0 comments/ 13103 views/ 2 favorites At the Summit Ch. 01 By: ProfessorR Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) 1997 - the Clinton Era Sophia stretched out on the rumpled sheets, enjoying the feel of my eyes gliding over her cooling curves. Not long before, the sheets which didn't cover us had been cold to the touch, had made us cling together for warmth. And warmth is what we had generated-- lots of it! Sophia looked down to my now shy penis as it drew itself in to a modest pose. There was a look of satisfaction on her face. Her tongue briefly darted to her lips, as if to re-taste her success. We were in our favorite room at the Oxford, just down the block from Denver Union Station, handy to where we first had entered the Mile High City. Sophia and I had managed once again to make our travels mesh, once again had enjoyed the fireworks of meeting after too long apart. "Tell me a story," she urged. I knew from this that she had energy to spare, and did not want me to drift off to sleep, either. In fact, I knew Sophia well enough to know that she had other things in mind once the story came to a climax. Fortunately, events had given me a tailor-made response. "Do you remember Dean Fields?" I watched for a sign of recognition. "Was he at the universi... oh, yes!" She chuckled at the misunderstanding. "Right, his name is Dean, that isn't his title. We used to laugh about that when he guest-lectured. If he had stayed on, he could have become Dean Dean and really sent us up the wall." "He was kind of a pleasant man. I only met him once, but I liked him. He had some kind of government early retirement thing." "Yes, and perhaps that's where I should begin my story." "I was thinking of something a wee bit more... erotic." She grinned and moved her chest just a bit in a restless way -- just enough to draw my eyes. "You haven't heard the story yet. I think you will be pleased more than once by it." I cleared my throat in a storyteller manner. "Once upon a time, a little over a month ago..." I intoned, "the Summit of Eight conference was held right here in Denver. World leaders and hangers-on right here." "I knew that. We couldn't get this room then." Sophia pouted comically. Folding her arms over her breasts, she imitated mock resignation. There were pages and pages in the newspapers on this event, down to what drinks particular world figures ordered. But below their level, only occasional anecdotes slipped through, and certainly not this story. Sophia fluffed an extra pillow up behind herself so she could sit up. Dean was retired, as Sophia had said, but when the planning was underway for the event, he received an intriguing message. It was brief, but rang a responsive chord deep within his heart. "Let's talk about being 50 together. Denver - June 27 - Oxford Hotel Cruise Room - 18h00." That was all the message said. Late that evening, he sat in the big chair in his suburban Washington, DC home and folded and unfolded the message, passed to him through secure channels known only to a few. Finally, he pressed it carefully into Newt Gingrich's book that he had just finished ("no one would look there," he thought.). He picked up the telephone. Dean dialed a number, the number of the man who had brought him the message. "Dean! I thought you'd be calling. Business or pleasure?" The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled. "Perhaps both." "I thought so; going to make contact again, eh?" "Apparently." "Come by the office in mid-morning. June will work up something for you." The receiver clicked in Dean's ear. It was quiet in the house now, his family asleep. Dean leaned back in the big chair, and half-closed his eyes. 1970 - the Nixon Era Dean was in Hamburg. THEY were in Hamburg. He and Michelle Brisson were meeting there on a shared mission-- each to contact the other on behalf of their prickly countries' intelligence interests. Strictly business, get up there from Berlin, define some mutual objectives, and get back. That was the agenda, but it was under the cover of a script that called for them to be lovers from some ill-defined time before. The tawny-haired Frenchwoman had come up on the train from Bremen, on her first solo assignment, full of textbook learning and businesslike as could be-- awkward for someone who was supposed to pretend to have a romantic out-of-town fling with him. Neither of them had been very happy about that part-- staging what once would have been called an "assignation" -- the joking by their colleagues, the wonder at what they would say to their own intendeds. It was not an easy situation. Michelle had not liked it when he called her a "Frenchcicle" when they made the rounds of waterfront tourist attractions that morning. It took a bit before she realized that he was just as up-tight about the concept. Some horny higher-ups were having a big joke at their expense. Still, she knew that she was not unpleasant to look at, and that he seemed to be kind and gentle in spite of the situation. Perhaps they could make something of this if they tried. After lunch in a riverside cafe, they had sped past the burgerly furnishings in the Hans Jenisch Haus museum too quickly, becoming excited with their policy discussion, which was the official purpose of their meeting. "Guys are licking their chops back in Berlin, fantasizing about us, and we're getting warmed up over policy!" Dean mused to himself. "Let's sit down here for a bit... we're running ahead of schedule." He indicated the lawn in front of the historical house. Michelle snuck a peek at her watch and agreed. The limber young woman folded her jacket into a pillow, and stretched out on the lawn, catlike in the warm sun. She closed her eyes, and Dean envied the way that relaxation moved through her. Dean found himself half-sitting up beside her, looking out over the grassy expanse. Looking casually around, he spotted motion in the corner of the property, half-shaded by a large tree. A bit of reflection could have been a camera lens. "Damn!" he muttered between his teeth. "Who is that?" Michelle blinked her eyes open. "Don't move!" he whispered, and brought his lips to hers. Barely touching hers, he told her about the glimpse of a reflection. "Yours, mine, or theirs?" she chuckled. "Maybe all three in one? They're cutting costs." Dean grinned and kissed her gently again. Somehow, the ice was broken by their exchange and the shared hypothetical danger. She puckered teasingly, asking for another kiss. "Does Charles de Gaulle know you are doing this?" "I am doing it for France, so it's tres bien with him." Dean brought his left hand to her waist and traced the outline of her curves up and down. She breathed more deeply, and her shirt-blouse moved up and down quite satisfactorily. She closed her eyes again, once again relaxing in a way that Dean had never seen before. Michelle's blue-green eyes remained closed as his hand followed her side back up to her breast. They remained closed as he gently touched her breasts, each in turn. Only a tiny, trembling almost-pucker of her lips showed the enjoyment she was taking in his "pretend" exploration of her body. That he was still trying to be a gentleman about it only made his attention more exciting. Watching her miniature reaction closely, and hoping to give the photographer in the bush something to get glossy prints of, Dean opened one button on Michelle's blouse - second one down. Around the couple, at decently-spaced intervals, other couples and families were stretched out on the lawn. No one was watching openly-- only the felt presence in the shade. Through the small opening that he had made, Dean's fingers found the satin edge of her brassiere, and slipped off its smoothness onto her skin. The warmth was more than he had expected-- he could feel it rising around his hand through the opened blouse. In a way that he later learned was tantalizing, he traced the edges of her curves-- nothing grabby, nothing exotic, but with a gentle curiosity that she had never before experienced. She felt herself growing warm all over now. Michelle sat up suddenly. "You thought I was asleep, didn't you!" she asserted sternly, as she rebuttoned her blouse. The twin points of her erect nipples made her all the more sexy at that moment, not to mention belying her mock outrage. "And I thought you were enjoying that!" Dean asserted back. "I was, but that's beside the point!" Michelle caught the camera's reflection this time, and pouted for the next photo. "Let's go! We'll make him earn his pay-- for whomever." Dean rose, and suddenly became aware of how his own excitement was pressing against his briefs. He straightened his pants and hoped that his manhood was not as obvious as it felt right now. He looked around, but life on the great lawn continued placidly. Like their two countries at that time, or just about any time, they went through the afternoon and into the evening just like that. They teased each other, they talked business, they agreed, they disagreed. They led the representative of whatever other power around and around the German port, until finally, they found themselves on an Elbe ferry coming home. "You really do like me, don't you?" Michelle whispered to Dean. The thrumming of the diesel engine in the small ferry shook them gently, and the gurgle of water broken by the bow brought them close together to be able to hear their own whispers. "Yes. If this was a different situation, I'd be plotting how to go to bed with you tonight." He said it in a matter-of-fact tone that she suddenly felt was admirable. This American was so honest! "Naturellement!" she thought. "We are healthy young adults, we are supposed to be lovers, and no one will know if we take advantage of this situation. It would be crazy to go through some motions in my room for eavesdroppers, and then each of us go to our own beds touching ourselves to finish off the evening." But to Dean, she just smiled, and kissed him in a long embrace against the rail. And thus, after more kissing along the way, just for the benefit of whoever was tailing them, they found themselves upstairs in the hotel. 1997 - Time in a Bottle Dean shifted in the big chair, hoped that no one would come down for a midnight check on him, as he thought he felt as swollen and moist now recollecting it as he had been back then. These memories were so strong through the fog of Time. He could remember the scent of her perfume. He remembered them meeting, as agreed upon, in her room. They were supposed to hang around a bit, bang around the furniture a bit, and then that would be it. Simple. 1970 - Cold War Outside Outside the room, the sound of a ship's horn in the hafen reminded them of where they were. Inside, it was timeless. The hungry young couple, rested, excited with each other's personalities, and feeling more and more a part of each other, in an odd kind of way, a way impossible to explain to anyone else. Dean felt awkward. He wondered if the room was bugged, and therefore signed to Michelle that they should kiss - loudly. She obliged. They were nervous again. What to do next? What to check? "I'll turn out the lights so we can take a peek outside," Dean whispered. Michelle nodded agreement - it made sense anyway, given what they were supposed to be up to. With the lights out, she stepped to the window, and with one graceful move, slipped the blind back enough to see that a figure was standing in the shadows of the florist shop doorway across the street. In the cinema it would have been a man in a dark overcoat. In real life, she could not make out more than the general shape of the watcher. She tossed her head window-wards to indicate to Dean that he was right in guessing that someone would be out there. Dean saw that, and he saw the grace in this simple movement. Very professional, of course, not jiggling the blind in a way that would catch the street light, but also very sensual. He drew in his breath. Dean felt himself to be a bundle of contradictions -- finding himself attracted to Michelle, wanting to remain professional with her, not wanting to have her feel like he was doing more than called for in their respective scripts. This was a knot too tough to untangle. And then Michelle took the step that changed everything. "I have decided to make things simpler," she calmly asserted-- as if she had read his mind. "Please turn on the little lamp by the bed." He reached down to do so, and then, looking up again, he saw that she had begun unbuttoning her shirt-blouse. Dean could not remember what he said next, or whether he just stood there with his mouth open. His eyes followed her adroit fingers from button to button. Her brassiere caught a bit of the light in the room-- enough to see that her rose-colored satin covering fit perfectly. Michelle was not busty, Dean realized much later. Her allure was in her self-confidence, it was in the smile which showed her enjoyment of his reaction, and, perhaps, it was in her knowledge that everything that she wore was perfect for the occasion. Of course, she was French! In one smooth motion, Michelle turned slightly, deftly touched the clasp behind her, and leaned forward a bit to let the bra fall away. She turned back to face Dean, painting the pale lamplight across her freed bosom. Her dark jeans framed her waist and contrasted with her light complexion. A bit of the Viking raiders who had penetrated France in Norman times was in her, emerging as a few dainty freckles in places that Dean had not seen before. "I have heard that American men like breasts," Michelle teased in an octave lower than normal. "But you are just standing there. Perhaps I was misinformed?" She giggled. The giggle moved the upturned nipples on her taut breasts quite attractively. Now laughing, now kissing, the couple fell into each other's arms. Michelle found that she enjoyed his steady strength around her, and Dean thrilled to feel that wave of relaxation sweep over her there in his embrace. They continued like that for longer than most couples do in stories like this one. As they teased and tugged, cuddled and caressed, and as he proved that American men like breasts, they washed away the stress of the day in bubbles of laughter and caring attention to one another. Somehow, finally, at last, the moment was right, and Dean's hand followed the inevitable path over her tummy to her belt. As his fingers arrived there, she drew in her breath, and he opened the way to her already moist curls. The sound of the zipper sliding down its track suddenly seemed like a freight train in the still of the night. The jeans hung gracefully open about her hips, half unzipped. Michelle stopped a laugh in mid-cry, and held her breath for a moment as she savored the sensation of his touch rising over her Mount of Venus, pausing for a moment, and then descending to hold her in calm intimacy. "I have heard that French women like men who have a steady hand." Dean imitated her throaty statement of what seemed like ages ago. "But, of course," she imitated her own accent. "And what is that steady hand about to do?" "Pay close attention, and you'll find out." It had occurred to Dean that Michelle had learned some things in her intelligence training about men, but perhaps might not have learned as much about herself. She started to reach for his shirt button. He felt her muscles moving in their embrace. "No, sweet Michelle, just relax again, and let me enjoy touching you." She raised an eyebrow, but did as he asked. In a moment, Michelle thought, he'll be clawing at me in desperation. She licked her lips ever so slightly at the thought. Now, from the center of Dean's steady cradling of Michelle's sex, his finger tip moved slowly back and forth across her opening, then in a small circle around it. She felt her sacred space contract involuntarily in delight at his touch. His mouth moved from her nipple, kissing the tender underside of her breast. As she felt that skin gently drawn into his kiss, she also felt his finger move with confidence into her wetness. "O!" Michelle cried a tiny exclamation, half a sudden breath and half a word. Still dressed, other than the blouse and bra, which lay limply on the floor, Michelle was weighing an insecure part of her mind that said to get undressed and get into bed, and get him into herself. Another part of her mind was filling with lovely chemistry, washing away all the rationality, letting her see every part of every action, even though it was yet hidden from both of them. That part was a powerful woman, and Michelle could feel this power spreading through her, glowing hot in her growing femininity. The vagina of this woman was rich and complex and worthy of the bold explorations and tender ministrations which the American tendered to her. "C'est mon espace, mon petit cinema prive'" she realized, as her English faded into a swelling pink cloud. She smelled the scent of her perfume rising, mingling with a touch of his shaving lotion aroma. "I must go forward," she said to herself in English, clutching at her ability to get out this phrase. Dean heard this only as sighs and half-words, but it mattered not, since he was caught up in each tiny secret of her. Michelle willed herself to relax again, and then gave herself to be pleasured as the strength within focused on his offering. Just as she became used to it, his finger moved purposefully outward, drawing a wet trail behind it. At her inner lips, he moved so slowly that she could feel their gentle closure. He circled her hard clit with his moist finger, placing a silken-feeling screen between their skin, protecting her from the roughness of his fingerprint, he said. Then, somehow, she could not have explained how later, two fingers cradled, caressed her clit, and yet his finger was inside her again, barely moving, deep inside. His active outer fingers moved encore to her inner lips, to her outer lips, and back again to her highest point. Wherever needed, somehow he was there. Had she been able to hear her own sounds, she would have understood. Delicate sounds, and sometimes urgent whispers, "a droit, non, non, a gauche!" She directed his touch without conscious thought, having released her mind from checking everything with her rational, insecure self. Her French words brought him back to her hard peak, and then his commanding touch was within again, causing such heat as she had never known. He was deeper, harder, more intense. "Oh, regarde cheri comme elle est jolie ma chatte!" She smiled wickedly, and kissed Dean before he could ask why her cat was happy. Michelle cried out again as he begin to caress her pussy in earnest now, listening for her whispers to bring his fingers to the perfect rhythym. She wanted to lift herself into the air, felt like she could have, but they were leaning against a wall. Along with that new sensation, Michelle began to grow conscious of something new inside of herself. Although Dean was deep within her, tenderly meeting her requests, he had resisted her words and movements that would have pressed his finger hard against one particular place. And yet, she felt a growing sensation there, a feeling that a new part of her was unfolding, uncoiling, straightening, reaching out to him from within. "I want your finger inside me as deep as it will go." Somehow the English words came out with sensuous undertones. She heard him respond to her, making a deep sex noise that reflected the height of his own excitement at realizing that he had found her special pleasure point. She felt his new enthusiasm in their kisses, and in the renewed energy within his finger. Feeling him responding in so many ways pushed her closer and closer to the release of the ecstasy he had masterfully built within her. At the Summit Ch. 01 His research was complete, as was her preparation. She felt his fingertip touch this new place within and then before she could think, or ask, or tell, she was beyond control! His finger inside seemed to meet his touch outside and Michelle felt as if her clit was being caressed from within. Her juices flowed over his fingers and hand as he stimulated her, second after second, taking her closer and closer until it began - "...au moment de l'orgasme!" It was not a complete sentence, but Dean was in no mood to ask her to repeat and translate. It spread up to her clit and throughout the tunnel of her vagina and she could contain it no longer as she squirmed against him, flexed herself around his finger, and swallowed his mouth in hers, feeling herself propelled by his touches. Michelle was riding the crest, riding the wave of a most intense orgasm as he continued his marvelous task. He knew not to stop, smiled at her mix of anguished requests to stop for "un' moment" that mixed with her hot-breathed assertion that she couldn't stop! She came and came on his wonderful finger, and savored the counter-eddys of sensation from his lips over her straining nipples. Moaning loudly and long, drowning in the bliss he was giving her! "Oh!" Still he continued his movements on her, within her, and another wave was starting, this one yet more intense! The room faded further away in the pink cloud as she left the world behind and became only aware of the sensations in the center of her "territoires intimes..." rushing out to every nerve in her body. Michelle was on sensory overload and this time she could only cry out to him in French-- words that he did not know, but felt. Softly now, he eased his finger away and held her as he had at first. Her ears were still full of the roar of her rushing blood and she felt ecstatically spent. "Thank you, my lover," she whispered, her eyes slowly opening. She saw his passion-flushed face. "Thank YOU!" he whispered back to her as he withdrew his hand from her still partly-zipped jeans and moved back to look at her. They kissed deeply. She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh. As intense as her orgasms were, she had to admit that now she craved his cock. Suddenly, before they knew it, they were caught up in a mad storm of zippers, buttons and elastic. They laughed at their sudden impetuousness. And then they stopped... he yet in his bulging white cotton and she sleek in the rose satin panties that matched the forgotten bra. "Our last innocent kiss!" she exclaimed, as they embraced. The heat of her vagina boiled through the inadequate cloth and surrounded him with an urgent, loving sensation. "Innocent?!!" They chortled together. "Well, I think it is a custom in part of France, before the virgin leaps under the covers," Michelle mused. "And has all this happened to French virgins before that last 'innocent' second?" "It depends on how one defines 'innocence'" she said in deadpan with an arch-eyebrowed look. Sharing the same thought, they looked deeply at each other for a moment; then Michelle said the words "you need to come inside tonight" in both languages. Dreamily still, she stretched out on the bed. Dean stood beside her for a moment, letting his eyes trace every curve, drinking in this perfect moment. Then he stretched his waistband wide from his slim stomach, and slipped his last covering to the floor. Michelle grinned a bit, and Dean laughed joyfully, as his penis struggled to orient itself after its overlong captivity. She grew silent again as she watched it curve upward to meet their mutual needs. He knelt on the bed beside her, and placed his hands at the satin waistband. She stretched out, raising her hips slightly to allow him to ease her panties over her hips, and then she relaxed catlike again, draped over the pillows and the bed. Her broad Norman hips waited to receive his power. She would translate his message into her own excitement. 1997 - Late at Night Dean roused himself from his late-night reverie, and stumbled upstairs to bed. In the morning, there would be details to attend to and a flight to catch. 