of our way. T nods graciously to him, and we position ourselves so we will be right by her as she makes her grand entry.

She's beautiful. Her haughty expression is condescending. I want to wipe it off her face.

I stand on tiptoe. I have to pull T's head down toward mine to get my lips close enough to whisper in his ear. "Think we can convince her to ditch the party for a threesome? We're supposed to keep her close, right?"

I feel the huge movement of T's cheek as he smiles. "I think we'd have to earn about 15 million more a year to be on her radar."

"Doable," I say, not realizing that might be a double entendre.

T smiles again.

Countess Centrell is only a few feet away from us, but from her expression, she's looking for what she deems to be the important people, so she doesn't see us.

"Let's split up," T says.

I nod. He slips away, and I fade into the background. 

There must be seventy-five people in this place, not including the wait staff circulating. I look toward the doors. There's a long line of guests waiting to come in. I don't like this one bit.

The main ballroom is huge.

I look at my watch. Ten minutes after nine p.m. Fuck. I'm thinking that everyone is going to start arriving in a minute, and there will be three hundred people packed in this room any second.

I hate crowds. There's only one thing I hate worse than crowds. Working in crowds.

I search out T. Mr. O'Brian is chatting up the fair Ms. Centrell. She looks enchanted.

Bitch.

I sigh. Oh well.

I guarantee you she didn't have a rock your socks off limo ride with him today. She can keep her gold fountains, thank you very much. I'll take hot limo sex over palatial home any day.

I scan the crowd.

I've got a bad, bad feeling about this.

More and more people pour in.

Sigh.

The music stops. Ut-oh. It reminds me of a joke. People are in a small village in South America. There's constant native drums. A guy says, 'This is awful, there's drums playing all the time.'

The guide says, 'You don't want the drums to stop.'

'Why? What happens when the drums stop?'

'Bass solo.'

Sure enough, when the music stops, something worse happens. Political speeches.

God help me.

T never told me how much I'm getting paid for this job. It can't possibly be enough. Luckily I know the physical compensation is going to be damn good. That gets my head back in the game. 

I see T through the crowd.

Hello motivation.

I repress my smile, but just barely.

I see the other princess, Countess whatzerhername. Ranton. She's wearing the most ostentatious silver dress I've ever seen. Strangely, it kind of looks good on her. She's got a hell of a body. I guess if you're really rich you can afford whatever it takes to make Barbie dolls envious.

I try to tune into the speeches. 

Okay. Not.

I grab a little canapé thing off a passing silver tray. Ummmm. Yummy. Better than pigs-in-blanket. I'll tell you that.

Okay. Focus.

Prickling at the back of my neck. Not good.

I look around.

Geez. Being short is not working to my advantage. The place is packed. All these rich people look the same. If there is someone here with more evil intention than putting down everyone else to make themselves look good, I can't see it.

Mercifully, the speeches are over.

The music starts again. I'm hungry. Are they going to serve dinner at this shindig? I bet they are. Bonus.

T winds his way through the crowd toward me.

"Acquisition time," he whispers.

I nod. "Roger that," I whisper back.

He disappears into the crowd.

How can a guy who's about six foot six and two hundred and thirty pounds blend?

I carefully push through the crowd looking for brighter-than-the moon silver and do my 'I'm invisible' thing until I'm behind Ranton.

I see T.

He walks into her. He knocks her over and catches her, and it's even more dramatic than when he did it to me in practice. He spills her drink.

"Hey!" she yells.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. Although how I could have missed you..."

She's a goner.

I can't see her expression, because I'm behind her, but he looks spellbound. He holds her off balance for what seems like a long second in time, an eternity maybe, and raises her back until she's fully standing so slow it's like time actually bends around them.

T's eyes dilate. From where I am I can see how his lips are slightly parted. His chest heaves. His hands slowly caress her sides. He tucks a stray hair behind her neck.

"What's your name?" he rasps. He sounds like he can hardly breathe. One hand is on her low back as if to steady her. One hand gently touches the back of her neck. 

Then her necklace is off. He's holding it out to me.

Quickly I take it, and drop it down the front of my dress.

"Monique Ranton," she says.

"Miles Spencer O'Brian," T says with the hint of the sexiest highlander accent I've ever heard.

Shit. Here's where I need to get the fake necklace back on her.

T's eyes smolder like he would give the world to able to sit at her feet.

"Ranton," he whispers. His hands are moving, distraction. I take the fake necklace out of my small purse and put it around her, trusting that whatever he's doing it will make what I'm doing feel like a caress. "That's a name of Dukes and Duchesses, isn't it?"

She nods. With shaking fingers I work the clasp.

I hear T. "I would give a million dollars to be worthy of you." He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles.

Got it. I start to glide away. 

"Trust me," T says, "Bumping into you is the highlight of my evening, if not the decade."

I'm farther away, but I think I hear T say, "Fair lady," and the Countess say, "Oh my."

I go straight to the ladies room to do a minute of deep breathing. 

I come out after only a few seconds. After all, I'm still on the job. 

I see T for a second, and he gives me a quick smile before he turns his attention to an older looking couple.

The hard part of the job is over. The rest should be a piece of cake.

There's a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel worse, not better. And it's not about stealing the necklace, because we're returning it to the rightful owner, Monique's aunt.

So why do I feel so jumpy? I look around the room.

Blah, blah, blah. Rich people.

I look up to the balcony. T's third man is up there. I look for a guy with very shrewd eyes, but they're all dressed to put the gross national product of smaller nations to shame, and they all have the same expressions. They're all watching the people on the floor. So, I can't tell.

I want to get out of here. And I mean I want to get out of here, badly.

I look for T. It takes a minute to spot him. He's talking to Countess Centrell. Okay. Then he's got her by the arm, and he's hauling her toward the back of the house, fast. To the untrained eye he might look like a suitor trying to get her alone. To me he looks like there is some serious danger he's trying to drag her away from.

Ranton sees T with his hand on her cousin. Her eyes narrow, and she heads toward them.

Oh shit.

I head toward Ranton, as fast as I can. She gets to T and Centrell a step ahead of me. 

"I saw him first."

T looks over her at me.

"Too bad. He wants to talk to me."

I remember a saying. Money doesn't breed class.

I grab Ranton's arm.

"What?" she says and spins toward me.

A well-dressed woman of about sixty joins us. T firmly puts Centrell's elbow in the woman's hand.

"Get out the back doors," he points. "NOW!" he hisses. His command leaves no room for argument. I drag my charge, and the older woman drags her countess, and we haul ass through the crowd toward the back of the house.

T heads in the other direction, toward the front of the ballroom.

Ranton is not helping me. She's pulling back, wondering what's going on. She's taller than me, more curvaceous. But I'm stronger and more determined. I saw the look on T's face. 

We're moving fast, cutting a swath through people, no longer caring about being polite.

I'm glad I memorized the blueprints.

In through the study. Out through double doors.

Hustling.

We would be running, but both countesses are wearing high heels. Just a few feet through a courtyard.

Snowmobiles.

I hike up my dress practically to my waist and hop on one. The old lady jumps on the other.

She's the third man?

The countesses stare at us.

"GET ON!" the lady says in a voice that brooks no argument. Still both girls stare at us.

I take out my gun and point it at Ranton. "Get on, or I'll shoot you. I'm not kidding."

Still it takes them a second. I point it at Centrell. "I'm in a bit of a rush here, ladies."

Ranton gets on behind me, Centrell behind Ms. Mystery.

"What about T?" I ask.

"He's on his own. He can take care of himself." She turns on her engine, guns it, and speeds off.

I turn my key, gun my engine and head for the tree line. There's just the lightest dusting of snow. We're sliding on grass. It's slick and fast. When I reach the border of the trees I stop for a second. 

I think T had expected only one countess to come with us, so two snowmobiles could have accompanied four people.

I twist and look over my shoulder.

Part of the palace explodes.

"Holy shit!" Both Ranton and I say at once.

I gun it and zoom out of there. I hear another explosion, even bigger this time.

Oh shit, T. That's what freaked him out. Someone looking crazy. 

Someone he didn't have time to stop.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He got out. Surely he got out.

Focus.

The trees got denser, and I swerved in and out. I don't even know where I'm going.

Breathe.

Shit.

I've got a girl with a fake necklace behind me. Shit, shit, shit.

Clusterfuck.

Okay. Okay.

Subconsciously I've been following the tracks of Ms. Mystery. She's leading me in a circuitous route. At first this makes me suspicious, but after a second I realize it's smart.

Then we're in a back alley. 

Then circling around a house.

And then, oh.

It's T's rental house.

She stops.

I stop.

Ranton yells in my ear. "I demand to know where we are! My father will kill you for kidnapping. Oh my God. My father!"

I ignore her.

A limo pulls up.




Flesh and Heroes



T jumps out.

"Ladies," he says politely.

He kisses Ms. Mystery on the cheek.

"Hi, Mom," he says.

Mom????

"Hello, dear," she says and pats his cheek. "You clean up nice."

He takes out his keys, opens the door, deactivates the alarm. He ushers us in. His phone rings. "Yes, Lord Centrell. She's safe with me. So is your niece."

I imagine I can hear his sigh of relief.

"No, no, I think it's better they stay with us, at least for the night."

T does a lot of nodding, and 'ah-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh'ing, and then hangs up. 

"Michele, Monique, meet Susan, my mum." He gestures. "Ladies, meet my esteemed associate, and lovely girlfriend, Effie." T gestures to me.

"Girlfriend?!!" both countesses say. 

"I'm not dead, or blind," T says. "You ladies are spellbinding, but Effie captured my heart from the get go."

Aw.

"What happened at the house?" Michele asks.

"Is my family okay?" Monique asks.

T shrugs. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Your dad paid me to take care of the two of you."

The girls look at each other.

"For now, we're going to assume everyone in your family is okay."

"Who's hungry?" T's mom asks. "We didn't get a chance to have dinner. Anyone who interrupts dinner? Very uncivilized."

"Hell of a party," I say. "Went out with a bang."

The girls look at us. Apparently they didn't think we were very funny.

"Opa!" T says.

They smile at that.

"You know what we need?" T asks. "Alcohol. Let's go in the kitchen." 

T ushers us in the kitchen. He poured us good shots of vodka, and we all knocked them back. I got an immediate buzz.

"Food," I say.

"I'm on it," T says.

He starts pulling things out of the freezer.

I remember the necklace in my bra that surely cost more than my house. 

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm going to go change."

They all nod, and I hot-foot it upstairs to the bedroom. It's a relief to get out of my dress and bra. There's a small safe in the closet, but I don't know the combination. I put the necklace in the fake bottom compartment of my suitcase. It won't help if someone tries to steal the whole suitcase, but under the circumstances, it's the best I can do.

I put on a more comfortable bra, jeans, and pink sweatshirt. I take my hair down and carefully put my hair sticks away. I draw a brush through my hair and fluff it up a little. Check my make-up. I leave my dart necklace on, just in case. Those girls looked feisty. 

I go back down toward the kitchen. The food smells good. As I'm walking in, everyone is speaking French.

Mental sigh.

Conversation completely stops when I enter the kitchen.

T fixes me a plate.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Schnitzel and spatzel," he says.

"Okay, right," I say.

"I also have chocolate."

"Bring it on."

I eat everything on my plate. Pretty good.

The Bobbsey twins don't stop talking. The more they talk, the less horny I become. I left my ball gags at home.

I smile at T. Maybe he knows what I'm thinking. You do become pretty good at mind reading in our business.

We finish dinner. It's probably around midnight. I think there's probably no TV in this place. Europe. Rental house. What do I know? Maybe it's hidden in a cabinet.

T shows the cousins to their rooms, which are thankfully downstairs, but they're in no mood to retire. They had expected to party, and midnight it not early for them.

I am suddenly hit with terrible jet lag. Everything crashes at once. The drop of adrenaline. The relief that T is okay. The drop from the tension about working the switch of the necklace. The heavy food digesting in my stomach bringing all my energy to my center instead of my brain.

"I'm so tired. Did I party? I feel like I partied."

Everyone looks at me. I remember the limo ride.

"I pre-partied," I say.

T smiles.

"Everyone, I must bid you a fair adieu." See? I do know some French. "I'm afraid I've turned into a pumpkin." Hey, I am Cinderella after all. How strong was that vodka? 

I turn to T's mom. "It was nice meeting you."

"I'm sure we'll talk more later, dear."

Yikes.

She takes my hand in both of hers and pats it.

"I'm staying at a hotel just down the block. I'm sure I'll see you in the morning. Great job."

I nod.

T sees his mom out the door and resets the alarm. He comes back to me and whisks me off my feet. He looks over his shoulder at the countesses. "Ladies, I'll be back down in a minute."

He carries me up to our bedroom. I open the door; he shuts it behind us with his foot.

T is gentle when he tucks me in.

"No threesomes without me," I say.

He laughs. "Never."

I smile.

T leans down over me, as if to kiss my cheek, and my temperature spikes. "Where's the necklace?" he whispers in my ear.

"It's in my suitcase," I whisper back.

His tongue darts out and takes a quick taste of the sensitive skin behind my ear, and I shiver.

Almost faster than I can track, he jumps off the bed, and opens my suitcase. He finds and opens the hidden panel in about two seconds flat. I smile. Ya gotta love a professional. Efficiency is definitely sexy.

T puts the necklace in the safe. He comes back to the bed and leans over me. His face is glowing with excitement, lust, and maybe... love.

"I'm horny," I say, "but I don't think I'm up to a third time today. Not after intercontinental travel, escaping a building exploding, and my first time tasting schnitzel."

"Ah well," T says. "There's always tomorrow." 

*

 Dear Reader,

If this story pleased you, then please be so kind as to honor me with a high five. I'm begging you! Mr. Big and Effie are begging you. We're shameless. It's terrible. It's only a mouse click away. The power is under your clever little fingers.

I've never been to Switzerland. Or ridden a snowmobile. Or stolen a necklace. I may have done some other things in the story however. :) I was referring to schnitzel, what did you think I meant?

If you liked the story, drop me a note. Tell me what you liked and why, and how you feel. I love to hear from readers. (PG comments only please.) I read every note, and welcome corrections, suggestions, and positive feedback, and am always looking to make new connections with authors and readers. 

You can leave a public comment or use the contact tab on my author page to get in touch with me. If you'd like to leave your first name and last initial, feel free to do so. I really want to know what you think. It just takes a minute.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks, sincerely;

MJ



Flesh and Robber Barons



This is the third installment in the 'Flesh And' series. While it works as a stand alone story, I suggest you read 'Flesh and Thieves' and then 'Flesh and Cat Burglars' before this one, so you can see the progress of the relationship and get the stories in order. Your choice. The Flesh And series is a little more fast and furious than my usual romances, but still has the humor and snappy dialogue that, if you're a fan, you've probably come to expect.

Enjoy!

MJ

*

We take a ground tram two stops, and then a sky tram, suspended by cables. The view is breathtaking, with a 360-degree view of snow-capped mountains and distinctly European looking buildings.

Big nudges me at the last stop and we get off on a street named Zer Mitterland. The air is different, crisper. The sky is bluer. It hits me hard that I'm in Switzerland, with a lover I barely know, a guy who can steal, kill, and fuck.

Life is good.

Hell, I can probably get some really good chocolates here too.

I smile at Big. He smiles back.

He jerks his head slightly toward the left and we head that way. I assume we are heading toward a small motel, but not so. We stop in front of a fairy-tale looking, two-story brick house, with white columns, detailed wrought-iron work, a quaint blue door, and brass doorknocker. 

Big takes out a key. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. Deactivates an alarm.

Does he own a house here? I look around. It's decorated in European average. No. He rented a place. Smarter than a hotel. 

Big takes my hand. Kisses my palm. It sends a zing to my core. I shake my head.

He kisses the back of my hand. Links our fingers together. 

Big leads me up to the master bedroom. The first thing I notice is that the bed is huge. It's a four-poster bed. Which immediately makes me think of being tied up.

I smile.

Big smiles back at me. Maybe he can read minds. Or expressions. You learn to become very observant in our business.

But he bypasses the bed and leads me over to the big glass double doors. He unlocks them, guides me out on to the balcony.

Big hands me his $3,000 binoculars. I put them up to my face and he turns me slightly so I'm facing what he wants me to look at.

Very large house. A palace.

Ah.

Okay.

So this house was a strategic rental.

A smart guy who can steal, kill, and fuck. A really smart guy. And a really good fuck.

A girl could do worse.

I put down the binoculars for a minute to look at him and smile again. He smiles back.

I look through the binoculars again.

"I'm assuming you have a plan."

"Yup. It's open for improvement though," he says.

We go inside. I hand him back his binoculars.

He takes out a detailed blueprint. It's the first floor of the mansion. 

Hhm.

Big takes out two photos. Both are of pretty brunettes in their twenties. First girl is wearing a pink top.

"Countess of Ranton," Big says.

I nod.

He points to the other picture. "Countess of Crentrell."

I nod again.

"First cousins."

"Ut-oh."

"Yeah-huh," he says. "Ranton will be wearing the necklace. Her aunt lent it to her mom, who never gave it back. Apparently this little items has been in contention, and hiding, for a number of years, and is going to make a debut on the young, lovely Ranton tonight."

He pauses while I take that in.

"Centrell," he says tapping the other photo.

"Whose mother owns the necklace," I say. Just to make sure that I'm clear on who the players are.

"Yes. Centrell," he says again, and taps the photo again, "is our mark to guard. Her father thinks there may be some kind of trouble at the ball. He is trying to push through a peace treaty and peace is not always popular. He's worried about everything from terrorism to kidnapping, but particularly kidnapping."

"Ah," I say. "Okay."

I take a few seconds to think on this. Neither of these jobs would be extremely hard. It's doing them both at once that makes it near impossible.

"Plan?"

He points down at the blueprints. "The party will be here." He has his finger on a part of the rendering showing a very large ballroom. He puts a small blue felt dot on the paper near his finger. "I will bump into the fine Ms. Ranton and charm her into a stupor."

I smile at his choice of words.

"While you switch the necklace with a fake."

"Me? You want me to steal the necklace of a live person in the middle of what? 300 guests? I have to be the one to get that part?"

"Yes."

Jeesh.

"Unless you think you can do a better job of charming the pants off her."

I got to admit, he was pretty good at that. My expression must have been priceless.

"I've discreetly checked into her proclivities; she doesn't lean that way. But if anyone could temp her, you could."

"Fine, fine. You be the distraction, I'll be the thief."

He smiles at me. He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. Then he puts his lips by my ear. His voice is low, sexy. "Thank you, baby. If you do a good job..." his voice gets lower, "I'll reward you."

I wiggle away. "All right, all right. I said I'd do it."

He puts a red dot next to the blue dot. I'm assuming that's the mark. He puts a blue dot behind the red dot. That's me. Miss Invisible. Sneaking up behind Ranton, and, oh, no problem, taking the necklace off her neck while she makes googly eyes at Big. Hopefully.

"Let me see the necklace," I say.

Big takes a necklace out of his pack. 

"Phew-eeeee."

It's stunning. Seven large triangular ruby-looking stones set in gold. I take it from him. It's heavy.

"Fuck."

"What?"

"I hate clasps like this," I say. "They're a pain in the ass. Tough to manipulate. Hard to get on." I pause. "And hard to get off."

He shrugs. 

"I'm serious. They're pernickety. They're made so they won't fall off accidentally."

He shrugs again.

"We needed an exact duplicate. If I'd known I could have maybe engineered a fake that looked the same but was easier to use. It's too late now."

I sigh. Very loudly. A pained, exaggerated, put-upon sound.

He smiles.

"More risk. It'll make it interesting."

I roll my eyes.

His voice goes smoky again. "The greater the reward."

Okay. Helllllo motivation. I can do this.

I nod.

"Put the necklace on." The way he says it is commanding. The way I picture he'd say it if he threw me a pair of cuffs and said, "Put these handcuffs on." 

I shiver.

"Cold?"

"No."

I place the necklace around my neck and begin working the clasp. Because my hands are behind me and I can't see it, it's difficult to get. I sigh, turn the necklace around so the clasp is in front, but then it's too close under my chin for me to get a good look at it. I go to the mirror, and I close the two pieces of the clasp without much problem, but it takes a good forty to forty-five seconds. I fix the necklace so it sits correctly, with the rubies in front.

I put my hands on my hips and turn around and face Big. Not happy.

He looks to the side and I automatically follow his gaze. I have a second to hear his footsteps and try to process before he walks into me, full body contact. He literally knocks me over, catching me just before I reach the floor, so he's got me almost horizontal. His arms are around me. It's like we're dancing and he has me suspended in a low dip.

I look at him. He looks amazed.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. Although how I could have missed you..."

He very slowly raises me up to standing but doesn't let me go. He steps in a little closer so that there is only an inch between us, and bends down a little. He gives me fierce eye contact, looking at me like I'm the only woman in the world. My body heats up. I can feel his breath.

His hands are hot on my low back and on my waist. The one on my waist takes a short glide up and down my side and then retreats and I feel its loss. I don't see it, because I'm lost in his gaze, drowning in his eyes, seeing only him. The hand appears again, his knuckles grazing the side of my cheek ever so softly before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

His voice is an exotic whisper hinting of safety, danger, whiskey, and promises. "I was sorry I bumped into you. I'm not now."

He leans down as if to kiss me, but doesn't. His lips hover a hair's breath away from mine. "Again, my apologies."

He backs up a half step, flashes me a killer smile, and walks around me and away.

I fan myself. And as I do my fingertips touch the top of my chest.

I'm not wearing the necklace.

That lucky bastard. Damn he's good.

I turn to face him.

He pulls the necklace out of his pants pocket. "Missing something?"

"My breath, you stole it away."

He smiles. Again. We're smiling a lot today.

"If you're so good at that, Big, what do you need me for?"

"I need someone to get the new necklace back on."

"Ah."

"I can be the distraction, but if I'm really paying all my attention to being the distraction then I can't be sure I can also be the acquisitioner. You were easy to work with, it didn't take any effort to turn up the heat. All I had to do was think of that motel, or the limo..." he pauses and looks over at the bed, then back at me. He cocks one eyebrow high. "Or how close that bed is, and it wasn't hard to turn up the heat. I don't know how much chemistry I'll have with Ranton or how easily she'll fall for my animal magnetism."

"Anyone would fall for your magnetism."

He yanks me to him. "There's only one girl I'm interested in."

Big kisses me. Hard and passionate, then softly, slow and passionate.

He lets me go and I'm breathing heavy.

I sigh. This time it's quiet, contented sound.

I shake my head trying to clear it. "Okay, okay," I say when I feel reasonably sure that some circulation is back in my brain instead of all pooling down in my underwear. "That takes care of Ranton," I say. "How are we going to watch the other princess at the same time? Are we just going to let that gap of time we're getting the necklace go uncovered?" 

Big puts another blue dot on the ballroom, this time on the very side of the room, which I see in the drawing actually represents a balcony. "That's why we have some extra help."

A third man. Smart.

"I don't like working with someone I don't know. Do you trust this guy?"

"Absolutely."

Well alrighty then.

We discuss the job plans for another few minutes. We're coming as guests, so we don't have to break in our out. Big tells me everything he knows about the palace, the family, the security, and I take it all in.

I nod.

I'm not crazy about jobs with so many people around, but he's done his homework. It seems like he's covered all his bases, so it should be fairly straightforward.