1997 - Too Early in the Morning The alarm blasted him out of a deep sleep. He rolled over to hit the button, and felt himself to be agreeably hard. All those memories had carried on through the night. Not that he did not wake up this way on many mornings, given the devolution of his marriage. Still, there was something different this morning-- a feeling of anticipation. His wife remained hard asleep. Walking into the office for the first time in months, there was also a feeling of anticipation. He had enjoyed his diversion into the academic world, but this was his first love. There were new people here and there, but familiar faces also looked up from their desks and nodded greetings as he passed. There were empty desks, too, reminding of colleagues retired and not replaced. He came to a waiting area at the end of the office, and Jill, the secretary who guarded the director's office was waiting there for him. She was 58 or 59 years old, but hadn't worked for the government long enough for the type of early retirement which he had taken. Her early career as one of the first Playboy Playmates did not count toward retirement. She was grinning. "I've got your tickets and the paperwork," she chuckled. "But is this trip business or pleasure?" Apparently the "need to know" policy extended to directors' secretaries. "Must I tell? Do you answer every question?" He emphasized the last sentence. They both laughed. "Loose lips sink ships, Ms. Hardaway!" he intoned in mock seriousness. "And they can do a hell of a lot more than that!" Now they really were laughing. "Grab a chair and he'll be with you in a moment." When she first started in the office, no one had realized about her background. Somehow, it leaked out, and once it was a topic of discussion, Jill had become somewhat proud of her pioneering role. She had discovered that people wanted to know about the celebrities whom she had met, the places she had traveled to, and so forth. In an office where most topics of conversation would lead to security dead-ends, it was fun to hear her tales. Still, as Dean's question had emphasized, she was discrete about certain topics. This discretion had recently netted her a retired admiral; his photo was displayed in a small gold frame on her desk. They were quietly seeing each other. Dean found himself looking at it and wondering if the admiral had a current photo of Jill, or if he also had obtained a copy of her fold-out from years ago. Jill had been a zaftig confection, the classic blonde pin-up of her day, the girl next door pouring milk into the cat's bowl while wearing red bikini panties and a big smile. Out at sea, a young sailor would have clutched at that image. Dean smiled a bit as he realized that she was wearing more in that centerfold shot than some high-fashion models wear in women's magazines today. As Dean's mind sorted out his thoughts about the message from Michelle, he realized that there was a message in this room for him. Jill and the Admiral were a decade older than he and Michelle were, and they were a handsome couple, just as intrigued about each other as any new couple might be. When Dean and Michelle had been together in Germany, a warm summer afternoon had come where they had imagined themselves to be 50, and they had somehow found each other and were telling each other about their lives. Being 50 had seemed terribly far off. Dean had poured more of the strawberry wine, and Michelle had sliced up more of the cheese and apples, and they had talked and talked. "Like a French movie," Dean had quipped to himself later on. They had not had sex that afternoon, though they had discovered that lightly running his nails along the cut-out edge of her sleeveless top, along her warm, bare skin made her purr kitten-like. Somehow, this quiet afternoon spent sharing thoughts about their future loves, families, jobs, and even future losses was as intimate as any that they had shared in bed. In later years he sometimes thought of it as the climax of their special relationship. Now that imaginary day was going to become real. And Jill and the Admiral were a reminder to him that there was much more ahead in life. The inner sanctum's door opened. "Come in, Dean!" Jill signaled a thumbs-up. The director beckoned him. The briefing was not long, as they had worked together on many previous projects. The director did NOT ask him if the trip was going to be business or pleasure. As had happened so many years ago, he looked at the pleasure as a nice cover for business. The matter was simple from his standpoint. Michelle and other women of her agency were resisting pressure to play favorites with le Front National. For the umpteenth time in history, certain French civil servants in the defence establishment found themselves to be comfortable with a shift toward the right. They could feed information to the stern-visaged men who ran the Front, curry favor with them, hope to manipulate them. The Lepenistes in the department, as the Front faction was called, wanted nothing to be known about their leanings. On the other hand, some of their colleagues, intelligent women and men who were used to thinking on their own and dealing with big risks, had heard the FN's words, had understood that the "role hypertraditionnel" awaiting them was a retrograde movement. Le Pen himself had sharply warned that the state must no longer be neutral in private lives. Women were to bear children, and raise them in the home. Michelle would set up contacts between their agencies which would bypass Lepenistes who had taken control of the information flow between the American and French counterparts. This would be done under cover of a sentimental rendezvous, appearing to take advantage of Michelle's assignment to cover a peripheral security matter on the First Ladies' side of the Summit conference in Denver. Dean thought to himself about this. Now he understood why everyone seemed to know about the rendezvous. It was being leaked in order to build up the cover story about meeting his old flame. "Is this something from the Internet conspiracy theorists?" he finally burst out. The Director leaned back in his chair and looked at him blandly. "Why don't you ask your friend, Michelle?" "I will." Dean tried to sound assertive, but not confrontative. It came out poorly. "I'll give it my best." That cliche from the "Iron Chef" sounded better. The director rose and shook hands with him. "It will be a difficult assignment, and the Lepenistes play hardball." The director paused, and then winked. "I envy you." He did not smirk, but said it honestly. Perhaps he had someone in his past who he would like to meet again. Or perhaps it was physical danger that he envied. In Washington, DC, Dean mused, the dangers were meaningless traffic deaths and armed robberies. Taking risks to reach an executive office must have been a comedown for a man who had reputedly done so much in the recent Cold War. Dean half-waved good-bye, and strode out of the room. Despite the question marks, it felt good to be back in business again. His mind told him it would be nice to get together with Michelle after all the years that had passed. Jill's knowing smile as he passed her reminded him that it might be more than nice. To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 02 Copyright 2004, All rights reserved Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) * 1997 - Sophia Teases the Story Out of Me Sophia tickled me and giggled. "Tell me more of Dean and Michelle's story!" she demanded. "I know where you are most ticklish!" I squirmed and laughed as I tried to evade her maddening touch, but she was right. Sophia and I had been bedmates long enough that she knew where she could get the biggest reaction. It was the night after I had first told her about our mutual acquaintance and his long-ago affair with his French colleague, Michelle. We had walked down to the riverbank at Confluence Park, and had stretched out on the grass. She had lots of questions. Letting my eyes take a loving look at her curves, I asked her a question: "Wouldn't you like to continue the story back at the Oxford?" She pouted comically. "No! I want to hear it now." She switched to tenderly touching the back of my hand, running her fingers up my arm. "You make a pretty convincing argument." Actually, Sophia was capable of making a convincing argument on facts-- her business activities were becoming more and more successful. It was getting harder for us to work out visits together, even as it became easier for her to afford the stay at the well-regarded hotel. But now she was enjoying playing a teenager for a bit. "Will you go to the Prom with me if I tell you more of the story?" We laughed so loud that we frightened a dove that had landed near us. It fluttered off. "Yes," she kept laughing, picking up on the teen-theme. "And, we'll go to the Turfside Motel down by Centennial Race Track afterward." "They tore that down." "The race track?" "Both of them, I think." I kissed her, and her mouth took mine in a relaxed, sensuous way that belied our tease talk. "Sophia, you win.....!" 1997 - Leaving on a Jet Plane As the Denver-bound jet waited and waited for its take-off slot, Dean mentally divided up what he knew into 3x5 cards. It was an old trick that he had been taught in Berlin. Then, he added his own feature, mentally dividing up what he knew he did not know on additional cards. On the final mental card, he placed an imaginary 1970 photo of Michelle in the garden, her head on his lap, her eyes half-closed as she savored the homemade strawberry wine that they had just shared. That was the perfect choice, he thought. A poet might have picked an image of their first kiss. An Internet writer might have remembered her eager nipples erect and straining two centimeters forward for his kisses. Any man might have wanted to picture that moment when she had first stretched out to receive him. But Dean was not anyone. Somehow, he knew just enough about their time together to know that the occasion when they had been most psychologically connected was there in the garden, now sexually at ease with each other, and with their minds on the same subject. Now, mentally shuffling the index cards, he began to see the common thread: expectations. Michelle officially expected to work on a tangential security project supporting the Summit of Eight in Denver. Unofficially, she expected to meet with him to set up private communication channels to bypass the Lepenistes in her agency of the French Government. Privately, she would be carrying out what they had talked about so many years back, meeting face to face when they were 50 years old to find out how each others' lives had fared. Dean paused, and then mentally pencilled in another card. Sexually, was she expecting something? His boss expected him to meet with her to set up private communication channels to bypass the Lepenistes in her intelligence agency. Unofficially, he knew that they would socialize. Perhaps he fantasized a restoration of their sexual relationship. "Would you like something from the beverage cart?" The 40-something flight attendant sharply interrupted his mental exercise. She sounded frazzled, but it did not jar Dean, as he remembered himself going through this phase in his early 40's. He felt like he was past that now. "A 7-Up or a ginger ale." "All we have is Coke, Diet Coke, Mr. Pibb. The Salt Lake passengers drank everything else non-alcoholic." "Thanks. I'll pass." He turned his attention away. She had reminded him of Michelle's observation when they first ate dinner together. He had not asked for water, would not have thought of it in the German town they were in, as it was kind of mediocre tasting. Michelle, though, had been thrilled. "You are not like other Americans," the Frenchwoman had purred. "They always demand a glass of water with their meals." That made him feel good, even if it was an accident of geography. She had said it in a way that was exciting. Even now, just remembering it, he caught himself shifting in his seat a bit to relieve a slight pressure in his slacks. Ahem! Back to his imaginary file cards. His wife expected that he was on another secret business trip. In the earlier years of their marriage, she had been impressed with his work, put up with the secrets. In turn, Dean had foresworn the bachelor habits which had given him a reputation in the office-- a reputation which tended to grow larger among support staff bound to their desks who got to read second-hand bits of intelligence about his activities. That reputation stuck with him, yet, in the most hurtful irony, his wife had become bored with him as he had settled down. Dean felt that the people in the office were filling in the blanks with their own prurient interest; things never looked the same after the fact on paper as they did in the flesh. Judy Hardaway, the director's secretary understood this from her experience as a Playmate. Others though, like Rose in Accounting could remember little things like the $50 expense item for a box of Japanese condoms in Kazakhistan. She had recently made him squirm on getting that expensed-- and she had enjoyed it. "Honest, Rose! She was the subject of an investigation, and I didn't know how close I'd be getting to her! I was just being prepared, was all. I didn't know her that well. What if the government had to pay for an AIDS treatment for me?" "Did you use them all?" She had tossed her long red curls back, and pursed her mouth skeptically. Or was it a kiss? "Does our government actually own some leftover condoms which you are hoarding for some unauthorized use? And why didn't you conform to the Buy American Policy?" "Rose, if I had known that Alan Greenspan and the balance of payments was involved in this, I would have paid for the damn things myself. Have you ever tried to buy a condom in a collapsing Communist dictatorship? It's not easy." Rose had pouted. Then she had laughed. "You don't have to get all excited about it." "We should have lunch some time and sort this out." "Yes, we should." She had sounded slightly wistful. At one time, before his marriage, she knew this could have been dinner. She had smiled as his eyes drifted over her slim, slightly athletic figure. But he had stayed on the straight and narrow. It was harder to do this than Rose might have thought. His wife had turned against his employment as she saw him being dead-ended. The academic work which he had turned to did not mesh with her career, which had not fit into the small college town environment. They were at cross-purposes on too many things, but they were good roommates and liked sharing their family responsibilities. The Lepenistes-- now there was a card that needed lots of thought. Surely, they must be aware of his rendezvous with Michelle coming up. He almost expected to see his picture or hers on some magazine cover in the airport newsstand, given the leaky launching of his trip. On the other hand, it would be amusing if the opposition had not been paying attention, and all of these preparations had been unnecessary. Dean leaned back in his seat, and drifted off till the Denver approach. He tried not to be too wary, but occasional glances around took him all the way into Downtown without the feeling of being watched. Perhaps they would be left alone to enjoy their reunion, he thought. 1997 - In Denver The Oxford was a small, but elegant, hotel in the revitalized LoDo (Lower Downtown) district. He was quietly ushered through the check-in process and to a room decorated with antique furnishings. Ms. Hardaway's smooth preparations continued to make the journey easy. Dean took off his traveling clothes and tried to take a little nap, but found that he could not sleep. He felt like a high school boy with a big date coming up. There was nothing in the trip that should have made him edgy, but he was. His whole system was gearing up for her. He went into the bathroom, and confronted himself in the mirror. There were different ways of looking at one's 50-year old body, it occurred to him. Was Michelle still thinking of him as the hard-muscled 20-something who had been so ready for her? Or would she be pleased to discover a man who had taken good care of himself? He felt like a teenager again, laughed out loud at himself, as he tried flexing his arm muscles. The result, though, was good. Below his still flat stomach, his balls churned busily, preparing for Michelle. His penis was as edgy as the rest of him, starting up, then slacking off. He considered with some amusement that he did not even know what her intentions were; on an objective level he knew that they might just be having a few drinks together and talking about old times as a cover for their work. But his body was taking no chances-- it would be ready, even if his mind was not certain. He washed himself very thoroughly, shaved for the second time in the day, and put on the British Sterling that she had chosen for him so long ago. It had been hard to find that stuff now, and a Gen-X clerk had rolled her eyes when he had asked for it. Still not time yet, he thought. He riffled through the mental filing cards again and again, mentally tossed them in the air, and resorted them. Now, though, every card had Michelle's picture on it. "Let's talk about being 50 together. Denver - June 27 - Oxford Hotel Cruise Room - 18h00." He tried to penetrate the thinking in her cryptic message, to no avail. Trying not to rush, he took the elegant old iron staircase instead of the elevator. Still, he found himself beating the changing seconds on his digital watch as he walked into the Cruise Room. Having never been in the place before, he was disoriented for a moment by the decor of the room. Although the hotel was vintage 1890's, this room was pure 1930's Art Deco. Indirect lighting gave an ocean liner feel to the art work and to the scalloped, sweeping lines of the room. He looked around in the unusual lighting, and then spotted Michelle in a booth by herself. He also at that moment registered a man sitting at the bar by himself, too close to her. She saw him and smiled a smile that melted away Time. As Dean walked toward her, he saw that her fashion sense had not been dulled. She wore a simple white dress, with gold accessories. Its shirt collar and vaguely military shoulders and stitching, along with the buttons down the front, fit this room perfectly. It also registered in Dean's calculations that this dress was very flexible -- she was so practical. She could adjust the decolletage for work or evening wear. And, for that matter, any man who took an interest in her would notice those buttons and imagine himself undoing however many she had chosen to leave buttoned. This was a dress that covered many possibilities. Her hair was tinted, but not aggressively. As he slid into the booth in the seat opposite, he was pleased to note that her top three buttons were undone. He took her hand, and for a long time neither of them spoke. They simply looked at each other. Dean caught a motion of the guy on the barstool trying to watch them, probably puzzled and trying to figure out what they were up to. Dean raised his eyebrow slightly, and caught Michelle's slight nod in response. He remembered how delicately she could move, and knew from this motion that she had identified the bar customer as a question mark, too. "I'm so happy to see you again," she murmured. The dam broke, and their words suddenly flowed profusely. So many things had happened in their lives in two decades apart. With so many years in their profession, nothing they said though, was beyond the range of two old friends' conversation. It did not matter to them for the moment-- so many things had to be covered. They lost the rest of the room as their attention focused on each other. Suddenly they were snapped back into the room by a crash, and a then a half-spoken curse in French. The barstool patron had fallen off to the floor. Perhaps he had been leaning too far over toward Dean's and Michelle's booth, trying to audit their joyous exchange. The bartender rushed around the counter, but Dean jumped up and was first to the prone man's aid. "I'm fine," the man insisted in English, but equally as firmly, Dean insisted that he remain where he was. "You may have injured yourself severely, friend." Dean, with an air of concern, took the man by the shoulder as the bartender bent over them. Michelle's calm visage barely changed, but Dean saw that she had guessed what he was about to do. "See," he said as the man screamed in brief pain when Dean applied his martial arts training from long ago. "Your shoulder is injured now. You probably can't move it." "I can't move my arm!" the man shouted angrily. The bartender rushed to call the paramedics. Dean leaned close to the man, smiled benignly for the bartender's benefit, and whispered to the shadow, "you can't move it for an hour or two. Relax and enjoy the time off. When they're booking you at Denver Health, ask for a room with a view of the mountains." Dean shook the man's jacket slightly, and a French diplomatic passport fell half out of its pocket. Dean handed it helpfully to the bartender, who had returned. Michelle had not moved from her seat in the booth during this time. There had been no cause to, but now she looked questioningly at him. Within herself, contained, she trembled for a moment as she recalled Dean's long-ago tender explorations of her with those same fingers. "Perhaps we should go for a walk now," she said quietly to him. Dean nodded. He gave the bartender a card with his Oxford room number scribbled on it, helpfully offering to be a witness in case the barstool-sitter tried to claim negligence on the part of the hotel. By the time he had finished doing this, a fire truck had screamed to a halt outside the hotel, and its crew was clumping through the lobby into the Cruise Room with their first aid gear. Other hotel and dining room guests tried to push their way forward to see what was happening. "Here, ma'am, if we leave, there'll be room for you to come in." A large woman anxiously pushed past them as they squeezed out of the room. Dean thought he caught Michelle giggling for an instant. "Did you have to do that?" she said it half-mockingly, half-seriously. "How else were we going to get some time alone? Was he a friend of yours?" "He isn't now," Michelle sighed. "I hadn't seen him before, but he probably was sent by the Lepenistes to keep watch over me. I have not been a quiet schoolgirl in my agency. This way..." she motioned with a slight toss of her head. She lowered her Christian Roth sunglasses against the powerful late sunshine. They were walking along 17th Street, toward downtown. Dean was sure that no one was following them. "My hotel is the Westin," she answered, before he could ask. "We are going there now. I need your help on a matter of great urgency." There was no question that Dean would go. And then, she added to the mystery: "I think that you will be surprised. Perhaps pleasantly." She raised her sunglasses above her forehead, giving an air of someone who was completely open to his questions. But it was only an effect. The escalator lifted them upward to the lobby; the pause allowed Dean to study Michelle's face for any sign of her feelings-- her feelings about what he had so impulsively just done. Without comment, she turned to him with a smile of affection, but it was one that made him feel a bit like a naughty puppy who had just chewed up the morning paper. They were alone in the elevator for a moment, until an elderly man stepped in after them. They rode up in elevator-silence, hands touching lightly for a moment, alighting before the unsuspecting chaperone's floor. The dead silence of the hallway was broken by clack of the electronic lock and the heavy door swung open. Dean was conscious of his excitement, tried to discern whether Michelle felt as wound-up as he felt, but detected nothing but a small smile. A table lamp was on in the room, adding to the natural light of the sun setting over the Rocky Mountains framed in the window behind. Together, the light sources illuminated a young woman, about 19, who was sitting reading a magazine as they walked in. Her shoulder-length blonde hair glowed in the unusual light. She looked up with mild interest. "Dean, this is Laetitia Brisson." Dean looked at Michelle and then at the younger Frenchwoman. The family resemblance was there, although Laetitia was taller than Michelle already. He could not help but notice her long legs in the olive long-shirted, black dance tights outfit which she wore rather successfully. Her blonde hair fell naturally to her shoulders- a look that was clean and unaffected. "Your daughter?" "Yes." Michelle beamed. "You didn't tell me!" To himself, Dean quickly did some arithmetic and figured out that she was too young to be HIS daughter. She must be a university student. "We didn't get to that part of our conversation before my shadow fell off his stool. Why don't we sit down and we can talk some more." It was a question, but Dean detected that her mind was already set on that idea. They talked for a few minutes, while Dean tried to think up ways to engage a 19-year old in conversation. This was something that he had not done in a long time, and knowing nothing about her, it was more difficult yet. Laetitia offered short answers and simple questions. Perhaps she was shy, or perhaps she was unhappy about her mother forcing her to interact with someone as old as.... her mother! In any case, her presence was not unpleasant, but it puzzled Dean. As Michelle amplified a story that he had tried to tell Laetitia from their past, Dean madly shuffled the imaginary index cards. He had walked in with nothing in his head about this. Obviously, Michelle had arranged this meeting in this setting for a purpose. As they talked, he learned that Michelle's husband was the man of whom she had spoken even when she and Dean were continuing their liaisons in Berlin. It had been a strange relationship: Dean had never met him, but felt that he knew the man. Michelle was so logical-- their affair was full of fire, but she had more practical things in mind for a marriage. Dean had never been able to shake her from her plan to go home to her intended. He could do everything perfectly, could feel her hungering for him in their embraces, and she would not waver. Once, after an orgasm that had carried them both through shrieks that must have caused the interested and envious looks from elderly Germans in the breakfast room the next morning, he even tried to argue with her. She loved her work outside France, he pointed out. She was the one, Dean emphasized, who had explained the trap waiting for her at home-- that the French educational system had prepared her to be a Kindergarten teacher, and that is what she must be in her small town. After traveling the world, she would be going back to a quiet, perhaps dull, life, in a field that she had discovered was not right for her, and marrying a man who was solid, yes, but..... At the Summit Ch. 02 Her skin still tingled from Dean's caresses, and her vagina held the tribute he had poured out in their intercourse. She was eagerly awaiting the end of breakfast in this gemuetlich pension and a return to the bliss he would offer again in their room. She leaned forward and whispered that to him in French, slowly enough that he got the point. But she was clear on her life plan, too. He had even given Michelle a farewell present when they parted for what might have been the last time: an American Pyrex casserole pan that he had told her was his wedding gift to her. Now, 26 years after Michelle and Dean had parted, Dean learned about Michelle's retirement from intelligence work, her return home, her marriage, and Laetitia's young life. Laetitia's father had died as a result of his work in the area of nuclear tests in the South Pacific. Michelle had returned to government work now that her daughter was grown-- she needed the income, but, as Dean had already guessed, she enjoyed the role which she was called upon to play. In his imagination, unorganized thoughts tumbled over each other. Certainly, she had not brought him to this room for sex. Or was this to be some wild mother-daughter scene? Somehow, that seemed unlikely. Was daughter going to go out in a few minutes? She was not acting like it. And, much as he trusted Michelle in certain ways, she was in the intelligence business: could this young sparrow be someone else, not her daughter? There was a knock on the door. Dean tensed, wondering if the French agent who he had "helped" might have gotten loose from the medical care system too soon. "Room Service" a muffled voice asserted. Having seen enough movies, Dean let Michelle answer the door while he stayed out of sight to the side, ready to spring on an intruder. Laetitia watched the two of them with mild amusement, not getting up from her chair. The legs which could have been so strikingly posed in those tights remained primly placed in front of her. It really was Room Service, or someone doing a very good imitation of it. The young man brought in a bottle, glasses, and the rest of the apparatus for serving champagne. Dean's eyebrows arched. Laetitia even looked surprised at this arrival. "I ordered this for the three of us. We have something important to discuss, " Michelle smiled. She indicated to the young man that he should open the bottle. The popping cork and the foaming liquid, Dean thought, reminded him of how he felt right now. He had allowed himself too much thought about sex with Michelle, past and possible future. He found it hard to sit still, and yet she was so steady. The glasses were filled with a flourish, and then the hotel man departed. The energetic little bubbles rose to the top in the intense last light of sunset topping the Rockies. They toasted each other, the upcoming Summit conference which had brought them together, and the good beverage itself. Illegal, of course, for Laetitia to be doing so, Dean thought, but he knew that such laws were somehow miraculously suspended for the foreign Summit VIP's, whatever the type of passport they carried. Then Michelle spoke. "I have a proposal to make." "I'm all ears." Actually, Dean admitted to himself that this was not the part of his body which was paying the most attention. Laetitia looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled as she caught the meaning of his figure of speech. "I would like you to teach the art of making love to Laetitia." Dean's jaw dropped. He set his glass down with a clank. Laetitia looked up with mild interest, as if she had heard this before. "But I thought..." Dean started to say, but then realized that what he thought is that he and Michelle would be together in this room, perhaps on the bed by now. Somehow this would be hard to say in front of her daughter, even in this situation. He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Michelle continued. Her tone was that maddeningly logical tone which she had once used with him to explain her marriage goals. The French were so damn rational! "Laetitia is an attractive, healthy young woman. She has been working day and night on her schooling, and has wonderful career possibilities. I'm very proud of her, but I know that she has neglected her social side." Laetitia half-nodded agreement, with a look of resignation. "I know that she will find a man close to her own age sooner or later, but what if he is uninformed or inexperienced? Our children learn the mechanical part in school, officially or unofficially (a phrase which she said in French), but they do not learn the art." Dean had to agree, but when he began to say that, Michelle gave him a look that said that she was not finished. "In France, you must recall, when a young man of a good family reached a certain point in life, his father was expected to take him to his own mistress. The father would introduce him to her, and then depart. The father did not ask questions, but he knew that his son would be prepared to fulfill his masculine duties in a way that would give credit to his family. "Now, why to his own mistress, you may ask," she continued. Dean let her go on. He had read about this ages ago, but had given it no thought since. "Because," Michelle answered her own question, "the experience was to be educational and not a commitment. The degree of teaching needed was left, as you say, open. Perhaps it was only a salon conversation. A relationship with one of the young man's peers would have made marriage a necessity, oui?" "Now I asked myself, why does this only work for men?" "I didn't know it was still happening." Dean inserted this comment. Michelle arched her eyebrow, and gave him a look of disbelief. She continued. "If, for example, you agree to work with Laetitia in this matter, I know you and your situation well enough to think that you will not force yourself upon her. You will not run after her later on. You will do whatever she is comfortable with, and it will be a great favor to me. No matter what happens to me in the future, I will know that she will have the choice of enjoying life as I have. And if she needs a consultant across the ocean, she will still be able to get advice from you, I know." "Maman!" Dean turned, startled to hear Laetitia speak. She was not reacting to her mother's plan for her; she was reacting to the hint of future danger in Michelle's words and voice. The young woman rose from her chair and came to her mother's side-- put her arm across her shoulder. Michelle smiled a small smile, and looked up at her. "We must be realistic. The world that we live in is now filled with sunshine, but that makes the corners where I work darker than ever." Michelle made a familiar motion that indicated to Dean that she thought they might be being monitored. "Yes, you are a realist!" Dean responded to her with a nostalgic smile that let her know that he remembered how she had accepted him on that basis so long ago. And then he nodded somberly, so that she knew he understood her concern for the future. Laetitia hugged her mother. A tiny tear might have passed across her cheek, but Dean was not sure. There was an awkward silence, and then Dean grabbed the champagne bottle and poured: there was just enough for one more round. "I need to ask some questions, and then we can raise our glasses to the answers." Dean now assumed a more authoritative tone-- after all, he was being asked to take on a rather different project than the one which Uncle Sam had sent him to do. He needed those answers. "Most importantly, is this what you want, Laetitia?" He looked at the young woman, who remained silent for a long moment. What Michelle asked of him seemed strange, but it did make sense in a way. In the first sign of animation since they had met, she leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other, with her hand on her knee. It was a look of anticipation. "Yes." She paused. "I am studying anthropology in the university. I spend hours reading and listening about how love and family life work in cultures all over the world. My professors say I am very... earnest." Laetitia said the word as if it hurt to spit it out. "I have another two years to go, and I must work hard at it, but it still is only learned from books. Even if we spend a day talking, that will all be things that I would not learn at school." Michelle nodded in agreement. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Dean continued his questions. "Yes, or I did. He is with someone else now." Dean noted a twinge of discouragement in the way that she said that. He thought to himself that perhaps there was a bit of history as to how she might have come to the realization that she needed to know more about lovemaking. "How long will you be in Denver?" "I only remain here for two more nights. Today is Friday and our plane departs on Sunday afternoon." ""Our" plane?" "Maman and I." Dean looked at Michelle, who looked back at him with a calm smile. So he and Michelle were not likely to restoke the fires. And when would she complete the job of setting up the communications link between his agency and her people? "From my perspective," Dean said, "this seems very strange, but because your mother is such a good friend, I will do it." Dean raised his glass. Later, he recalled that as the most peculiar toast that he had ever offered. "Tomorrow, while Michelle is working, I will meet you at 10 a.m. for a picnic and our long talk. We'll do the best that we can in the time that you have." He excused himself for the evening, telling them that he had to make a couple of phone calls. 1997 - Sophia Reflects "One of the people who he called was me," I told Sophia. She was pensively twisting a blade of grass back and forth on the park lawn. "He remembered that I traveled to Denver regularly, and so he asked for some ideas on where to take her, things to do. He also asked if I had any contacts for a couple of projects which he had in mind." Given my new-found maturity, it was a bit embarrasing to also admit to her that he remembered how much I enjoyed social and sexual intercourse with the young ladies of my former university. He asked me a number of questions-- admitted that he had not thought much about university sex lives since he had left the university himself. I reminded him about the Supreme Court justice who had married the young college student. A lot of women admitted in confidential interviews that they would have enjoyed sex with the athletic and brilliant senior judge, but somehow they could not imagine going further into a relationship. It usually was just a case of the young woman wanting to sample a man more experienced and slower than the guys around her, but Dean, as I explained to him, would have to be careful to determine what Laetitia really wanted if they had sex. An inexperienced woman suddenly plunged into a delicious sexual relationship with him might change her plans, and that would create an awkward situation with Michelle. Sophia did not bite at this tease about Dean's questions or requests. She continued to reflect on the story. "Richard, I just am not sure. I am not saying it was wrong, but was it right?" She stood up and brushed some cut grass from her skirt. I stood up and said nothing. As we walked back to the hotel, we barely spoke. Sophia was turning the idea over in her mind, examining it from every angle. She still seemed to be thinking about it as our clothes came off that evening, and with few words, she became a powerful tigress. I had never before experienced such raw passion buried deep within her. Perhaps she made up her mind somewhere in the sweet hours of our lust. To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 03 Copyright 2004, All rights reserved -------------------------------------------- Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literorica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. -------------------------------------------- AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Part 3 -------------------------------------------- 1997 - After the Summit Drowsily, I awoke to the sound of Sophia typing on her laptop computer. It was plugged into the hotel's phone jack, so I guessed that she was running her e-mail. I lay there for several minutes, watching her as she peered intently into the fold-up screen. The fingers which had pressed red marks into my back in our passion of the night before were now delicately tapping at the keyboard: exchanging information, placing orders, and setting up meetings. The whole scene was made more interesting by the fact that Sophia had just pulled her robe on over her shoulders, and was sitting cross-legged on the bed next to me. Her skin still glowed from our lovemaking, and her breasts, emerging from the loosely flung gown, were all the more beautiful to me for it. Cradled between her legs, the laptop provided inadvertent modesty. "Oh, you're awake!" she finally noticed me watching her when she had given the Send All/Disconnect command. "I'm canceling my meeting this morning." "And why would that be?" I had an idea of what was coming. "Because you've done it again! You've gotten me hooked on this story, and now I have so many questions about it that I want you to finish it!!!" She made a playful grab at her pillow and whacked me with it. "It was going to be a slow day, anyway," she admitted. She set the laptop carefully aside, in doing so revealing the dark curls which hid the place where I had spent so much of myself last night. "What do I have to do to get the rest of the story out of you?" She grinned, and bent over so her long hair and her ample breasts brushed against me. Her scent and the grazing touches filled my senses. "You could order breakfast. I'm starving. You burned every calorie out of my system!" "So that's why I felt so warm last night!" Sophia grinned and reached for the phone. In a few moments she had headed to the shower. I walked into the bathroom and scrubbed myself. "You wouldn't like some help in there, would you?" I called out optimistically. "You need to eat breakfast first, remember? And besides, that won't get the story told, will it?" I had to admit that it would not. Half reluctantly, half in recognition of my spent condition, and half in recognition of how determined Sophia could be -- yes, I know that adds to more than a whole -- I put current fun aside in favor of future gain. I tossed on a sport shirt and some slacks, and was ready when Room Service arrived. The domed covers hid a variety of delicious dishes-- I had let Sophia order for both of us, and in her combination of post-coital euphoria and hunger, she had been very imaginative and seemed to have taken one or two of everything on the menu. "What other Army is coming in here to have breakfast with us?" The shower had stopped now, so she could hear without me shouting. "We'll be here all day eating this." Sophia stepped halfway out of the bathroom, her generous figure now in my favorite flowered panties and bra. She had an arch grin on her face. She knew that I liked the way that the flowers colorfully emphasized her curves. "That thought already had occurred to me when I ordered it. We're going to be busy with you finishing that story. And if it continues the way it has been, my appetite is going to stay up." "I need to run downstairs for a minute then. I've got to ask Boggs, the doorman a question." Sophia assented through the again closed door, and I headed downstairs. The tall, Lincolnesque Boggs was on duty at the front door, as I had hoped. I checked some facts about the Summit with him, things which were within the range that he could discuss. "It's like a lawyer-client relationship, the doorman and the guests in a multi-star hotel like this" he reminded me when I ventured beyond the bounds as to who had been where or arrived and left at certain times. He stuck to the public information, but that got certain facts straight in my head. I went back upstairs two at a time. Sophia was sitting at the small table, sorting reddish-black berries into a chinaware bowl. She was wearing her dance practice outfit-- athletic training cottons. I watched her gracefully pouring cream from the little pitcher onto the berries, and then she sprinkled powdered sugar over them. "Those make my mouth water," I commented. She looked down at her outthrust breasts, and then grinned at me. "Oh, er, you mean the berries, eh?" We laughed and I dug into the high cholesterol side of the breakfast. My system was telling me that it needed those sausages. When I was clearing away the last of the sticky plates, Sophia poured coffee, and then she smiled, Cheshire-like. "Now, let's see, where were you in the story?" We laughed and teased a bit, but then I began. ========================== 1997 - Before the Summit Dean and Laetitia met in mid-morning at her mother's room in the Westin. Michelle was already off somewhere on her job. Dean only stepped into the entryway, but from there he could see that the room had a hastily-put-together look. "What happened to your room?" He frowned as he noticed a mirror which hung askew. "Someone came while we were at breakfast and looked through all our things." Laetitia shivered a bit when she said that. Perhaps she had never been through this before. "There was nothing for them to find," she continued. Before he could ask, she gave the same nodding motion with her head that he associated with her mother's gesture, indicating that the room was bugged. "Let's go out into the sunshine," Dean urged, and Laetitia gladly grabbed her purse and joined him. He let his eye take her in as she almost skipped past him to punch the elevator button. She wore a light blue top that came down to just above her waist, buttoned in front. Below her slender waist was a pair of jeans-like denims, fastened with a string-tie, rather than snaps. He did not quite understand the engineering of it, but she looked much more ready for a picnic this morning than she had yesterday. A fanny pack left her hands free, and served to emphasize the curve of her hips. When she turned, the top rode up a bit and showed her smooth tummy up to her navel. Dean carried a blanket borrowed from the Oxford (yes, he had gotten an okay from them). They definitely looked like picnickers. They rode down in elevator-silence, but Dean felt, or at least imagined, that he could feel electric anticipation that he had not noticed in the evening before. Or perhaps that was just in his own mind? He wondered. "I'm very much looking forward to this whole day," Laetitia said, as they stepped out into the ground floor lobby. "Even just talking with you as adult with adult will be a chance to mature 'un peu' and perhaps you will enjoy it, also." It was kind of a breathless statement, as if she had lain awake composing this formula. Dean noted the fact that the day was still open-ended, but that they were still on the "just talking" level. That was okay, he thought, because he was prepared to stay even with her, just float along as the day unfolded. "You have no picnic basket!" she suddenly realized, as they turned onto 16th Street. "We're going to pick up our picnic at a place over by the park, My Brother's Bar." "Your brother has a bar in Denver?" Laetitia was surprised. He had not mentioned his family. "No, that's the name of the place. I called over and ordered some things for us. It's a bit of a walk from here, though," Dean cautioned. "We'll walk and talk, if you like." "I have lots of energy today," she smiled. As they walked down past the Tattered Cover bookstore and the thundering conveyor belts of the Terminal Annex post office, he learned more about her school, her studies and her life. Michelle and her father had been good parents, but since her father's death and her mother's return to work, she had thrown herself into her studies. She had excellent grades, and in the French system, excellent prospects. "Mother says that you know a lot about life. Why does she think that?" Laetitia asked her own question as they stopped at the big mosaic relief tile along 15th Street. She ran her hand gently over the smooth, anti-graffiti tiles. "They look wet," she interrupted herself. Then she paused, pulling her hand away from the tiles, and looking at him seriously. It was dawning on Dean that she was unaware of precisely what his relationship with Michelle had been. "We worked very closely together in Germany. We depended on each other, perhaps for our lives, at one time. And she knew that I had a pretty wide social life before my marriage." Dean skirted the key fact. Perhaps the daughter did not wish to learn more, as she changed the subject. The "why" was more important to women than the "what," he mused. "What does your wife think of you doing this?" "That's an open question. I don't think she is thinking very much about this at all." Dean paused and thought for a moment. "I think she's grown tired of me." He described their domestic situation, and what had happened in their life. He tried to be honest about it, and that was hard, because it made him turn his thoughts to the nagging question as to what he could have done differently. "That's terrible!" Laetitia was upset by this information. She could not understand how Dean could not still be interesting. "Before you try to solve my problems," he said with a wry grin, "let's remember that we have one day to give you whatever you need. THEN you can come back and help me." Laetitia smiled and nodded. They were on the bridge over the South Platte River; it was already getting warm, and neighborhood kids were beginning to turn up to splash in the rapids at Confluence Park. A kayaker bobbed and twisted as he practiced in the tiny whitewater area. "This is beautiful," she said. "How much further shall we go?" That was a question that Dean wanted the answer to as well, but he let the potent pun slide by. In a few minutes, they were in the dark, old bar. Classical music and the lack of television monitors marked it as an unusual place. "Jack Kerouac drank here," Dean commented. "Who?" "He was a writer back in the 1950's. Your mother and I talked about his work a long time ago." Dean felt a flash of age. "How did you know about this place?" she queried. "I called a friend to ask about where we could get some good sandwiches for a picnic. He told me about something else good, too. We're going for a trolley ride." She looked blankly at him for a moment. "Ahhh," she smiled, "le tramway." In a few minutes they were back at the riverbank, this time boarding a bright yellow trolley car. The conductor collected fares from them and a dozen tourists of various nationalities, and, Dean suddenly realized, from an older man with a vaguely European look to his clothing who had been in My Brother's Bar when they picked up their picnic food. Dean noticed that the man was asking the conductor what the fare was, when the car would be leaving, and so forth. This man had not planned his trolley ride. They were being shadowed. The trolley rolled out along the South Platte River, past the kayakers' practice area, on past the Elitch's Amusement Park, and then slipped through a narrow opening into a ravine parkland. As the passengers were spread out through the car, Dean and Laetitia continued to talk openly -- she seemed to be unaware of their tail. Something about the trolley's motion, the passing river scene, or perhaps their symbolic passage through the brush-sheltered arch upward into the lush curves of the ravine brought them closer together. Now they were discussing Laetitia's life in intimate details. Dean had told her that they would need to do that, but had not pushed her this morning. Rocking from side to side, their thighs touched gently, and each felt the other's warmth as she confided in him. She had been immersed in her studies, had little social life, but that had not kept her virginity intact. She wanted Dean to know that she was not as inexperienced as her mother might want to believe. Laetitia and Roland, classmates, had found themselves at a student get-together one night. Her friend, Rochelle, had dragged her away from her books for her own good. Laetitia had worked with Roland on lab projects before, so they found themselves talking easily-- perhaps helped along by the cheap red wine which flowed so abundantly. She found his attempts at petting to be an enjoyable, if also amusing, escape from the problem paper she had been digging into. Somehow, they had ended up in the darkened bedroom of the student flat. Other couples had come and gone from the room, and even as Laetitia and her friend had entered the room, another couple had pushed past them and disappeared into a pile of coats in the corner. Driven by unleashed lust, Laetitia and Roland ignored the unseen others. Hearing the occasional sighs and other sounds from the coats only drove their own passion forward. Laetitia recalled the mad rush to strip each other, of belatedly realizing that he could get her panties off more easily if she arched her back. "These useful things they do not teach in school!" she laughed now. The trolley rumbled over a bubbling creek on a wooden trestle. "Did you want Roland for himself, or was there something else in your mind?" "How did you know?" Laetitia paused and then said that slowly, with an expanding grin across her face. It was a question which she answered herself. "I liked him, but I think it also was that my need for a man was so great. I had been growing up in my body, but my mind had been concentrating on other things." She had not had a complete orgasm, she later realized, in that first time, but it had been so interesting that she had not thought about that. She had enjoyed Roland's eagerness for her, and as she stretched out to accept him, she folded her arms over him and found that she liked the sensation of feeling his rhythmic muscles at work. His man-smell swept over them as his youthful body built toward a quick climax in the short, sharp thrusts of his inexperienced penis, and as she inhaled his presence, new sensations flowed through her system. This, she related to Dean, had led to a convenient relationship. When her studies had become too intense, it was so efficient to have Roland. She no longer needed to masturbate afterwards, as together they were gradually adjusting to each other's needs. Yet, somehow, this convenience never led further. It seemed that they had little in common outside of the classrooms and labs, other than their mutual discovery of sex. There was no passion in Roland, just weekly lust by the calendar. The trolley rolled down the middle of a quiet street, and little children ran to from their porch to wave at it. Laetitia happily joined the other passengers in waving back. Dean noticed their shadow looking about, and then belatedly acknowledging the children. "Someday I will have a child," she continued, perhaps reminded by the happy scene. "But I have so many things that I must do first." "And marriage?" "Yes, that, too! But not now, not in the near future." She smiled at him. "And when I marry, I want to be an excellent lover for my husband. He will not need a mistress." "You sound very certain about that," Dean said wryly. "You will help me with that, will you not?" she riposted. "If he does, it will be your fault!" They laughed together. Dean wondered what she meant. It was the end of the line. The ravine had dwindled to being a flat spot by an arterial street, and the conductor and motorman walked back alongside the car to turn it. "This is where we'll get off," Dean said. "I've told the crew that already." The conductor appeared at their seat in the open trolley, and assisted her down the drop onto the roadbed. Dean jumped down behind her, feeling the gravel sting his feet through his shoes on the impact. "This is not a regular stop." "This is not a very attractive place," Laetitia worried. She looked around. Dean wondered if she saw or sensed their shadow now. "We'll walk back down the ravine a ways," he said. "I saw a great spot for a picnic along the creek." They walked ahead of the stationary car along a paved trail. No one else was getting off there, or rather, no one else was planning on getting off there. Looking very uncomfortable about being so exposed, their shadow alighted from the car as it began to roll; the conductor shouted a warning to the man too late. He stumbled on the gravel ballast, but picked himself up and tried to stay at a discrete distance behind the couple. The left knee of his pants was ripped from his fall, and he limped along. Now Dean was sure that Laetitia was aware of their third-wheel "guest." He whispered to her to keep walking with him and not to worry. She nodded slightly-- reminding Dean of her mother. "We'll just walk a bit further to that picnic area," he said in a normal voice. Along the way, they passed other people who were enjoying the park, people who were living lives without concerns about being followed. A young Mexican-American couple walked slowly side by side toward them on the long path, barely saying a word to each other. They were both dressed simply, he in a white shirt and black pants, she in a white blouse and black skirt. They did not hold hands, but moved in unison, as a couple would who had spent much time together. The woman looked adoringly at her man from time to time. As they passed in silence, Laetitia saw the title of the book in the crook of the woman's arm: "Inspiration of the Virgin" was the Spanish-English translation she came up with. The man was