I hope.

I keep studying the blueprint looking for flaws. I don't see any. I have to admit, if he does even one-tenth a good a job on her as he does on me, making the necklace switch will be pretty doable. If the third guy is even mildly passable at his job, he should be able to watch one twenty-year-old for the time it takes us to make a necklace swap.

The back of my neck is prickling, and not in a good way.

"I don't like it," I say firmly.

"Suggestions?"

I stare at the blueprint harder. Nothing pops out at me.

I'm silent for a long time.

"I've done everything I can think of to prepare," he says softly. "What else do you want me to do?" I immediately flush hot, because even though he obviously didn't mean it with any double entendre, I suddenly have a vision of him licking me.

He must have noticed my dramatic rise in body heat, because he presses in close.

I remember what I said on the phone, how I hadn't had a chance to lick him yet. It's still true. I glance toward the bed.

"We have nothing to do until the ball tonight," he says, his voice low and husky. "Nothing left to prepare, no demands on our time."

I look down, stare blatantly at his bulge.

"There's only one thing I love more than a good heist," I say.

He cocks one eyebrow up high. "Oh?"

"But I'm not telling," I drawl. I open my mouth and lick my lips. "If you want to know, you'll have to find out."

He grips me hard and drags me to the bed. He practically throws me on it and pounces on top of me. He's amazingly fast and graceful for a man his size.

"What." His voice is demanding.

"No," I say, my voice still teasing. "You'll have to find out."

"Show me," he says.

I shake my head, my eyes playful.

Fast, super fast, he unbuckles his pants, pushes his pants and underwear down to his thighs and climbs up my body so his cock is almost in my face.

"This? This what you want? This what you like?"

"Yeah," I say, breathy. "That's it."

He grabs the back of my head, fisting my hair. My pulse jerks wildly, like dice shaken hard in a velvet-lined cup.

"Do it."

I do.

The angle's not great. He's too big to get much in my mouth. But I work the head a little and the heat is wonderful between us, and he groans.

I push him off me. It's not easy; it takes both hands, and a huge push on his hips. But he acquiesces with no fight and lands on his back with a soft thump.

I pull his pants all the way off, and run my hands up his big thighs. His cock is full and hard now, resting on his belly. I feel the urge to hurry, but I stop myself. I stare at him.

"What?" he asks.

I'm not sure what to say. I crawl and wiggle my much smaller body over his, until I'm lying on top of him with my face aligned perfectly over his and give him a soft kiss.

"You're wonderful. You're perfect. You're the most amazing man I've ever met. You can run, you can jump, you can steal. You can take a necklace off me, a bra off me, wipe a smile off me or put it back on me, so fast. You're...super. And you. Are. Sexy. As. Fuck."

He smiles at me and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"I want to rush," I say. "I can't wait to have you in my mouth. I love giving blow jobs. LOVE it. And you. You. God, I can't wait. But I also don't want to rush. Because..."

I put my cheek against his for a minute.

Big runs his hand through my hair and it that moment everything changes. The world tilts because what we're doing goes from great fucking sex to love. Shit.

"It's okay," he says softly.

I wiggle and push his shirt up a little, kiss my way down his body, and lick the top of his cock.

He groans again and it's a great fucking sound.

I take the top of his cock in my mouth, and the main part of the shaft in my hand. I go up and down, at a medium speed, enjoying that 'this is so, so, totally right feel' that I get sometimes when sucking.

With him, it's even better.

I'm not surprised.

I keep going, varying the speed.

His skin is very warm. It's soft over hard. Silky over steel. Magic over layers of more magic. It's feeding me; on the deepest level humanly possible. Waves and waves of goodness.

I don't want him to come yet. Not yet.

I slow down.

"Oh, Effie. God." 

I slow down even further. I stop and look up at him.

He groans.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm not sure what to do next," I say.

"Because you've never done it before?" he teases.

"Because I want to do everything," I say.

I whip off my shirt. I straddle him, with my pants still on, and ride his cock, the shaft pressed tightly against my underside as I ground into him. I'm working us into a frenzy and we're not even completely undressed.

He rolls me over, hard and fast.

"God damn, Effie."

"I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you inside me."

He's gets my clothes off so fast, his moves are like a blur. His clothes too. He sheathes himself in a condom and then he stills, poised.

That devil smile.

Then he slides in, inch by excruciating inch, super slow.

Fully seated.

Ahhhhh.

You wouldn't think I'd be able to take all of him in. But everything fits just fine.

He doesn't move. Just stays there. He's supported on his arms.

"Everything feels perfect," I whisper.

"I aim to please," he says.

I close my eyes and just take it all in. Savor. For that moment, there's no job, no princesses, no Switzerland. It's just us. Him inside me. Me soaking wet around him.

He starts to move. It's like an undulation, different than anything I've ever felt before. Better.

I bend my knees a little more, open my legs a little more.

"Nothing should feel this good," I say.

"Yes, it should. It does. I feel the same way."

Then he increases his speed, and words leave me. He goes faster, harder. I'm spiraling up. There's a bright light connecting us. A spark of sameness, and heat, a ferocious chain linking us together. 

Then he brings his face close to mine and I think he's going to kiss my cheek but he doesn't.

He bites my ear.

And I come.

He pounds harder.

I come again, bucking up against him. He yells, loud and primal.

He rolls us. I'm on top again.

Good thing, because his body sort of collapses and I'm glad it didn't collapse on top of me.

"Well," he says.

I chuckle.

I detangle myself and go to the bathroom. It takes a minute to calm my racing heart. I actually talk to it in my mind, like a prized racehorse that deserves to be talked down after a victory. 

Big looks amazing, sprawled over the bed. I snuggle into his chest, and he flips the edge of the blanket around my butt, providing just the right amount of coverage.

"I guess I should learn your name now," I say. 

"The anonymity has been pretty damn sexy, you have to admit."

"I thought the same. I'm sure, like me, you've gone by many names."

"The Mr. Big thing floated my ego."

"I bet."

We're silent for a minute.

"I guess a nickname would help," he says.

"Or an initial," I say. "Like in James Bond, with Q and M."

"T," he says.

"That works, as we're already F and T."

"It really is T," he says.

Which makes me wonder. Teddy? Theo? Tomas? Ty? None of these seem to fit. It doesn't matter. A rose is a rose. An assassin is an assassin. Besides, T fits him.

"You hungry?"

"Starving," I say.

"Let's get some food."

We get up. I grab his shirt and put it on. It goes down to my knees.

"Nice," he says.

We go to the kitchen and T takes out a bunch of to go containers and two plates. I don't exactly recognize some of the food. It's all similar, but a little different. There's potato and meat pastries. There's fancy cheese, and fancy chocolate. There's some Italian-looking pasta sort of thing. There's a bread and butter sandwich-like round thing. It's all good.

"I worked up an appetite."

"When the job's over, I'll give you your reward and you can work up an appetite again."

"Something to look forward to."

I'm still a little uneasy about the job. Maybe it's because I haven't met the third man.

"Where's the third man now?" I ask.

"There was another job. It's a tight schedule."

But he nods like it's someone he known a long time and he's not worried about them not showing up. If he's not worried, I'm not worried. So maybe it's something else.

I frown.

But then I have a piece of chocolate and it's SO good it's hard to think about anything else.

"We still have time before the party," T says to me. "Do you want to sightsee, or do you want to nap?"

"Nap," I say.

"Nap it is." He cleans up the table, washes our two dishes. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.

"This is a great bed," I say.

"It's the reason I chose this house instead of the other one that had a similar sight line. I was hoping you'd agree to come."

"Like I'd turn you down for anything."

"Reallllllly?" he says. In that one word is a world of devious sexual actions implied.

I laughed.

"Well," I say. I'll leave it at that. There's a good possibility he knows things I've never heard off.

He pulls back the blankets and we crawl in. I settle myself so my head is on his chest and one leg is resting over his massive thigh. 




Flesh and Robber Barons



I sigh. "I could really get used to this," I say.

"I think I already have," he whispers.

#

 Dear Reader,

If this story pleased you, then please be so kind as to honor me with a high five. It will mean a tremendous amount to me. It's only a mouse click away. The power is under your clever little fingers.

If you liked the story, drop me a note. Tell me what you liked and why, and how you feel. I love to hear from readers. (PG comments only please.) I read every note and welcome corrections, suggestions, and positive feedback. 

You can leave a public comment or use the contact tab on my author page to get in touch with me. If you'd like to leave your first name and last initial, feel free to do so. I really want to know what you think. It just takes a minute.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks, sincerely;

MJ



Flesh and Spirit



Chapter 1. Last Chance. 

"Sit down Gregory," the editor said. When he called me "Gregory" instead of "Greg," I knew there was trouble brewing.

He sat looking down at some papers pretending to read; definitely a sign of trouble. 

After a couple of minutes of this he looked up at me, unsmiling, and came straight to the dismal point.

"We've all had our women troubles but we don't let it interfere with our work performance."

This statement didn't seem to call for any response from me so I sat there abjectly with head bowed in what I hoped looked like humble submission.

After another pause as he bored through me with his sharp green eyes he went on, "I've counselled you twice already." 

"Counselled" is a management euphemism for "A bawling out." 

He picked up a piece of paper from his desk. Without being able to see it I knew my name was on it.

"Late arrival, failure to turn up at all, sloppy writing," he intoned. "You've reached the end of the line. I should sack you right now my boy; can you think of any reason why I shouldn't?"

I couldn't think of any reason but I stammered out the same excuses I'd used before during the "counselling" sessions.

"Well, sir," – I thought I'd better "sir" him for the occasion – "I...er...haven't been feeling so...so..."

"That's bloody obvious," he growled, "but as I say, we've all had our women troubles but we get over them and it's long past time you got over yours."

"Yes sir."

I think the "sir" must have had the desired effect because insofar as he was capable of it, he took on a benign look and said, "You started out very well, excellently in fact, and I thought you had the making of a good journalist."

He paused as if expecting a response, but I didn't know what to say.

"Now look here Greg," – "Greg," that was a good sign – "I don't want to ruin a young man's career but there's no room on the City Daily for the sort of sloppy work you've been producing, that is, when you deign to make an appearance at all, but I'm going to give you another chance."

"Thank you sir," I gasped, feeling the knot in my stomach unravelling. 

He raised his hand to stop my flow of gratitude. "I've arranged to have you transferred to The Hill Weekly." 

"W-w-what...!"

"No need to thank me, my boy, I just thought I'd take a risk and give you another chance."

Thank him! "Bloody hell," I thought, "why doesn't he shoot me and be done with it?"

The Hill Weekly was an offshoot from The City Daily and to be sent there was like being cast into the outer darkness of weddings, funerals, church bazaars and the local flower show.

Sir returned to his former sternness. "Don't think your going to get an easy ride, Gregory. Old Ned runs a tight ship and won't put up with sloppy behaviour or work, so just get that into your head. You start next Monday so you'd better get ready to move. Now, I've got someone for you to meet. He'll be taking over from you, his name is," he consulted a piece of paper; "Ah yes, Ian Foster. He's being transferred from The Hill Weekly and you'll be replacing him there."

My first reaction to all this humiliation was to resign on the spot, but I quickly had second thoughts. With my recent work performance and the sort of reference I was likely to get, who else would employ me? No, better to swallow my pride and await my time – see what the future would bring.

He said something into the intercom on his desk and sat back in his chair. "I suppose you'll need time to tie things up, so today and tomorrow you can show the new boy the ropes, and then take the rest of the week off. I'll tell my secretary to arrange some temporary accommodation for you at The Hill. You'd better start for it on Sunday, so we'll take it from there, okay?"

"Yes," I mumbled, omitting the "Sir."

A young guy about my own age came in his face wreathed in a simpering smile. He was a thin seedy looking specimen, but with that eager go-getter glitter in his eyes. I hated him.

We were introduced and shook hands, his was hot and dry. 

I was once more instructed to "Show him the ropes," and I thought, "I know what sort of rope I'd like to show him." Then we were dismissed, or partially so since as I got to the door I was called back.

The editor was benign again. "Listen Greg, get that bloody woman trouble of yours sorted out, do a good job on The Weekly, and you might end up back here again."

I thought I'd better lay the ground for the future, so I said, "Yes sir, and thank you."

He waved me out of the office.

That day and the next I spent showing the enthusiastic rat the ropes. I think he must have known about my situation because he was very truculent; boasting of his triumphs on The Hill Weekly and then crowing over his imagined literary conquests into the future.

In the meantime I had to try and settle things ready for my departure. The lease on my rented flat still had a couple of months to run so I had to forfeit my original deposit. There was my furniture to put in store and the rest of my things to pack. I also had to face mum and dad.

I managed to make my transfer sound like promotion; this would give my mother something to boast about with her church women's group. My dad was a bit more cynical and muttered something about, "It's that bloody girl."

That "bloody girl" was Celia, my late fiancée. Two weeks before we were due to get married she had not simply called the whole thing off, but had disappeared with some guy who was going mountain climbing in Nepal or somewhere.

Imagine the chaos with most of the wedding arrangements made; and add to that my mortification, and while I'm at it I suppose I might make a further addition, my sexual deprivation. All added up to what I suppose was depression – a black despair; and now the final degradation of being transferred to The Hill Weekly.

Chapter 2. To The Hill. 

I'd visited The Hill briefly once; a mining town set in the middle of an arid plain, a town populated by descendents of the Cornish miners who had come originally to work the mines for silver, lead, zinc and tin. Short, stocky and tough, and avid adherents of the trade union movement; what we call "Battlers" who had made The Hill there own. 

The place looked like an older city suburb dropped down in the middle of nowhere. Dominating the city is a giant mullock heap, the waste of more than a century of mining; and would you believe, they've built a restaurant on top of it. 

Like it or not, that was my current destiny; and like it I did not.

Sunday morning; the old Toyota heaped up with my gear, and me still seething with resentment centred on erstwhile Celia and a hardhearted editor I set off to meet my fate. Through the suburbs and the vineyards beyond, and then the wheat and canola growing country. Three hours drive and I reached the last frontier of civilisation – "Goodbye cruel world."

Another five hours drive; sheep, a few cattle. Red earth, salt and blue bush with the odd tree struggling to survive in the infertile, dry clay, emus staring at my car insolently before springing away; the carcases of dead kangaroos and wallabies littering the road, killed by passing vehicles in the night as they stood mesmerised by the headlights. 

"Just the place for a journalists' concentration camp," I thought.

And then a couple of hills that bore a distinct resemblance to very firm female mammary glands with erect nipples; then The Hill itself and the Hillorama Motel – who the hell thinks up these names?

The bright receptionist wearing her "Welcome" face but behind it a lack of interest. A motel room that looked like most other motel rooms, impersonally clean and tidy, its sole contribution to art being a picture entitled, "Bluebell Glade," a scene not to be seen anywhere near The Hill, or anywhere in the entire country for that matter. 

An odd choice of picture come to think of it; you see the mines were beginning to run out of things to dig up, and the city was having to consider its future. The tourism mania, that standby of many places losing their original reason for existing, had given rise to two main attractions; mining museums and a school of art known as "The Inland School." Art galleries abound in the city, so why not a locally produced work of art instead of one from a far country on the motel wall?

I was travel weary and tired, so I took a shower and spurning the motel restaurant went in search of a pub that served meals. I didn't have far to go because the city abounds in pubs as well as art galleries. They served a massive steak with vegetables (the pub not the art galleries), and after that I was too tired and melancholy to do anything but set my little travelling clock to wake me at seven thirty and go to bed.

Ting-a-ling-ting-a-ling. Bloody hell, surely it had to be the middle of the night, but no, it was seven thirty. I got up, showered again, shaving with great care and then putting on a suit; well, my only suit, to be honest; I had reluctantly decided I'd better make a good impression.

Breakfast in the motel restaurant and then my entry into The Hill Weekly before me.

I'd got the address of The Hill Weekly Office but you know what it's like in a place you're not familiar with. I found the street after wrestling with a motel provided city street map, but "Where the bloody hell are the offices?" 

I was used to the concrete and glass offices of the City Daily so I suppose I was expecting to find the same; I was misleading myself. What I was looking for turned out to be a two story building that must have been built not long after the city was first established with something of that much favoured nineteenth century pseudo ancient Greek temple look about it.

I found a parking space with amazing ease, parked my car, then it occurred to me; had I known where the office was I could have driven there in two or three minutes, unlike the drive from my suburban flat to the City Daily, which involved heavy traffic and endless traffic lights. At least that was a plus for The Weekly.

I entered into a dark panelled reception area to be greeted by a singularly attractive young lady; "Another plus," I thought, until I spotted the engagement and wedding rings.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Gregory Price to see Mr. Hargraves," I announced.

Her smile broadened, "Oh, yes, I'm Angela, you'll be the new staff member we're expecting; welcome to the weekly."

Her welcome was like a bright ray of sunshine lighting up what had been a long period of dark clouds. I stammered my thanks and was told, "Ned is expecting you, but he isn't in yet, there are some magazines over there; go and sit down until he arrives."

For a few minutes I pretended to read one of the magazines while surreptitiously looking around at the scenery, especially Angela. I hadn't too long to wait. Suddenly a mountain erupted into the reception area. 

The mountain failed to spot me and went to the reception desk. "Gregory Price is here, Ned," Angela said, pointing in my direction.

The mountain turned and looked hard at me for a few moments, then approached with extended hand rumbling, "Welcome ter The Weekly." 

Crunch; I'll remember that hand clasp for a long time. "I...er...thank you."

"Come inter me office young fella," the mountain rumbled. 

We passed through a door that led from reception into the main office and then into a glass fronted office that I was to learn was known as, "The Sanctum." The mountain seated itself in a massive old-fashioned swivel chair behind a paper strewn desk. 

He studied me for a few seconds with shrewd looking blue eyes then asked, "What do they call yer?"

"Er...Gregory...er...Greg..."

"Right, I'm called Ned."

He took out a packet of cigarettes and extending the packet asked, "Smoke?"

"Er...no, I don't smoke."

"Good thing too."

He took out a cigarette and lit it. There was something like a volcanic eruption that began somewhere deep inside him, finally emerging as a series of explosive coughs and gasps.

"First one...cough...gasp...of the...wheeze...day...cough, cough...gasp...always gets me...cough...wife won't... gasp... pant...let me smoke at...cough...home."

"Gawd, that feels better. Now...splutter...cough...your replacing young Foster."

"Yes."

He fumbled through the pile of paper on his desk and finally selecting a piece, turned his attention to it. I knew it must be the report about me from the city editor.

"Had a bit of trouble back there, son?"

His first-cigarette-of-the-day paroxysm seemed to have subsided. "I...er...yes."

"Yers, well, we don't need ter go inter that, eh, old son?"

"Er...no." That was a relief.

"Fresh start 'ere son. Now...young Foster covered the City Council, and any city and regional stories along with Steve. Steve covers sport as well...I'll introduce yer shortly.... Are yer up with the arts?"

"Well, at university I..."

"Good, good, yer'll be the arts critic; local drama group, visits by the State Orchestra, art exhibitions, that sort of thing, okay?"

"Yes."

"Got somewhere ter stay?"

"I'm at the Hillorama Mo..."

"No good fer a young bloke. Yer need a home environment."

He lit another cigarette and went into a modified series of coughs and splutters. 

"Got a Mrs. Martha Tregilgas, a widow; we've used 'er before. Young Foster stayed with 'er and young Fletcher before 'im. Fletcher gave 'er a good report but Foster was always complainin', but then, 'e'd complain about anything. Very reasonable charges, good plain food so Fletcher said. I'll give yer 'er address and yer can go and see 'er. I've told 'er ter expect yer, okay?"

"Yes."

He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me asking; "Are yer religious?"

"I...er...did go to Sunday school."

"Well just watch yer language because Martha's tied up with the local church and she's something of an influence in this town; got it?"

"Yes."

"Good, come on, I'll introduce yer ter Steve an 'e can introduce yer ter the others."

He heaved his bulk out of the chair and led the way into the main office. There were several people working there and I was taken to a pleasant looking guy who proved to be Steve. We shook hands and I got another "Welcome to The Weekly."

After making the introduction Ned asked, looking at Steve, "I suppose Foster managed ter tie things up before 'e left?"

I saw Steve raise his eyebrows despairingly but he said, "Yes, in his own way."

Ned humphed and said to me, "Yer'll need time ter settle in son; take a look at Foster's desk and then take this afternoon and termorrer off, okay?"

"Thanks, thanks very much."

"Introduce 'im around, Steve." With that he lumbered off, not to his office but in the direction of reception.

Steve, seeing me watching Ned, grinned and said, "He's off to pick up the latest gossip; its opening time."

"Opening time?"

"The pubs; come on and meet Sylvia, she covers weddings and women's organizations."

I breathed a sigh of relief; no weddings or bazaars for me.

Sylvia was another decorative woman of about thirty who unfortunately also sported an engagement and wedding ring; "All things do conspire against me," I thought. I got the "Welcome to The Weekly" again and a big pearly smile. We went on to Geoff, a man who looked as if he was in his fifties who covered the local advertising. 

The other member of the staff present was a girl, Stephanie. She was seated behind a computer and proved to be Ned's secretary. "Another possibility?" I wondered, but then saw an engagement ring. "Not a good outlook," I thought gloomily.

"Come and see Foster's desk," Steve said; "have a look at what he was up to and by then it'll be lunchtime. We usually have lunch over at the pub when a new member of staff arrives, a sort of welcome and getting-to-know-you session; our treat. You'll meet some of the others."

"Well thanks very much," I said, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

I was taken to the desk that had been Foster's and looking at the neat piles of paper I said, "I suppose I've got some pretty big shoes to fill."

Steve looked at me for a moment, then burst out laughing; "Who told you that, not Ned I'll bet?"

"No, but...but I met Foster before I left The Daily and he told me..."

"I'm sure he did," laughed Steve, who was joined by Sylvia who had overheard our talk.

"There was one main problem with Foster," Steve went on, "His mouth was bigger than his brain. We tried to cover for him for a while but Ned knew what was going on; he was glad to get rid of him." He laughed again, "Ned's a cunning bugger, he gave Foster a good recommendation in the hope that the Daily would take him, and they fell for it." 

"But he's left everything well organised."

"You can thank Sylvia and Stephanie for that," Steve said, "They didn't want you coming here to find chaos." 

I called out my thanks to Sylvia and Stephanie, feeling relieved that I wasn't treading in the steps of a journalistic Messiah, then settled down for what was left of the morning to see what Foster had been working on. 

Come lunch time I was escorted across the road to a nearby pub. As we went through the bar to the dining room I spotted Ned, apparently engrossed in deep conversation with an antediluvian grey beard. 

"That's Old Snoop," Steve explained.

"Odd name," I commented. 

"Yes, we don't know his real name, but somehow the old bugger gets hold of all the local scandal; you know, whose getting into bed with whom, whose taking bribes on the City Council or which trade union official is in cahoots with the bosses. For a couple of drinks he'll spill the goods. Be a good idea to cultivate him."

"I'll remember that," I replied.

We entered the dining room; I'd expected maybe four or five people, but there were more than a dozen seated at a long table.

"They couldn't all come," Steve explained, "the lunch hour is staggered, but you'll get to meet the others in time."

The drinks waiter came and we ordered our drinks. After him came the food waiter with menus and more orders were given. There were introductions but I couldn't really remember all their names at the time, except for those I'd met before lunch.