carrying the sports page of a Spanish-language newspaper. "Do you think you could be like that with the man you fall in love with?" Dean said it in such a way that Laetitia realized that he really wanted her to consider it to be an option. "No!" She shuddered and laughed. "I can respect her decision, but that is not me." Dean smiled. "I agree with you. But do you know what is you yet?" "I guess not. That's why we are here." She looked up at Dean for a moment as a flash of self-understanding crossed her face. Dean caught himself enjoying the way her Gallic gestures emphasized this point -- and emphasized the movement of her breasts underneath her light top. A couple of young men came toward them, and Laetitia instinctively took Dean's hand for a moment as they boldly scanned her figure with their dark eyes. Later on, she admitted to Dean that one of them had caught her own eye. She had responded by letting her gaze slip past his slim waist to his tight jeans and cowboy boots. Dean spoke half a sentence to them as they passed without stopping. The taller and darkly handsome of the two stopped and turned his head to watch them-- to watch her. She knew that because she had turned back to watch him. Dean saw her blush. "That's Tony," Dean told her, "a friend of a friend." "How did you know that?" Laetitia questioned. "Remember, I called some people and made some arrangements," Dean said quietly. "I have the phone number for his pager -- I'll bet that he would return your call." Laetitia caught herself licking her lips. "Later," she said. "First, I need to learn some things. For example...." At the Summit Ch. 03 She was interrupted by a screech of female displeasure. As they rounded a corner, they saw a couple on a picnic blanket tussling with each other. The heavy man, just barely past being a boy, yanked at the girl-woman who was sharing the blanket with him. They were just a bit younger than Laetitia, and wearing wedding bands. "C'mon you bitch," the heavy man badgered, and then he said something in Spanish. They struggled to gather up their things; an open Miller Lite bottle rolled out onto the grass, spilling the sudsy swill over their blanket as it passed. As they departed, they left a trail of empty Marlboro cartons, Twinkie crumbs, and convenience store burrito wrappers across the sweeping grass bank of the ravine. "They're going home. He says that he is going to make love to her now," Laetitia translated. "Now there's passion!" Dean needled her. Laetitia looked concerned, though. "I feel sorry for that woman," she said, and then she thought for a moment and laughed. "But I take your point. I need something more than passion!" Finally they reached a clearing in Sanchez Park where everything looked picture-perfect. Dean indicated the spot and prepared to toss the hotel blanket over the rough grass of the ravine. "But what about that man following us?" Laetitia had noticed him. "Have you seen him recently?" Dean smiled. "Nonnnnnnn..." she drew out the French word, moving her tongue as she said it, searching aloud for another thought. "Now that I think about it, I have not seen him since... we passed your friends!" Laetitia looked at him with penetrating eyes. "They aren't my friends, they're friends of a friend." Dean grinned. "Perhaps he decided to go somewhere more interesting with them," he said in a mock-innocent tone. "Maman will have a fit if you have done something to another of her Lepenisiste colleagues!" "Will you?" Dean asked archly. Laetitia looked at him very seriously for a moment, then smiled wickedly. Her reply was amazingly saucy. "I will not mind at all! I am ready to enjoy our sand-wiches." She said the word "sandwiches" with a French accent that reminded him so much of her mother that he almost called her "Michelle" by accident. "Mmm... Laetitia, you're right." They began to spread their things out. They concentrated on assembling lunch, and said no more than a few words. Then Dean gently took her hand. She looked at him curiously as he bowed his head and said an ad lib blessing over the food, with words from Psalm 23. She continued to look at him in amazement. In the silence, a young couple walked behind them and seated themselves on a nearby park bench. Probably, it occurred to Dean, they were unaware of his and Laetitia's quiet presence. "I have never known a man like you before," she stated simply. "In fact, I have never known a man who prayed before. Or at least," she corrected herself, "when it was not a formal occasion or part of being a priest." She was more surprised by this than anything that had happened so far. "I need to pray more than most people," he said simply. "You must have a great deal to struggle with then, in your work." "In my life," he responded. "You know, there are spies and soldiers in the Bible, and government officials who wonder which is the lesser of evils. This isn't a new problem." "I had not thought of that." They ate in peace, as if a curtain had dropped around them and made them invisible to their prospective enemies. Behind them on the park bench, the dark-haired beauty and her handsome man spoke quietly to each other. Laetitia and Dean found themselves speaking quietly, too, as an early-afternoon hush fell over the ravine parkland. No one passed by at this deepest part of the ravine. In this peace, Dean saw a new Laetitia emerging. Their time and tensions together were building an intimacy between them that he had not expected. Her posture changed, her smile was becoming radiant. Not that there was anything wrong with her before, he thought, but in millimeters of difference she was coming out of a kind of self-manufactured cocoon. Happily now, they talked about different kinds of men who she might meet, different sorts of relationships, and he even answered questions about his own long ago loves. She did not ask about her mother. "I have something I want to show you," she said. "You must promise not to laugh, now." Dean promised, and she reached into her pack. She was pulling out a thin magazine, when her attention shifted. She was looking over her shoulder. "Turn slowly," she whispered to him. "It's just like Professor Reynard said!" He saw that she was excited, smiling like a scientist who has made a great discovery. He looked around carefully. The couple on the bench near them were still talking with each other. Dean looked back at Laetitia with puzzlement. "What do you mean?" he whispered. "They are already becoming intimate," she touched her lips and her reply was barely audible. "Notice how they both are tapping their feet. Look at the way that they are touching each other." Sure enough, Dean mused, both were nervously tapping a foot apiece. They sat close together, so the motion in the young man's tapping should have been apparent to the woman at his side, but she took no conscious notice of it. She touched him gently on the cheek, and then pulled her hand quickly away to straighten his collar, lingering on the collar button. Dean and Laetitia watched in silence as the couple continued their conversation, sitting closer and closer together. He touched her upper arm to make a point of some kind; they shifted positions slightly as if becoming uncomfortable, but both ended up touching. There was nothing blatantly sexual about this. It was not petting in the traditional sense, but the couple's yearning for each other was becoming clear, at least to their watchers. Without interrupting her concentration on the man with her, the dark-haired woman began to smooth her skirt absent-mindedly. Her man stretched out his legs in front of the bench; Dean knew the feeling of suddenly realizing that he needed space for his swelling manhood. He whispered this to Laetitia, who grinned and added this information to her expanding pool of knowledge. "In a minute or two, they will gaze into each other's eyes so deeply, and then it is only a matter of the right time and place before they make love!" She said it with the certainty of an expert. "How do you know that?" "Professor Reynard is an expert on this subject. He has spent countless hours in singles bars, watching the interaction between the sexes." Dean started to smile, but realized that she was serious. "She is preparing him to be her lover," she continued. "How do you know THAT?" Dean challenged. "I have seen that she is a step ahead of him in the body language. See how she touches him on the cheek again? Did you see her straightening his collar a little?" "I think she is straightening something else." "Bien," she giggled a bit, "that is the point, is it not?" Dean could not tell if that was a pun or not; sometimes her English was one-dimensional. And then she grinned and Dean caught the sparkle in her eye. "And now, they will look into each other's eyes, for a long time." Laetitia smiled and it was a combination of the satisfied scientist and a woman's appreciation of a sister's good fortune. "I see something else," interjected Dean. "Her nipples didn't show through her blouse, and now they do..." She frowned at him in mock disapproval, but half-whispered agreement. "And you made a note of her appearance before?" Laetitia teased him, and then returned her attention to the lovers. The dark-haired woman leaned back a bit, as if to be more comfortable, bringing her well-rounded breasts up to the attention of her man. Whether conscious of them or not, he recorded the inviting motion of eager nipples reaching toward him. Laetitia and Dean waited silently for a moment, and then, as if a magic spell had been cast, the couple across from them seemed to merge in a long, concentrated gaze. "And what are they seeing?" Dean spoke first. Laetitia watched for a moment longer, herself transfixed by the tableau: she was now half anthropologist and half apprentice seductress. "He is seeing her beauty, his imagination is swimming in her now, she is perfect for him, he wants to become a part of her." "And her, what is she seeing?" As Dean said that, he realized that Laetitia was nervously tapping her foot in a way that carried the timing to him. He wondered if he was doing that, too. Laetitia paused again, as if lost in thought. She moved to watch the couple, and Dean enjoyed watching her tummy moving between her blouse and her denims. Her navel appeared and disappeared in a tantalizing way. Even more, he enjoyed the irony of the appearance, as she began to speak about the other couple, of her own firming breasts and rising nipples. "She is looking into his eyes, they are becoming even darker now, and perhaps she is even subconsciously measuring his "messages emotionnels" - his cornea is signaling his passion for her." Her words were that of the anthropologist again, but they were delivered in a breathless tone. "His cornea?" Dean tried not to break the spell, but it was difficult. "Yes, she is measuring tiny movements in his eyes. They will tell her of his emotions, even if she does not know that." Laetitia touched Dean reassuringly on the arm. The young man swept his love into his arms, embraced her, and kissed her. Her full lips took his as softly as a Victorian couch receiving a Southern Belle, gently accepting him. His free hand moved to her bra line, caressing, examining, holding, exploring, then teasingly tracing a nipple. She yielded to him. "Now, who is the one leading!" Dean said it as a statement, not a question. The young man's hands were everywhere now, and the woman arched her back with pleasure, bringing her neck to his lip for kisses. Small, sweet, inviting words in Spanish drifted across to Dean and Laetitia's eagerly attentive ears. -------------------------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 04 Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. * * * * * AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Part 4 * * * * * 1997 - Before the Summit Dean looked directly at Laetitia. He somehow expected a confrontation, he was becoming excited himself-- both intellectually and sexually. He would prove to her by this latest scene that she was wrong. His eyes locked on hers. She was looking into his, not at him. She took his hand and held it as she spoke, as if to maintain contact with him, no matter how he took her words. Her blue eyes never turned away from him, as she patiently explained to him that when the young couples' gaze had merged, and when the dark-haired woman had measured her lover's corneas, that without plan, warm scents, wafting "pheromones sexuelles" had emerged from her to signal her readiness. She said this slowly, as if to make sure that her English did not betray her, but she slipped into more French phrases and syntax as she spoke to him. Somehow she was enjoying this scene on a physical level, and was enjoying challenging him on an intellectual level. Dean, in turn, tried to reason with her, said that she was taking some animal studies too far. But he could not get the words out at his usual pace. It was like speaking with cottonballs in his mouth. His mind was too full of Laetitia. "It's very warm now," she said as an aside. "The sun is so strong here at this altitude." This was offered as an explanation as she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. "It's making me uncomfortable now, too." Dean noticed that though the open collar maintained a standard of decency, he still found the additional visible curve radius to be attractive. "They're gone!" Laetitia suddenly became aware of who was no longer there. Dean spotted them first. Far up the trail, the young Latin lovers were hurrying along, although once they stopped to embrace, kiss, pet, and then rush on. "I hope that they have a nice place to go to," Laetitia said, her sisterly side showing again. "I'm not sure if it will matter! They will find a place," Dean chuckled. "And speaking of places, I think we should move along to another place, also." "Oh? I don't know if I am ready to be monitored at the hotel again." Laetitia winced. Dean grinned. "I made arrangements with friends for us to stop by their place. It's not very far from here." He motioned up the hill. They strolled up quiet streets of brick Victorian homes, past old cars which lined the curbs, and dogs which barked at them from fenced yards. As they walked, their conversation continued into deeper, more intimate waters. Finally, they reached what once must have been a mansion, now undergoing restoration. Old bricks were piled in the yard and wooden moldings were heaped in a corner. Laetitia looked nervously around, but no growling mastiff emerged as they opened the rusty gate. Its ornate hinges screeched. The mechanical doorbell worked, and it was answered by a thirtyish woman who wore a painter's smock. The name "Deborah" was embroidered on it. Without surprise, she whisked the unusual couple up the stairs into a wood-paneled entry hall and then up a grand staircase. To Laetitia's amazement, it was a far different scene than the mess outside indicated. "We're converting this to a bed & breakfast. As you can see, we've pretty well got the upper floor complete. The attic needs some renovations and you saw that the main floor needs a lot of work yet." Deborah brushed with the back of her hand at a drop of sweat that ran into her eyes from her bangs. "Do you live here?" Laetitia asked. "Yes, my girlfriend Val and I live in the old maids' quarters in the attic." She laughed to emphasize the joke, and a puzzled look crossed Laetitia's face. "We're a couple of old maids," the woman teased. The pun had missed Laetitia, Dean realized. Every now and then there was a hole in her otherwise excellent grasp of English. "We'll have dinner here," Dean told his French pupil. It was in an exclusive tone. Laetitia realized it was already arranged. "But I should inform Maman!" "I think that with the telephone monitoring, we'd better rely on the "old maids" to take care of that." The woman in the smock nodded agreement. "You have friends in more places than you know of tonight. Your cause is ours, too." Deborah said this simply, avoiding the potential for theatre. "Supper will come in a little while. In the meantime, there is some wine for you on the buffet in the room," she continued. "And there are bathrobes around back of that door." "I'll ask Val to knock before she comes in with your supper!" She smiled and winked. It was a smile that conveyed deep understanding. The door closed solidly. Laetitia looked around, examining details of the elegantly furnished suite. "I did not expect this," she finally said. She looked in awe at the grand canopied bed. Gauze curtains hung down from its superstructure. One could disappear into the lacy textures of the decorative pillow covers. The posts were carved with intricate heavily-fruited grapevines. Laetitia ran her hand cautiously over their smooth luxuries as she remembered girlish fantasies of taking her Prince Charming into such a palace bed. A full-length mirror adorned one wall, and it was surrounded by similar grapevine carvings. Deep purple wall paper trip circled the top of the walls, carrying gold tracings up and over the doors. The hardwood floor glistened between the throw rugs - rugs which seemed to invite bare toes. The interest in decorative arts extended to the bookshelf. There were books and magazines from both the U.S. and overseas. It was easy to see what the owners' interests were. Laetitia was like a kid in a candy shop, Dean observed, as she traced a finger across the titles. "Here is one in French!" she exclaimed, holding up a back issue of Beaux Arts. She flipped it open-- "Cristo wrapping the Reichstag! By Karen Rudolph. I know someone in Paris who knows this writer. She writes from there." "This part of America is famous for its scenery, but they're just trying to show you that they're hooked up to the world, too." Dean laughed. Stepping to the windows, they looked down together on a garden below, as well as on even more neat piles of construction material. To the west, mountain majesties showed through the frilly decolletage of treetops. Laetitia drew in her breath and took Dean's hand. "As I said, I did not expect this." She shuddered violently. "What's the matter?" Dean queried. "With all your experience, perhaps you are not afraid. But that was the fear flowing out of me. I am not used to being on the edge of things that I do not understand, the way you are!" Dean nodded, and took her in his arms. "But you say that the fear left you?" "Yes. I have not felt so safe in a long time. Since this afternoon I've begun to feel safer." "You thought that no one cared about your mother and you?" "Perhaps that is it." She nestled into his embrace, and her warmth filled him with crazy thoughts. He inclined his head closer to her, closer to her lips. There was a knock on the door. Dinner was served! The meal was delivered by Val, the smock woman's partner. She smartly wheeled in a little trolley with covered dishes, and a variety of condiments. "I hope you don't mind that we're practicing on you," she said with a wicked grin and a tone that indicated that she had already decided that they would not mind - or else. "We aren't in full operation yet, of course." She looked at both of them, but eyed Laetitia with direct curiousity while she set about laying out the supper on a small table by the window. Dean caught himself wondering what "full operation" with Val would be like. "Enjoy...." she said, and left the room. Dean noticed that that the dark-skinned 5' 2" dynamo said the cliche' parting line with a sexier tone than necessary for food service. The multitude of cold cuts, cheeses, and fruits met both of their interests and needs. They laughingly toasted each other's countries in banquet style, and then laughed harder as they toasted the Lapinistes for bringing them together. They toasted Love and Romance, and Dean in particular toasted Laetitia's self-improvement goals. As the evening moved on, and as the sun completed its task of gilding the Front Range backdrop, they found themselves pausing for periods of unofficial silence. Dean looked into Laetitia's eyes once again, deeper it seemed this time. Was she accepting the concepts which he had raised? Was she turning them over in that brilliant mind and making them her own? He wondered. Finally, the conversation trailed to a halt. They sat looking at each other in silence for an eternity. Outside, the city was barely there. Crickets chirped sporadically below the windows. Without forethought, they leaned closer toward each other across the table. At the same moment, both suddenly became conscious of their bodies' subconscious preparations, and of their own participation in the process that Dean had pooh-poohed. They grinned sheepishly at each other. "Excuse me for a few minutes." Laetitia finally broke the silence with those shyly presented words. Dean nodded. He still was telling himself that she might mean just to talk some more when she returned from the bathroom. "Oh!" She stopped in the doorframe, and turned back to him with a pixy grin. "I will have something with me that you dearly want when I return." He was not going to jump to any conclusions, he told himself sternly. In support of that, he crossed his legs to try to keep his incipient erection from getting out of control and taking over. The sun blinked out behind the mountains, leaving a pale pink-gold glow in its place. He listened to faint noises from the bathroom, unable to guess. The tension, he admitted, was worse than when he was dealing with the shadows who had tailed them. The bathroom door opened. To Dean, it was as if a new being was emerging. Laetitia was still wearing her blouse, but now it was no longer tied above the waist-- it was open, resting on her unfettered breasts. As she walked boldly across the room, the air swept it back, showing Dean all of her curves. She was wearing a style of panties that he had never seen before, and the Tanga accented her pink shape with a white French Curve that was perfectly drawn. It swept across her hips, was interrupted by an area of cross-hatched Spandex mesh, and then continued down to a graceful rise between her thighs. She stepped lightly on bare feet from throw rug to throw rug. "A nymph floating from lily pad to lily pad across a pond," Dean caught himself intellectualizing. In her hands, yes, Dean had to refocus on the fact that she carried something in her hands, were two shiny green egg-shaped objects. She came close to him and opened out her hands so that he could see them. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Des Belles Chinoise" -- that's what these are, she whispered close to him. "Bells of the Chinese." "You've been carrying those all this time in your..." Dean recognized what they were and whistled aloud in amazement. Laetitia smiled and looked down modestly. "I have been practicing with them as part of my education," she stated. "I can assure you that the results are very interesting to me, and perhaps will be to you. They certainly make a long airplane journey more pleasurable." Dean's system churned with excitement as this information registered with his brain. Suddenly, he could picture her under a blanket in the airliner, slipping the practice jades into her vagina, testing out, strengthening her female abilities, while some businessman next her tapped away on his laptop. How much had she already brought herself to a state of readiness? His penis lurched forward in his briefs and tangled itself before he could realize that it was happening. His mind was in too many places at once. "I think you should look closer at these," she was whispering again. "They are more interesting than even you think!" Dean forced himself to ignore her breasts, which were radiating warmth close to him as she spoke, and looked at the jade "eggs." At first he thought that the ridges and fine lines that covered them were meant to further stimulate the wearer (the wearer? he wondered, the user? the holder? what did one call the woman who enjoyed these?). But then he looked even closer. The fine lines were some kind of code. The puzzle of ideas now came tumbling out of his head and fell into place. This was the key to coding and decoding messages for the covert exchange between his agency and the anti-Lapiniste faction in Laetitia's mother's agency. Now he understood why Laetitia seemed so blase' about the search of her room by their opponents. And all the attention being paid to her mother, Michelle, was missing the point! While they were tracking her, and he was waiting for her to give him the code, Laetitia was quietly enjoying her nascent ability to control her own pleasure, quietly preparing to control the performance of the next man she would choose. And then another thought brought Dean back to the present. "And did your mother suggest this method?" he said, with raised eyebrows. "For some reason, she was confident that eventually you would find them. Of course, I could have given them to you at some convenient time." "And now is convenient?" Dean half-smiled. "Let me suggest that it would be inconvenient for me to do otherwise now," she grinned archly. "You would like to continue your lessons, then?" Dean looked at her carefully. Her only immediate answer was to smile. Setting aside the twin jades on the bedstand, her hands were free to reach for his shirt buttons. Deftly touched, they came open and her hands were at his waist to pull the shirttails free. Hungrily, she grabbed at his undershirt and it was off quickly, too. Her warmth surrounded him invitingly; they embraced and her grin changed to a look of anticipation as his arms brought her waist against his. Burning heat surrounded him as their embrace brought their covered sex together. His penis surged with energy as her ready femininity nuzzled it through the cloth. Dean thought of the Chinese balls she had carried within herself, and could only wonder at the sensations she might have experienced, particularly while they had watched the Hispanic couple earlier. Laetitia pulled slightly away from him. "Perhaps we should put those balls somewhere discrete," she whispered to him. The fear of being constantly monitored had not left her completely. The English pun was lost on her, Dean reflected, as he chose not to ask her which balls she meant. "You're right.... I'm to turn the code key or keys over to Val..." he was thinking out loud "...and she'll be rather amazed to find out what the keys are." He motioned for Laetitia to go to the bed, and went to a call bell by the door. He watched Laetitia struggle up onto the high bed. Her rear end looked incredibly cute in those intriguing Tanga outlines. He was impatient immediately, but in what only was a short time, both Val and Deborah were at the door. Val's black complexion was set off by her teal slacks and a powder blue sweater. Deborah had changed