Half way through the meal Ned stuck his head round the dining room door and called out, "A round on me," and then withdrew.

"He must have got some hot gossip from Old Snoop," Sylvia commented, "and he's feeling pleased with himself."

The atmosphere was very convivial and I couldn't help contrasting it with my departure from The Daily. When a staff member was leaving The Daily it was usual for there to be a speech, a few drinks and the odd cold chicken leg. I had crept away unacknowledged. I must admit this welcome to The Weekly made me a bit tearful.

Chapter 3. Number Seven. 

After lunch it was time to go and see Mrs. Tregilgas. I took out the paper Ned had given me and saw the address; 7 Trafalgar Avenue. Steve gave me incomprehensible directions on how to get there, so back in the car I studied the street map, and after getting lost a couple of times I finally got to Trafalgar Avenue.

Number seven was what must have been one of the early miners' cottages, mostly built of corrugated galvanised iron and with odd additions tacked on over the years. There was a front veranda with a rather savage looking creeper growing over it. 

I fought my way through the creeper to the front door and thumped on it with the lion headed cast iron knocker. There was a pause, then the sound of approaching footsteps. 

I'd wondered what Mrs. Tregilgas might look like. The mention by Ned that she was very religious and a widow gave me the general impression of a thin, wrinkled, elderly lady of stern disposition; what I saw did not comply with that image in the slightest. 

The first impression, and one that was born out on closer acquaintance, was that of a woman whose age might have been anywhere between thirty five and forty five. Dark haired, dark eyed and sparing the details, voluptuous of figure and ripe of lip. She did not look like the desiccated nun I'd expected.




Flesh and Spirit



I was so uncertain I had to ask, "Er...Mrs. Tregilgas?"

"That's right," replied an alto voice. "You'll be Gregory Price, Ned told me to expect you, come in."

I stepped into a dim passage and was asked, "You'd like to see the room?"

"Yes please," I replied. I could see I was right about it having been a miner's cottage. Originally it must have been just four rooms. I could see the doors along the passage but beyond them a step down into an extension of the passage. Mrs. Tregilgas opened the first door on the left saying, "This is it." 

You might say it was a front room, but the wall between this room and the next one along had been removed to make quite spacious accommodation. There was a single bed, bedside table, wardrobe, chest of drawers and under the window a reasonable sized desk. The floor was covered with a fawn coloured carpet.

After a couple of minutes viewing the room Mrs. Tregilgas said "You'd better see the rest of the place," and led me out into the passage again. Pointing to the door opposite the one I had entered she said, "My bedroom." When we came to the door of the room that had been made part of the room I'd just looked at she remarked, "You can't use that door, it's been sealed up." The fourth room was announced as, "The spare bedroom."

As we passed into the part that had been added she warned, "Mind the step." There were two doors; "Bathroom and shower and toilet," she explained. We marched on into yet another later addition and came out into a large room that spanned the whole width of the cottage. 

I wasn't sure what to make of it as it seemed to combine features of a lounge, dining room and office.

"The living room," Mrs. Tregilgas informed me, "and through there," pointing to an arch, "is the kitchen." I'm afraid the laundry is a shed in the back garden." 

I surveyed the room. At one end were a dining table, chairs and a Welsh dresser; at the other end a desk with a computer on it and some neatly arranged papers; in between these two was what I would have called "The lounge." It had two comfortable looking armchairs, a divan of considerable dimensions and a table with a television set sitting on it.

"Sit down and let's have a talk," Mrs. Tregilgas suggested.

I sat in an armchair and she sat opposite me on the divan.

Mrs. Tregilgas came across to me as a bit formidable. I'm six feet three tall, and although she couldn't have been more than five feet seven or eight, I got the feeling that she was at least as tall as I was. It was her personality that gave this impression. She was one of those people who radiate energy; I could almost feel it like a mild electric current.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Well...er...it's hard to..."

"Look Gregory – you don't mind if I call you Gregory?"

"Er...no...but make it Greg."

"Good, then you can call me Martha. Now look, nothing has to be set in concrete. We can give each other a try, and if it doesn't work out... well...." She shrugged and went on, "I provide breakfast and an evening meal; you eat in here with me. I do the cleaning and your laundry but you have to make your own bed. I'm a plain cook, so if you want any exotic stuff there's a Chinese and an Indian restaurant in town; you pay for that yourself of course. If you're not going to be in for a meal I like to know and I charge –"

She mentioned a figure that surprised me. It was less than the rent I'd paid on my flat. I must have registered my surprise because she went on, "I don't let out the room to make a profit. I take boarders because I like the company...having someone round the place. So what do you think?"

The place wasn't luxurious, but I couldn't afford luxury anyway; it had a comfortable and homely feel about it. I might get a flat or unit of my own later, and meantime despite Martha's formidable personality she seemed to combine with it a motherly, comfortable aspect; but the rent clinched it. My guess was that I wouldn't get such a good deal elsewhere.

"I'll take it," I said.

She smiled, displaying even white teeth. "Good, shall I make a cup of tea?"

"Yes please."

She stood and went towards the kitchen; "Come and talk to me if you like," she said.

I rose and followed her into the kitchen and I sat on a bar stool and surveyed her more carefully as she chatted about the "Young men" who had previously stayed with her; Fletcher and Foster of course. 

She was wearing a cream coloured, casual, loose fitting dress that did not allow for any clear view of her figure except it was one of those dresses that seemed to hang from the points of her breasts and fall down in lengthwise folds to about knee length. 

There was no other indication of the contours of her breasts, but they were clearly large and firm and it was obvious they were not constrained with a bra. This absence of a bra was indicated by the way her breasts moved as she went about preparing the tea. There came to mind the two hills I had seen as I approached the city, and despite learning later they were known as "The Peaks," to me they were always "Nipple Hills."

I felt a lurch somewhere in the pit of my stomach and a tingling sensation in my groin and knew that this presaged an erection. If this needs excusing then remember I was young, potent, and had been deprived of sexual gratification for some time – since Celia.... That was odd; the thought of Celia didn't seem to hurt quite so much.

Recalling that in Martha I was dealing with a religious lady who would probably decry "the lusts of the flesh," I tried focusing on other aspects of her appearance. The dark hair and eyes I had already noted, and these were set in a face that tended to be round rather than long, displaying a small slightly upturned nose and a generous mouth.

She was barefoot and her dress only allowed a view of her calves that were long and firm, and ended with a neat pair of ankles. 

It occurred to me that I was not only studying a religious lady somewhat salaciously, but she was almost old enough to be my mother. 

"Young Fletcher was very unhappy when he had to move on," she said.

I was jolted out of my lubricious reverie and gathering my wits I asked, "And what about Foster?" 

She paused for a moment, the corners of her mouth turned down. "Yes, Foster," she said thoughtfully, "he wasn't really happy here. I expect you'll hear something about him at The Weekly."

"I already have," I grinned.

"Yes; I felt a bit sorry for him. He lived in a world of self delusion; you know, believed he was wonderful but didn't have what it takes to back it up. If he'd stayed with me much longer I think I might have suggested he leave. As I say, he wasn't happy living with me and, well..."

She broke off for a moment then went on, "I wonder how he'll get on at The City Daily, he wasn't doing too well on The Weekly."

We went back to the living room with our tea and sat. 

"What brings you from the Daily to The Hill and The Weekly?" she asked. 

So she already knew I was from The Daily and I'd hoped she wouldn't ask me that. I prevaricated; "Oh, The Daily editor thought that the change would do me good." Well that was partly true but it didn't deceive Martha.

She looked at me shrewdly with a half smile on her face and asked, "Trouble?"

"Sort of," I mumbled, not looking at her.

"Not to worry," she said, "Old Ned can be tough, but he believes in giving people a chance, especially young people. Young Fletcher was transferred from a daily after some trouble. A newspaper up north, The Morning News I think it was called. He's a television journalist now." 

She became dreamy eyed for a moment and a little sad; then snapping out of it she said, "You'll want to unload your things and settle in."

"Yes, I've got most of them in the car but I left a few things in the motel; I didn't expect to find somewhere to live so quickly."

"You'll be in for the evening meal?"

"Yes please."

I unloaded my gear from the car, including my precious computer, and then headed back to the motel to collect the rest of my things. After that it was, as Martha had said, settling in time. By the time I'd tucked things away and set up the computer on the desk pangs of hunger began to be evident.

It can be difficult when you first move into a place that's not your own. You're not sure where you are meant to be. Do you stay in your room until you're called for the meal, or was it okay to move around other parts of the house?

I stepped out boldly and went in search of Martha. On arriving at the living room I could smell the aroma of cooking and hear sounds coming from the kitchen. I entered and saw Martha busy over the cooking stove. She glanced up, smiled and said, "Come in and talk to me."

"I wasn't sure if I should..." I began to say, but she seemed to understand the awkwardness of newly settling in. 

"That's all right. I told you I like the company so feel free to use the rest of the place, but don't interrupt me when I'm working at my desk...by the way, where did you put your car?"

"I left it out the front."

"Ah, well, we have the luxury of a double garage, so why not park it in there? By the time you've done that I'll be ready to serve the meal."

I drove the car into the garage, constructed of course with the ubiquitous corrugated iron, and then noticed it was not only a garage, but served also as a workshop. There was a bench and tool racks and an electric drill, but from the dust on them it looked as if they hadn't been used for a long time.

Returning to the kitchen I commented about the workshop and for a moment Martha went very still, then said quietly, "Yes, Harry, my late husband, was a keen handyman." 

She said no more and went about serving up the meal. Having taken in some of her physical attributes I now noticed how easily and gracefully she moved, almost like a dancer, and this was unexpected in one so voluptuous. 

Buxom as she was she seemed to be bursting with energy and health and something more not easy to define, but perhaps a sort of animal sensuality best describes it. I was intensely aware of her femaleness.

I felt that little lurch in the pit of my stomach again and this time a definite erection. I gave myself a mental slap on the wrist and decided that the sooner I got to know some of the local girls the better.

"It's ready." I was yanked out of my ruminations. I realised I was staring at Martha and I think she knew it because she had a quizzical smile on her face.

"It's ready," she said again, offering me a plate of lamb chops and vegetables.

"Oh thanks," I said, and followed her to the dining room.

I was about to start eating when Martha said, "I always give thanks before I eat."

I felt my face redden. I'd been warned about her religiousness but this was the first clear sign of it. I bowed my head hastily and Martha said a brief prayer of thanksgiving. 

As we ate she asked, "Do you belong to any Church?" 

Why do people always ask the questions you don't want to answer? "Ah, no, not recently, I er...sort of gave it up."

An evangelical gleam came into her eyes. "Perhaps you could start again. A new job, new city and a new home" – she waved her fork to indicate the cottage – "meeting new people, it's a fresh beginning for you. Why not let it be a really new beginning and return to the Lord?"

I almost made the gaff of asking her who the Lord was since I thought aristocracy was passé in our society, but just in time I remembered my Sunday School days and some of the lessons.

Having received no answer she went on, "Why not come with me to The Hill Saints on Sunday, you'll meet lots of young people there?"

"Lots of young people," that sounded promising. There might be some nubile girls interested in a bit of conviviality. On second thoughts, and continuing to recall Sunday School, I seemed to remember that saints foreswore the temptations of the flesh. 

"Well...I'll..." I began, but Martha interrupted:

"That's good; we leave at half past ten Sunday morning."

"Trapped," I thought, and I could almost feel her missionary triumph.

Of course I could have refused or backed out at the last minute, but the low rent and the excellence of the meal persuaded me that it would be profitable to keep on the good side of Martha; at least until I was ready to move out into a place of my own.

It occurred to me that everybody was telling me what to do. I wondered if I was selling my soul for a mess of pottage (to misquote the bible), that is, if a job, low rent and Martha's cooking can be defined as "pottage." Perhaps it didn't matter if they had my soul just so long as they left the rest of me alone.

Chapter 4. "Getting to Know You." 

In talking over the meals situation for the next day I pointed out that Ned had given me the day off in order to settle in.

I saw Martha's eyes light up. "How would you like me to show you over the town and introduce you to some people you ought to know?"

Since contacts are frequently a journalist's life blood I agreed to this. 

"If we start out about nine o'clock," Martha said, "I'll be able to give you an overall look at the place."

Since my one previous visit to The Hill had been a brief one I thought it would be useful to get a guided tour.

That more or less ended my talk with Martha for that day. She announced that she had work to do, but if I cared to watch television it would not disturb her. I thanked her and said I still had some tidying away to do. 

What I wanted to do was see if my friend the computer had survived the journey without getting upset. When I booted it up it gave me its usual friendly welcome, and after playing with it for some time, and seeing it had come through its excursion without being disturbed, I put it to bed and did likewise for myself.

On the whole it had been a satisfactory day. The only immediate shortcoming was the absence of female comfort, but perhaps that would come to pass in the near future. It might turn out that some of The Hill Saints girls were not quite as virtuous as they were supposed to be. In the meantime I had to deal with my now pressing emotional needs myself.

As I drifted off to sleep I vaguely wondered how Martha would take my bringing a girl into my bed for the occasional night. I dreamt that night of a choir of naked girls singing religious songs.

When I woke in the morning to a strange room for a moment I didn't know where I was. Orienting myself I thought I heard the distant hiss of the shower and then Martha moving around.

I put on my dressing gown and headed to the shower just at Martha was coming out in a state of dishabille, wearing only a night dress that was somewhat more seductive than might be expected in a lady of pious inclinations.

She smiled and said, "Good morning, did you sleep well?" 

"Very well, thank you, and you?"

"Quite well thanks; breakfast as soon as you're ready."

With that morning interchange over she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me with the impression – already formed but now reinforced – of a curvaceous body, and thinking it was a pity she wasn't a few years younger, for if that had been the case my stay in number seven Trafalgar Avenue would have been very interesting.

Over breakfast Martha seemed unexpectedly excited and in a hurry to begin our tour of the city. I couldn't imagine that touring round a city that she must have lived in most of her life could have given rise to this excitement, so I assumed that showing it to me was the cause. This seemed to be confirmed once we started the tour. 

I quickly noticed that Martha seemed to extremely well known around the place and was treated with a sort of friendly deference. We looked at a few of the art galleries and museums, the unexpectedly lavish Arts Centre, the trades hall – a very Victorian building that despite recent redecoration still seemed to be impregnated with the cigarette smoke of past union gatherings – and the Town Hall, also in the nineteenth century style. 

We lunched at a small café and as the afternoon started to fade towards evening, and I began to wilt, trying to keep up with the seemingly indefatigable Martha, she said, "We can take a look at one of the mines some other time, and there's a special one some way out of town I want to show you."

She glanced at her watch and said, "It's getting late, suppose we eat at a restaurant?"

I readily agreed and she pulled the car up in front of the "Star of the East" Indian restaurant.

Without reading the menu properly I order a curry that turned out to be a raging, ferocious fire ball. Martha had ordered a bottle of red wine rather to my surprise since I supposed a lady of religious bent would forswear the demon drink. 

As the tears streamed down my cheeks and my sinuses freed up, I tried to grapple with the demonic curry by drinking copiously of the wine, even ordering a second bottle to try and extinguish the inferno that was me. By the time we finished the meal I was still ablaze and slightly inebriated. The proprietor handed me a small certificate that announced that I had survived the curry ordeal. She went on to say that hardly anyone dared to order that particular curry. 

Arriving home I flopped down into an armchair and proceeded to recover from the trial by fire.

After a while, and feeling a bit better, I found myself taking in the room in a bit more detail. When you first arrive in a place you get a general impression, it's only later you get to the particular.

Martha was sitting in the other armchair reading what looked like some official papers. I wandered over to the desk and noticed a framed photograph of a man. It was a black and white photograph, but from what I could tell he had dark hair, dark eyes, was broad of shoulders and stocky.

Martha must have noticed me looking at the photograph and said, "My husband."

I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but didn't want to appear prying; Martha, however, answered my question without my asking it.

"He was a miner and he got killed."

"How?"

"They brought in a piece of machinery that got the name of being 'The Widow Maker' because so many men got killed using it."

"That's terrible."

"Yes, they don't use it these days." She smiled and went on, "The old miners reckon the men who work in the mines now aren't really miners at all, they're mechanics and drivers. I'm glad those old days are gone. If you go up to the restaurant on the mullock heap they've got a memorial to all the men who died in the mines; there's hundreds of them. Perhaps we can have a meal in the restaurant and I can show you the memorial."

"Yes; they don't serve curry do they?"

It struck me at that moment that Martha seemed to be anticipating that I would be staying with her for some time. My idea had been that number seven was only a staging post on the way to getting a small place of my own. 

Martha interrupted my train of thought. 

"We were only married for a short time before Harry got killed."

"That's very sad, Martha."

"Yes; it wouldn't have been so bad if we'd had a child; at least I would have had..."

She stopped speaking and I thought she was going to cry. I felt a bit embarrassed, especially as Martha did not seem to be the sort of woman who cried easily.

She seemed to recover and continued, "But life goes on and I've busied my self getting involved in local affairs."

I took the risk of overstepping the mark and asked, "How long is it since Harry died?"

"Ten years."

"And you've never thought of..."

"Remarrying? That's what a lot of people ask me, and I ask myself, 'Who could there be after Harry?'"

She sighed and seemed about to cry again, but didn't. "I'm not sure that it's true that there's only one person for you in this life, but I have to admit that Harry was very special in my life. After he died and ever since, I haven't had the heart to get married again."




Flesh and Spirit



I thought of Celia and how I'd seen her as the love of my life; a love and life that had come crashing down. I noted, not for the first time, how thinking of her didn't give me that pain in the guts it once had. What it did do was to remind me of my sexual deprivation and how I'd need to find myself a willing partner.

That led me on to wonder about Martha. Did she have a lover or lovers? Was it true what some people said, that women have a different approach to sex than men? Were they able to more easily manage without sex? From what I'd seen of girls, especially since the advent of the pill, they got as horny as men and could be just as promiscuous.

I shrugged mentally and hoped I'd find a few promiscuous girls at The Hill.

Martha seemed to have said all she wanted to say on the subject of her marriage and widowhood. She rose and said, "How about a cup of tea before bed."

"Fine," I replied. I was to discover that a cup of tea played an important role in Martha's life, and was used to meet every crisis and predicament. 

Chapter 5. And so to Work. 

The next day work began in earnest. Foster had left some material, supposedly ready for the next edition, but to my eyes it was poorly written, so I did some re-writes. 

Ned came in and asked, "Did you move in with Martha?"

"Yes."

"Good...good, I suppose you'll be going with her to the City Council meeting this evening?"

The City Council was my responsibility and I hadn't checked when the meetings took place, but I pretended I did know, but asked, "Does Martha go to the meetings?"

"Of course she does, she's a member of the Council, probably going to be the next mayor – or would it be mayoress – better check that, we've never had woman mayor before." 

He laughed and went on, "When you have a man as mayor his wife becomes the lady mayoress. As Martha's not married you might have to fill in; wonder what we could call you."

He guffawed loudly and started to move away, but changing his mind he came back to me and said, "Don't forget, Martha knows about everything that moves and doesn't move in this town. If a bee stings a dog's backside she knows about it. She's as a good a source of information as you'll find, so stick to her."

"As good as Old Snoop?" I wondered, but kept the thought to myself. 

Sylvia, who had heard our conversation, came across to me. "He's right Greg, Martha knows it if anyone does. I often tap her for information; she's a formidable lady.

"Yes," I thought, "she does seem to know how to take over."

I learned more about her formidableness that evening as I sat through the City Council meeting taking notes. 

Much of it was quite dreary until they came to the subject of speed humps in Florence Nightingale Avenue. Councillor X proposed that humps be placed in the avenue. Councillor Y pointed out that Councillor X lived in the avenue and that this was the upmarket part of the city and as usual the rich got what they wanted before...etc.

Councillor X pointed to the dangers to the children in the avenue and the speeding cars. Councillor Y pointed out that there were hardly any children living in the avenue and there were other streets that did have a large numbers of children, and in any case the only vehicles that went down the avenue were those of the residents.

Councillor X got angry and asked if Councillor Y was suggesting that he, Councillor X, was engaging in an exercise of self-interest and trying to use undue influence. Councillor Y said, "Yes I bloody well am," and the chamber went into riot mode with the mayor trying to restore order. 

At this point Martha rose to her feet and said, "If it is a matter of self-interest I should point out that Councillor Y managed to get the new children's playground constructed on the vacant block on the corner of his street, and he hadn't raised his voice when his brother got the contract to construct it."

"Here, here," cried Councillor X, and Martha went on the point out that, "Councillor X had remained curiously silent when his daughter, who was singularly unqualified for the job, was made assistant to the City CEO.

The chamber lapsed into silence apart from the clearing of throats, and the mayor suggested that the matter of speed humps be left over until the next meeting. "In the meantime we can ask for a report on the traffic flow through Florence Nightingale Avenue."

There was a general cry of "Here, here," and without any decision as to who should make the report they passed on to the next business. 

During the drive home I commented on the matter of the speed humps and Martha laughed. 

"It didn't really have anything to do with speed humps; it's just that those two hate each other."

"Why's that?"

"Ah well, Councillor Y found out that Councillor X was having and affair with his wife. Councillor X went off and told Councillor Y's wife and then all hell broke loose. Now, whatever one of them proposes in Council the other one opposes. It's a matter of principle with them. You'll see a lot of that."

It wasn't exactly the flood, fire, famine, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and wars of the Daily, but I thought I did have a story.

As we drank our late night cup of tea Martha asked if I'd like to go on Saturday and see the unusual mine that she'd previously mentioned. I said "Fine," and so to bed after the doubtful excitement of the City Council meeting.

Over the next few days I started to pick up the details of my new job. I found that it not only covered events in the city, but took in the areas beyond. This mainly amounted to news about the state of the countryside as it affected the pastoralists who ran cattle; would rain come to break the current drought? If it did come would it cause floods and would the nearly depleted city reservoirs be adequately replenished?

Friday evening Martha warned me to wear only old clothes for our visit to the mine since it would be very cramped and dirty.

Next morning I put on my oldest jeans and T-shirt and found Martha similarly clad, only her jeans and shirt seemed to mould to her buxom figure more elegantly than mine did to me.

We drove out to the mine just in time to join a party of tourists about to descend to its depths. We were equipped with hardhats that had lights attached to them, and the guy conducting the tour looked at me and grinned.

"What do you know about Cornish miners?" he asked. 

"I knew what he was getting at and replied, "They were short and stocky." 

"That's right, so what does that tell you?"

"I'm in a lot of trouble." I'm over six feet tall.

He grinned again, and the led the way down into the mine. 

The opening was little more than a hole in the ground with some steps carved into the clay. We only got in a few metres when three or four tourists fled back up to the surface.

It was narrow and with little headroom and it had no props. It was pointed out that this was a technique used by Cornish miners; the walls and roof of the mine was self-supporting. I prayed that this was true – that it was self-supporting. 

We had to duck and crawl most of the time and Martha was just ahead of me. In the light of the lamp on my helmet I could see her firm buttocks, her jeans stretched tight over them as she negotiated the various obstacles. I had a vision of what lay beneath the cloth of her jeans, and thought – if you will pardon my crudity – "I'd like to have her crying on the end of my prick."

I decided this was a vain hope, and in any case we had come to the end of the tunnel. We crouched there as the guide told us about the silver that had been extracted and how it had been the first mine in the area. Then he asked us to switch off our lamps, so as to experience total darkness. 

It was the darkest dark I'd ever known and eerie. I pictured those early miners working in what was no more than a hole in the ground, their only illumination being candles. I didn't envy them.

We turned our lamps on again and returned to the surface by a different route, and I was damned glad to see the sun again and breathe the open air.

It had been an interesting visit, made even more interesting for seeing Martha from, as it were, a new perspective. 

There was a rough sort of restaurant on the site so we ate a simple lunch there, and then made our way to the remains of a small town nearby. This, like the mine, had been the first community to be established in that area, but now little remained of it. Among the places that were still in use was a pub, museum and two or three art galleries that were occupied by some solitude seeking artists. 

The other significant occupants was a herd of camels that wandered about the place, the descendants of the long ago means of transport used in the region, and now left to themselves. They plodded around just as they felt like it.

"We'll take a look at one of the big mines some other time," Martha said. 

"What about tomorrow?" I asked.

She looked at me reproachfully and said, "Tomorrow is the Lord's Day."

Those firm buttocks were almost erased from my memory to be replaced by the stern Sabbatarian. 

We drove home and Martha set about preparing and evening meal. While she was doing this I worked on my computer, writing up some of my stories for the Weekly.

Saturday night, and if I'd been in the city I would probably have gone to one of the city night clubs and raged on until the early hours. Not that I'd done much raging since Celia's departure from my life. I knew that The Hill abounded in clubs, but they were not the haunts of youth like the city clubs where dope, booze and loud music prevailed; they were more the gathering places of families.

I thought about this, but oddly found myself not really missing the old haunts as much as I thought I would. I was actually looking forward to a quiet evening with Martha. Was I growing up at last?

And quiet it certainly was. Martha sat at her computer apparently performing complex miracles of accounting on the Excel programme. I had been warned not to disturb her when she was working, so my first idea was to go to my room and watch television on my portable set. I changed my mind about this; I somehow felt I didn't want to be isolated from Martha so it was agreed that I could watch television in the lounge as long as I used an earplug or headset for the sound.

I'd not been an avid television watcher ever since I'd become a teenager, and now I found the stuff on offer was stupid – inane. I switched off and another miracle took place. I selected a book from Martha's considerable library, and started to read. I got so engrossed in the story that I was taken by surprised when Martha announced, "Tea's ready."

I reluctantly put the book down. We talked over the day and I assured Martha that I'd enjoyed it, and boldly added that I'd enjoyed her company. The Sabbatarian image had faded again and the firm buttocks had been restored.

This change reversed itself again when Martha said, "The Lord's Day tomorrow and church; good night." 

All very confusing. 

She went off to bed and I followed her example, taking the book with me. I must have gone to sleep still reading it because when I woke next morning it was lying beside the pillow.

Chapter 6. A Wet Sunday Afternoon. 

I got out of bed. A shower and then I had to make a decision about what to wear for the occasion. Remembering the adults attending church in my childhood I decided that my suit with collar and tie were appropriate, but when I saw Martha I wondered if I had miscalculated.

She seemed to favour the sort of garment I had first seen her in; loose fitting. I don't know if she was self-conscious about her buxom figure and was trying to conceal it, but if that was her intention, she failed, and a damned good job too.

The knee length white dress she was wearing, like the first one I had seen her in, had that tantalising tendency to hang from the points of her breasts. Added to this was the fact that when wearing this sort of garment she never wore bras. If anything is calculated to stir a guy up, it is the sight of firm female mammary glands moving tauntingly beneath thin cloth as if mocking him and daring him to touch them.

I did my best to put on a going-to-church face and hide the erection Martha had inspired; with what success I'm not sure because Martha kept looking at me as if she knew what she doing to me and was enjoying it.

"It's going to be a scorching day," she commented, "don't you think you're a bit overdressed for it? We're not very formal at church, you know."

I took that to be a signal that I could wear something less strangulating, so I went back to my room and changed into a pair of grey slacks and a white open necked shirt. 

The time came, and sighing inwardly as I anticipated an hour of boredom, I drove with Martha to the church.

I was somewhat taken aback when we entered the church. As Martha had said, their dress was not very formal; in fact nearly everybody seemed to be casually dressed. The people were not sitting in straight neat rows, as I remembered them from childhood. They sat in a semi-circle and out the front a group of white clad young people were gyrating and singing, accompanied by a pianist and a small band. The music seemed to a sort of soft rock.

"Hill Saints Youth Choir and band," Martha informed me. 

Soon the congregation were singing along, clapping and stamping their feet in time to the music. 

When the gathering seemed to have reached fever pitch a man and a woman made an appearance. I had no idea how they arrived, they just appeared, rather like the demon king through a trapdoor on a stage.

"Our Pastor and his wife," Martha said.

They wore no ecclesiastical robes, both being clad in jeans and T-shirts. Having arrived they began to regale us with all that "The Lord has done for us."

After a while people in the congregation began to cry out in a way unintelligible to me, but the Pastor's wife seemed to know what they meant.

"Our bother has just told us that the Lord is great."

There were cries of "Alleluia" and "Praise the Lord," from the congregation.

"Our sister has told us that Jesus saves."

The cries were repeated, and so it went on until the choir sang again. After that, and to my amazement, Martha got up and went to the front. There she sang in a beautiful contralto voice, "Nobody Know the Trouble I've Seen." When she finished there was more stamping and clapping.

She came back to her seat beside me, her face flushed and eyes glittering. Interspersed with all this were brief prayers that seemed to consist of thanks for this and that addressed to "Father."

Things seemed to rise to a crescendo, and then the pastor addressed the gathering.

"I'm going to say a few things about the Holy Spirit this morning." The "few things" seemed to spin out into many things, and with each of his declarations the cries of "Alleluia" and "Thank you Jesus," burst forth.

To a boy brought up with a traditional religious background it was both bewildering and entertaining, and when I felt that about half an hour had passed I glanced at my watch and discovered it had been and hour and a half.

The speaker ended and there were more choruses. The emotions of the congregation seemed to rise to fever pitch. Beside me I could feel Martha trembling with what I supposed was religious fervour. There was another climax, a blessing was said, and gradually, with hugs and kisses all round, the congregation began to disperse.

It had almost been like an orgasmic experience. First the love play and the working up to full arousal, then the moment of climax followed by the descent from the height of excitation down to relative peace and tranquillity. 

I say "relative peace and tranquillity," because that was the state most of the congregation seemed to be in as they chatted and dispersed, but not Martha. She seemed to be agitated – charged up.

As we emerged from the building the day, as Martha had predicted, had grown hot, but it had become clammy as well. Looking at the horizon I could see dark clouds gathering and heard the distant rumble of thunder. 

"Let's get home before the storm breaks," Martha said, so we made our way to the car, Martha clinging to my arm. She was still trembling and her face was glowing. She seemed to be little like the Martha I had come to know over the past few days.

When we arrived back at the house Martha had still not simmered down. Once inside she seemed unable to keep still and as she busied herself making tea I could see her hands shaking. In the meantime the humidity in the atmosphere had risen still further and it was a bit like being in a Turkish bath. 

I was sweating and could see the beads of perspiration on Martha's brow. With such weather conditions you might suppose that lethargy rather than activity would be in order, but not so with Martha; she continued with her almost frenetic activity, moving about doing seemingly pointless jobs.

She turned on a rather antediluvian air conditioner, but it was of such a type that although it might have brought the temperature down, it only added to the already nigh on insufferable humidity.

Concerned for Martha I asked, "Are you all right?" 

She looked at me, her eyes bright, their pupils dilated. 

"Yes, I feel wonderful, alive, energised. That's the effect the church service often has on me, it seems to stir up a wonderful vitality; I feel full of love and ...and...I want to give."

It had begun to grow darker, and glancing through the window I saw that the storm clouds were almost overhead, covering the sun. There were vivid flashes of lightening, and the thunder that had been a distant rumble when we came out of church, was now crashing around the house.

"Didn't you feel it," Martha asked, "the...the spiritual awakening."

"Well, it was certainly very lively and entertaining."

"Lively and entertaining." she protested, "didn't you feel the power of the spirit?"

"I...I...well I felt something."

"It says in the Bible that God "Will pour out" his "spirit on all flesh," Martha murmured.

"Does it...er...yes of course it does." 

"Spirit and flesh," Martha went on in a slightly dreamy tone of voice. "Men and women are supposed to become one spirit and one flesh, do you believe that?"

I had seated myself in one of the armchairs, Martha sitting on the divan opposite me. She had hitched up her dress so that I could see her thighs and that, together with her talk about "flesh," seemed to make the situation very seductive. 

Despite the debilitating humidity I had a very definite longing for some female flesh; specifically at that moment, Martha's flesh. To be even more specific, that delectable flesh that resided at the top of her thighs just beyond my vision.

In answer to her question about men and women becoming one spirit and flesh, and mentally setting aside the spirit aspect, I replied, "Yes...yes...I'm sure that's right."

No doubt hypocritically I said a silent prayer, "God, let me become one flesh with Martha this afternoon."

I'm not convinced that God answers prayers, especially prayers of the sort I'd just prayed, but as if in response to my silent supplication Martha patted the divan and said, "Why are you sitting over there? Come and sit beside me, I won't eat you."

I got up and on legs that felt as if they could hardly support me I crossed to her and sat. I drank some of my tea, trying to dislodge what felt like a lump in my throat, as Martha continued.

"You know, Greg, I think we sometimes deny the flesh too much, don't you?"

I don't think I had denied my flesh; it had been a case of my being denied female flesh by no choice of my own, but deciding it might be profitable to go along with Martha I said, "Yes...yes...I suppose we do."

"I think that denying the flesh is an affront to God."




Flesh and Spirit



I wasn't at all sure about her theology and biblical interpretation, but I was sure I was trembling with overstretched emotions and croaked, "Yes, I suppose it is." I failed to point out that priests, monks and nuns were supposed to deny certain aspects of the flesh.

Martha seemed to pick up on my train of thought saying, "There are some people who are destined to deny the flesh, to be celibate, but not me; how about you?"

"No...no...I'm sure I'm not destined to be celibate M-M-Martha."

I could feel her, like me, trembling, and I was not blind to what was going on inside her. The dilated pupils of her eyes, and now the obviously hardened nipples that pressed against the cloth of her dress, and that indefinable but almost physically tangible female sensuality she exuded were sending out clear signals.

I wanted to kiss her, to reach out and touch her breasts, but we were at that pivotal point where only the boldest dare to risk rejection and make the move that might or might not lead to bliss. 

My penis was erect, my body at screaming point in its need to find release from what Martha would no doubt call, "The demands of the flesh." Everything about both of us was clearly in readiness for the great act of physical union between man and woman, and there we were, hanging between heaven and hell. One of us had to make a move, and I frankly admit I hadn't the courage.

It was Martha who said and did what was needed. She was looking at me intently; her tongue flickered across her lips and she laid her hand on my thigh.

"I don't think we should deny the flesh, do you," she asked in a hoarse voice.

"N-n-no."

She waited no longer. She kissed me, and such a kiss; hungrily, her lips warm, soft and moist, tongue probing, thrusting and exploring. Then in a voice husky with emotion she said, "For God's sake make love with me, Greg."

There was no foreplay apart from the kiss, no waiting. She lay back pulling up her dress and spread her legs wide to expose her gateway to heaven. I saw that she was not only braless, but was wearing no panties. It only occurred to me later that Martha must have planned this moment even before we had gone to church. 

I pulled down the zip of my slacks and without waiting to remove them I lay over her and guided by her hand entered that place of sweet joy.

At the first touch of her warm moistness I groaned with ecstasy. Martha whimpered, "Oh Greg...Greg."

She was very soft and wet as I thrust down into her and when my full length was in her she flexed her vaginal muscle, wrenching another groan from me.

"Do it to me hard, Greg, hard..."

Even before I entered her I had been on the verge of ejaculating, and once in her I hadn't the strength to hold back. Within seconds of entering that warm, sucking paradise, I ejaculated.

The storm that still raged outside the house was lost to my consciousness as the storm of my outpouring took command. I pumped weeks of frustration into Martha along with my seed, and as I was nearing completion Martha gave a sudden convulsive heave, cried out, "Oh my God...Greg...oh darling...no...no...oh no...aaah...yes...yes...oh God...yeooh..."

She pulsated under me, her legs wound round me, her fingers digging into my back as she gave way to an outburst of weeping. I had got my wish to have her "Crying on the end of my prick." 

The tension was flowing out of my limbs as I felt Martha relax under me. I became conscious of the world around me again. The lightening and thunder seemed to have passed into the distance, but the rain still drummed down on the roof. 

Martha looked up at me and whispered, "The drought is over my love." 

Whether she was referring to the drought that had gripped the countryside for some time, or the drought that had been my sex life, and hers too apparently, I didn't know, and at that moment didn't care.

She went on talking dreamily; "I usually feel like this after attending the service in the church, it gets me so worked up and excited."

I didn't know what to respond to that so I said nothing as she went on, "It's the way I like to spend Sunday afternoons."

I found my voice and asked, "Do you mean you often do this on Sunday afternoons?"

"I used to when young Fletcher was here."

"Oh, really," then deciding to push a bit further I asked, "What about Foster?"

She laughed, causing my penis to jerk her vagina; "Him? God no, that was the trouble you see, he's gay. That's one of the reasons why we never really got on well."

"Is...is that why you take in lodgers?" I asked.

"It wasn't at first. What I wanted was someone around the place for a bit of company, but when I saw young Fletcher was interested...well, 'Why not?' I thought. 'There's no harm in it.' Yes, Foster was a great disappointment, but when you came along and I could see you wanted me, well...now suppose we stop talking for a while and go and shower and then we might be more comfortable in bed."

I thought she had a good idea since we were both drenched in sweat, and our groins were displaying all the results of our exchanged bodily fluids.

I rolled off her and she got up, and on slightly unsteady legs made her way to the shower. I heard the hiss of the shower and lay back on the divan contemplating the situation.

"Greg, my boy," I told myself, "I think you've struck gold here – or more in keeping with the local scene, silver. She's quite a bit older than you, but she's got all the necessary qualities and equipment, plus I get a bit of motherly care and some useful information for the newspaper. This, I told myself, is about as ideal as it gets."

I felt a sense of gratitude to Fletcher for having broken the ground for me in advance, and in some ways even felt grateful to Foster since I suspected that he had raised Martha's frustration level to the point where it had been easy for me.

Another thought occurred to me; "I didn't realise that religion could have this effect, I'll have to take it more seriously in future."

Martha came back into the room stark naked and looking absolutely delectable.

"I could eat you," I said.

"Don't worry, you will," she replied. "Now go and have a shower and we can spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. I can't think of a better place to spend a wet Sunday afternoon."

We spent not only a wet Sunday afternoon in bed, but Sunday evening and night. By the early hours of Monday morning exhaustion had set in and we slept.

The afternoon began as Martha had promised, with me eating her – or at least part of her. Once in bed and with me lying luxuriously on my back, Martha opened the game by saying, "We'd better get to know each other properly."

She began by sitting astride me, my length wedged between the lips of her vulva. I could feel the wetness as she rubbed herself against me. The she proceeded to work her way along my body, wriggling her sex organ over me leaving a trail of lubricant. Then she was lowering her vagina to my mouth murmuring, "You'd better get used to the taste because you'll be getting a lot of it."

I'd experienced giving oral sex to women before – in fact most of them insist on it – but had never really enjoyed the taste and smell. With Martha it was different. She smelt of roses and tasted like a mixture of vinegar and honey, a mixture my mother used to give me because she said, "It's good for you."

Martha's mixture did me a lot of good since despite my already horny condition she aroused me to fever pitch. For a while she went wild, clutching my head to her and screaming and weeping, and then, almost before I knew it, she had my penis in her mouth, sucking hard.

She didn't really need to suck because I was at explosion point, and let go a flood of sperm into her mouth. After that there was kissing, and yet another way of exchanging bodily fluids, but in reverse order since I tasted myself and she tasted her self. 

Once that was over I contended myself with sucking on her ripe nipples until I got horny again. They tasted good too.

Now apart from mythological sexual athletes it must be generally conceded that the male has a limited range, whereas many females seem to be able to go on interminably. Martha was one of those types, but she did have some degree of compassion. When my supply of semen seemed to dry up she was content if I fondled her breasts, sucked her nipples and/or played with her clitoris.

By these means she seemed capable of having endless orgasms whereas over the ten hours of our actual contact I was only able to ejaculate into her four times. She literally set up a mental scoreboard and announced around midnight, "Greg four, Fletcher three and Foster nil."

I don't often win at games, but I seem to have won that game.

Chapter 7. Spanner in the Works. 

I had the further satisfaction that on waking up I managed to give her another dose of semen. She said she liked to start the day properly, but Fletcher had not been a morning type, so I was yet another one up on him.

Yes, I had struck it lucky. All the home comforts at very little cost and I hardly ever had to make my bed since I spent my nights in Martha's comfortable bed and her equally comfortable embraces.

The weeks and months passed and Sundays at church in the morning and in bed with Martha in the afternoons became a never wearisome ritual. I even began to find that the Sunday morning services had a very positive effect on my sexual appetite, effectively enabling me to keep up with Martha's seemingly limitless desire for gratification.

I read a book recently in which the writer claimed there is a strong link between religious fervour and sexual drive. Strange that, because I'd always thought the opposite was the case, but now practical experience had demonstrated the truth of the writer's claims.

Despite my initial negative feelings about The Hill and the Weekly I now felt as if I had arrived in a comfortable harbour. 

As far as the Weekly was concerned my access to information via Martha gave me a constant stream of material. I also established a good relationship with Old Snoop; this was done by the purchase of beer for him. He had a fund of the more sleazy rumours that went around – always grist to a journalist's mill - and acted as a supplement to Martha's more polite information. 

Martha added yet another dimension to my work at the Weekly in that she knew far more about art, music and drama than I did, and most of the reviews on these matters really came from Martha.

Ned, who rarely gave praise, declared himself on a number of occasions as satisfied with my work, so I seemed to be sailing along very nicely.

Perhaps you have noticed that God, gods, nature or whatever it is seems to have built something into the human situation. What I mean is that just when everything is going along nicely, someone of something drops a spanner into the works. 

One such spanner had been Celia, but of course, I had long overcome that disruption. Now, just at the moment when I thought all was well, the unknown force, power or whatever it is decided to drop not one, but two spanners into my works.

I had been with the Weekly for about fourteen months when these spanners – one non-adjustable the other adjustable, fell from on high. 

The non-adjustable one came via Martha. It was during one of our times of Sunday afternoon conviviality. 

Martha, in a state of apparent euphoria said, "Well you've done it, Greg."

"What?"

"You've done what Harry and Fletcher couldn't do."

"Ah." I thought she was referring to some superlative act of sexual acrobatics I had unknowingly performed. I was quite pleased with myself at being not only ahead of Fletcher on points, but even the beloved Harry.

Not sure exactly what this feat of sexual gymnastics had been I asked, "What is it that you liked?"

"You've made me pregnant."

I thought at first she was joking, so I said in jocular fashion, "Well I've tried hard enough."

Martha did not seem to pick up my jocose tone and went on, "Yes, I'd hoped but didn't really expect it to happen."

It was then I realised she was being serious. 

"You mean you really are pregnant...that you're going to have a baby?"

"Yes."

My world seemed to go into a spin for a couple of minutes. This was a spanner alright, and a non-adjustable one.

When I started to come out of the gyrations Martha was talking.

"What's the matter, Greg, you've gone quite pale, aren't you feeling well?"

"Martha...baby...pregnant...bit of shock."

"Ah, so that's it, you didn't expect to be a daddy." She laughed and went on, "Silly boy, I'm not asking you to take any responsibility. I know that you won't be here for ever and having the baby is what I want. I'm just grateful it's happened."

"You are? But you can't...I mean...not on your own..."

"Don't be so stupid, Greg, I managed before you came on the scene and I'll manage after you've gone, so cheer up and let's get on and enjoy ourselves."

I wasn't in the mood to "enjoy" myself in the way Martha meant. I was bewildered, never thinking that Martha could get pregnant. My sole consolation was that Martha seemed to be happy about it, but it wasn't consolation enough. Our Sunday high jinks were over for the day because despite Martha's best efforts I couldn't get another erection.

Over the next few days I continued in a state of temporary impotence as I tried to come to terms with the situation. I'm not trying to present myself as a virtuous male, but I had the feeling I couldn't just walk away from Martha and what was on the way.

It was just over a week when the next spanner dropped. On the Tuesday morning Ned called me into the office.

"I've 'ad enquiry from the Daily about you," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes; they've just sacked young Foster."

"Ah."

"Mmm; they want ter know how you've been gettin' along 'ere."

"I see."

"Do yer? Point is, young Greg, if I tell 'em you're doin' okay yer know what they'll want."

"No, what?"

"They'll want yer back at the Daily."

"Will they?"

"Yers, so what der you want son?"

This was the adjustable spanner. "Er...what do you want, Ned?"

"Don't piss me about, Greg. If I tell 'em yer doin' fine they'll have yer back in the city. Is that what yer want?"

"I don't know, Ned."

He raised his eyes heavenwards; "Gawd, young blokes never know what they do want. I can put off tellin' 'em fer a couple of days, so for Gawd's sake make up yer mind. Now clear off and do some work."

Martha pregnant, and now this; I didn't know what to do. I used the only recourse that seemed to be open to me and that evening talked to Martha about it. She was about as helpful as Ned.

I opened up the subject saying, "Martha, they might be wanting me back in the city, on the Weekly."

"Well that's wonderful for you Greg."

"What about you, Martha?"

"Me...what about me."

"Well...you're pregnant and I'm..."

"I told you Greg, it's got nothing to do with you; it was me who wanted the baby. Anyway, by the sound of it you might be gone soon."

"Martha, it has got something to do with me, I put it...I mean it was me who...anyway, do you want me to go?"

"It's not up to me, Greg; it has to be your choice."

"But Martha, if I decided to stay would we..."

"No Greg, it's your choice so don't ask me to decide for you."

"Martha I..."

"No, you're not a kid Greg, so be man enough to make your own decisions just as I made mine regarding the baby. I'm grateful to you for giving it to me, but I'm not your keeper or your mother to make decisions for you."

Blocked off by both Ned and Martha I felt angry and frustrated. In a pique I didn't join Martha in bed that night, but slept in my own room. When I say "sleep," I mean I lay there trying to work out what I was going to do.

The nub of the matter was not the Weekly or the Daily, but Martha, and by extension the baby. 

It came down to two possibilities: 

If I decided to go back to the Daily, and given what Martha had said, I would probably never see her again, and never see the baby at all.

If I decided to stay with the Weekly, there were still not guarantee that my relationship with Martha would continue indefinitely, or that she would acknowledge me as the father of her child.

There appeared to be all sorts of other questions and is seemed neither Ned nor Martha were going to help me decide. 

There was of course the question of how I felt about Martha, quite apart from her pregnancy. What did I want with and from her? Life had been good with her; that mixture of her being my lover and informant with a dash of the maternal thrown in had suited me. Was there any more to it than that?

Chapter 8. Decision Time. 

When at breakfast I met up with Martha I might have wanted to rethink the maternal aspect. She was remote, and I suspected that she was angry because I had absented my self from her bed. 