from her smock to a soft pink blouse and dark slacks. The beauty of their contrasting coloring suddenly came to his attention. Dean looked about, and realized that together with Laetitia, sexual energy crackled through the room now, uniting the four of them in a bond that could not be explained. It was odd, he thought, the two women at the door had the look of being prepared for a gentleman caller. Whatever their reason, he found the entire scene rather exciting. Dean reached out his hand with the code-bearing sex charms. Val looked the shirtless Dean up and down, without comment. Deborah looked past them and noted Laetitia peaking out of the curtains from the canopied bed. "So you find the room to your satisfaction," Val murmured teasingly. "Or your satisfaction to your room?!" Deborah offered brightly. "Cut it out you two!" Dean bantered good-naturedly. He dropped to serious tones, briefly explaining what he was handing them, and was not surprised by their reactions. Both of the women looked past him at Laetitia with new interest. "I'm impressed!" Deborah said with a tone of pleasure in the words. She and Val waved to the now blushing Laetitia, and closed the door. The blushing continued, but slowly she raised her head, her heart filling with pride at the recognition by her sisters for her bravery, and her libido intensifying as she understood that they approved, and perhaps envied her the hours to come. Dean bolted the door. The old-fashioned lock clicked authoritatively. Laetitia peeked out of the curtains again, and watched him undress. He hung his pants carefully over a valet chair. She was pleased to note that time had been kind to his figure. Muscles rippled across his reasonably flat stomach as he bent to untie his shoes. His arms showed easy strength as he moved the heavy valet chair slightly out of the way. As Dean learned later in their discussions, she had a friend at school who had taken a middle-aged lover, a business executive who liked to help her with her Economics homework in the nude. Her friend found the older man to be eccentric, set in his ways-- and then she had confessed that she had met younger men who were that way, too. She had pumped her friend with questions when she began her project of improving her sex life, but her friend could offer few such comparisons. "Whatever," she had told Laetitia with a shrug, "my grades are improving. Dean set his wristwatch on the valet chair. Now Dean walked toward her, wearing only his blue cotton briefs. She had never experienced this intensity of feeling before. With her senses so aroused, she felt that she was watching every muscle in his body in motion toward her. His thighs were strong-looking, but not overtly muscular. His manhood was outlined in stressed cloth, but was still disguised enough to leave her guessing as to details, as on some classic statues. He was not a hairy man, but his body hair caught the remaining sunset light in an attractive way. It gave him a faint glow. He pulled back the curtain and swung onto the bed. Laetitia had found that she had to hoist herself onto it. Dean was just the right height, as if the bed had been built to increase her sensation that she was confronting barely controlled power. She stretched out on the bed, and looked at the secret world within the canopy. A sturdy oil lamp was fastened to the bed post at the head of the bed, and its small light danced brightly. Their surroundings of floral ornamentation glowed golden in its beams. Embroidered hummingbirds darted through the colors of a garden. Unicorns romped on a distant field. Without a a direct hint of sex, the decor embraced them with its sensuality, made them feel a part of Nature's plan. Outside the curtain, the world was now a gauzily-hidden place. This was reality, themselves inside the curtain. The university, the Lepenistes, the couples in the park today, and even their families faded into that outer world. The neighborhood was quiet, but more so in this cushioned space. A silken cord which for some reason hung from the canopy grazed her face, like a vine in Eden's lush gardens. "Ever since I began to think about this project," she still used that word, "I wondered if one day I would make love in such a setting. I never dreamed that it would be as part of my projet, though!" She was switching back and forth into French. At the Summit Ch. 04 "Do you think that I should take my panties off now?" She interrupted herself abruptly, eagerly. A look of uncertainty and unease crossed her face. "Laetitia," Dean hung on the sybillants in her name, making it softer sounding, "I think that you should stop thinking of it as a project/projet now." He emphasized the word 'now' to mate with her question. "I think that you look lovely with them on for the moment, and perhaps I should tell you how lovely." Dean said the last words with enough authority that she realized that he was going to do it anyway. She seemed to relax in that knowledge. His sex struggled hard against his briefs, but the advantage of being 50 years old is that he had some experience with it, and knew that it would wait. What was important now was for this to be something that would stay with Laetitia as a positive moment in her life. It had all become clear to him while they were watching the sunset at the window. He had been the dry, but friendly, academic who had filled in many details of love and sex for her. He could continue that instantly in this more intimate setting, but perhaps all she would remember of him was that he was a dirty old man. Or, he could approach her gradually, and be remembered as her loving guide into the world of the senses. "I see before me a young woman whose mind has been honed to sharp perfection." Laetitia blushed and started to interject something. "No interruptions now!" Dean was forceful in his tone. "I'm going to tell you some things about yourself, or what I see in you, things that no one in school or life will tell you, and this is not the place or time for modesty." Playfully he appended, ".. the naked truth. And I will never tell you when to take off your panties. You will know when it is time, and you will not even have to think about them. They will just be gone." Laetitia's face grew warm, and her blush flowed down to her breasts. Dean began by describing that to her, the physical facts packaged with just enough poetry that she began to understand the magic. "Your lover's eyes will follow that blush," Dean continued. "Your lover will enjoy the lovely curve of your breasts. He," and he paused, "or she," he paused again as she looked at him with surprise, "will have no choice." He held her head as he kissed her again, and then gently massaged her temples and forehead, all the while describing to her how she would one day enjoy the double delight of sharing her new abilities with the lover she would select. He explained to her how this massage itself followed ancient rules of Oriental sages who had divined that the front of the brain controlled anticipation. Russians, he murmured close to her, called it the "korrektor" and saw it as a gateway that held back one's psychic powers. He was literally opening the way in her mind for the beautiful thoughts swirling around them. Her nipples hardened before his eyes as the image of this dream lover filled her body with pleasurable joy. Her hips twitched noticeably as deep within her, a fountain began to flow. He took her in his arms as they knelt on the bed, holding her at the small of the back so that her chest tilted up to his lips. "When your lover sees these cute nipples straining upward, demanding kisses, what will happen? What must happen?" He kissed her neck, and trailed tender kisses down to her breasts, up her curves, to her raspberry gumdrops of pleasure. She sighed as he drew each into his lips and circled each with his tongue. "You have the globe-shape breasts that Frenchmen love," he continued. When you chose an evening dress, you will know that, and must be prepared to make the right choice. And when you wear the right choice, no man in the room will be able to resist watching you. For that matter, the women won't either, though they may have different thoughts." "When you enter that situation, you must realize that you do not have to choose the first man who presents himself to you." He thought of her fumbling lover, and hoped that she would either improve on her future selections or find subtle ways to improve him. "You may have any of them in the room, depending on their situation and your tastes." He paused and then chortled, "and if you practice blushing like you are now, a bit more, that will certainly come true!" She giggled, but Dean saw that Laetitia was taking in what he was saying. He continued his travelogue, and as he described each part of her body, his deep tones penetrated her, made her aware of herself. His kisses followed each description.... her tummy, her toes, and back up her thighs. "Roland never knew how this excites me...." Laetitia blurted out. She stifled another comment. Dean smiled eagerly. "No, you are on the right path now!" he exclaimed. "You are becoming able to tell me what feels best." He urged her on with caresses. Floating in the secret world of Nature within the canopy, and suddenly aware of the sensitivity of each part of herself, Laetitia found her sexual voice. Now she was telling Dean where she wanted kisses, needed caresses, desired his touch, all in a voice deeper and stronger than ever. It became a voice touched with a throaty overtone, as she drew in the night air, sipping it at first, and then drinking it in gulps. His lips found her sex through the white panties, now radiating waves of alluring warmth. He traced her outer lips, and then drew her pulsing clitoris into his mouth and let the slippery material carry his message through to her. The cloth now was damp from more than his lips. Welling up from deep within, her own fluid moistened the material and made its motion yet more sensuous to both Laetitia and Dean. He inhaled the scent of her readiness, and his own body responded. His balls rolled ferociously within his briefs, the hairs dragging on the resisting threads. His own excitement was urged on by her hands, which transitioned from tender caresses of his back to sensual exploration of his tummy, and now to intimate mapping of his groin. She traced the secret shape of his half-ready power through the cloth, adding to his growing sense of urgency. Gently, Dean eased her back on the mound of pillows. He pulled away for a moment to breath deeply and let his eyes take in Laetitia's ready body. Suddenly, her hands were at her own waist, tugging in haste. It was just as Dean had promised her, that there would be a time when there were no more questions. And as she flung the panties aside, the wilted cloth of the sensual Tanga she had worn so seductively looked no different than others that Dean had seen before in his wilder years. He felt a rush of confidence surging through his whole being. Now he realized that despite what she might have thought, he was a bit apprehensive. After all, he had not been with another woman in years, and he and his wife had settled into certain patterns before they had ceased having sex. Now he was ad libbing again, and instead of being nerve-wracking, it was wonderful. His senses were heightened, he observed everything, and knew that he could adapt to respond to her needs, just as she was learning to respond to his. Laetitia tilted her hips slightly, and Dean watched her adjust her long, attractive legs, as she opened her lips to him. His hands trailed up her thighs as he bent over her for a kiss. He saw a tiny tremor race through her as she waited to learn where he would plant it. She sighed as his beard grazed the inner softness of her thighs. His lips were at her labia, gently tasting, touching with the sensation of a controlled feather, enjoying their warm fullness. "Dean, I want more, more!" she found herself saying. She squirmed to open her legs wider, easing the way for his kisses past her wet curls and into the soft invitation. His tongue darted out, and suddenly she was aware of the ring of her opening, his tender probing teasing and testing at the same time. Dean stopped for a moment and raised his head, running his tongue slowly over his lips to savor her taste. Laetitia twitched her hips urgently and half-giggled. "DON'T stop now," she playfully imitated petulance. Dean winked knowingly, and knelt between her thighs again, his hands slipping along her waist and up to caress her breasts. Now he followed the sensitive path up to her clitoris. Laetitia felt that it was a mountain journey, it seemed to take forever, and yet each corner turned opened a new vista. She begin to breath out tiny whimpers as his conquering kisses reached her summit. Dean took her anxious femininity in his lips and cradled it there for a long moment, and then suddenly she realized that his right hand was no longer on her breast - her hot nipple stood out untouched in the cool room. His hand was at her vagina; tenderly he placed a finger, and now two, and began to caress her from within. Excitement of a different kind filled him now, as he almost subconsciously took the measure of her rhythyms and made his movements a part of them. It had been so long since he had made a discovery like that, so long since he had been given command of such a perfect moment. She tried to say something, to tell him in the traditional way of subservience that she wanted him to undress now, to give herself over to his needs, but her deeper self countermanded her sentences. Words came out in a disorganized tumble in both languages-- speaking was futile folly when every sound was captured by her new sexual self and converted into urgent sighs and demanding cries. "This is just for you, Laetitia," Dean whispered. "You will know just how beautiful you truly are." Spoken so closely to her, his words resonated within her -- she felt herself so sensitive now that sound waves might push her over the edge. Little whimpers became great sighs, and then panting cries, and then all merged together into a sound of pure lust. At the same moment, in his intimate touch, Dean felt the sensation escape from within his kisses, clenching around his fingers, and then electrifying her body. The tension of the secret responsibilities, the stress of the day, her apprehensions, vanished -- swept away in the unexcelled orgasm of "la petite mort." Dean felt before she could speak that she had never experienced this before, and a feeling of lion-like confidence swept through him. Her clitoris was too sensitive now, it withdrew beneath its tender shield, and he felt her bouncing attempts to pull away, and took his kisses elsewhere. Her breasts were burning with excitement, perhaps as sensitive as any part of her, and he covered them with kisses and caresses. She delighted in every kiss, each different in its placement and effect. "I feel so alive," she finally felt her powers of speech restored. She laughed when she realized that she could speak sentences again. "I don't think that I was very coherent for a time there. Un plaisir sexual intense. Un rapport sexuel..." her voice drifted off pleasantly into her mother tongue as she felt the enjoyment surrounding them. Finally, she simply looked up at Dean, who gazed tenderly at her cooling curves and points. "But what must we do about you?" she asked archly. * * * * * To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 05 by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Late in 1997 "I don't think that I can wait to find out what Laetitia is going to do with Dean!" Sophia smiled at me meaningfully and laughed deeply. She arose from her chair and advanced on me. Her curves and points showed up well, even in the cotton exercise outfit, especially as the look on her face and her manner of moving indicated a deep longing for something more than words from me. The faint traffic noise outside, the antique furnishings in the old Denver hotel, the clock that should have advised us of meetings missed and business foregone, all faded from my mind. My senses focused on Sophia. I rose to meet her onrushing embrace. We held each other tightly, and she cradled me in her hot spot. I must admit that in retelling the story, I had grown very wet myself, and only the tight hold of my briefs had kept me from finishing the tale with a very desperate erection. She knew that as she explored me in our movement. As we embraced, we struggled with each other's clothing. Even our casual outfits seemed too confining now, our hands too slow to do the job without help from teeth and body English. Sophia wrenched my slacks and underpants down in a rapid motion that would have hurt if I had been paying attention. I bent slightly to let them pass around my swelling penis, and crashed into the table. Dishes and silverware jumped up and fell back to the tabletop with a clatter. A drink glass toppled over, and icewater sloshed down our legs, but we didn't analyze that till later. Freed of its usual daytime restraints, my manhood rose rapidly, touching her belly with its silver streak. She smiled lustfully, and stood on tiptoe to bring her sex to enjoy the touch of my madly rolling balls. Without a complete word being uttered, we moved to the edge of the bed, and as I reclined on it, she moved over me. I plunged upward as she surrounded me, opening her body to my excitement. It was a wonderful old feeling now, new again with each inch of easy penetration. I swam smoothly in our mingled fluids, suddenly filled with the confidence of an athlete taking steady strokes that drew us on toward the wonderful shore ahead. Sophia bent over me, leaning down to bring each breast to my lip, taking pleasure from the new positions which she brought to bear on myself within her. She whispered encouragement in my ear, and I drew in the scent of her hair as she urged me on. Her whispers faded into sighs, and then to throaty indications of deeper pleasure. Circles of beauty tried to hold me, rippled around me, coaxed me, enticed me. A wave of heat spread out from Sophia's engorged vagina, catching me in its searing path, and then I had - no - choice. I shuddered within her embrace, she caught my energy and her whole body blushed as I flung my semen deep into her. Afterward, we lay side by side on the bed for a long time, consciously wasting each minute of the day with each other. I kissed Sophia's cooling breasts delicately -- they were so touchy. She took my hand gently, and placed it over her vagina. Even though she knew my warming touch was coming, she still jumped slightly as I touched her curls. "Hold me there, but just gently. I'm so sensitive now." She smiled girlishly, as if she was too naive to describe why she would feel that way. The dampness and residual warmth that I held in my hand said otherwise. We drifted through a kind of meditative haze, the story of Dean and Laetitia and Michelle mingling with our own. Eventually, we found ourselves chatting with each other in sweet, small bouquets of loving words - remembering how we had first met in the dining car of the "Zephyr" and savouring shared thoughts of our first night of passion led by our new friends Karen and Cam. As we came out of the afterglow haze, these memories brought us back to the story that I had been telling Sophia, because, as she observed, we sometimes set out on a trip headed in one direction, and find ourselves going in another. (Dean had come to Denver wondering if he might be picking up the loose thread of an earlier part of his life, and now he was in bed with the passionately curious Laetitia.) Sophia cuddled closer to me and I resumed the tale in a low voice, feeling her response as the intensity of the scene caught her imagination. Before the Summit in 1997 Laetitia's hands were at the waistband of Dean's briefs. She ran a finger teasingly inside the elastic as he bent over to kiss her, but the kiss was broken by an expression of surprise. Her finger had caught on a seam sewn inside Dean's briefs. There was a small crinkling sound. "What is this?" she raised her eyebrows with interest. Dean laughed. "I'll show you." "I'm sure you will!" Laetitia said that with an eager and insistent tone, as Dean raised himself from the bed to slip off his last covering. She tried to feign calm as his penis came free, but a quick dart of her tongue over her upper lip betrayed her pleasure at being the cause of its rapid metamorphisis. Dean had not experienced this prompt a response in ages and it gave him a new feeling of command. He slipped the briefs down over his muscular thighs, and urgently flipped them over his toes and into his hands. Reaching into the hidden pocket sewn into them, he pulled out one of the Japanese condoms for which Uncle Sam had paid so dearly. "So that's what it was! I wondered if you would have something handy." Laetitia was intrigued. As Dean tore at the red and silver package, she asked the obvious questions. "Do you always go around with one of those so close to you? Where do you buy clothes like that, anyway?" She was smiling, but really wanted to know. "No, I don't do that." The veteran intelligence agent affected an exasperated tone. "I've got a couple of pairs of these briefs that I bought in the Far East - a seamstress in Saigon used to add these little pockets -- handy for all kinds of reasons." Dean handed her the little package -- she took it reflexively, but held it up for inspection. "Aren't there supposed to be instructions with every product?" she inquired. "You don't want to read the sheet for these. Sagami Rubber Industries Co., Ltd. took every legal precaution in writing them. Let me give you the highlights of them." "That would be better." "Would you like to put this on me?" He paused, and looked her in the eye. For a moment he wondered if it would bother her, the way it did some women. He caught her eyes darting skyward for a moment as she considered his offer. For a moment he wondered how much of his careful teaching she had internalized. "It's the sensuous solution when I have a man who isn't sure about using one." Dean murmured his satisfaction as she put practical words to the suggestions which he had offered her through hypnotic suggestions in their day together. Her eyes dropped to his rock hard erection. Dean noted that tiny, darting lick of the upper lip again. For a moment he thought of asking her to take him into her mouth, but he decided that could wait for later. Her education would come first. "I've never done that before." She paused, thinking about what she had given as a reason. She remembered how Roland had balked at times when she had needed him to use one. Would he have felt differently if she had offered to prepare his shield? Removing the latex ring from its opened wrapper - "red for good luck," Dean explained - she fingered it gently. Dean took her hand, and showed her how to place it. He was so firm, but loving in his manner, that Laetitia found this instruction to be exciting in itself. Suddenly, Laetitia halted. She bent over and kissed Dean's erect staff-- one long, tender kiss. One of her lovely, rounded breasts grazed its swollen head as she reluctantly drew back. "There are more kisses for your friend where that came from!" she whispered throatily, and they laughed. She had the same thought as Dean, but now felt the urgent need for his presence within her. Dean stopped her now, and placing three fingers around and beneath his tip, he squeezed out a glistening flood of precum. "This is for your analysis, Miss Scientist," he said in mock seriousness, and brought it to her clitoris. Swirling it around her, his fingers gliding in it, he renewed her swelling excitement with little coaxing. She sighed deeply as he withdrew his hand. Roland never, ever, had given her that. "It is so simple..." she sighed. "How do you mean?" "There is nothing complicated about what you just did, but it feels so beautiful? Why did I not know that?" "That's why we are here, isn't it? To learn." She rolled the condom cautiously down his length, until the opening ring was in his curls. Her hand lingered, checking her handiwork, although he could tell that her heart pounded with eager anticipation. "There are little bumps on it!" she observed. Her fingertips traced their pattern in the subtle lubricant which coated them. Roland always bought the cheapest kind when she did get him to wear protection. "It's a Sakura, and they have little dots in them for your pleasure. It seems kind of subtle to me, but then I'm not a Japanese woman." "I can see that!" They exploded in mirth, and then the laughter faded into deeper tones. Dean tossed the empty package aside. "Shall we find out if their idea works?" He flexed with excitement as Laetitia touched him once more. The head of his penis swelled with that, and it moved with serpentine seductiveness in the warmth of her gaze. She was blushing as she watched, but Dean's now quiet words calmed her. He was telling her how much he enjoyed her eyes on him, how she would remember that when she was with the man she would choose in the future. "Focus your mind on this now," he whispered, and, as she was so comfortable and free of inhibitions in his strong presence, she wanted to do nothing else. "Try to describe what you are seeing, what you are thinking." "It seems to have a mind of its own..." Laetitia murmured, pausing as she sensed her own readiness, her own need for him to be inside her. She felt hypnotized by watching him, as words, phrases in both languages came flowing out of her subconscious. Concepts which she never could have verbalized with Roland came easily, and once on her lips, seemed perfectly natural to voice. As she described her observations and the pleasurable flood of phallic imagery which was welling within her, "plaisirs du sexe" he heard her whisper, he eased her back on the bed. He knelt between her legs, and told her that he wanted to take one more full look at her. And he wanted her to do the same with him. They drank each other in with their eyes. Her long legs extended around his, her curves flowed up from her hips and the light blonde curls of her secret triangle in a pleasant manner, and even laying down, the shape of her breasts, now firm with her excited readiness, was very pleasing. There was a bit of a pout to her lips as she studied him -- her eyes drew his with their intelligence, her blonde hair fell back on the pile of pillows. She seemed to float before him. Laetitia saw him in a different way. Here was a man that she knew had lived a life of adventure. How many women had yearned for the moment when they would feel his powerful hands gently release a garter belt or sense the confidence in his steady cradling of their trembling vagina? She didn't care to think of the details, but she knew that now, after what apparently had been years of his lackluster marriage bed, she had reawakened the man in him. Every moment with him had been a joy, and now he was focused entirely on her. Thoughts of Roland now seemed so remote, a far off memory, business to be tabled indefinitely. It must have only been a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity before she could speak. Dean had said nothing as they gazed at each other. "I need to have you come inside of me. I want us to be one being." Her words were a simple statement of fact, and she seemed unware of the double entendre. "There's so much for us to share," Dean said. "Pull that sash that you wondered about earlier." He indicated the tasseled cord that hung down from the canopy of the bed. Laetitia reached up from the bed, her breasts moving beautifully as she did so. Dean watched, enjoying the movement of her youthful muscles, and then enjoying even more the startled look on her face. "There's a mirror up there!" Her pull on the sash had released the cloth bunting that was draped over a large-enough mirror hidden in the bed's canopy. In seconds, she went through a variety of expressions, and then again her eyes rested on his ready manhood. Laetitia's glance shifted up to the mirror and back - she could not decide where to let her eyes rest. Her very effort not to keep looking in the mirror, a view which showed her own pink-flushed ready body with Dean's, made her more excited than ever. Dean took her hand, and led it to his covered tip. Touching her hand to himself, he told her to concentrate on him - not to look at the mirror for now, to wait until she felt no choice. Relieved, Laetitia did so, and took into her dreams forever the sight of him coming down on her, his strong hips moving to position himself, her own moving to open herself to him, his rock-hard penis pointed into her, and then her eyes closing as her vision turned inside out. Dean saw her opening as a beautiful flower of France blossoming in timelapse, rose colors extending out around him. He entered eagerly, youthlike, but then caught himself and glided smoothly, unstoppably, into her wetness. He had almost forgotten the wonder of entering a woman's passion-- feeling her closing/opening uncertainly around him, fluttering, and then her finding her own hidden powers, taking hold of him. Now that wonderful sensation was surrounding him once more. For a moment, Laetitia was still the inexperienced young woman, used to a young man who came and went quickly. But then, as she began to relish Dean's subtle movement, her practice with the jades began to make sense. For the first time, she was an equal partner, and her eyes were opened. Without having to think about it, she was caressing him from within, holding him when he started to move back, guiding him, positioning him in the perfect spot. His velvet-covered steel shaft was hers to receive pleasure from, as much as it was his. She opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her with lust-focus; he drew himself up and she saw that he supported himself strongly on one hand as the other swept along her side to her breast. "Yes, Dean, yes!" she urged his touch to her hardened nipple. The waves of sensation rolled back within her, crashing against the feeling coming from within. Her fingers dug into his back, and Dean felt the joy of knowing that he was taking her to new places of excitement. He felt her legs sliding over his -- without plan, her feet were on his hips now, holding him even more tightly into herself. She could not help glancing in the mirror, seeing her arms and legs around him, holding him -- and his powerful muscles moving in rhythm to her own. They were approaching the unity she so longed for. "Laetitia, I must come." Dean said it with quiet urgency, and in preparation, slipped his arms over her shoulders from behind her back, pulling himself hard into her. He felt her warmth against his heavily-laden balls, and probed to her inner ring. Leaning slightly forward, he kissed her, and in the motion, his intimate tool touched her G-spot. She moaned his name, gulping in great grabs of oxygen between repetitions. She closed tight around him, and let the flood within her sweep both of them away. Her hands slipped to his tensed hips and felt an atypical trembling, and then the electric charge shot through them. He pumped wildly in her inner grasp, escaping, returning, and then she held him quietly, milking him for the last drops with such a loving smile that Dean in turn could not stop grinning and kissing her. They lay together, floating beneath the mirror in the secret world of the canopied bed. They cuddled, talked, gave each other little kisses, and simply gazed into each others eyes, till they were too drowsy. Dean caught himself wondering, by habit, about the time, and then dismissed the thought. Laetitia, admitted wondering what her mother was doing, but that thought, too faded quickly as she glanced in the mirror again and saw Dean's relaxed body next to her own. Finally, they confessed to each other their desparate needs for sleep, and Dean carefully rolled the heavy-laden condom down his half-slack penis. It would have fallen off had they not been laying so quietly next to each other. Laetitia watched with fascination, wondering what it might have felt like to have taken the creamy treasure into herself, and then as he pulled the crisp white covers over them, drifted into dreams beyond beautiful that seemed shared with Dean's. It must have been long after midnight when Laetitia awoke. The oil lamp was out. Something had startled her. Instinctively, she drew her hand across Dean's shoulder to shake him awake. It took time-- he must have been in some other dimension. Finally his eyes registered attention, and she whispered urgently to him. "There is someone out there. Outside the house in the yard, I mean!" She added the clarification when he looked puzzled. He still was waking up. Without a word, but with a finger to his lips, Dean arose. Laetitia watched his fluid motion, but stifled a laugh as the covers came with him. Dean blushed, as his night erection, perfected by Laetitia's earlier attention and his interrupted dream, caught on the bedcovers and nearly dragged them off. She snatched after the sheets at the last moment, and he sprang loose from them as he climbed down from the bed. With leonine grace, he strode across to a window. Laetitia was on edge, but ever the scientist, watched in the dim light shining in from the street with awe as his freed erection firmed up. Here was a jungle animal, ready to mate. Yet, as he approached the window, the primeval fight-or-flight instincts took hold. His erection slackened and then his organ dropped out of sight as he crouched by the windowshade. She shivered slightly-- perhaps from the night chill, perhaps from the tension, or -- she commented later -- from her unexpected understanding of the animal beauty of the moment. On the walk outside, the gate latch clicked. He moved the shade a bit, and looked out. Tony, the young Hispanic man who had discretely dealt with their Lepiniste tail earlier, was leaving. He hitched up his jeans in a macho manner that led Dean to some quick conclusions; the would-be Latin lover retucked his shirt as he walked away into the chilly night. Then both Dean and Laetitia heard the front door close, and steps on the stairs from down below, moving with a light step past them and on upstairs. Dean returned to the bed, laughing quietly. "Laetitia, I think that our "old maid" hosts were only teasing about their situation." "They had a guest tonight?" "Yes, at least one of them did." Laetitia paused, and then asked "how do you know it was one?" Dean affected a look of mock consternation, and tossed a pillow at her. "You certainly have some big ideas for someone so young!" "And you certainly are naive for someone so old!" She looked at his withdrawn manhood, and then added "and who is it had big ideas just a minute ago?" They laughed and teased, then tussled and embraced, then kissed. "Let me try an experiment," she said in an enticing tone that invited no disagreement. In seconds, the Frenchwoman's lips were at his relaxed sex tool, coaxing, savoring. She cradled his uptight balls in her hand, enjoying their resumed motion in the warmth of her palm. Relaxed now, Dean suddenly felt a new wave of hormones, and Laetitia giggled with pleasure at the strong evidence of the success of her experiment. His penis swelled lazily, reluctantly at first, and then dramatically resumed its full form in her rush of warm kisses. At the Summit Ch. 05 "This time it is your turn to lay back and enjoy the mirror," she said. "Just lie there for the moment..." She climbed down from the bed and tiptoed across to the window, raising the shade so that the moonlight and streetlight illuminated the room in a cool glow. He watched her return, backlit by the light of Diana the Huntress it seemed to him. In her sensual walk, her legs were slightly parted at one point, and her curls glowed between them when caught in the light. He felt an unplanned flexing between his thighs. She swung up onto the bed more fluidly than before, having now experienced its height, and knelt over Dean. She licked her lips. Her hair touched his stomach as she came down on him, and her scent enveloped him just before her guiding hand guided brought his penis to her lips. Adoring kisses trailed up its length, until the red of her lips reached its head and captured him. Laetitia cradled his balls in her hand as she surrounded his tip. Dean abandoned himself to the deep yearning which swept over him, yearning which was magnified by her subtle exploration of his manifest excitement. For too long the urgent pressure built while she stopped and pulled back to admire her creation, maintaining her touch with her hand,caressing, teasing, studying. He looked up almost helplessly as his honeylike fluid stretched from the flowing tip. The mirror showed him his Laetitia's back, curving down to her hips. The cool air seemed to increase his desire, and in an involuntary motion his straining member tugged eagerly at her hand. Dean's French pupil held his penis to her lips, and drew it in. Swirling her tongue around and over him, and then sucking in the familiar rhythm, she brought him to the edge of orgasm. Her hand felt the lurch as his balls offered up their contribution, Dean's hips moved powerfully and then it was hers. In her own pleasure at her success with renewing his sexual powers, she had not thought what to do with it. It seemed to be everywhere as they writhed in a mutual frenzy of kisses, tongues and sticky silliness. After they had cleaned up as best as they could, they laughed about it. "The spontaneity, it is a good idea," Laetitia observed with a moist-lipped smile, "but there are some things that one should plan a head for." As before, Dean wondered if she meant the double entendre, and then she nudged him playfully. "Caught you wondering again, didn't I?" He admitted that she had. She stretched out beside him, cuddling against his masculine angles. They both found themselves looking up into the mirror, and saw their contrasting sensual forms clad only in moonlight. They drifted away to dreams deeper than before. Suddenly, a faint light crept across the intimate couple and began to draw them back to the land of the living. It intensified to a Broncos Orange in the hazy clouds framed in the window, lighting them from beneath. On the edges were colors of pink and purple, fading into the dark skirts of retreating night. Dean stirred and Laetitia rose with him. He found her robe, placed it on her shoulders against the chill, and drew her wordlessly to the high window, comfortable in his own nudity. "Look!" he emphasized, "everything close to us is silhouetted in the deepest black-- there are no grays in this time of day." "Yes," Laetitia whispered back, "the day begins very simply-- it gets complicated later on!" Dean kissed her impulsively as he realized how perfectly she understood his meaning. In the foreground were the gnarled old trees of North Denver, forming patterns against the sky of delicate black lace. Further back in the the windowed picture, Downtown buildings became a cardboard cut-out, like the backdrop in a fin de siecle theatre. This was not a still-life. Black shapes of birds moved urgently across the sky, and above them a handful of dark, dolphin-shaped clouds scudded crosswise beneath the cloud arch, as if on some independent mission. The lights of a newspaper carrier's pick-up truck moved hesitantly in the dark below, the driver no doubt focusing sleepy eyes on the street numbers ahead. Suddenly, it was the moment before true dawn, the coldest time of the day, and Dean felt his nakedness. Laetitia drew him closer to her, tried to open her robe and draw him into its folds. The sensation was very pleasant as he buried himself in her embrace, felt the tips of her breasts pressing against his chest, and her pelvis against him. They kissed, a long and tender kiss, and then the Rocky Mountain sun blazed through the clear air over the buildings and drove them from their window lookout. The old-fashioned tub was big enough for both of them. They splashed like children, scrubbed each other, and tossed soap foam missiles in gleeful abandon. For Dean, it was decades since he had enjoyed a woman's touch in the bath, and for Laetitia it was an intimate experience adding to her growing list. When they paused in their mirthful pastime, they found themselves simply gazing at each other. "I feel as though there is a very strong bridge built between us, and it will be frustrating not to be able to be with you," Laetitia finally said. "It needs to be strong, because you know that it is going to have to last our lifetimes in our minds. Both of us are headed in different directions in our lives from here." Dean wondered if he was going to start quoting Rick to Ilse from "Casablanca." Just as a serious look crossed his young partner's face, there was a knock on the door. "Room service!" It was Val's voice, laughing. "Breakfast is here." "Just hold on a minute!" Dean called back. "Having fun in there?" Deborah's voice added jokingly, as Dean and Laetitia splashed their way out of the tub, and hastily toweled each other down. They threw on their robes as the water gurgled down the drain of the claw-footed monster that had held them. "We thought that you might like breakfast up here," Deborah added as Dean opened the door. The two women wheeled in a well-stocked trolley of breakfast goodies. They started to leave. "No, stay!" urged Laetitia. "We have extra chairs, and it would be nice to talk with you. It's okay with you, Dean, yes?" It was an afterthought to include him, but he did not mind. Having breakfast in a bedroom with three sexually aware women did not seem like a bad idea, even if it really was only a breakfast. They talked about Denver, talked about Paris, talked about the preparations for the upcoming Summit. Somehow, Laetitia managed to bring the conversation to a point where she could ask about young Tony, whose noisy late night departure had led to such pleasant results for her and Dean. "Yes, he dropped by to make sure that we knew that your Lepeniste friend from the park was tucked in at the Denver County Jail. He said that he wanted you to know that he was very thorough, in case you ever need his work again." "How did that happen?" Laetitia asked in amazement. "It seems that he was found in a crack house down on West 12th when the police were tipped that they would find someone else who they were looking for." Val spoke in a sardonic tone. "When they busted their way in, they found Mr. Lepiniste sitting groggily in an easy chair, with so much evidence stacked around that they had to take him in. And, to top it off, he seemed to have no i.d.! He could shout in any language that he had diplomatic immunity all that he liked, but it took till dawn to figure out that he was who he said he was. Still, I don't think that they believed his story as to how he got into the house." Laetitia told them how Dean had sent another presumed Lepeniste to the county's hospital. She wondered what sort of retaliation might eventually result. "I'm not sure, but if you stay in town longer, Dean, our property taxes are going to be increased," Val kidded him. "You keep making work for our public agencies." Laetitia began to speak, but as if anticipating her next question, Deborah answered: "When Tony arrived to give us the rundown, we were making milkshakes since we never had time for a proper dinner ourselves with all these things going on. We invited him to stay and shared with him." Dean raised his eyebrow and looked at the two. "Did he prefer Double Chocolate or Double Strawberry?" He leered comically at the proprieteresses. Deborah chuckled and then remained demurely silent. Val never missed a beat, and came back with a question which sent all four of them into fits of blushing laughter. Glancing at the robed couple, still flushed and glistening from their tender time in the tub, she asked smoothly whether "you, Dean, have a taste for double French Vanilla?" Laughter rocked the bedroom. When they quieted for a moment, Laetitia completed the circle by licking her lips as she described to the two women how much she would enjoy a Banana shake. And so breakfast passed in gentle teases and tender tales full of kindness, leaving everyone in a hugging mood when the dishes were cleared away. After Val's riposte, Dean had little to say, but he enjoyed simply listening to the three. His honest pleasure in the company of women gave them a subtle boost. "Perhaps you two want to get dressed?" Deborah asked. "Non!" Laetitia responded, and they giggled. Nevertheless, they were driven from the room by the clock. Everyone agreed that there were too many things yet undone that day. The unusual couple found themselves alone together again. Dean saw that the Frenchwoman had a tear in her eye. Instinctively, he embraced her once again, and the understanding conveyed in his action touched her heart. Great tears began to flow, streaming down over her cheeks and dropping onto the curve of her breasts. They ran across her nipples pressed against his chest, they moistened his own cheeks as he kissed her. "I find it hard to understand how I can care so much for someone that I came to in such a strange way," she whispered. "You have touched me in a way that I was not expecting." "Laetitia, you have done the same to me, and I am grateful for that. But you have so much good sense that you know this has to end." "Non! It must not end! But....." and her eyes dropped as she realized that he was right in a way. "But it will never end in my memories. You have touched my heart, and I love you for it." Dean whispered his agreement with her, and gently stroked her back. She molded herself to him, enjoying his angularity against her supple body, losing herself in the softness of his words. In her reverie, she did not notice the change in the flow of his thoughts directed to her. "Laetitia, as you enjoy the feeling of intimacy between us, you will recall how you felt as I caressed your forehead last night." She nodded agreement. He felt her relaxing in his arms as she turned inward to that memory. "You feel yourself relaxing even more now, as my voice penetrates your thoughts. Just as it felt good to have me inside you, now you enjoy focusing on my voice..." She giggled briefly and then her eyes focused on some distant point. Her relaxation was complete and she would accept Dean's commands. Late in 1997 Sophia pushed away from me, leaving a cold spot on my chest. "What!? He's hypnotizing her. That isn't very kosher is it?" She glared at me for knowing Dean. "I think that you will approve once you hear the whole story," I said, somewhat defensively. "And after all, some people would call Dean a spy, and that's not a profession known for following conventional rules in relationships." "That's not an excuse... but let's have the rest of the story, Richard." Sophia would withhold judgment. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued. To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 06 by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. Late in 1997 As Sophia relaxed in her willingness to trust my story-telling, I continued with Dean's hypnotic words. I watched Sophia closely as the story unfolded, and as her own understanding and trust in what Dean was doing blossomed, she, too relaxed and savored thoughts from her own past. I recognized her own breathing moving in that sensuous way that told me her body was preparing for me, even ahead of her thoughts. Had the story not been so compelling, it would have been hard to keep us from jumping each other! Before the Summit in 1997 "Laetitia, as you enjoy the feeling of intimacy between us, you will recall how you felt as I caressed your forehead last night." She nodded agreement. Dean felt her relaxing in his arms as she turned inward to that memory. "You feel yourself relaxing even more now, as my voice penetrates your thoughts. Just as it felt good to have me inside you, now you enjoy focusing on my voice..." She giggled briefly and then her eyes focused on some distant point. Her relaxation was complete. "In ten minutes, we are going to dress each other, and you will see that as very sexy. When you feel that sensation, you will be very comfortable in telling me that." He paused and watched her sign of acknowledgment. "But as I dress you, as each piece of clothing goes on you, you will feel drowsy. The sexier that you feel, the more you will want to curl up and sleep like a kitten. You will enjoy telling me that afterward, this evening, you will be ready to be a tigress with me again." She signaled her understanding from within her mild and pleasant trance. It would be perfectly logical. "And as you sleep like a kitten... your conscious mind will step out of the way, and all of the events since we came here to this house will find a home in your subconscious mind.. .where they will be of wonderful use in your future relations with men... or at some time when you are alone and have the desire for relaxation. "When you awaken from your nap, I will give you a poem to keep as a souvenir. Whenever you read the line "... the sweetest of dreams..." your conscious mind will understand that you had a pleasant night's sleep here... and that really nothing unusual... happened between us. You can remember everything with your subconscious mind, but you cannot remember everything with your conscious mind. You can forget so easily, so many things have happened on this journey, but your subconscious mind remembers everything you need to know..." The young Frenchwoman's champagne-glass breasts rose and fell in calm beauty as she took in his seductive message. He paced his message to her breathing, fighting his own body's desire to have her again and again. Dean's penis stirred anxiously, revitalized as a part of him tried to break through his own plan. He fought his own impulses, cursing himself for being so damn responsible. It would be so easy now to program her for his own future pleasure, to have her as his mistress. And that would be so wrong. His sex swung outward, and then curved up in a magnificent hard-on, as his body tempted him. It must have been thirty years since he had felt such an urgent need for a third time over a night. A spark of light caught his tip, as precum swelled from his engorged penis head. He tried to divert his own libido with a last thrust of male vanity. "One of your hands feels so relaxed that it is floating upward." Her right hand began to rise. "What goes up must come, and as your hand falls again, you will find that it and your arm brush your nipples and that is so pleasant, so nice..." He was taking her to the limit. She sighed slightly as she grazed her sensitive tips. "As that feels good to you now, it will feel right to do it again... in the future, when you are alone in a safe and private place, as long as you enjoy the sensation and as you do... it you will not be surprised to find yourself remembering me. And you will teach your conscious mind that the quickest way to become aroused will be by letting it enjoy your own imaginary love-making with me." There was a smile in Dean's steady voice. "You will find that it is easy to keep these memories in your subconscious, but it will only be easy to talk about them and what you have done with them when you are with me, and only when I give this sign (he slowly raised his middle right finger half-way)... and in fact, when I give this sign, you will feel very relaxed and you will enjoy talking to me about what you have done with these beautiful memories." He felt himself losing track of her trance and beginning to move into a close embrace with her. Standing as close to her as he was -- within the circle of warmth radiating from her -- he felt the compelling need to flex his growing power. Gently, he enfolded her in his arms. Suddenly, her internal alarm struck ten minutes and she came back to the conscious world. An odd look passed over her face, and she slowly withdrew from his hold. "My, my, my!" She laughed sexily as she felt his touch over her body, and warmed to the pressure of his erect manhood in the middle of their embrace. Dean held her tightly for a moment, almost as if to support himself, as his internal struggle played out. "We have so much to do today," she whispered, "perhaps we should save that for later. But wouldn't it be sexy to dress each other now?" Dean nodded agreement with Laetitia's "suggestion." They found each other's clothing, and it WAS sexy, as they caressed and fondled each other intimately. Once again the tanga stretched in place to emphasize her curves. She laughed as she struggled to get his erection into the cotton briefs. And as they dressed each other, her eyelids became heavier and heavier. She was so beautiful in a languid way now -- Dean cursed himself again for his responsibility, as her drowsiness intensified. He kissed her tummy as he tied the waistband on her denims, and she giggled unsophisticatedly. He caressed each breast, holding each for a last kiss, while Laetitia took in the image of his tenderness with half-closed eyes. "Dean," she could barely whisper, "our big night has caught up with me. I want to take a little nap before we go out. I want to curl up and sleep like a kitten." Laetitia paused, thinking slowly, "And afterward, this evening I will be ready to be a tigress with you again. And... on every evening in the future." Dean drew in his breath and smiled as she worked through the pattern which was penetrating her