The day had not started well, and it didn't get any better when I went into see Ned. Like Martha he seemed bent on not giving me any help in deciding on what after all was my future.

His face gave nothing away as he asked, "Well young Greg have yer made up yer mind?"

I'm not as convinced as Martha about divine inspiration, but in that moment something seemed to take hold of me. Very slowly and deliberately I said, "I want you to give them a negative report about me."

Ned's face broke into a grin. "Want to stay with the Weekly do you?"

"Yes, and The Hill."

He eyed me shrewdly for a few moments then said, "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain city councillor as well, would it?"

I felt my face flush, and Ned, seeing this said, "You don't need to answer that, son. I'm glad you've decided to stay, and...and I hope it works out well for you."

He gave me a wicked looking wink, and said, "Go on, clear out and do something for the paper."

I left his office feeling that I'd come out of some dark cavern into the light. I knew what I wanted. 

When I got home that evening I was in a forceful mood. Martha had just started to prepare the evening meal, but I said, "Martha, I've got something important to say to you, will you come and sit down?"

She left the preparations and sat in an armchair; I sat opposite her.

Like Ned in the morning her face gave nothing away about what she was thinking and feeling. There was no point in prevaricating so I came straight to the point.

"I'm staying with the Weekly, Martha."

"I see."

"I want to stay with you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to...and because I love you."

"You're sure of what you're saying?"

"I've never been surer of anything in my life. Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes."

"Then why the hell didn't you say so last night. You could have..."

"No I couldn't. It had to be your decision, Greg. I wasn't going to blackmail you over the baby or...or with sex, or anything else. I knew that what you had to decide was not only between the Weekly and the Daily; I knew it was also a decision about staying with me or leaving."

"So, I've decided to stay. Can we extend that to our getting married?"

"I'm a lot older than you."

"I didn't ask about your age, I asked if you'll marry me."

"Being very male and masterful, aren't you."

Taking a leaf out of Ned's book I said, "Don't piss me around, Martha, yes or no?"

"If you're going to use that sort of language then I've a good mind to say no."

"I'll reform."

"Then yes. Kiss me."

I kissed her and suggested that she didn't bother with any more preparation for a meal and that we went to a restaurant. "I'll choose the curry carefully," I promised.

Chapter 9. The Last Word. 

It was about three months later and I was bribing Old Snoop in the pub with a beer when he asked, "Words out Martha Tregilgas has got a bun in the oven, you live with 'er; any idea who put it in 'er?"




Flesh and Spirit



I grinned at him and said, "You're supposed to give me the gossip, not the other way around. It'll cost you a beer.

Reluctantly he paid for a round, no doubt anticipating he would be able to draw interest on what I told him.

"Now then Snoop," I said, getting confidential with him, "I won't tell you who, but I'll give you a strong hint."

"I didn't buy yer a beer just to get an 'int."

"Well it's all you are going to get." 

He sighed, exhaling beery breath. "What then?"

"There's a wedding at The Hill Saints Church on Saturday afternoon."

"So what?"

"Be there and you'll find out." 



Flesh and Thieves



ALL CHARACTERS IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS ARE OVER 18.

Characters are fictional.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Copyright © belongs to MJ Roberts, 2014. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission from the author. 

I actually spend many, many hours each day writing and editing, in the hopes to bring you the best material I possibly can. This one is just a very short one for you. Hope you enjoy.

*****

If people really knew me, some of them might not be too fond of me, considering my line of work is theft and murder.

But really, it's always best to know someone before you judge.

Today, I was lying in the underbrush, flat on my stomach, in full camouflage. Granted, I don't look as good in green as I do in black. And Colombia is not my favorite place.

But I only take jobs were I know justice is served, and my client is on the side of the righteous. Which is why I'm here. In the mud. Looking through my binoculars.

I hear a twig snap. It's very quiet, but it brings all my senses to alert. Fuck! There shouldn't be anybody out here on this ledge looking over the compound.

I hold my breath. I can hear breathing and steps. Very quiet. A man. A big man. He stops maybe a few steps from me. I'm still holding my breath.

My first thought is that he's a guard. The rich bastard I'm trying to case out is a major player in the drug and art world. He wouldn't be on my radar if he hadn't stolen from my client. But now that he did, and he was in my sights, I would have to take care of business.

I was under a bush. There was a possibility the guard could be almost on top of me and not see me. Men rarely look down. Typically they expect trouble to come from their own height.

I'm still holding my breath, but I'm going to have to breathe soon. I'm waiting for him to wander off. That's the thing about guards. They are always walking their rotation.

He doesn't walk away.

In fact, he's not walking at all.

I take a very shallow breath. So far, he still doesn't notice me. But what worries me now, is the absence of sound. Guards have no reason to be so quiet. They are always making some noise and not realizing it. Playing with a lighter, humming softly, talking to themselves, fingering their guns.

Not this guy.

In fact, it's so silent, for a second I wonder if maybe it was an animal that made that small snap.

I breathe in through my nose, very quietly, all my senses focused on smell.

And I do smell something.

Testosterone.

Lots of it.

Oh shit.

Not an animal. Not a guard.

What the fuck?

I calm myself, picturing a mandala drawn by Buddhist monks. 

Not an animal. Not a guard.

An assassin.

Well, I have a certain respect for those.

He moves closer. I sense him. He's still making virtually no noise.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He's looking for the very best vantage point.

And I'm in it.

Oh crap.

But I have one thing he doesn't. The element of surprise.

Until he whispers, "So. You just going to hang out there, or are you going to introduce yourself?"

So much for the element of surprise.

"You smell great by the way," he says.

I part the bush and tall grass and find myself looking at green fabric tucked into combat boots.

I look up. Way up. Broad, clean shaven, square jaw, intense piercing grey eyes; very handsome.

I make my voice ridiculously sexy, "Care for a little bush?"

He laughs, but it's silent. Movement of his face. He squats down next to me and gives me serious eyes.

"Yes," he says, in a voice that's very, very deep.

I scoot over, away from him, and he crawls under the small opening in the bush until he is lying right next to me, his left shoulder pressed against my right. In some circumstances this might bother me, but I'm naturally a lefty. I can shoot just as well, or better, from my left side.

We are silent for a moment.

"Are you here to kill the mark?" I ask.

"No," he says, and the way he says it I can tell he's telling the truth. "I'm here to retrieve something that appears to be misplaced."

"So am I," I say.

He smiles broadly. He raises one eyebrow. I shrug one shoulder.

"Absolutely," he says. Just like that, we've agreed to work together.

We are silent again. He takes out his binoculars, and hands them to me. I'm immediately impressed and envious. And grateful. I've seen these binoculars on-line and salivated over them. They cost $3,000.

I look through them. They are better than mine. I can see the details on children's faces playing in the courtyard. I can get a very good look at the security pad to the right of the side door. I know that system. Not bad. Not good, but not bad.

I hand the binoculars back to Mr. Big.

He looks through.

"Have you worked that system before?" he whispers.

I nod.

"Live?"

I nod again.

I look at him. He mouths 'only in practice'.

So I'll be the one to break in. 

We lie there for about four hours. The sun sets. Dinner time comes and goes. We watch the rhythms of the compound.

"I'm going to go, and come back at three," I whisper. "You in?"

He nods. 

I move to get up. He does not.

"You going to wait?" I whisper.

He nods.

"Meet you here then," I say.

I step over him to get out, and disappear into the night. I hike back to my car. I drive back to my hotel, three towns over. I go to my room, check all the footage from my surveillance cameras, and settle in for a nap.

Despite the surprise appearance of Mr. Big, I have a feeling this job will go smoothly. I wonder what he is retrieving. 

It starts to rain as I drive back. I consider this a very good sign.

Mr. Big is exactly where I left him.

I'm dressed in my blacks, with my work pack. I jerk my head toward the compound and he follows me. 

I'm happy for the cool mist landing on my face. Less people wander out in the rain.

Fifteen foot jump off the surrounding wall. I just free-fall jump it, I'm a pretty good jumper, and it's on to dirt. He jumps behind me. I hear him land, a quiet thump, surprisingly quiet for a guy his size.

I run to the first hut, and hide on the far side, blending in to the shadows. A second later he is beside me. He's very good: if I weren't aware of him in every molecule of my body, I wouldn't know he was there.

I sprint to the main building. Take out my grappling hook, get a good grip on the roof on the first throw. I shimmy up, fast. I'm a very good climber. Mr. Big is right behind me. Who is this guy?

Up and over the lip of the flat roof. Run across the roof. Pause at the roof access door. 

Security pad time. I quickly get my tools out. Mr. Big puts his back to me, so he's literally got my back. I see he has a large weapon out. Nice. I've never worked with a partner; it's nice to know no one will come up on me unawares.

Unless Mr. Big has plans for me.

We're in. I head to the bedroom. I know from the plans I bought that the safe room is behind the bedroom, I'm going to have to go through it to get there.

Mr. Big taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and look at him. He points to himself, and points downstairs.

I furrow my brows. What he wants is downstairs?

I point to myself, and point toward the bedroom. He nods and sprints off, making absolutely no sound.

How can a guy who weighs, what, 225? 250? Make no sound. Yes, the floors are carpeted but still. I watch him go. He's still wearing his combat boots. He disappears.

Impressive.

Who is this guy?

I look at my own feet. I'm wearing black ballet slippers. Footwear of champions. I run to the bedroom. In, two sleeping bodies. Not a single breath or sound from me. Super fast tip-toe across. Phew. Now, in the alcove. Very, very high security vault room door. Ugh, ugh. Come on baby, come on, come on. In.

I look around in the vault room. Holy shit. Somebody has been a very naughty boy.

There's enough jewels and gold to run a small country.

I take only what I've been commissioned to retrieve: the heirloom tiara, matching three-tiered necklace, and earrings.

Out of the vault. Not breathing. Through the bedroom. Out of the bedroom. Run across the hall. Roof.

Ah, fresh air. Holy shit! Someone's on the roof! Oh. Mr. Big. He's waiting for me, making sure I don't need a save. He's got his weapon out, searching all over.

I nod. He takes a running leap and disappears over the edge.

Who is... never mind.

I run after him.

He's out of sight when I land.

I disengage the grappling hook, stuff it in my pack. I see him, he's rolling over the top edge of the compound wall. How did he scale that wall?

I run flat out. In a few seconds I'm there. I go to open my back. A thin, sturdy, black rope drops right in front of my nose. I grab it. I start to climb, but he's pulling me up. I basically just run up the wall as he pulls.

Over.

Right into his arms.

Holy shit.

He retracts the rope, staring right into my face. I feel the rope slide by me, and for one second I think he's going to tie me up with it. The last of it slides by my waist with a fast little snap, it whips me a tiny lash in the ass, and it's gone.

Big smile from the guy. A blinding flash of whiteness in the darkness.

Then he turns and runs.

I follow him.

I'm running and pumping for all I'm worth. I'm five foot five. I'm a great jumper, a good climber, a damn good gymnast, contortionist, thief, and sleuth. But I'll never be a great distance runner. And Mr. Big has about an entire foot of height on me, maybe more. That's a lot of leg stretch.

I can't see him.

After about a mile, I actually run right by him. He grabs me by the waist, and sweeps me into his arms to stop me.

I'm breathing hard.

"Ride?" he asks, pointing behind him. Camouflage jeep. So well camouflaged I missed it.

I nod. He doesn't let me down for a second. Then he slowly slides me down his body.

Oh fuck. It's been a long time since I've been with a man. I can't remember how long. And my adrenaline is running high. 

He's still got a hand on my shoulder, as if to steady me. It's very hot.

He raises his eyebrows. I nod. Run around to the passenger side and get in. I look around the interior of the jeep. There's a black tube, four feet long, not very wide in diameter.

He stole a painting.

That's why he went downstairs. That fucking cocky drug lord was hanging a stolen painting in his living room.

And Mr. Big got it back. Well, good for you.

He looked over at me and smiled. Obviously his adrenaline was running high, too.

After another mile I pointed to a dirt road. He turned. Found my car.

"That's a long way to hike," he said.

"Let's me eat extra Ho-Ho's," I responded.

"It's been a pleasure," I said and opened the door.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me to him. "Where are you staying?" he asked, his voice low and deep again.

"In Chia," I said.

"That's far," he said.

"I don't like to shit where I eat. Or sleep where I steal."

"My place is closer." He tightened his grip on my arm and lifted me, so I was a little closer to his face. "Burn off some energy with me," he phrased it as both a demand and a question. Maybe the question was in his face.

I hesitated.

He let go of me.

I didn't get out of the car.

"I'll follow you," I said.

I hoped out of his car, into my own, and we both sped down the road, and out of danger.

I took another quick look at my bounty while driving, and did a congratulatory fist pump. This wasn't usually the type of job I took, but it was going to reward handsomely.

And it looked like I was going to get laid in the bargain.

A great night all and all.

The drive was short. Too short. I didn't like being this close to a completed job. Jewelry from a safe could go undetected for months, until it was wanted, but a missing painting would be discovered as soon as the household was awake.

But I would be long gone by then.

I jumped out of my car, and followed Mr. Big to his hotel room. He had chosen this place well. It was secluded, he didn't have to go by a front desk to get to his room, he was parked on the backside of the building where there were no other cars.

It occurred to me that if he tried to take my jewelry from me, there was no good way to overpower him. And I had to bring it in. I wasn't going to leave 150 grand worth of diamonds in my trunk.

I walked in the room behind him. As soon as he shut the door he lifted me up and pushed me, almost slammed me against the wall. Covering my mouth with his in a pent-up energy kiss that was brutal and hot. 

Oh yes.

He broke off the kiss for a minute and set me down.

"I wanted to do that since I first smelled you this afternoon."

I laughed. He must have some nose. I chose my shampoos and soaps specifically because of their lack of scent.

He kissed me again, and then we began frantically tearing each other's clothes off. He ripped my shirt over my head. My pack landed at my feet, and I struggled to get his shirt off, his belt undone, his pants down.

Commando. Figures.

He got my pants off about the same time I got his around his shins. Apparently it's way easier to get pants off around ballet slippers.

I went to work on his boots. I felt his big palm, put a very subtle pressure on the back of my head, and then I was eye to eye with his dick.

Maybe Mr. Big was way more of an apt name than I thought. I leaned my face into him, on the side of his crotch, and breathed in deep while I tried to untie the rest of the laces on his boots.

Damn boots.

Fuckin' A.

He backed up, sat on the bed, yanked them off.

Thank you God.

Then he was gloriously naked.

I was still crouched down.

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

I thought he would walk right to me and put his crotch in my face again, but he didn't.

He stalked to me and lifted me up. He put my back against the wall, and wrapped my legs around his waist. I could feel the length of him against my belly.

Hard as a rock. Harder.

He started rocking back and forth, up and down. He was rubbing into me in a way that was soaking me and driving me crazy. 

He shifted one hand into my hair and yanked my head back. He ran his teeth down my neck.

Then with one huge thrust he plunged into me.

YES.

More with the rocking, the plunging, the hammering.

Oh, yes, yes, yes. It's been so long.

He let go of my hair and used that hand to wriggle between our bodies. He found that magic button between my folds and started working it mercilessly.

I might have been able to be quiet in the woods, but not now.

Up, up, up. I shook, and he pounded faster.

I came hard, breaking into a million pieces. White light smashed everywhere, a hundred times more brilliant than the diamonds at my feet.

I slumped onto his shoulder.

He removed the hand from between us and used it to grab my hip. He pulled me into him. Slam, slam, slam, slam.

Now that I was on the down hill coast, I could smell and hear again.

Fucking awesome.

He didn't stop. That was just fine with me. But he did get loud. Also fine with me. Personally I always liked a grunter.

Now that I was calmer, I was more aware of the size of him. I let the feel of it feel like it filled me up way into my chest.

He pounded harder.

Just when I was afraid that if he did it much longer, it would start to hurt, he came with a thunderous roar.

Like the volcano in Pompeii erupting and changing the course of history, I was spoiled for life.

He pulled out and set me down.

I went to the bathroom. I took my pack with me. Caution.

I came back a minute later. He was lying down naked, on top of the blankets. I openly stared at his body. Impressive.

"Stay?" he asked.

I nodded.

I put my pack down and crawled next to him, finally laying my head on his chest. He put one arm around me.

"Well," he said. It was a full sentence.

"Yup," I said.

"Glad to be of service," he said.

"Ditto," I said back.

We dozed, or at least I did. I woke before the sunrise. Time to get going. I got up and put on my clothes.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. The question was clear in his gaze.

Yeah, maybe I should make a clean break. Maybe it would be better, less risky, if we never saw each other again. But face it. The sex was spectacular. When was I ever going to find a guy who could fuck like that and I didn't have to hide part of my life from?

"Give me your phone," I said.

I typed in my number. For the contact name I just wrote 'Flesh and thieves.'

I dressed and slipped out into the night.



Dear Reader,

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Sincerely,

MJ





Flesh, Blood, & Bone



He could see her, even from a height. Could smell her, the scent of roses in water. Could almost taste her in his mouth, the taste of cream and strawberries. But it was none of these things that drew him. It was the visions in her mind, the fire in his own head, as she dreamed of his life and his crimes, as she dreamed of his face and his voice, his hands and his teeth. She who had seen him more clearly than any creature living.

As he had seen her; during watchful nights and idle daydreams. She who was drawn from his dreams by a no doubt vengeful God–a vision of loveliness, small in stature, perfect in form. Her hair was as dark as his own, blue-black in its depths, her skin a fairness that the sun would never darken; his own an ivory perfection the sun would never seen. Only her eyes were her own, a deep green that reminded him of deep mountain forests and the scent of fir trees and holly.

He could see her in his mind’s eye as he saw her with his own eyes: flesh, blood, and bone. Satin flesh, and he knew how it would feel in his hands: as if it he had clutched a gossamer sheet, plunged his hands into it, wrapped it around him. Enough to warm him through the endless empty years. He could hear her heart beat, its viscous throb, the slow coursing of blood through her veins, and he knew how it would taste in his mouth, how it would glide over his tongue. And he could see her bones: the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, the fragile small bones of her hands. The conjoining of the pelvis, to cradle and give life...

That thought brought a flush of heat to his body and his gaze sharpened, banked coals flaring to a darkness that burned. He would take her tonight, and she would dream of him now...

And indeed, she turned abruptly in her sleep, sheets winding about her small form like a shroud. Her hands reached and clutched; her lips parted, and she sighed. Every motion was a small miracle to him, her life, her vitality; he watched her breasts rise and fall with each quiet breath, and he could time his heart to the rhythm. Snow crunched as he shifted his balance in the tree, and the utter stillness and darkness of the night enveloped him. He enjoyed winter: the bare branches, the cold silence, and most of all the long hours of the night. Summer nights were too short; he spent much of his time hidden from the sleepless sun, whiling away the heated hours in detested idleness.

He watched her, that eternal music playing softly in his head. She slept as guilelessly as a child, sprawled gracefully upon her bed like a princess in a tale, untroubled by care and bad dreams. He felt his lips quirk, and the slight baring of his teeth–but she knew even this of him, knew that when he spoke it was with hissing resonance and sharp pronunciation, with his native stress on t’s and the slow, considering pauses as he sought the words of her tongue. But too, it was his belief that most mortals’ lives were spent in pointless conversation, and he was as economical with his words as he was with his motions.

It was in his mind to take her, and his body as well; he could see her dreams as she watched his shadow form, as she heard the slow-drip-drip-dripping from the darkest corners of the room, knowing that it was not water that gelled so thick and black on the floor. His muscles were taut with the longing for her, and the painful quivering in his gut yearned only for her sweet body. In his mind as well was the longing for more than her body: it was for the soul that was born to know him, who had dreamed of him before she knew what it meant to dream.

He wanted her, and he would have her.

He closed his eyes, and saw himself through her eyes: the thickness of his blue-black curls, and the burning weight of his eyes, heavy with age and thick with knowledge. His face was never more than a blur, but she could see, and had seen, his body: carved from the finest alabaster, muscled as the statue of a Grecian hero. And she longed for it, as he longed for her, yearned for the touch of his hands, the press of his lips. Her body, who had never known the physical touch of a man, knew what it was to crave, to wake unfulfilled in the dawn. Through her eyes, he saw himself approach, flinging shadows aside like a cloak, and stand, towering over her, to extend a hand...

She was all but writhing in her sleep now, and the hunger was strong in him. He could see what she wanted, and it drew reactions in him that were primal and unreasoning; the remnants of his human instinct, and the hunger that was all of an immortal’s being. But he would wait. Wait until his heart matched her breath, waited until the uncoiling hunger in his belly settled down to sleep.

He watched the moon rising, bloodied on the horizon. He had all night, after all.

After a time, he woke her; watched her pad quietly to her dressing table in a thin nightdress that ill-disguised her curves. She peered into the mirror for a moment, her face still slack and soft with sleep, and then sat down to brush her thick dark hair. It fell in rippling waves to her hips; nearly to the floor when she was seated, and she brushed it to a satin sheen. Mechanically, and he could feel her ears straining for him as if they were his own. She knew he was coming, and she waited for him; she washed her face, rinsed out her mouth, carefully drying both on a nearby towel. And then stood before her mirror with eyes unfocused and unseeing, for all the world a marionette waiting the pull of its strings.

He appeared behind her without thought or predication, and she did not know he was there until his hands closed on her shoulders.

“You...” she breathed, and had time for nothing more, for he flowed around her like water and caught her red lips with his own. The kiss was everything she had dreamed and all he had imagined: sweet, heated flame, that licked his edges like paper and drew him down, and down, and down...

One of his hands caught the back of her head, slipping into the thick black locks of her hair, and her mouth opened like a flower.

He fed as he would have feasted, as if he had not had nourishment in centuries. And in truth, he had not; there had been no one in all that time who could satisfy him as this little one could. His tongue stroked the sweet crevice, exploring, tasting...his teeth caught her lower lip and he drank, kissed, took...

Then released her; all but thrust her away from him, for he would not take her life, not yet. She must come to him; she must surrender...and how badly he wanted her...

“You rob me of my control, little one...” His voice was as deep and musical as ever she had dreamed. She stared, wide-eyed, and with eyes so thickly fringed with black lashes that he longed to kiss them shut.

“How is this possible?” she murmured, and her small body trembled with his nearness. “I–I dreamed you...”

He did not reply; his eyes burned into hers, and she could see his face by the light of the candles. The face she had never seen, framing eyes as familiar to her as her own name. A face so lovely as to make angels weep with envy, chiseled and fine in every angle, pale and perfect and hypnotic. The face that had enchanted men and women for millennia.

His hand rose, outstretched for hers, and he purposely stepped back from the light of the candles, so neither his face nor his eyes were visible. She would come to him of her own will, or not at all.

Without hesitation, she reached and slipped her hand into his, gazing up at him as if to memorize every facet of his face, even in the shadows.

“Rachel...” he whispered, and allowed the resonance to creep back into his voice. “My Rachel.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and he drew her into his arms. She was tiny; her head scarcely reached his shoulder, and her curves were pleasant as he swept her up and settled her against his broad chest. Even if he had been a human man, her weight would have been nothing. 

She was unbearably lovely.

Wordless, he crossed the room and laid her back in her bed, in those sheets that still smelled of her. Moonlight spilled over the bed through an open window, and he could see her face and body as clearly as day. The shine in her eyes was one of utmost trust. 

He was standing above her, and then he was beside her; her nightdress was gone, and she helped him with the laces of his shirt, his belt, his heavy boots and trews. There was no time for her to be shy, not time for her to look down and try to cover herself with maidenly modesty. Her black hair fanned around them and spilled off the edge of the bed in a rich river, and he closed his eyes as he leaned down, inhaling her scent, tracing it from the roots of her hair to her chin, learning the aura of her hair, her mouth.

One hand tangled in her hair, and he pulled back, so her chin jerked up and her neck and throat were exposed. Delicious, as pale and creamy as he had dreamed, and he tasted the expanse from behind her ear to her collarbone, open-mouthed, drawing a ragged gasp from her. And again, learning every contour, nipping her earlobe in passing, lingering where her neck joined her shoulder. Her hands ran through his blue-black curls and held him to her, moaning softly at the sensation.

She was breathing harder, her breasts rising to press against the flat expanse of his chest, and he drew back to look at them, to run his hands flat over her nipples, until they hardened to stiff rosy peaks and quivered in the winter air. They looked like sugar-spun candy he had once seen, and he tasted them with lips and tongue, bringing a soft cry from her. He nipped them, teased her, rolled them softly between his teeth, careful not to injure her. Later, perhaps, but for now...

Instinct, he thought; it was not any conscious understanding that made her spread her legs apart as he roamed downward, kissing her belly button, her hips, sliding his hands over thighs that were as satiny as he’d thought they would be. He ran his thumbs over the outermost edge of her flesh, and she jerked, watching with wide eyes, moving with hips that understood what her body craved, even if she did not. He bent to kiss her there, flicking lightly with his tongue. Just once, and it was enough. She cried out again, and he slid back over her, to begin a new foray from the opposite side of her throat, to the untasted breast, and down again....

Her lips seized his on the third pass, and her sweet mouth begged to be tasted. More, her hips rolled upward, seeking the hard length of him that curved up toward his belly. He smiled into her mouth and taunted her, touching and withdrawing, rolling it over her, between her legs, but not into the crevice that pleaded so eloquently to be filled. His own body was tense, every muscle taut with the desire to plunge into her and be done with it. But she...she was too perfect to ruin with a moment’s expediency. 

She was panting when he withdrew again, and he pushed himself up above her, propping himself up on arms that bore his weight easily, flexed with ridged muscle. It was as she had dreamed him, and he knew it: she had dreamed of his broad back arching as he moved within her, dreamed of the press of his chest and the marvelous strength of his arms. She had dreamed it, longed for it, and he let her see it now, coupled with the familiar flare of his eyes and the deep roll of his voice.

“Do you want me, my love?”

She did not hesitate; her small hands stroked his arms, his chest, his face. “Yes.”

He smiled, beatific as he leaned down once more to kiss her. “Tell me you want me, Rachel.” His lips brushed hers; his words into her mouth.

“I...” She was dazed with him, lost, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus, for her to meet his gaze and whisper, “I want you. With every breath...”

His own breath rushed out of him, and he bowed his head as if to say, amen. And then the cords in his neck stood out, his teeth bared, and he lunged into her, with an archer’s precision. She cried out, and this time it was pain, not pleasure, her nails sinking deep into his back and her teeth into his shoulder. She held perfectly still, and he could feel tears trickling from her face to his chest, though not a whimper escaped her. More cautiously, he eased back out, until only the throbbing tip of him was inside her; pressed inward, eased out, in, and out. She was tiny; unprepared, unused, but his own hunger was hard upon him, and it took every ounce of his self control to keep from thundering into her.

It did not help that he was well-endowed; he smiled sardonically to himself as he eased inward again. She could only accommodate half his length, though she was slowly adjusting to him; the tears tried in salty tracks on her face, and he could feel her fingers flexing with every thrust as the pleasure began to steal away the pain.

Then he was inside her, sheathed to the hilt, and pink-tinged perspiration dotted his forehead as he forced himself perfectly still. He eased her back against the bed, and kissed her, this marvelous creature that could hold him deep within her depths, could breathe with him, for him...her hips moved, urging him on, and after a long moment, and a breath, he needed no more urging.

The powerful muscles of his lower back, the steel cables of his legs, every shred of his strength, and he was moving into her like the tide, inexorable, unstoppable. Her whole body tensed and pushed with him, clenching and unclenching like a small iron fist, and he could not help it; he knew his eyes were as wide as hers, knew that he must look as foolish as any love-struck mortal. But every motion she made, every sound she produced...perfection in its rarest form, and he lost that hard-won control, grasping her to him and pounding into her with all the strength that was in him.

And he was murmuring her name, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her lips, on fire with need and mindless with it. Pleasure beyond any and all he had every known, even that dark pleasure of feeding–she gasped and cried out in accord, and he could feel the end coming, building between them and overflowing like a dam about to burst its confines. Her nails raked him as she cried out, spasming beneath him; her legs locked at his hips and her inner muscles clamped down, drawing a gasped epithet from him, and an enormous lunge, backed by more power than even he knew he possessed. She nearly screamed with it, and he did it again, and again, milking the full length, and then withdrew from her, bared his fangs, and struck.

She was almost too far gone to notice, and certainly too far gone to understand. They were both climaxing, in a final rush that left him drained and exhausted, hungry for the taste of her blood. Still within her, thick and semi-erect, he drank, and it was likely that she did not notice; she lay as one dead, only her erratic breathing letting him know she lived. Her hands rose weakly to caress him, and he smiled as he drank, thinking how he would kiss her when this was done, how he would rouse her long before morning...

He had taken enough; he pulled back, washing the taste of her about his mouth, then bit his own tongue and let two drops of blood fall on her neck, instantly healing the marks of his teeth. With his own fingernail, he drew a line on his bare chest. Dark blood welled, and he helped her to it as a mother would help her infant to the breast. She was weak, from exertion, from loss of blood, and she swayed toward him, her eyes unfocused.

“Drink,” he murmured, one arm looping around her, the other brushing her hair aside. He kissed her, once, deep and long, and then moved her head down to his chest. “Blood...of my blood...”

Her lips sought and found, latched and drank, and he drew a sharp breath at the pain that intensified to pleasure, until it trod a bright and shining line between the two.

“Flesh...” he breathed. His teeth ground together as she nipped the edge of the wound. “...of my flesh...”

She fell boneless against him, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her lovely mouth stained with his blood. And that pale flesh, paler still, glowing in the moonlight, shining to match the stars. Her breath slowed, rattled, died, and he lay down beside her as she slipped into a sleep deeper than death. A sleep from which he would rouse her soon, with warm lips and knowing hands, and he would steal her away with the dawn.



Flesh For Fantasy



"Actually, Doctor Klein," Jessica Bainbridge said, "I'm not here for help in quitting smoking at all. I just said that to get an appointment to see you." She kept her voice level. She could do this. "I'm actually here to discuss one of your other patients, Roslyn Cole." She couldn't do this. This was a terrible idea. She should just leave now, take everything she had brought here today and walk out of the office with it, take it all to Dinah like she was supposed to and get this case out of her mind.

Doctor Thomas Klein fixed her with a level gaze. "Yes, I'm familiar with her," he said evenly. He wasn't going to crack easily, that was for sure. "She's been a patient of mine for several months. Although I'm not entirely sure what business it is of yours, Ms. Bainbridge...if that is, in fact, your real name. Do you have some reason for wasting my time?"

Jessica steeled herself. It was too late to go back now. This was the point of no return. "My real name is Jessica Bainbridge, yes. I'm a private investigator. Miss Cole's mother hired me to look into her recent activities."

It wasn't the point of no return yet, and she damned well knew it. The back of her mind was screaming at her, telling her to stop fucking around with this crazy, stupid, hare-brained scheme that could wreck her professional reputation, earn her some jail time, and lead to all sorts of disasters she wasn't even imagining yet. "Roslyn's mother, Dinah, has been worried about Roslyn for several weeks now. She claims that her daughter's behavior has changed since she began seeing you. That she pays less attention to her family, that she breaks off arranged social events on very little notice."

Doctor Klein didn't even blink. "As it happens, Roslyn has serious familial issues, stemming from a domineering and controlling mother who insists on attempting to run her daughter's life. Didn't you think it was more than a little odd that she hired a private detective to keep tabs on her daughter's whereabouts?"

OK, this was definitely the point of no return now. Well, almost the point of no return. Jessica wished she'd never come up with this idea. Klein was a tough customer. She had no idea how he was going to jump when she dropped the bomb on him. Jessica knew she was thinking in private eye cliches, but she needed to be the hard-boiled detective right now. She needed to be tougher than Klein to pull this off. And oh, God, did she want to pull this off.

"Let's cut the bullshit, shall we?" Jessica said, putting an edge in her voice. Good. Think 'tough as nails private eye'. Make him sweat. Don't think of him as a person, think of him as a means to an end. She pulled out a manilla folder from her handbag. "I've been watching you for the past several weeks. I've taken some pictures. Those are copies, you can keep them. I've also got some copies of audio surveillance of your office that make for interesting listening as well."

She handed the folder across the desk to Klein. He opened it up and looked at the photos. To his credit, he didn't crack even then. "I see," he said.

"Those would certainly make an interesting presentation to the AMA, or the ASCH," Jessica said relentlessly. "I wonder what they'd say if they found out that you'd been using your hypnotherapy practice to take sexual advantage of one of your patients. Or that you've been convincing her to transfer funds from her bank account to yours." She saw it there, just the little flicker of an eyelid. She had him, she knew it. "Oh yes, Doctor Klein, I've been doing my homework. You've turned Miss Cole into quite a good patient indeed."

Doctor Klein looked up at her. Jessica's blood ran cold at the expression on his face. He wasn't angry, or frightened, or even concerned. His professional life was on the line, and he looked like she'd just shown him the weather reports for Kuala Lumpur. "I presume you're interested in blackmail," he said, "or you wouldn't have bothered coming to me before showing this to the AMA."

OK, now this was officially the point of no return. This was the point where the stupid idea she'd had while watching Doctor Klein hypnotize Roslyn turned into a reality. This was the point where she made the deal with the devil. She took a deep breath. "That's right, Doctor Klein. I'm willing to turn a blind eye to your... relationship to Miss Cole. I'm even willing to let you continue fucking her, if that's what you want. I'll tell her mother that I haven't found anything conclusive, and I'll keep the evidence to myself. In exchange..." Jessica's mind was a chaotic jumble of panic and jangling nerves, but she didn't let any of it show. "I want you to hypnotize me."

Doctor Klein raised an eyebrow. "I'll admit, that wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear. You want me to..."

"Do to me what you did to Roslyn Cole. Not the financial aspects, of course. Just the sex. I want you to hypnotize me, put me under and have sex with me. You can do whatever you want with me while I'm in this office, just like you have been with Miss Cole. But unlike her, I expect to have my mind to myself when I leave.

"I realize that's not exactly the kind of hypnosis you were thinking of doing when I walked into this office, but I've been watching you with Miss Cole for some time now. It looked..." Fucking hell. It looked unbelievable. Jessica had never really considered herself a voyeur, not even when she was doing a job that involved taking photos of cheating spouses mid-coitus. It was just business. After a while, she stopped even noticing that they were having sex.

But when she was spying on Doctor Klein and Roslyn Cole, when she looked through the telephoto lens at the woman's face as she slipped into a hypnotic trance, when she listened to them through the directional mike as Roslyn gasped out mantras of obedience and rapturous bliss... Jessica had been masturbating herself stupid after every night she'd spent watching the two of them. It had become the centerpiece of her every sexual fantasy, it had seeped into her dreams. She had to find out what it was like. No matter how unethical, how dangerous this turned out to be. She wasn't at the point of no return right now. She'd been at the point of no return from the moment she took this case, from the moment she watched Roslyn Cole get hypnotized. "It looked nice," she finished lamely.

"And you're not worried that once I've put you into a hypnotic trance, I'll simply make you give me all the evidence against me and do whatever I want with you anyway?" The tone of his voice made it clear that Doctor Klein knew perfectly well that a little part of Jessica quivered at exactly that notion, that something of Jessica wanted to surrender herself to him as completely as Roslyn had.

Fortunately, that wasn't the part that had been planning this for weeks. "Not a bit. The evidence is in a safe deposit box at my local bank--and before you ask, I don't actually have a key to it. A friend of mine who works at the bank is keeping it for me. I've asked her to keep an eye on my financial transactions, as well. If I ask for the key to the box, if I start behaving strangely, if my bank account starts doing anything funny, or if you even so much as say hello to her, she knows what to do." She didn't know why, of course. But Cassie trusted her well enough not to ask. "We play this game on my terms, or the evidence goes straight to the AMA."

Doctor Klein sucked in his breath through his teeth. "So let me see if I understand this correctly. My choices are as follows. I can either face professional ruination, civil and criminal charges, the end of my practice and indeed my life as I know it...or I can continue to use Roslyn Cole as my personal sex slave, and also enjoy regular sex with you as well?" He shook his head slightly. "It's a tough choice. But seeing as my back's against the wall, here, I suppose I'll have to do as you say. Would you like to start now?"

"Please," Jessica said, trying to filter out the naked longing in her voice.

Fifteen minutes later, and Jessica was reclining on Doctor Klein's couch, staring at a metronome as it ticked back and forth and getting increasingly frustrated. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this," she snapped. "I mean, you had Roslyn under in about five seconds."

"I'd been working with Roslyn for six months, and she was a much better hypnotic subject than you are to begin with," Doctor Klein said from the chair next to her in a tone that betrayed no small amount of frustration of his own. "You're anticipating trance too much. Every time you wonder if it's starting to work, you're pulling yourself back out." He stilled the metronome. "Tell me," he said. "How do you learn?"

Jessica crinkled her forehead in confusion. It sounded like he was insulting her. "Is this some sort of weird Zen question?"

"No, it's quite serious," Doctor Klein responded. "I'm asking you how you, personally, learn things best. Do you read them, listen to instructions, walk through them yourself perhaps?"

"I...I suppose I walk through them. I can't just watch someone do something, I have to try it for myself." It felt a little weird, discussing learning styles with someone that she planned to have wild, uninhibited sex with.

"I see. Yes, that does explain a little. The metronome's not going to be of much help because you're a naturally kinesthetic person, as opposed to auditory or visual. You tend to respond to sensation." He paused for a moment. "Normally, this would be a very unethical way to perform an induction, but I think we're probably past that by now. Go ahead and take off your clothes for me."

Jessica frowned. "I thought...I thought we'd wait until I was hypnotized for that." In fact, that had been a waking dream for the past three days running. She'd imagined her eyes going blank and glassy, her hands moving of their own accord, peeling off her outfit slowly and sensuously...

"In future sessions, we will," he said. "But this first time, I'm going to be using your sense of touch to help put you into trance. Please. Take off your clothes for me."

Jessica stood up, and began unbuttoning her blouse. She felt distinctly unsexy doing it; she knew she had a nice body, but she felt like she was undressing in a doctor's office, not for a lover. Doctor Klein's expression didn't help any. He wasn't showing arousal or interest any more than he'd shown fear or panic before. He looked at her as though she was a vaguely interesting clinical discovery, like he was already thinking about writing her up for some medical journal. 'Patient shows distinct signs of hypnophilia,' or some such jargon.

Finally, completely naked, she returned to the couch. "Very good," he said. He rested his right hand gently on her stomach. "What you need, Jessica, is to focus on something that you can't ignore. You've been trying to focus on the metronome, or the pendant, or my eyes, but none of those things attracted your attention enough." His hand began to move in slow circles on her belly. "That's why you haven't been able to fall into trance yet, Jessica. You haven't been focusing on one thing, and letting my words just ease into your mind."

The circles began to widen, each time moving down a little more, a little closer to...Jessica shifted position, just a little. "That's right, Jessica. It does feel good, doesn't it, when my hand moves over your body like this? You like being touched, being stroked, being rubbed. Tell me, Jessica," he said as his hand dipped down below her waist, just a little at first. "How long has it been since you've been touched like this?"

"About...ooh..." Jessica sighed, and let her legs fall open just a tiny bit. "About six months."

Doctor Klein reached out with his other hand, and traced the swell of her breasts with the tip of his index finger. "It's been quite some time, then. You've probably wanted this a lot, haven't you?" Jessica just nodded. His right hand was moving closer to her crotch now, and she wanted to enjoy the sensation. "You probably didn't even think about my question before answering it, did you, Jessica?"

"I...no..." Jessica thought about that for a moment, about how easy it had been to just answer without thinking. It had been kind of an embarrassing question, really, especially given the answer. Jessica had been going long stretches with very little beyond masturbation to sustain her. It was no wonder, really, that she just kept spreading her legs wider and wider, waiting for Doctor Klein's fingers to press against her pussy...

With a start, she realized she'd actually lost track of his words for a long moment. He'd been saying something, about what a good sign that was, about what a good girl she was, but Jessica was having increasing difficulty keeping track of his words. His left hand was now running over her aureolae, moving back and forth between her breasts and causing her nipples to stiffen and tingle, and his right hand just kept getting closer to her pussy, closer and closer but not quite touching yet. "Yes," she said, and it took her a bit to remember what she was even agreeing with. Oh, right. She was agreeing that it felt good. That didn't seem too hypnotic. Maybe it wasn't working.

Doctor Klein's hand brushed against her pussy, and she let out a soft moan. "...you...you're very talented..." she sighed out, as his fingers stroked and fondled her cunt. It was alright if it wasn't working, she decided. His hands just felt so good that she could relax into them and not think about whether or not she was being hypnotized. She was just enjoying this, she didn't need to worry about anything.

She felt his fingers inside her pussy now, and that felt so good, so right. "...yes," she said again, and this time when she tried to think about exactly what he'd said that she agreed to, it just slipped away. It wasn't important, now, not when she was feeling so very good. She could let his words just slip away. They just slipped in through her ears while she was focusing on the...oh, fuck...the wonderful feelings in her body, just settled down in her brain and made a home there while she enjoyed the way Doctor Klein made her feel.

Doctor Klein made her feel so good. She could hear herself panting now, in between breathy chants of "yes" and "i understand," and she did understand. Doctor Klein was making her feel good. This was exactly what she had wanted all these weeks, to just let everything else slip away into trance. Jessica moaned as she realized she had really gone into trance, but the knowledge wasn't enough to snap her out of it, not this time. Every time she tried to wake up, she knew that she would just focus on the good feelings in her clit and the way those fingers felt in her cunt and she would slip deeper, instead. And that would feel so good.

She knew his hand wasn't touching her breast anymore, but it felt like too much effort to open her eyes and look to see where it was. She tried to remember exactly when her eyes had slipped shut, but every time she tried to think, she felt another sparking tingle in her clit and the thought fell away. She knew that she didn't need to think. She just needed to feel and obey. Feel and obey. She wondered briefly where the 'obey' had come from, but wondering was thinking and Jessica just needed to feel and obey.

When she felt his hand briefly slide out of her pussy, and then return, and he climbed onto the couch to straddle her body in a sixty-nine, Jessica realized what he'd been doing with his other hand, but she didn't mind. She didn't mind that he was naked. It made sense. She'd agreed to have sex with him, she'd agreed to do whatever he wanted while they were in this office. That made so much sense. Everything made sense to Jessica while she was this deeply hypnotized. She was warm and safe and relaxed, and it was easy to obey. "i obey," she said, opening her mouth wide so that he could slide his cock into it.

It felt so natural, so right to have Doctor Klein's cock in her mouth. Her clit felt even better when she had his cock in her mouth, when she sucked it and licked it. The sensations of pleasure were overwhelming, now. She was moaning, deep-throating his cock and moaning and knowing that those moans were thrumming his cock and knowing that he was feeling so good and knowing that the pleasure she felt came from pleasing him, and the more she pleased him the better she'd feel and she wanted that now, wanted it so bad, so much, she wanted to obey because it felt soooo good...

She felt him shoot his load into her mouth, and that was all it took to push her over the edge into orgasm. Once the orgasm started, it didn't seem to stop, either. It just felt like time had switched off, like she was just floating in that single perfect moment of bliss and letting everything else drift over her, knowing that she'd been such a good girl and had done so well and had gone so deep into hypnotic trance, and that nothing else mattered right now.

Jessica floated and drifted and listened and obeyed. Just like she'd hoped to.

*****

Jessica closed the door and kicked off her shoes. It felt like the day had already lasted beyond its full allotment of twenty-four hours, but a glance at the clock told her that it wasn't even 8 PM yet. It had just been one of those days, with irritable clients and court depositions and license renewals and hassle upon hassle upon hassle. Tonight, Jessica wanted to do nothing more than take a long, slow, warm bath and then fall face first into bed. Food first, though, she thought as her stomach gave a distinct growl. Perhaps she could call out for some--

The phone rang. With a weary sigh, Jessica went over to answer it. "Hello," she said, in a tone that suggested nothing but woe to telemarketers.

"Jessica," Doctor Klein said on the other end of the line. "Glad to catch you. I was working late, catching up on a little paperwork, and I suddenly found myself in the mood for a little company. I thought perhaps you could head over to the office and the two of us could have another session."

Jessica let out another breath. "It's tempting," she said, thinking back over the last several weeks of 'sessions' that the two of them had enjoyed. "But it's been a hell of a day, and I just need to relax."

"But hypnosis is relaxing, isn't it, Jessica?" he replied, his voice taking on those soothing tones she remembered so well from their sessions. Jessica rolled her eyes. Maybe Doctor Klein was forgetting the 'no hypnosis outside the office' rule.

"Sorry, Doc," she said. "But I'm just not in the mood tonight. Some other time."

"Blank, Jessica," he said. Suddenly, her aching weariness faded away, to be replaced by a slow, languid warmth that spread through her body. It didn't seem like it spread fast; it felt like a soft, tranquil, dreamy progression into trance. But at the same time, Jessica wasn't aware of any interval between the moment Doctor Klein spoke and the moment she felt her mind immersed in that same soft warmth.

"blank," she said. She heard her own voice and the soft, accepting tone of her response, but it was hard to think about what she was saying. It was hard to think about anything.

"Come to the office, now, Jessica," Doctor Klein said, and hung up. Without speaking, without really even considering what she was doing, Jessica put her shoes back on, grabbed her keys from where she'd tossed them, and headed back down the stairs to her car.

Ten minutes later, she walked into Doctor Klein's office. He was waiting for her on the couch, his pants already around his ankles. Jessica's eyes locked onto his cock automatically. "Good girl," he said. "Now strip for me."

Jessica began peeling her clothes off, just the way she'd imagined herself doing when she watched Roslyn with Doctor Klein all those weeks ago. He'd made her strip many times since then, but every time was just as exciting as she'd imagined it. By the time she got to her panties, they were damp with arousal. She peeled them off and stood in front of him, completely naked.




Flesh for Fantasy



 The title is borrowed from one of my favorite songs of Billy Idol. All rights reserved by him. This title is borrowed for entertaining purposes and only, no abuse intended.

*****

~Premise~ 

On a summer night ,getting home after some partying and some booze, two girls that have shared close friendship since their early childhood, decide to share some naughty dreams and then experiment with certain fantasies that have been keeping them wet during the night.

It was a hot June evening. College exams have just finished, and that meant the beginning of wild parties, long days at the beach, long nights of driving around the city, and all those classic holiday rituals of college students.