subconscious. He placed the light blue top over her shoulders, and slowly began buttoning it. "Perhaps you should lie down," he half-whispered. "By the time I finish buttoning you up, you will be a sleeping pussycat." He eased her onto the high bed, and placed a pillow beneath her head. "Yes." And then she was sleeping deeply. She curled, in utter relaxation, her body eager for rest after her enthusiastic lovemaking and her subconscious mind equally eager to store away all that Dean had given her. When she turned, her top rode up a bit and showed her smooth tummy up to her navel. Dean reclined beside her, tracing the outline of her waistband across the slow rise and fall of her. Late in 1997 And while the story described one woman's gentle passage into complete command of her sexual abilities, it was having a more immediate affect on Sophia and thus on me. "You were right," she purred, "I'm glad that I let you continue the story." This was good news, as Sophia was not shy about telling me when she disagreed with me. Her summary of the tale told me that now she understood where Dean was headed. "If Dean had simply said that the lesson was over, she could not have let him get away. She's still young, and she might have spent the rest of her life chasing after him-- or maybe making unfair comparisons between him and other men." "Yes, and by having her save all the enjoyment in her subconscious, she can develop her own thoughts about what to do with the information. And when some night comes when she's with a lover who she really wants to please, and the neighbors next door are pounding picture frame brackets into the wall, it won't matter... she'll pull up thoughts of Dean, and her lover will enjoy the results with her." I looked intently at Sophia for comic effect. "Wouldn't you like to be able to do that?" "What, you mean think of Dean, when I am making love to you? Or do you mean to pound picture hooks into the wall?" She nudged me when she saw the awful face that I made in response to her jest. "Actually, there is an image that comes into my mind, so to speak..." She spoke in a confessional tone and I leaned forward to hear. "The night we first met, our time with Karen and Cam in the bedroom suite on the California Zephyr!" She only had to say the words, and my mind filled with sensual flashes from that night of magic. I could visualize the younger couple merging before our eyes, caught in the occasional blinks of light through the sleeping car window. And I felt again their circle of intimacy drawing Sophia and me together. Without plan, a powerful tornado of lust slammed through me and all the rationalizing of Dean and Laetitia's actions dropped away. "I'm aching for you!" Sophia's purr, hit by the same lustwave, had turned to a growl. "Now, now..." she blurted out as we wrestled eagerly with each other, tumbling across the bed. Her superheated sex opened for me. "Fuck me!" she whispered hoarsely. From a woman who rarely used profanity, the words had a dramatic effect on both of us. Swiftly, I mounted her and plunged with her into a wild ride that carried us wordlessly into a place far from our current existence. Then, as quickly as it had arisen, our storm came to a climax, and we lay glowing and gasping together as Sophia savored her skillfull milking of the last of my excitement. "You enjoy doing that, don't you?" I murmured. "It's like giving a second pair of hands when I stay in you afterward." "Yes! Do you like that?" Sophia smiled, almost girlishly. "Of course! You're caressing my back with one pair of hands and holding my manhood with the "other pair" inside you. It feels great and it's fun, too." And, I could have added, it was one of those dividends of maturity and experience. In my professorial days I had been with enough co-eds who knew everything about getting me into their bed, and then nothing about keeping me there. Laetitia would not have that disadvantage now, it occurred to me. Sophia's thoughts were headed back to the story, too. Even as I slipped from within her and eased over on my side, she wanted me to continue. I held her at bay for a minute while I brought back water for both of us-- we were gasping -- then I went ahead with Dean's and Laetitia's tale. Before the 1997 Summit Dean found himself snoozing for a few minutes alongside Laetitia, then awoke and sorted out their few belongings. He was unable to avoid gazing at the sleeping beauty, but finally woke her. She sat up slowly, half-asleep yet. She yawned. "It's time to get you back to your hotel. Your mother will wonder what has been going on. Or, maybe she won't!" Dean teased the young Frenchwoman. His old comrade Michelle had suggested quite clearly in a couple of ways that she would not be surprised if Dean and her Laetitia became intimate, and yet he doubted that she would be completely happy with that thought. Perhaps it had come to her in the stressful situation which they faced. Would she feel the same way in the future? To himself, Dean still wanted to get closer to Michelle again. Even though he had absolutely enjoyed himself with Laetitia, it was still in the role of a teacher. After all, he mused, the agency had paid for his Marin County stay in the Master of Sexual Expression training week out of his Personal Development benefit account years ago, so he was just applying what the government had covertly trained him to be good at as an undercover agent. With few words, Dean and Laetitia gathered up their things and headed out. The young woman paused to take a last look at the room, and Dean saw it framed over her shoulder. The tousled covers of the big bed, bracketed by its drawn back curtains, witnessed silently to the pleasure she had taken. She turned, and they went down the stairs. Val and Deborah both were engaged in projects as the couple passed them; each person acknowledged the other briefly. The "real" world was waiting for them outside and it was almost as if Dean and Laetitia were cutting themselves off from the intimate world within the Bed & Breakfast. Laetitia realized that as they walked through the gate. "They knew we had to go back to Reality, didn't they?" She turned to Dean, who nodded. "We might never have left there if things had gone on being so nice," he agreed. They walked on down the hill and out across the South Platte River, past My Brother's Bar and over the bridge above the river kayakers. Laetitia held Dean's hand tenderly as they strolled. Her top bounced slightly above her bare midriff. Dean found that he liked being able to easily visualize the curve from there down into her jeans-- it felt good to have that knowledge about a woman again. "You are a wonderful man - one of the best I have ever known." She broke their communal silence. "I hope you still think that years from now," Dean laughed. Then his tone changed to a simpler mode, "thank you." They hugged each other and then moved on into LoDo. Their stroll was uneventful. As Dean had suspected, the Lepeniste agents were either out of circulation or they were not looking for them as pedestrians. Foreigners knew that Americans always drove, so they were probably looking for a couple in a car. Soon the unusual couple found themselves back at the Westin. If all had gone well, their whereabouts were unknown to the curious from yesterday afternoon until... now. Dean caught a glimpse of the fellow who had fallen off the barstool, and saw that he had spotted them. He hurried Laetitia toward the hotel. "Laetitia, when we cross this next street, I want you to hurry on up to your room, and don't let anyone in till your mother or I show up." She looked anxiously at him. "I don't think anything is going to happen to you, but they may suspect that I have the code key from you. They're going to want to talk with me." "Will you be alright?" she worried. "Will I see you tonight?" "I think they will just want to rip me up in case I'm still carrying it. No one wants a murder in this place right now. We should see each other again tonight." Dean thought that did not sound reassuring, now that he had said it. But Laetitia did as she was told, and as Dean lingered to look at the headlines about the approaching world summit conference in a newspaper box, she continued briskly toward the hotel. The "friend" from the Cruise Room and another heavy-set man converged on him. "We would like you to come with us... we insist!" The heavy-set man had an incongruously high voice, and Dean could not help himself. He imagined this big goon having a tiny penis, overshadowed by his gut, and he laughed out loud as he said just that. After the starlike flash as his head was smashed against a light pole, that was the last thing he remembered that evening. As Dean had expected, the bad guys' attention focused on him. Laetitia found herself alone in the muffled confines of her mother's and her hotel room. She did not know exactly when Michelle would return, although she remembered that this was to be a day of organizational planning sessions. Not doing anything was driving her crazy, but she did not want to drown out a suspicious sound with the shower. She did not know what she would do if there WAS a suspicious sound, but she knew that she wanted to hear it if it came. She found herself idly fingering the poem that Dean had given her. She sat down on the edge of her bed and unfolded the sheet of paper. For a moment Laetitia thought about Dean and how special he was to her, and an intense longing filled the young Frenchwoman. Their short time together had been so wonderful; she let herself think of doing all kinds of things with him, on and on into the future. The images of him, Laetitia thought, would stay with her forever. She was especially worried now about him, because he had become a part of her. What if he was wrong and they were killing him right now? She shuddered. She should have followed them, gone with Dean, risked her own life. All that would be left of him would be this sheet of paper! Glancing down at the page, she slowly read the poem to herself aloud. She reached the concluding words... "I awaken, to find it all a wonderful dream, the sweetest of dreams. The most beautiful of memories." As she read them, great tears began to well up in her eyes. She suddenly felt an inner urge to have not read the final line, but it was too late. She felt her mind struggling with the memories of the past 24 hours, her conscious mind desperately trying to hold onto the images of her sexual awakening with Dean. But it was impossibly difficult to keep all of those thoughts organized.... and then she understood that she had simply had a pleasant night's sleep there in the romantic bed & breakfast inn... and that really nothing unusual... happened between her and the American agent after their day of... discussions in the park. The intense tension of the previous phase faded, and Laetitia found that a feeling of great calm was spreading through her. Now that she understood that it was all a sort of dream, that made perfect sense. She looked up and saw herself in the dresser mirror across the room... and the woman in the mirror was a mess. She was sweaty and her face was streaked with tears. As she looked down at herself, there was even a wet spot where a tear had missed her breasts and had landed on her bare midriff. Her clothes were dusty from the paths she and Dean had walked. Why had she been crying so much? It made little sense to her, except in terms of being very tired from the stress she had undergone. It was so very logical now to get cleaned up, to finish the job of de-stressing herself. She tossed aside her top, and paused to look at herself in the mirror. There was a slight redness to her breasts, like a whisker burn. That seemed odd, but then she recalled that she had no pajamas in the B&B, so she must have slept in the nude and been roughed up by the covers. The young Frenchwoman kicked off her shoes, and the blessed feeling of relaxation deepened in her. She found herself smiling in anticipation of a shower - or better yet, since she was still afraid of an unexpected visit from the Lepenistes, she would simply sponge herself off. The thought made her smile-- and she leaned way back and pulled the jeans off of her hips and then stood to struggle out of them. Her panties went with them, and she stood before the mirror in the same nude beauty which had captivated Dean. She did not see that, of course. Instead, she caught herself wondering if an experienced man like Dean might have enjoyed having her. She let her hands slide over her curves, fantasizing his touch. What would it be like? Really nothing unusual had happened between her and Dean back there in the B&B, she assured herself, but it was fun to think that it could have. She told herself that as she walked into the bathroom and ran the tap. The warm water steamed in the sink, and it felt good on the washcloth as she began scrubbing herself. At the Summit Ch. 06 She found that she could not stop thinking about Dean now, and she did not want to. Her nipples were rising as her breasts firmed. She let the water flow over them from the washcloth into the sink, and visualized him kissing her there. When Laetitia had finished washing every square centimeter, she finally admitted to herself that she wanted more than a sponge bath. She dropped the washcloth onto the counter, and let her fingers touch each sensitive area of herself -- and it was tres perfect fun to imagine that touch being Dean's. Her right hand seemed to be guided down over her tummy by some higher power -- had there been someone there to ask her, she would have said that it was as if it belonged to him and not to her -- and inexorably to her clitoris. It was so sensitive! She was glad that it was not Roland, her boyfriend, touching her. He could be so clumsy! (He would need some training, she noted to herself.) She found the right spot, and as she did, the images of Dean in her imagination seemed overwhelming. The more she thought of him, the more her pleasure intensified. She saw his manhood rising at her command. She felt her sexual power strengthening, growing, heating the room, and she was able to hold her mental image of Dean coming into her, pushing hard against her, as she stroked herself easily to a shattering climax. Whew!!! She ran the washcloth over herself again, and then walked back to the bedroom. A beautiful feeling of tiredness swept over her, and regardless of her earlier fears, it now was easy to stretch out comfortably under the covers for a long nap till her mother returned. She found it pleasant to imagine Dean's mature strength stretching out next to her. But, of course, that was just a dream. Late in 1997 "This seems like a good stopping place," Sophia suggested. "We DO have some things we have to get done today." "Someday, we'll have to spend the whole day in bed," I suggested. "We came close to it today." We laughed when we realized Sophia's unplanned pun. "Yes, and great sex would be a natural outcome of a holiday like that; it would not be the main point, but would be among the first points," Sophia giggled. "I'm leaving a lot of questions unanswered, I know." I turned more serious. "Yes... like what happened to Dean? And what happens when he goes home? Does he ever get together with Michelle? What does this really have to do with the Summit Conference?" Sophia had many relevant questions. "I'll answer all of them for you tonight when we're back here-- or at least I'll begin," I promised. To be continued... Quote from "The Sweetest Dream" copyright 1997 by Christine Irene, CompuServe Erotic Literature Forum. Readers who have enjoyed this series will also find pleasure in her work. At the Summit Ch. 07 Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Part 7 Late in 1997 "Yes... like what happened to Dean? And what happens when he goes home? Does he ever get together with Michelle? What does this really have to do with the Summit Conference?" Sophia had asked many relevant questions when we had interrupted our extended bedtime story. Now we were back at the Oxford in the Cruise Room, where Sophia had agreed to meet me after our errands of the day. She slipped into the booth beside me, sitting close so that we could talk in near-whispers. The waiter who brought the Scotch that I had already ordered for us never blinked an eye. There was something about the lighting of the Art Deco room and its "Queen Mary" liner art that made couples want to touch each other. I felt the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine. Her hand rested gently on the top of my knee, and then slipped idly a few inches higher and then paused. "And now, Professor, suppose you continue with your tale?" Sophia grinned as she looked down at my reaction to her teasing. She moved her hand another inch closer and then stopped. What sweet torture! In low tones, I began the story. "Dean woke up at 27th & Arapahoe Streets, badly bruised and with some bleeding. When the paramedics came and carted him off to Denver Health, he had no identification, and at first they and the police thought that perhaps he was a drug customer who had been robbed of his buying money in a deal gone bad. Finally, he convinced the police that he was a tourist who had wandered in the "wrong" direction from Coors Field. He arranged for a couple of phone calls, including from his wife, to identify him. She seemed unsurprised. They treated him for the cuts and abrasion, and kept looking in his eyes and examining him for the effects of the blow he had received, but finally they let him go." I had tried to summarize a miserable day at Emergency as briefly as I could. "Why didn't his agency help him?" Sophia asked. "Good question. I think that they wanted to keep up the pretense that he was on his own, just a civil service retiree chasing after his youth." I could understand that myself. I launched into the story again in earnest. Before the 1997 Summit Dean missed seeing Michelle or Laetitia again. They were gone when his miserable day had concluded, checked out and on their way back to France. His room had been ransacked at the hotel, which complicated the next day that Dean spent getting some documents together and getting the money wired to him for a train ticket home. He had no good i.d. for the plane trip, and still could not draw attention to his government mission by pulling strings to get on a flight. It was clear that the Lepenistes had recruited local talent, and he did not have the support to weed them out. There seemed to be no one watching him when he walked down 17th Street and into the bustling edifice. With the two women gone, and him and his belongings thoroughly screened by whomever was dogging after them, it seemed that the heat was off for a while. The "California Zephyr" Superliner moved gently out of the station, and after a few minutes of bright industrial glare, into the prairie night. Dean undressed for the berth with stiff movements. He still ached everywhere, and the mirror in the room showed his body to be black and blue in too many places. Sleep was a welcome relief. Dean remained in his room the next morning, tipping the sleeping car attendant to bring his meal to the deluxe bedroom. This trip was going to cost the government plenty, he thought, but it was less than if they had paid for another day in the hospital. He took advantage of the self-imposed isolation to write his report. The southern Iowa scenery did not interfere with his writing. It gave him lots of opportunity to review the mental file cards on this situation. It seemed to him that there was more going on than he had been told. Why would the French rightists be making such an effort in Denver? He could understand why they would want to intercept the code key which was now going to link his agency with what he thought of as the real French patriots in Michelle's bureau. The rest of it was not making sense. Then some of the pieces began to fall together. Yes, the Lepenistes were well staffed in Denver, an unlikely place for them. But they had never deployed enough people to nail down exactly what he and the Frenchwomen and the B&B proprietresses and Tony and their friends were up to. It was as if they were trying to do more than one thing at once. "Of course!" It struck him that he had been focusing on his own problems, and there were many more facets to the upcoming Summit Conference than a rendezvous with Michelle. He wrote his theory at the bottom of his report, and folded the whole thing to put deep in a buttoned pocket. His laptop had been screwed up when the Lepenistes had search his belongings. Even though all it had were generic programs which would seem innocuous to a snooper, he still missed the convenience. On the other hand, there was something sensuous about putting his thoughts on paper. His work done for the time being, Dean let his thoughts wander off to the personal aspects of his trip to the Mile High City. He told himself that he should feel rotten -- after years of dogged faithfulness to his wife, even into their best-friends "roommates" status, he had not only fallen off the wagon, but had done it with the daughter of a woman he had loved. He had sent a couple of men to the hospital, involved otherwise innocent people in dangerous associations with him, wasted the time of the police, and did not even know the reasons why. His body ached. The "retired" agent found himself praying for forgiveness. He was sure that God was not going to explain this situation to him. Yes, he had been operating just as in the Cold War, on the theory that the ends justified the means. Yes, he knew that was morally repugnant, and yes, he admitted, that's how he had operated. Outside the train window, old-fashioned, white wood-frame farm houses were perched amid rolling green farm fields. On the porch of one of them, a couple of rocking chairs awaited the end of the long work day. On another big porch, a Cocker Spaniel sprawled sleepily on the warm wood. A tractor moved in distant fields. A flag hung lazily from another porch roof. There was no holiday-- just people who liked to put out the flag. A feeling of calm settled over Dean. It seemed to be some kind of answer to understand that perhaps the lives of these people might have been a bit quieter because he had taken so much craziness into his. Certainly that had seemed true in the Cold War, and now, with the apparent return of fascism in Europe, perhaps it was true again. The Lepenistes and their allies here just wanted to "reimpose standards" for behavior, to "organize society better" and to "restore traditional values." In a flash, Dean's picture of these farm houses changed. He saw inside them in the Lepenistes' world. A fumbling lout of a youth forced himself into his frigid, frightened bride on their wedding night. In another, a father beats his daughter for "fooling around" with a neighbor man, and down the road in the bar, the neighbor man swaggers among his buddies. In nine months, they'll know his tale is true, because she'll have disappeared to bear his unwanted baby. Up the road from the bar, the local highway construction contractor walks through the pin-up decorated maintenance shop to meet his secretary. This is going to be a great afternoon - his wife is out of town, AND his secretary is facing a personal financial crisis. This is the afternoon where those big tits and that tight ass that he's been admiring will be his, when she learns that her job depends on "coming across." Dean could visualize the man walking slightly bow-legged, barely able to contain his build-up. The secretary would be thankful that her boss comes mercifully fast, and that as a "gentleman" he'll pay for her backstreet abortion later. Dean shuddered at the thought of the Lepeniste's vision being imposed on this rural scene. He knew that even here in the American heartland, that values had changed. Perhaps things were not perfect, but people, not just women, but people, had been liberated to a degree. In order to turn back the clock, the Lepenistes would have to impose a modern dictatorship, with all the trappings needed to force conformity. He shuddered. What he was doing to bury this vision was a small piece in a very large picture. The more conventional image of rural American peace returned just before the car attendant knocked on Dean's door. "Did you want me to bring your lunch from the diner?" The attendant had noticed Dean's bruises and tired mien, so there was no doubt on his part that this man needed service. "I think I'll eat out today," Dean grinned. He felt like dealing with the outside world again. He even kept his balance satisfactorily as he stepped across the plates between the rocking coaches. And no one at the table flinched when he was seated -- his visible bruises must be fading. He looked around at his new dining companions. An elderly couple who turned out to be British, and a 22-year old woman from western Pennsylvania shared his table. Dean let his eyes enjoy his young tablemate's dark attractiveness, but thought little more about her until all four of the new acquaintances were deep in conversation. He had not, Dean told himself, been liberated to chase every skirt passing his way. Somehow, though, he began to focus on Maria, as he learned more about her. The Greek-American girl focused her soft eyes on him intently, appearing to take in more than she was letting on. He began to let go of the British couple, interesting though they were, and found himself drawn to learn more about Maria. As their eyes drank in each other, he caught her breathing pacing his, her pupils dilating. His own must be, Dean mused. He found himself noticing that the silky tan material of her blouse rose and fell on attractively-shaped breasts. She had a pleasantly feminine figure, could have a potential to gain weight, but looked as thought her exercise or hard work kept her in this nice shape. Someone who respects herself, not extreme in any way, Dean thought. Dean probed in questions to learn more. Maria was a sociology graduate who wanted to work enforcement. Dean found himself beginning to slip into an old cover story about being a retired Federal Bureau of Investigation agent - his employers had been amused at one time to use a competing agency as a cover story for times when someone might suspect that he worked for the government. It was especially useful when things went wrong, Dean recalled. Perhaps flattered by the interest of someone in her chosen field, Maria listened eagerly to Dean's suggestions. He actually was helping her with constructive suggestions, he realized, but he also saw himself gathering information which would draw her into his bed. But if she wanted that anyway, then it was okay, right? He struggled with that. His head was too full of issues to concentrate