Alexia had gone into that summer fever a little more than her friends, because that would be the first holidays she'd spend all by herself, in her apartment near the beach, sleeping/waking up/eating/going out/coming home whenever she wanted. She had already made her wild plans for the night, including a live concert at a bar in the nearby jetty, a bonfire and night swimming at the beach, and plenty of alcohol.

It was already 6.30 in the afternoon when her phone rang.

-Hey, what 'up lil cat?? , heard Alexia from the other line. It was Christina.

-Oh heeey, Christy, haven't heard from you for ages! I'm cool, so excited that exams are over. How about you?

-Oh God, yeah, me too, I just came back in town for holidays... So, do you wanna meet tonight and catch up? Unless you're already invited somewhere and have to ditch your girl...

Alexia heard a tone of disappointment in Christy's voice. They have grown up really close. Always in vacations together, sharing their toys, going to the same primary school... And now that Alexia had moved away for college studies, literally half a day away from town, they had ended up meeting twice a year; in Christmas and summer.

-Oh c'mon Christy, I couldn't ditch you, especially in your first days back in town. Yes, I am up for an all-nighter, but only if you come with me. How does that sound?

Alexia was a rebel; tall, slim with legs that seemed to run forever, gorgeous, with tanned skin, big brown eyes with wonderfully curvy eyelashes, long hair dyed blonde with a big blue tuft at the left side of her face. She usually wore motorcycle boots, miniskirts and shorts, fishnet leggings, black tank tops and had a cat tattoo on her forearm (Christina had been calling her various nicknames including the word 'cat' since the day Alex told her about it). Christy was a natural redhead, with straight hair not longer than down to her shoulders, light green eyes, white skin, and feminine curvy figure, maybe a bit of extra baggage, and some inches shorter than Alex. She was a year younger and much more the 'princess' type than her punk rock hottie friend. "Daddy's little girl", as Alex used to tease her.

Christy though agreed to follow her friend both at the concert and the beach only if they met in Alexia's house first for some gossip. She suggested a casual movie with some junk food to complete the evening, since the concert would start at midnight.

One hour later, the doorbell rang and Alex had to give up trying to find and drag her t-shirt out of the chaos of her closet, ran down the stairs, opened the door and found her squeezed into the embracement of a shrieking, excited Christina.

-Oh God, it's been so long hun..!! Can't believe how much you changed since last summer, turn around, let me see you, Jesus, you lost weight! Look at that waistline... The new hottest groupie in town! Why aren't you away for a tour or something..?!

-Gee, Christy, stop...C'mon... I'm not even dressed up yet, the longer you keep me outside the more possibilities I have to run into a neighbor while wearing only my bra, giggled Alexia. She escaped from her grip and let her inside, smiling. She missed her so much; it was like the sister she never had.

They sat down on the living room floor, leaning on the couch in front of the TV. 

-I wanna hear everything about your holidays ... And how's college? Did you do well at the exams? Alex said. Christy started gabbling about anything she hadn't already told Alex over the phone. Half an hour later, she stopped. 

-Enough of me already. Movie time! Let's open some chips and remember our childhood!, she suggested. And who was Alex to argue..??

-...You brought Anime??? The last anime I watched was Sailor Moon, with you, at your grandma's house when we were, what, five?! , teased Alex.

-Shut up, you alley cat, the one I brought you is a masterpiece, not a breakfast cartoon. You should start watching some, I'll make a list of the gems for you. And Sailor Moon was cute, said Christy, with a grin.

Time passed congenially, with the two girls arguing whether a character was hot or kitsch or a freak, analyzing some scenes, teasing and throwing food at each other.

-Damn, my shirt has BBQ sauce on. Damn you Alex!! , shrieked Christy.

-Hey, I didn't do anything! You just never figured out how to eat without making a mess! , said Alex, tickling her.

-Bitch! C'mon, clean it up, I'm not gonna go out with you like this!

Alex leaned forward, just above Christy's right breast, and started sucking and licking the fresh stain off the fabric and some of the skin.

-Ewww! What are you doing?! Phhh, I don't even know how it is possible that we are besties... There's something called a laundry machine, you know. , teased Christy.

-I can't help it; I'm a hardcore girl, as you say, and I adore BBQ sauce. Now take this off, I'll wash it and you'll go upstairs to my closet and choose a true concert t-shirt.

Christy took off her grey sleeveless shirt; she wore no bra. Alex couldn't help but notice her breasts. Christy had a couple of extra pounds that looked good on her, especially on her tits. Her curves were fabulous to Alex. As she was ready to walk away, Christy took some BBQ sauce with her finger and licked it, spilling some on her naked left breast. 

-Hey, hardcore chick, this drop of sauce is a pity to get wasted, too... Are you too much of a preppy lady to clean it up?, Christy clearly provoked Alex. She simply sat back down next to her and gave one good, short and hard lick to the sauce drop and slightly wiped it with her finger. For one millisecond, her red long nail accidentally brushed against Christy's nipple.

-Wow, someone ain't got hesitations... That's rock n' roll I guess. , smirked Christy.

-Don't challenge me baby girl..., Alex smirked back. Lowering her glance, she noticed that the nipples on Christy's naked tits have hardened and swollen. Trying not to comment on that, she got up and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

She got on her knees, opened the laundry machine, threw the shirt inside and started the washing program. Then, she called Christy to her bedroom to find her a shirt.

-Now don't start mocking me when I try out your tank tops... I'm a bit chubby for them. , said Christy as she walked in.

-Gee... You gotta stop being so shy! C'mon, show off a bit; you're going to a concert after all. A girls' night out at a concert equals a manhunt. And that requires some treats for the men's eyes..!! , replied Alex, trying to force Christy into a leather tank top. 

-Uh, no, I AM NOT wearing leather! I never had and I never will. 

-There's always a first time for anything, baby girl..., smiled Alex.

Christy, still trying to make the black leather fit properly on her breasts, blushed a little, but without losing the smile on her face walked towards the mirror next to the wardrobe where Alex was still looking for clothes to choose for herself. 

-Speaking of first times...have you ever had a rather weird dream you never expected you'd see?

-Dunnow, are you talking about signs and messages in dreams or something..? , said Alex a little bit confused. Alex was not the type of person that over-analyzes every simple dream, unlike her "brain-dead" (as she called them) college friends.

-Hmmm, no... Not exactly. You know, maybe it's stupid, forget it.

-Hey, you started it, now you have to tell me! 

-Well...it was sexual.

-Oh my god, you had a wet dream?! Christy, I had no idea you've been having naughty thoughts at night... How improper of a pristine young lady like you! , teased Christy.

-Shut up! Don't call it a "wet dream", I'm embarrassed... And no, I didn't have any naughty thoughts in general, it just...sort of...happens.

-"Happens"..?? You mean, you keep seeing naughty dreams lately? Well, well, well, the princess is not such a sparkly angel any more..., laughed Alex.

-Well, well, well, bitch for a best friend, just so you know, I'm not the daddy's little angel you think I am. , said Christy and she playfully gave a small pinch to Alex's butt cheek.

-Huh... If not, start confessing, kid.

-Never! Well, at least not now..., hesitated Christy. 

-Whatever suits you, hun. Don't think you're getting away with this though; I'm cross-questioning you in the exact minute we get out of the concert. We gotta run, by the way! Grab your purse.

As they got in Alexia's car, Christy noticed Alex's clothes. Her grey ripped jean shorts ended right under her tush, making her thighs look sexy under the low lighting; her skin was flawless and her thin calves were perfectly highlighted by her high heel boots. 

-How could someone resist..., she whispered.

-What now? , asked Alex while trying to deal with the traffic.

-Nothing... Hey, why do you sound nervous?

-Is that a question?! Some idiot decided to park his motorcycle in the middle of the street, caused a traffic jam right before the coastal avenue and we're gonna be lucky if we don't miss the band's intro!

-You look sexy when you're mad. , teased Christy. Subconsciously, she meant it. For a second back there, she was afraid Alex heard her comment and connected it with their previous conversation. Christy didn't know what has gotten into her, but suddenly she started to grow a strong urge to talk to Alex about her dreams, to tell her everything... 

-Alex... I'm gonna tell you. , she stated.

-Tell me what? 

-About my dreams.

-Ha! I seriously thought you wouldn't confront yourself so easily. Save the chat for later, though!

Christy was ready to insist, when she looked outside. They were almost out of the venue.

Christy was not a huge fan of concerts. As soon as they got in, Alex started greeting some friends of her, walking around, checking out some faces in the crowd, trying to rush herself to the front rows to have a better view... Christy felt more like drinking, so she headed at the bar. After two minutes, she was trying to make way towards Alex with two bottles of cheap whiskey.

-Oh god, I don't believe you!! What are these?? , shouted Alex, grabbing her bottle.

-A treat from me, we haven't got drunk together since high school!

-That's my girl! , winked Alex.

-Told you, I'm not such the sparkly angel you think I am. , she bragged.

-I must say, I'm impressed. I thought you weren't a fan of cheap drinks!

-Not quite a fan... My liver and stomach can't handle them well, unlike yours, which have whiskey for breakfast. That's why I prefer good quality wine, if you remember. But, as you suggested, there's always a first time for lots of things. And tonight I want to cross some stuff off my to-do-list., winked back Christy.

-That sounds a little more promiscuous than the usual you!, Alex giggled.

-The night is young, said Christy softly with a smile Alex noticed for the first time. That smile, along with the look in Christy's eyes, was hiding an urge. 

Suddenly the purple, green and red lights went on, the crowd went crazy. Drums, bass, guitars... Alex felt like home. She headbanged and screamed every lyric out loud, jumped up and down, air-guitared... That concert worked for her as the first liberating "pressure valve" of the summer. Christy, on the other hand, was trying not to get too squeezed between the "mosh pit freaks" as she portrayed them, though she couldn't deny she started to enjoy it. All that wild lifestyle and attitude... These kids seemed too full of themselves, unflinching, living in the moment, carefree... She could never adapt to such a situation if it was an ordinary night, but today she felt she could. She felt her adrenaline rush, and half the blame was on that cheap alcohol she had chugged. At some point, the frontman shouted in the microphone "A shout out to all the ladies!! Next hit is dedicated to ya, rock chicks, so dance for us!!" Girls wouldn't wait for a second invitation. Several climbed and stood on some stools or tables, even some flat monitors and floor speakers. Christy stared at them for a while, along with most of the boys in the venue, and she turned around to check for Alex. 

Her mouth dropped open when she saw her; she had removed her top and was swinging it in the air while moving her hips to the rhythm of the music, the sweat on her tanned skin made her cleavage gleaming under the lights and the thin fabric of the white bikini top she wore instead of a bra, pointed up the bouncing of her tits more than it should. Christy squeezed her way in the crowd, reached Alex and gently wrapped her arm around her naked waist, just above the back of her crotch. 

-It's their last song!! Dance with me!! , shouted Alex near Christy's ear. 

-No! I don't do concert dance with most of my clothes off!! , refused Christy, trying to get heard over the ear-blasting music. They were too close to the stage, and had the guitarist's monitor right in front of them. 

-I thought you were gonna get wild tonight..!! 

-I did!! Look, my whisky bottle is half empty! I'm not gonna dance though; I don't like being stared at. Just so you know, I promise to do the next wild thing you ask me. , she said and pulled Alex onto her playfully.

-I'll bet you another bottle that you won't! , retorted Alex, continuing to dance, her body onto Christy's.

Just in time, between flashing fireworks, guitar shreds and some cannon-blast sounds from the drums, the band greeted goodnight, thanked the owner of the club, prompted the crowd to drink some Jack Daniel's with them and disappeared backstage.

-Are we gonna stay and greet them at the bar? , asked Christy.

-Well, if you want, ok. But I've already joined their last meet n' greet. I have their autographs on their last big gig's ticket. 

-So what are we gonna do now? I can't wait for a walk on the beach, it's so hot in here and I'm all sticky... I want some clean sea breeze.

-Are you in for that bonfire I told you earlier?

-Yeah, sure! But let's just not light a fire, it's too hot already, plus we're gonna attract more people..., said Christy with a slightly disturbed tone in her voice.

-What's bugging you about people?

-Nothing specific. I just thought how nice it'll be if it's just you and me tonight. I mean, we haven't been out together alone for a whole night for three years. 

-Ok, if you don't wanna hang out with my friends and a bunch of other guys tonight, it's cool. I get to see them every day; you'll get to meet them some other day, no problem by me. Let's catch up, just the two of us. , smiled Alex.

Back in the car, in the silence, Christy had that urge again. She wanted to, somehow, return to the topic they left before the concert. She let out a deep, long sigh. Alcohol had certainly done its job. "Alcohol!" she remembered. She stared down, that half empty bottle was still in her hand. She gulped five sips and licked her lips. Whiskey didn't taste so bitter after all. Alex drove several feet away from the beach. She parked near a cluster of palm trees, and as the car lights closed, she turned around to face Christy. Christy, bringing the bottle to Alex's lips, made her swallow some whiskey several times, teasing her about finishing her own bottle so fast. They got out of the car, took their clothes and shoes off, left them in the trunk and headed towards the water in their bikinis. Strolling in the sand, Christy took Alex's hand in hers.

-I'm going to trip, she said, laughing uncontrollably at herself. Alex put her hand around her shoulder to support her weight. As Christy was giggling and tripping, her cheek, lips and nose were practically brushing against Alex's neck, shoulder and left breast. They sat on the wet sand and let the water splash their legs and hips for a while. Christy was wearing a dark green Brazilian bikini and had a silver thin chain around her ankle. Her gaze fell on Alex's legs, thighs, her tiny animal print bottom bikini... Alex's voice woke her up from her -suddenly not so naive- thoughts.

-Hey, let's get in!

-Phhh, ok, but not too deep. We're both drunk.

-Don't nag, you promised me to join me in the next crazy thing I'll ask you to.

-Swimming drunk is not crazy, it's stupid. , disagreed Christy.

-We won't swim, we'll just get wet. We're gonna get in, till the water is up to our shoulders... Naked. , ordered Alex with a devil's smile. She got up, grabbed Christy's arm and pulled her in. The water was cool enough to refresh their bodies from the sweat of the concert. They both enjoyed the sense of their hot skin reacting to it. As the water reached their shoulders, Christy suddenly noticed Alex's bottom bikini strings tied around her forearm.

-You crazy cat, what are you doing? , she said, giggling.

-I'm swimming naked. It's so cool... You feel so free. Don't be a coward; nobody could see us over here if they tried! 

She undid the strings of her top, releasing her breasts from the wet fabric. She slowly rubbed them for a while, to get the sensitive skin familiar with the water temperature beneath the surface, but Christy still caught her move with the corner of her eye. 

That was hot... Her dark nipples were now hard, the skin area around them slightly reddish... She stared at Alex's long thin fingers with polished nails rubbing and fondling her breasts with slow circular movements, then vertical, letting them bounce in and out of the water. Alex didn't seem to notice Christy's stare, so, fulfilled with that familiar now urge, she slowly and gently lowered her bottom bikini too. The straight contact of her naked trimmed vagina with the chilled water was more than pleasant. Her clit started tingling. Just when she was about to sneak her hand between her thighs and touch it, Alex suddenly raised her eyes upon her. Christy blushed, but Alex didn't seem to have noticed anything, except a small suspicious smile.

-You're starting to enjoy the water... 

-Yeah, I have to say you're right... It's not at all as uncomfortable as I thought.

-Then you gotta remove your top too! , said Alex and winked. Seeing that Christy hesitated, Alex slowly walked towards her, turned her around and untied the string on her back. Passing her hand above Christy's right shoulder, she caught the floating bikini top and pulled it over Christy's head. Her forearm rubbed right against the gap between Christy's breasts, making her shiver. That didn't escape from Alexia's attention. 

-Are you cold? , she asked. 

-Let's stay ten more minutes, and then head back to the car. I'm not that cold.

-Ok, but if you're cold just tell me. I've got some nice towels in the trunk. , said Alex and hugged Christy from the shoulders, still without letting her turn around and face her. For a moment, Christy was feeling Alex's tits against her back, her lips next to her ear and her warm vagina on her butt cheeks. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that touch. She wanted that touch... She realized she craved it. And Alex didn't seem to be willing to move. She pulled Christy's hair aside and laid a kiss on her neck. 

-Let's get out of the water; I'm starting to need that towel. , Alex said, smiling, and started to put her bikini back on. Then she simply turned her back and started swimming lazily to the shore. Christy got dressed too, but couldn't resist a brief touch on her lusting clit. That feeling was totally new to her, but as time went by, it grew stronger and stronger. She wanted, for one night in her life, to get what her wild dreams demanded. Yes, that wet dream was about Alex. And it wasn't just one... Over the last few months, those dreams had upset her sleep more than five times. First she was kissing Alex, next time she was taking off her clothes, and then she had her against the wall fondling her thighs and ass... Then licking her firm breasts till her nipples were swollen... And now her clitoris was aroused again. 




Flesh for Fantasy



Disciplining herself, she swam out of the water and ran across the beach to the car where Alex handed her a big, warm, dry towel. Christy took off her bikini completely under the towel and threw it in the truck. Alex had done the same. Noticing Alex's bottom bikini, Christy could see an extra moist area, where her pussy was earlier. Alex was already dressed, and was now in the car searching through the radio stations.

-Back home, I guess...? , she suggested as Christy was trying to get comfortable in her clothes due to lack of underwear. 

-If you agree... I don't wanna change your plans.

-I do, Chris. Right now all I wanna do is to comb my hair and have a shower. What about you? Are you sleepy yet?

-Not at all! I actually wanted to stay up all night today. I slept way too much on the trip back in town.

-Cool, it's officially an all-nighter then!

They joked around, teased each other, talked about the concert back at the club but not a single thing was mentioned about the beach. And that heat between Alexis and Christina.

And they arrived back home. Alex got out of the car with Christy following her, and as soon as the apartment door shut behind them, Christy, with alcohol officially taking control of her brain, started taking off all of her clothes, tossing them around and headed to the bathroom, trying not to stumble upon the furniture. 

-Hell, you're wasted... Where are you going now? , said an almost rolling on the floor with laughter Alex.

-I'm going to have a shower, announced Christy.

-No, you're not!! 

Alex jumped up, ran across the hall and rushed into the bathroom. Still laughing and teasing Christy, who followed, she got in the shower and closed the curtain.

-I'm gonna have a shower first! , she said between uncontrollable giggles. 

The curtain, though, flew open and a naked Christy stepped into the shower, trying to push Alex out. 

-Stop it!! Bitch... Negotiate!! , yelled Alex while tickling Christy.

-All right... Shower together?

-Shower together it is. , winked Alex.

With water running on their still salty, naked skin, the girls started rubbing some shower gel on their bodies, splashing water at each other.

-You got a nice rack! , complimented Christy.

Alex started laughing loudly again, Christy fell on Alex's arms and embraced her, still joking around. Not commenting on the fact that they were at each other's arms, the girls continued to laugh, tease and tickle. Suddenly, Christy pulled away from that embrace and, saying that she needed to lie down, got out of the shower leaving Alex to finish her bath.

When she got out, she heard Christy singing some song she heard at the gig earlier, from upstairs; she was in Alex's room. When Alex got in, she found Christy lying on the bed, still naked.

-Girl, you want all the bed for yourself! Where am I supposed to lie?

-Here... I'll make you some space. You let me shower with you instead of leaving me wait until you're done, after all. Christy moved aside a little bit. Alex sat on the bed and started combing her long hair. Water droplets started to run on her neck, making their way down to her rack, stomach and belly. Christy had her gaze completely fixed on each one of them, until Alex turned her head and caught her stare. She slowly kneeled on the bed and moved towards Christy who was still lying down. When she got closer, she just let some drops of water fall on Christy's bare skin.

-Isn't this nice?

-I love it..., said Christy with a dreamy tone in her voice.

Alex let her -now silk-soft from the combing- wet hair touch Christy's belly and the left side of her waist. Christy felt the temperature difference and suddenly wished she could feel it way lower than there. 

Then she remembered, and in her state of mind, she started narrating out loud every detail of what it was she had remembered; that dream where, some nights ago, Alex and Christy were in a roomy comfortable tub together. Christy was leaning back on the cool black marble of the side of the tub, which looked a bit like a small bathroom pool. Then Alex, moving on her hands and knees, had climbed on top of her, leaving the same trails of water dripping from her hair on Christy's body, but she reached up to her breasts and fondled them with the same, cool from the water fingers, she had now placed on each of Christy's shoulders while she listened with a mixed look of confusion and curiosity on her face. Then Christy had woken up. 

-So... Your dream was about...

-Making out with you. Neither in a tender way, nor involving terms as "love" and "lesbian". It was a sensual moment between us. We just felt like we wanted to get closer to each other, touch and kiss each other. And we did it.

While Christina was talking, Alex laid beside her and had taken Christy in her arms. When she finished, Christy turned to the side and faced Alex, their breasts touching, their arms around each other's backs. 

-I've never thought about it like that, actually... And that's an interesting approach. Considering the fact that I am hot right now. , said Alex with a wink.

-You are..?? I thought you'd get mad with me, to say the least. 

Alex pulled Christy closer and tighter on her. Their breasts were now squeezed together, and their nipples met. Christy let a small sigh to escape from her mouth, and she moved right and left a while, as though as she tried to get comfortable, but in her mind craving to feel their nipples together again, more, harder. She placed her right leg onto Alex's side, and Alex placed her hand on Christy's thigh. 

-Your hands are still cool... whispered Christy.

Alex moved her palm on Christy's inner thigh, trying soft touches and fondles on Christy's warm skin. Christy subconsciously let her free hand move down on her belly, and then up a little, finding their breasts together, and down again, lower, between her legs. She felt the familiar, warm, sweet moist. Alex slowly moved her knee until it was pressing just a little on the area where Christy's hand was, between her legs. Christy sighed a little bit louder. She lowered her chin, found Alex's neck and started kissing, licking and softly sucking the bare skin. Alex's moves and fondles went a little rougher. She pulled Christy on her, run her fingers through her hair, and grabbing the back of her neck she gave Christy a deep, sensual kiss. Christy didn't need to wait to respond; she found Alex's tongue with hers, she slightly sucked and bit her lips, and couldn't stop thinking how hot it was that their breasts were still squeezed together...How hot was Alex's hand still fondling the inside of her thigh. She wanted more and it was the time she would get it.

Alex was equally enjoying Christy's rich rack placed on hers, her thighs placed at each side of her hips. She felt Christy's hand moving down, right between Alex's thighs, separating them. Christy's fingers reached her pussy lips, and started to rub them together, parting them, touching Alex's wet clit, covering it with her palm. And the rubbing went quicker and harder... Her three middle fingers were now making circular fast moves on her clitoris. She could feel her pussy dripping. Alex grabbed Christy's fingers, and suddently pinned them down into her vagina; one, two, three. She started moaning louder. Christy lowered her head, until she could smell Alex's wet, sweet vagina and see it dripping more and more on the soft sheets. 

Thrusting her palm back and forth, so that her fingers reached as deeper as possible into Alex and the rest of her palm gently slapping her clit, she turned the rest of her body over, above Alex's face. Alex needed to do nothing more than stick her tongue on Christy's pink and hardened clit, and start to lick and suck violently. Christy couldn't help but shout from amazement and lust; it was way better than she could ever imagine! Alex's tongue, giving long and hard licks from her hole up to her clit, inserting her vagina, biting her pussy lips, slapping her thighs and butt, pressing her clit between her lips... Was it Hell, or Heaven?

Suddenly, within a moment of confidence, Christy turned again to face Alex, parted her thighs even more, and pressed their pussies together. The feeling was divine. Their liquids mixed together, dripping on their thighs. They both could feel their clits throbbing with lust. Alex took Christy's nipple in her mouth; she longed to play with her big rich breasts with the pink hard nipples, her skin so white and soft... She gave one good bite to the side of her right breast and left her tongue and lips do the rest, while her left hand played with the other one, pinching and fondling it. 

Christy was now overwhelmed with passion. She was moving her wide hips up and down, left and right, rubbing her pussy onto Alex's, firstly slow and easy, and then faster, harder, and harder, and harder... Alex pinned her down, placed her left leg over Christy's right thigh and, taking her other knee between her breasts, she started to rub her tanned, well shaved pussy against Christy's clit, pressing the pubic arch with her palm. She licked the sweat and the liquid from her fingers; they tasted like cherry. 

Moaning and sighing, they both felt their pussies throbbing, dripping, overwhelmed with a new kinf of pleasure; a first time experience of an orgasm just between them, caused by them, just for them. Secret. Delicious. Lustful. Holding their breaths, they came together, their liquids mixed once more between their thighs, their hands all over eachother, and they collapsed on the soft moist sheets, smiling with a little taste of sin on their lips.



Flesh for Fantasy



I sat eating a simple grilled cheese and a bowl of potato soup. Well, perhaps not eating as I was enraptured by a woman sitting with another having lunch three tables away from me. Her friend had her back to me but I did not care. She was not the source of my attention. No, I was spellbound by the woman facing me. And because of that I was somewhat surprised. 

For some reason I have been attracted to slim women tall or short, with nicely shaped smaller asses. I have never been a fan of the Beyonce, or Kardashian booties, though the now legal Kendall had an ass I love. The slender women I had fallen for had breasts somewhat large for the slenderness of the body, but never too large or pendulous like most men love. I have always felt that if it did not fit in one hand and could not be administered to by one it was a distraction and a disservice to a woman's other breast. I loved the dimples created above the crack of a woman's ass in the small of her back, and I guess it was because of that, that I was not fond of what is commonly referred to as a "Tramp Stamp." In fact I simply hated the thought of tatoos on a woman. Tattoos, I believed, marred the single greatest work of art that God ever created. The female body (which was the vessel transporting the 2nd greatest - her mind.)

Eyes generally did not matter, though at times they were so remarkable the body fell away and I fell in. I feel the same way about women's legs, short or long matters not, as long as they have tone and shape to them. I know, I know what I am describing here is not the perfect woman, but the perfect sounding misogynist, myself. But no, I absolutely love everything about women, I just have traits deep in my subconscious that makes me drawn me them. These traits are the starting point to getting to know them and to know them is to find their true beauty which is often converse to that of the outer beauty. I have been led astray far too many times. But I digress. 

This, woman, this enchanting beauty three tables down that had me ignoring my lunch was different completely. I had absolutely no idea what is was that drew me to her and held my attention. I could begin by describing her physical appearance, perhaps that might give me and perhaps you as well, some insight. 

She had a deep burgundy hair color that despite being silky in appearance had depth, curls that bounced with every moment, or laugh. Ah, her laugh, deep, natural and easily released was intoxicating. I wanted to hear more. But her voice I could not clearly distinguish which at this point made no difference because whatever may come out of those full luscious lips was somehow destined to be melodic. Her face though somewhat fleshy still showed the beautiful bone structure underneath. While a plus size woman, her curves were somehow just as appealing and interesting as those of any slim woman I have loved. She wore a knee length navy blue skirt and a white button up collared blouse, and over it was a simple white sweater that as she was now removing it exposed her sleeveless arms. Sumptuous full bodied drink them in arms. They were large and years beyond slender . . . and I was in love. 

One thing you must know about me is that I have a fetish. Smooth, supple skin. I have loved rubbing and caressing skin since I was a kid. I believe it started when I used to curl up next to my mother while watching TV and I would lay my head on her large fleshy arm and love the touch of her skin against my face. At some point I know not when, I started to caress her arms, not in a sensual or sexual way, but to feel the smoothness and coolness of the skin. I loved the feeling in a much similar way as the cool place on a pillow that you snuggle into and happily doze off. I loved the soft feeling, better than silk, velvet, or suede. Unfortunately, this has cost me in some of my relationships. I simply love to make my women feel pleasure and at times my caressing has overstimulated them or often woke them from their sleep. Apparently my hands have a mind of their own as I sleep. If they had a perfectly smooth skin complexion I was in heaven, and often times for them hell. I have tried to find someone who could cure me of this, but all has been to no avail. Which explains why I am eating alone today, as well as most others. 

I pushed my food forward and away from me. I could eat nothing and it was rapidly closing in on time for me to head to my next appointment. Gathering up courage I left enough for the lunch and a nice tip and headed towards the women. 

I stopped a respectable distance from the table not wanting to crowd them or make them ill at ease and introduced myself, "Hello Ladies, I do hope my interruption will not trouble you too much, but for some reason I felt compelled to say hello. And also to thank you for making my lunch bearable and enjoyable. The slender lady who had her back to me blushed and held her hand to her chest in a demure way. But I ignored her and reached in my pocket and pulled a business card from my wallet and extended it to the dream before me, "I am not soliciting you for business, but hope beyond my wildest dreams you take my card and when you have a chance, google me, visit my site and get know who I am before you say no. I would love to take you for coffee, for lunch, for dinner or whatever allows us to talk," I stopped to take a breath and judge her reaction. Still smiling, good. I continued, "I heard your laugh and it was intoxicating, but I could not make out your voice. I would love to hear it, hear your thoughts and see you." 

With that I bowed, wished them a good day and turned to leave. As I did so I distinctly saw a look of confusion and a brief flash of indignation on her friend's face. My Lady was beaming ear to ear. 

I headed to my next appointment in a building just a few doors down and checked in at the front desk. As I waited in the lobby the two women came through the door and flashed their badges to the lady and security guard behind the desk and continued past to the elevators. They waited, then as they entered the slender woman turned, saw me, then flipped me the bird. I suddenly laughed out loud as the woman who had been behind the desk approached. 

"Mr. Williams? Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Oh yes, sorry. A thought just occured to me . . . " I trailed off and figured it best not to explain.

"Um, yes, well, Mr. DiMeteo is ready to see you. Please follow me." 

She led me past her desk to the elevators. She turned and handed me some company publications and informed me, "Seventh floor, turn right and tell Sue you are there to see Mr. Di Meteo. Good luck," she said and then turned and left for her desk. 

I entered the elevator with a few other employees back from lunch and waited as they exited on different floors. The elevator chimed "Seventh Floor." The voice though digitized was a real woman's voice and very earthy and sexy. I exited and turned right looking at the publications as I walked to the end of the hall and stopped at the desk. As I lifted my head I announced, "Mr. James Williams here to see Mr. DiMeteo." The woman I had not paid attention behind the desk spun in her chair quickly and gasped. It was my Lady, more beautiful than ever as her open mouth quickly closed and broke into an ever widening smile. 

"Oh, Mr. Williams!" She said trying to drop the card under the desk. I saw over her shoulder that she had my web page open and had been viewing it. She saw what I was looking at and blushed 

Her office voice was simple, professional, and sexy as hell . . . in fact I thought, was it the voice of the elevator? "Nice to officially meet you Sue." Again a blush.

"As you Mr. Williams," please follow me. She rose gracefully and turned towards the office.

My God her ass! Though her ass was large was perfectly shaped and wonderous. 

She opened the door, "Mr. DiMeteo, Mr. Williams." With that she closed the door. 

The meeting was fantastic, and from the all the info I was receiving from her Boss I hoped I would soon be working in the same building as my Lady. We shook hands and he offered the standard we'll get back to you. I thanked him and showed myself to the door as I was anxiously thinking of talking to Sue once again. To my dismay Sue was nowhere to be seen. 

I headed to the elevator and as I entered so did another person. I stepped back and looked up into the eyes of - Sue. She dropped what was in her hands and quickly moved forward and shoved me against the wall and locked her lips to mine. She moved her hands through my hair and chased my tongue as I desperately tried to reciprocate and breathe. 

The elevator chimed 2nd floor and she quickly broke the connection, picked up her files and left as the doors opened. Stunned I simply stayed against the wall and waited for the doors to close and open again. 

I left the building and walked the two blocks to the parking garage. I got in the car and sat for a few moments trying to think through the events of the afternoon. Nothing went as expected, and yet I was worried about none of it. I smiled, started the car, and punched through the stations and I stopped as soon as I heard "Happy." I smiled the rest of the way home. 

Once parked in the building's garage I took the elevator to my floor and turned to the left to head to my apartment. Mrs. Turner's nineteen year old slender, well shaped daughter Kitty even said her usual seductive hello which I brushed past lost in thought. I entered my apartment and headed to my couch placed facing the window and sat down thinking of Sue. I stared out the window for time before I realized my phone was ringing and the shadows had more of an angle.. It was an unknown number but I answered hoping it was the firm with an offer. 

"Hello," a familiar voice timidly said. "Is this Mr. Williams?" 

"Sue?" 

"Ah, umm, yes?" 

"Is this about the job?" 

"Well, no, not exactly . . . I just wanted to apologize for the incident, you know, in the elevator . . . " her voice trailed off. 

"Sue. You need not apologize. In fact I loved every single moment of it. To be honest," I said leaning forward as I looked out the window where the light outside had dimmed enough to provide some reflection inside, "I My Lady, am still smiling."

"Really?" 

"Yes. Would you like to see it?" oh no, I thought, was that too soon? 

There was a pause, and then a sigh, "Absolutely." 

"Okay, where do you live I am on my way and we can go get something to eat. I was so distracted on the way home I forgot to stop," I said laughing. 

"Well, I googled you and you are so far on the other side of town, is there somewhere in the middle we can meet. I am sorry, but I do not want to wait too long and decide to back out. Is that okay?" 

"There is a downtown Cafe/Bistro near where you work -" 

"Caffee and Sam's! I love that place!" She shouted. "I am on my way!"

I laughed as I realized she had hung up. I loved her enthusiasm. 

I passed Kitty in the hallway again and this time pissed her off as I sped by only acknowledging her enough to say, "I'm sorry," as I quickly brushed past. The elevator was not fast enough. The lights were too slow. Other drivers were in my way. And my perception of time must have been totally off. It had only taken fifteen minutes to get two blocks from where I had been earlier today that took me thirty to get home.

As I opened the door tires screeched to a stop on the other side of the street. 

"Sue!" I yelled laughing. 

"Um," she said exiting her car, "I didn't realize I had been going that fast." 

"I didn't either. It took me fifteen to get here and thirty earlier to get home." I said as I offered my arm. "Shall we," I said gesturing towards the Bistro. 

We entered and found a booth off to the side, avoiding the tables and chairs in the middle of everything. I waited to sit until she had. Once seated I blurted out, "Sue, I gotta know, is . . . is that your voice in the elevator?"

She laughed and looked me in the eyes, "Yes, it was an office contest I won. I get teased a lot about it being too sexy to be used in an elevator" 

"Oh, oh, most definitely. Very, very sexy. But," I added as took her hands in mine, "Not as sexy as the real thing." 

She blushed but still held my gaze. 

"This may be too much too soon, but I have got to tell you one of the reasons I had to say hello earlier," I paused taking in a deep breath, "I was in a trance watching you talk. The movement of your hair, the way your body moved as you lived the moment, and especially your laugh." 

"Go on," she breathed. 

"I could hear talking, but no voice was distinct, or loud enough to be heard and enjoyed," I explained, "but by then I was smitten by everything I could see about you and I had to know. I had to know if the inside was as beautiful and remarkable as the outside."

She cocked her head to the side and leaned back but did not let go of my hands. "Really? Is this some sort of pick up line or style of yours?" she asked in disbelief. 

I took a deep breath, "NO. I mean, no. I am embarrassed to say this, but I have never been a pick up person, nor one who despite my own size, went for the full figured woman." I looked down ashamed to look her in the eyes," I continued forcing myself to look up, and I continued, "it is perhaps part of why I have never had a lasting relationship. That, and ..." 

"And what?" 

I looked out the window and then after a few moments I turned and looked back into her eyes and continued, "I also, have what, well, some would call a fetish." I waited for her to digest it. 

"A fetish?" she asked the question hung in the air uneasily, "What kind of Fetish?" she asked releasing my hands. 

I explained, "I love the feel of a woman's skin, especially when cool to the touch. It started when I was a kid and used to snuggle with my Mother on the couch watching TV. She was a large woman with pillow sized upper arms I loved to touch and rub. It has cost me relationships because sometimes I caress too much, I over stimulate them and they eventually feel it is just too much and leave. I'm sorry," I apologized, "I just love to touch, caress, and feel a woman as I give her pleasure. I have sought help, seen three different psychiatrists but to no avail. And I don't have a Mother complex." 

I looked down and waited for her to leave. 

Instead, I felt her once again cover my hands and take them into hers.

"Sue," I said, "It is up to you. Run now, or stay and hate me later." 

"I won't run. And I," she hesitated, "can't see how anyone could ever have too much of what sounds to me very intimate with a touch of tenderness. Will, will you show me what you mean?" she asked. 

"Yes, sue, Oh yes," I smiled hopefully, "but when?" 

"I'll follow you to your place, and then we can decide what to do then." 

I squeezed her hands and looked at her, "Thank you." As we stood I moved to her and gave her a hug, but I kept my hands to myself. I held the door open for her and followed her out. 

I drove to my apartment and entered my card to the scanner and then punched in guest as well. We parked near the elevators and I gave her my arm and escorted her to my apartment. I opened the door and watched as she entered and went straight for the window. 

"Wow, what a lovely view," she said turning, " I can see why you have the couch here and not aimed at a TV." 

"I spend a lot of time here on the couch, I guess this is my other psychiatrist." I joked, "would you like something to drink?" 

"Wine, if you have it." 

"That I have," I said as I went to the kitchen. I awkwardly open the bottle. Wine is not my thing and this was a bottle left behind from my last love interest. I poured a glass for her and filled a glass of water from the sink for me. 

I found her sitting relaxed as she leaned back on the couch admiring the view. "Here you go. I hope you like it, I have never tasted it, and to be honest it was a vintage left behind from my last, well, you know," I awkwardly added. "I hope you enjoy it." 

She swirled it around and gently smelled its aroma, then lifted it to her lips and knocked it back. 

She smiled, looked at me and laughed, "Sorry, I am a bit nervous. It was nice, she had good taste. May I have another?" 

"Sure I smiled. I'll be right back." 

I filled her glass and placed the bottle on the end table in case she wanted more. 

She looked at me and asked, "So you are not a wine lover I take it then?"

"Not really, I drink somewhat, but it's just not me." 

I settled back on the sofa and Sue seductively slid next to me and snuggled in. I placed my left arm around her and instinctively my hand began moving along her arm. Her skin was smooth and so very soft. Sue looked up at me then laid her head on my chest and sighed as my hand slowly swept across her arm and softly massaged it as it went. I heard a soft moan escape her lips. We sat quiet for sometime and I consciously forced myself to stop. As soon as I did Sue looked up at me and said, "You needn't have stopped, I was enjoying it immensely. Your hands move so softly as if they had a mind of their own and seem to be guided for my pleasure." 

"Would you like me to continue?" 

"Yes, please." 

"Okay, sit up for a moment and allow me to readjust." I turned sideways my left leg along the back of the couch and the other draped over the edge. I patted the couch between my legs and said, "Scoot over and lean back into me here." 

She did and as she settled in she let out a long sigh. I brought both hands to her arms and slowly alternated between soft gentle strokes and and caresses. Her arms were my wildest dream, my Moby Dick and I was filling with desire. I brought my hands up and began to massage her neck and now her sighs turned to moans. I worked my fingers up along the nape of her neck and around to the back working the tight tendons of her neck. As I did so I could feel the tension of the day release. Her moans grew louder as I was now working her temples and kissing her neck. 

"Oh, please, please don't stop there." 

I worked my hand back to the sides of her neck then around to the front and slowly down to clavicles and then onto her chest. I stopped momentarily to unbutton her blouse and slowly opened it then moved my hands in and to the sides of each breast. Though they were large they were for me simply perfect. I slid both hands around and under and was now cupping her breasts and searching for her nipples with my thumbs through the material of her bra. It was a simple utilitarian bra design for support and containment with the clasps fortunately in front. I moved my hands to her clasps and slowly unfastened them. I pulled them away to the sides and her breasts slid free. 

I was entranced by her lovely alabaster skin delicately dotted with freckles. I moved my hands back to her breasts and began to rub her areolas with my thumbs. They were a beautiful dark pink and small around her nipples, something you don't often find in large breasts. Her nipples were wide and soft and rapidly drawing together and upwards as my thumb stimulated them. 

As I continued to nuzzle her neck she moaned again and her hands went to her waist and unfastened her belt then the hem of her skirt. Her left hand dove inside while her right hand clasped the back of my neck and pulled me in closer and tighter into the nape of her neck. I was mesmerized as this beautiful woman began to pleasure herself before me. My hands had stopped their administrations and her nipples began to soften and retreat. I brought my hands up and placed them gently on each side of her face and bent forward to kiss her deeply. The release of her breasts and the sudden exposure began to once again force her nipples to thicken and stiffen as the cool air worked its magic. Her left hand was beginning to move furiously and I began to tweak her nipples, softly at first then harder. 




Flesh for Fantasy



Her hand was frantic, and her legs began to spasm as I softly and slowly caressed her breasts. I slid her to the side and leaned in to take her right nipple into my mouth and began to suck. Slowly at first, but as her grunts and groans escalated I increased the suction. When I felt her rapidly tense up I bit down on the nipple and twisted the other. Her body instantly shivered and then began thrashing about with cries of god knows what escaping loudly, incoherently from her lips. I let go and held her tight and moved a hand down to feel her wetness. As she started to slowly come down and relax I inserted first one and then two fingers and began to push in and pull out as my thumb worked her bud. In a matter of moments she began to shake again and her eyes flew open as she creamed my hand and her legs clamped shut. She tried to breathe, but I thumbed her clit again and then pressed down as she let loose a violent shake then collapsed as she passed out. 

I slowly withdrew my drenched hand and licked her juices off with gusto. I made sure I got between each finger, the palm, and the back of the hand and as I finished I heard her ask, "My god do I really taste that good? 

"Most definitely yes, but unfortunately I have no more to offer. Oh, just wait," I quickly plunged my other hand down and into her dripping wet pussy slid three fingers in and scooped out some of her fluids and then brought them up for her to taste, but then thought differently as I sucked them off and lowered my lips to hers. Ours tongues danced as she sucked her juices. When we came up for air she asked, "What would you like now?" 

Well I have felt your lovely pussy with my hand but now I can not wait to let my cock have a turn," I said then added, " If that be your wish. I know my tongue would also love a turn." 

She sat up and then stood. "Stand up, and let me undress you." 

I did as ordered. She started with my tie, which I had forgotten to remove when I got home the first time. She then unbuttoned my shirt and after each button she gave me a deep soulful kiss. she peeled my sweaty shirt and undershirt from me and tossed it to the floor. She rubbed my chest and giggled as she stopped to twist my small man boob's nipples. Her attention then turned to my belt and pants. She pulled them past my waist and let them fall to the floor. I stepped out of them then she looked at me and laughed. "Tighty Whities?"

"Why yes Ma'am," I laughed. "If not for them you would have been speared to death by now, and I would be trying to explain it to the police," I said matter of factly, trying hard not to laugh. 

"Really, so this lump needed such restraint?" she said as she pulled the waistband down and it sprang free. "Oh my, this is a concealed weapon. I do think may just kill me!" she laughed and then as she took it in her hand she cooed, "Let's find out how many bullets you have in this."

She lowered herself to her knees and then tenderly kissed it before licking in and swallow most of my nine inches. Her tongue expertly swirled around my cock as she began to bob her head down the shaft until her gag reflex kicked in. I think this beauty would be able to take me whole in time. As I finished that thought, she let it pop free from her mouth and then walked to the kitchen and brought back a chair. 

"Sit. I want to ride you with this gorgeous view behind you." 

"Yes Ma'am," I said and quickly obliged while she slowly removed her panties and brought them to my nose to smell. 

"Does this excite you," she said smiling wickedly. 

"Yes, you have a heavenly smell. One which I love."

"Good," she said. She straddled my lap and took hold of my dick and brought the tip to her pussy lips and before continuing took a deep breath and then dropped on me as it sank in deeply. 

"Ooooooooooooooooooooh, it feels so, soooo, damn goooood!" she hissed. 

I was in heaven. I had never had a woman who being this tight take me so deep so quickly.

She looked into my eyes and began to rock, but then she stopped and looked me in the eye and growled, "Lift that ass and fuck me hard, fuck me deep, fuck me till we drop!" 

She began to roughly bounce on my lap and before long I was lifting and plunging up as she violently dropped, our bodies smashing together sending waves rippling across our flesh. The smell of of sex permeated the room. We slammed into each other harder, faster, and suddenly she came losing control on a drop and when we hit the chair it lost our fight and shattered slamming us to the floor as I erupted violently into her pussy. We laid there still wrapped in each others arms with my cock still rock hard inside her. I wanted to speak, to thank her but I rolled her over off the chair and clear of the debris and pulled her legs up onto my chest and starting moving within her again. Her eyes began to open and a beautifully wicked smile appeared. All she said was, "More!" 

I began to pump her harder and deeper with each thrust. The animal desire that this woman had released in me was unknown, unexpected, and absolutely embraced. I was now growling and grunting with a determination to fill her hole and to make her pass out so that I could carry her to my bed, allow my hands to roam her body until she woke and then do it all over again. 

Wave after wave crashed over her and through her. Sweat glistened on her wonderfully jiggling tits. Had I had time I would enjoyed suckling them. But I was on a mission. I could not stop. Her moans became one long drawn out, "Unnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Her eyes had seemingly rolled into the back of her head forever. Yet I continued. Flesh slapping and pounding into flesh. Cum seeping from her pussy along my cock and down past her bunghole to the floor. My hair was soaked and was in my eyes but I could not raise my hand. I continued to drive and then suddenly every bit of cum, juice, liquid I had in my body filled her and overflowed. Spent, I fell to the side. 

I woke covered by a blanket with the smell of coffee in the air. 

"Good morning," Sue said as she raised a cup to her mouth. After taking a drink she continued, "What was that last night? I mean don't get me wrong, it was wonderful, but I have never experienced anything like that before." 

"Did you enjoy it?" I asked from a sitting position still on the floor, "I hope I did not hurt you. I just, I mean, I had," I had to apologize, "I am so sorry, but, and I am not blaming you, but I have never felt that kind of raw energy before . . . I just, I just hope I haven't hurt you, or scared you away." 

She laughed and took another sip, "I am still here aren't I?" 

I fell back onto the floor, and sighed, "Yes, thank god, yes."

"But you know, we never got anything to eat?" 

I laughed, got up and walked still naked over to my Lady and kissed her on the lips and headed for the shower. "Care to join me for a shower?" 

I did not look back but I heard her set the cup down and then heard her feet rush to join me.