fully on her, but he was certain that many of the things that she was saying could be taken two ways. When she asked him how it might be best to get started, there was something about the way that she said it that made him wonder - are we discussing career or tonight on the next train east of Chicago? Then she mentioned that she would not sleep well in coach, and his mind filled rapidly with the beauty of her stretching out for a good night's sleep after a round of lovemaking in his sleeping car room. He shaped the offer in his mind. Looking for the best double-entendre, he segued from a statement of hers into asking her if she had considered working undercover. The result startled Dean, as Maria drew herself up in the chair, her breasts jutting out assertively, her voice firm. "The kind of people who work under false names and identities get so lost in them that they are INCAPABLE of having a relationship. I wouldn't want to go into that, and I wouldn't want to have to spend much time with people like that." Her words were stern. Dean realized that she might have tried having just such a relationship, and had felt betrayed when she learned about the falsehoods that her seducer had employed. A part of Dean wanted more than ever to take her now, to prove to her that she could enjoy a night with someone who she said she would despise. Another part of him told him to call it quits, to enjoy their conversation, and then say "goodbye" for the afternoon and for good. The waiter arrived with their checks. The British couple and Dean signed with their room numbers, Maria began to reach into her purse. "Let me cover that, Maria," Dean insisted. "It's been great fun talking with you, and I'd like to help you." "Oh, no! I'm working now, even if it's waiting tables - I can take care of myself. You needn't." She smiled and laid the money graciously out on the table, including a generous tip. Her independence charmed and challenged Dean even more -- he wanted to reward her somehow, even if his allegedly better side kept him clear of making a pass at her. As she sorted out the change, suddenly all the pieces fell into a plan of action for them, one which evolved from his night with Laetitia. He had to act quickly, drawing on his instincts for the right moment, after the Britishers left and before the waiter returned. Reaching across the table, he took her right hand and held it in mid-air. Interrupted in her sorting, she looked at him curiously. "I can do a bit of palm-reading and tell you about your future," he chuckled disarmingly, "it's a logical hobby for someone who looks at fingerprints and palmprints all day." They laughed together, and Maria nodded agreement with his plan. "Hmmmm." He adopted a professional air. "Hmmm..... verrry interesting!" "What do you see, Mr. Fortuneteller?" She was intrigued. He drew her hand closer to her face, so that it was out of focus. "Take a close look at this... and as your hand naturally and easily drops away, you will find yourself feeling very relaxed, open, comfortable with me." Her hand began to glide downward, as her eyelids drooped. Dean fought against the temptation to rush her, prayed that the waiter would stay away for a few more minutes in the now near-empty diner. He could not go on for long. "When you feel very relaxed, when you enter a pleasant trance, your middle finger will press against my palm." He was still holding her hand, palmist-style. He felt the pressure response, and stroked the top of her hand three times. "And you will recognize that sign again, when I stroke your hand three times, and you will feel then just as comfortable and as deeply relaxed as you are now. You will find it difficult to remember that consciously, you have so many things to think about, all the things we talked about, but your subconscious will enjoy remembering that for you." He spoke gently to her, but with a firmness to which she responded with pressure on his hand again. "And as you are very tired this afternoon, in a few minutes you will want to return to your coach seat. You will realize again when you reach it that you told me that it is hard for you to sleep there, and you will enjoy thinking about a sleeping car berth. Think of the crisp, inviting sheets, opening for you. But now it is time for you to awaken, to feel refreshed and relaxed as the waiter returns with your change...." Dean had caught sight of him over Maria's shoulder just in time. Late in 1997 I looked at Sophia, wondering if she was going to react as negatively to Dean's unsolicited use of hypnosis as she did before. However, her own eyes were half-closed as she had learned to trust Dean, or perhaps as she had simply surrendered to her enjoyment of the story. She snuggled wordlessly against me in the lounge booth. So I continued. Before the Summit in 1997 They rose to head their separate ways, and Dean made some offhand comment about having enjoyed her company, wishing they could chat some more. The young woman turned her soft eyes on him and commented that it was going to be awfully hard to sleep on the "Capitol Limited" tonight, so he'd be welcome to come up and sit up with her for a bit if it wasn't past his bedtime. Dean laughed and assured her that he wasn't that old yet. "I'll come to see you in a few minutes after the "Capitol" leaves Hammond," he promised. They headed toward the opposite ends of the dining car - she toward the colorful, interesting and restless cross-section of the world in the coaches and he to the silent, closed doors of the affluent or privacy hungry. Dean turned for a last look at her and caught her turning to do the same. They blushed and turned away again. During the Chicago layover, Dean made some hasty new arrangements, switching from the slower, but scenic, "Cardinal" to Maria's train and obtaining an upgrade in his sleeping car room to the deluxe size bedroom. It would probably not be approved on his travel expenses, but it would be worth paying the difference. Back in his new compartment after making arrangements with the conductor, Dean hurriedly tossed things into some kind of order, and repacked some of his belongings. He hadn't planned on a visitor, especially not this sort of visit. And what sort of visit was it anyway, he asked himself. Had his unusual session with Laetitia in Denver suddenly released the old Dean of premarital sexual adventure? Or could he take an interest in a woman without trying to turn back the clock? He could just not go up to the coach and everything would be fine, but then he would never know, would he? Hammond-Whiting, Indiana winked by, and Dean reset his watch for Eastern Time. Dean tried to sit down for a minute or two and review the mental file cards as he normally would, but they kept coming up with blanks or with questions on them. There was only one way to fill them in. He closed the door of the room and headed toward Maria's coach. 3013, 3012... he worked his way through the swaying aisles of crowded coaches. The overhead lights were already dimmed now, but about half the passengers had switched on their reading lights. The little spotlights lit the heads of the people who he had been defending through all those years of the Cold War - a grey-haired lady doing needlepoint, an unmilitary-looking young man off in space with headphones blocking out the world, a 30-something German couple trying to consume their hundreds of hours of holidays. He wanted to announce those contributions that he had made to them, but instead he told himself that he had enjoyed what he had done, and that perhaps he was just trying to rationalize a forthcoming night with this attractive young woman as being something that he deserved. Car 3011... his eyes swept the half-darkened, half-empty forward car till he found Maria. She had a pair of seats to herself, and was curled up catlike, jotting entries in a notebook. The little spotlight caught her hair and gave her a kind of iconic halo until she looked up. "So, you came up here to see how the other half live, eh?" She smiled when she said that, but there might have been a bit of sarcasm in it. She swung her stockinged feet off the seat and motioned for Dean to sit beside her. As he sat, he could feel the twin warm spots beneath him, where she had been. He was pleased to note that as she shifted position, her well-rounded breasts showed off attractively. At the Summit Ch. 07 They talked for a few minutes, and Dean learned that Maria was returning to a town near Connellsville, Pennsylvania after a visit with her aunt and uncle who owned a coffee shop in Lemon Grove, California. Then she would start her career job search in earnest. She told him things about life in Lemon Grove, things which were amusing but showed how keenly observant she was. He couldn't help but think that she would do well in intelligence work herself. "The funniest thing there is that in downtown Lemon Grove, right by the depot, there are six nails places. I'd never seen so many in one area." "Hardware stores?" Dean didn't get it. "No!" she laughed, loudly enough that the elderly woman across the aisle who was pretending to sleep blinked. They had an inquisitive audience. "Places where you can have your nails done! Or, rather, where I could have my nails done. And at discount prices..." He took her hand-- her nails looked fine in their neatly trimmed and clean natural shape. "It looks like you missed an opportunity." As the biddy across the aisle eyed them directly now, he was glad that he had taken the opportunity in the dining car to prepare Maria for another hypnotic suggestion. The young woman's laugh at his comment devolved into an uncharacteristic nervous giggle as she felt herself slipping into the enjoyable trance again. Dean had stroked the top of her hand three times. The woman across the aisle squinted hard but all she saw was the unusual couple quietly talking as they stared into each other's eyes. And then she watched the young woman pick up her things. The older man helped her carry them off. The scene was opaque. As they worked their way back to the sleeper, Maria was happy enough to be heading to the sleeping car berth that Dean wondered if her return to a trance really had been necessary. It was clear that she wanted to do that of her own volition, and so all that Dean had done was to relieve her of some of the logical anxieties which might have made her take longer to make the decision to come with him. He had left her, though, with a desire for more hypnosis. It was not a surprise then, as she settled into the sleeping car seat next to him, that she seemed calm and yet expectant. Dean had run across this before, even though he was not a clinician-- the more intelligent and imaginative the person, the more they enjoyed the guided exploration of their own interesting mind. Unless suggested otherwise, they would be eager in his presence for more. They chatted for a while, almost fencing around, away from intimate subjects. Finally, they both fell silent. Dean reached up and switched off the room lights and opened the shade. For a long time, they watched the stars over Indiana -- occasionally, the light of a farmhouse streaked past. He felt her breathing pacing his, sensed her warmth next to him in the small room, and shifted to avoid revealing his body's preparation for her. He supposed that hers was doing the same thing, no matter what her conscious plans were. She shifted slightly, perhaps to catch a look at the shooting star which Dean pointed out, and as she did so, rested her hand on her knee. "Go with the flow," Dean told himself, his intuition in high gear now. Gently, he took her hand and caressed it in their signal strokes. Maria smiled briefly, and then sighed ever so slightly as she slipped into another shallow trance. Dean felt wetness spread as his penis flexed involuntarily, but now he felt in renewed control of himself, and he turned his attention to his young partner. He invited her to awake, which she did. "The train is soooo... relaxing," Maria purred. Dean nodded. "There's a game we can play," he told her. She nodded in interest. "Put your hand on mine. When I count to seven, press down as hard as you can," he directed her. "One.... now look at me..." Dean said, and they smiled silly smiles at each other as she tried to puzzle out the game. "Two... pressing down harder..." he intoned, "yes... press it down harder!" "Three... eyelids heavy, droopy, drowsy, sleepy...." She could not keep her eyes open. "Four... close them and sleep...." He pulled his hand away, as Maria folded up like the proverbial rag doll. The setting allowed him now to take her deeper, deeper into her inner self. Suggestions now could be replaced by commands if he wished, but that was not Dean's intent. He remembered how years ago, Regina in the Master of Sexual Expression course they had attended had yearned for his abilities because she wanted that power over men... and women. Later in 1997 "THAT sounds like another interesting story!" Sophia interrupted me. "You'll have to ask Dean himself, he never told me that one in any detail." I was beginning to think that we should plan on inviting Dean to get together with us next time he was in the area, as I kept thinking of questions that I wanted to ask him. Sophia was moving subconsciously against me, her hips rotating slightly. To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 08 by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. ----------------------------- Later in 1997 "Tell me more...." Sophia whispered. I noticed my lover trying to surreptitiously adjust her well-filled bra, as if it was becoming uncomfortably full. I was hard now myself, and that made it harder to carry on, but I tried to continue the tale of agent Dean and his new acquaintance, the dark-eyed Greek-American girl, Maria. Before the Summit in 1997 Dean suggested that Maria could sit up and still remain relaxed by resting her head against the cushions. She did so. "Maria," Dean continued, "you regard me as someone who is older and more experienced than you... if that is true, you will blink your eyes." "You will find that if you share your own thoughts with me, that I can help you. If you would like that, you will blink your eyes." "In fact, you are not sure that you should have sex with me tonight, but it would be very sexy if you told me some of your experiences... if you read some of the notes from your diary to me. If that seems like a good idea, you will blink your eyes." "You would like to feel sexy with me... if that seems like a good idea to you, and you are comfortable with that idea, you will blink your eyes." Of course she blinked her eyes, because she was still working her way along the edge of a deeper and deeper trance, and her own accidental agreement, Dean knew, would urge her eagerly into it. After testing to see that she was deep under, Dean began to make suggestions. It seemed apparent that Maria expected some kind of sexual aspect to their time together, at least subconsciously. He had come quickly to a plan as to how to divert that feeling. "It will be very sexy when you read notes from your diary to me.... and as you do, you will enjoy a pleasant feeling of warmth... quite satisfying... it will be very relaxing to read to me... and you will enjoy my response to your reading... you may want to act out some of the parts for me so that I will understand better... and be able to help you understand them yourself. "When I say "act out" to you, you will enjoy the liberty in dramatizing your own thoughts... but it is only acting.... so it will be okay... everything will be fine.... you will feel at those moments that you are in a play called "Maria's Diary" and you will enjoy me as the audience. "You are confident that I will set safe limits... that you will not be harmed... and that you will feel better and better about your performance as the night goes on. You will cease acting out any scene when it becomes too stressful for you.... but you will find it difficult to remember these instructions in your busy conscious mind, so your subconscious mind will retain them for you. "You will find that it is too difficult to remember these instructions as you rise out of your deep trance. As I count to five, you will awaken certain that you want to read to me from your diary, comfortably, relaxed, with a clear mind, and enjoying your time with me just as you planned." "I guess this train IS relaxing... I dozed off there for a second, didn't I?" Maria grinned sheepishly as she roused from the trance. "Don't give it a thought... we need to find something else which will keep us up a bit, " Dean suggested. "When you came for me, I was putting some notes in my diary. Would you like to hear what I wrote?" Maria said it so simply that no one would have thought of it as a suggested act. It was just what she herself wanted to do, but would not have done due to her social conditioning through the years. Maria reached into her bag and pulled out the diary. "Would you like me to read what I wrote about you?" She grinned impishly. "Sure... I'm as vain as the next guy. Hope you spelt my name right," Dean teased. Maria opened to the most recent entry, and cleared her throat. "Tonight I met a really interesting old guy in the dining car. Well, he wasn't really THAT old, but he was older, anyway." Maria looked over at Dean. "I didn't mean that you were REALLY, like ELDERLY. I meant older than my regular friends. I mean, I have older friends, too.... help!" They laughed at her embarrassment. Dean motioned for her to go ahead. He would pass on asking her to act this one out. "It seems to be getting warmer in here... do you mind if I...?" and she coyly began unbuttoning her blouse. "Just one button ought to do it!" Dean urgently suggested. She complied. The single open button revealed just enough more of her curves that in combination with her soft eyes and hair, she was even more alluring. It occurred to Dean that maybe she had some blemish somewhere - she couldn't have gotten any sexier than this with her clothes all the way off. But he quit while he was ahead. Maria raised an eyebrow archly, and then returned to her narration. "He seems to already know me... I need to be a part of him somehow... or perhaps I already am. Another life? Just a reminder of someone else? A desire for the President, and this man's just handier? Duhhhh?!" She showed Dean that there were a bunch of question marks across the page. "It would be way cool," she continued, "to find out how he feels. It would be like when I was with Bernard, except you know how that turned out. This one has some secret, too. They all do, I guess, all the older guys, they pile them up through the years. It would be fun to be a femme fatale and be able to pry the secrets out with a kiss, but that's not me...." she started to continue the put-down. Dean could not resist. "Act out!" he commanded, and held his breath. At once, Marie adopted a comic-book seductress pose, looking boldly across at him with her chin down. As she did so, she undid another button, and then stood and advanced on Dean, her breasts thrust forward, letting them sway slightly to and fro as his eyes locked on her. Her lips were pursed temptingly. And then she parted them.... "Tell me your secrets, Mr. Dean" she murmured, "and I am yours..." She undid another of her buttons. Only her waistband held her blouse half-closed now. "You'll never get them out of me!" he chortled in the play-acting tone. He rose to meet her. "Try!" She took him in her arms and her lips approached his indirectly, swaying slowly like a lazy serpent. Maria parted hers slowly, and gently planted them over his. Their touch on his was almost unidentifiable at first, and then stronger... and stronger. Dean's penis struggled and his balls rolled wildly against the cotton briefs which held them. He wanted to take her right there, now.... Later in 1997 "Richard..." Sophia interrupted me. She was breathing heavily. "Touch me right there...." She took my hand below the table, and guided it to the warmth that was radiating from her sex. "Richard, we NEED to pay the bill and get out of here NOW." "I think you are warm enough that we could go off right here." "Yessss, dear Richard," she whispered hotly, "but I am going to be so loud that they will call the Fire Department. That was funny in 'Harry Meets Sally' when she pretended an orgasm in the restaurant, but YOU'LL be the one they are staring at here." I nodded as I felt my own stiffness. Desperately, I flagged down the waiter and charged the tab to our room. And then we were off. He watched our departure with professional detachment, and his mouth hanging open. The elevators were too slow in the Oxford -- actually, they would have been too slow anywhere. We pounded up the ancient wrought iron staircase -- how many lovers had raced up these stairs ahead of us? -- and chased each other to our room. I barely had the door closed before Sophia was at me. We eagerly tugged at each other's clothing, struggled to obtain a random state of nakedness. All of Victoria's Secrets entered the public domain. I tugged Sophia's lacy bra up off her burning breasts, covering their fullness with hot kisses as she grabbed at my waistbands. The bra kept trying to do its thing, but I pushed it out of the way, where it rested on top of her chest, still securely fastened and totally useless. I knelt and whisked her pants and panties off in one sweep, her hot scent urging me on as I rose to embrace her. We struggled to kick off our shoes, and somehow we tumbled on the bed, me still in my open shirt and with my socks on, she with her bra still on, our clothes in a trail across the floor. I mounted Sophia, and rode in her wild charge into the battle, finally breaking her runaway motions and bringing her with calm and powerful thrusts into deep and deeper union with me, whispering encouragement to her inner sensuality. As we rode with each other, as we firmly brought each other to sweet synchronicity, THEN I felt the wave building in her, rolling towards me, sweeping over us. Our wildness returned, set loose for our shattering orgasm. Inevitably, I squeezed and squeezed again, filling her deepest places while she cried out. We lay together, drenched in our sweat, a string of silver stretching out from my lazy penis. "I want, I WANT, to hear the next part of the story..." Sophia began hoarsely as she drifted off. She trembled in a moment of post-coital relaxation, mumbled something about "Barnard...." and then was sound asleep. I understood why she was trying to think of that name. It was a name out of our past, our past shared with a woman named Karen and her special ring, a past which was being drawn back into the present by Dean's unwitting revelations as he probed Maria's Diary. And then I was hard asleep, too. * Today * In the next chapter of "At the Summit" we will rejoin Dean as Maria shares more. And for readers who joined this series with the "California Zephyr" stories, the ring circle begins to close. *** Stop here if you are reading this aloud! *** The next paragraphs are for our women readers only. Someone asked me why I was so explicit about Sophia and myself, when the story isn't about us. Doesn't Sophia mind? The answer in brief is "no, she doesn't mind." It was her idea, after several of our women readers wrote to tell us how much pleasure they gained when they read these stories aloud to their lovers in between times in bed. An action-type guy who would never pick up a romantic story is perfectly content to lay back and listen to his bedmate read these tales. Sophia laughed empathetically when she read those e-mails, but she suggested that would work even better for our couples if we let them feel our own reactions as the stories unfolded. Some guys, even those with a big libido, need a big hint. We tried that integration of our own responses earlier in the series, and the reaction was great. Women who read the stories over a couple of times in advance found that they could hit the right tone and pacing, so that as my own manhood swelled for Sophia's pleasure, their man's would, too. In a sense, with their voice gently unfolding the story, and with simple, gentle touching following on their first round of lovemaking, they were penetrating his subconscious mind with erotic images. Unless he was very tired or rundown physically, the welcomed leisurely next round of lovemaking offered much more pleasure than the first, and his imagination was as turned on this time as his body was the first time. We hope that this helps those who have not already put this type of bedtime story to good use. Go ahead now, as you sense your warmth spreading outward, to imagine putting this idea into practice. You are aware that you are becoming quite wet, so you may need to excuse yourself from the office PC or the home rec room for a few minutes alone. Do remember in your haste to clear the screen and hide this file. We're not voyeurs, I'm not coming with you, and I'm not going to describe what happens. You are going to enjoy imagining your own favorite lover with you, and he will respond to your sweet guidance. I know that he'll be materializing before your half-open eyes in moments, and you'll want to enjoy his special touch everywhere, so you will need privacy now! - Professor Richard W. and Sophia ----------------------------- "Maria's Diary" in At the Summit continues, after your intermission, in Chapter 9. ----------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 09 by Richard Williams Copyright 2005, All rights reserved ----------------------------------- Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. ------------------------------------ AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) ------------------------------------- 1997 - Before the Summit Conference Part 9 - "Maria's Diary" Dean and Maria separated as he gently pushed her away. Her tan blouse remained held in place by her waistband-- Dean had resisted the immediate temptation. Glimpses of flower charms outlined hints of her curves under a rose-colored bra. He motioned with a smile for her to be seated again. "That was too much fun!" he chortled. He told himself that he was just trying to keep her self-esteem up. "Your friend Bernard sounded very intriguing. Perhaps you would like to read more to me about him, how you felt about him.... Dean wanted to get right to the part about why she had negative feelings about the other man, but he was patient when on the trail of something interesting. He motioned for her to continue. "Bernard, oui, Bernard!...." she sighed. She pronounced his name in the French style when she said it a second time. She flipped back through the pages of her diary to near the beginning. "You can skip other parts if you wish," Dean told her. She nodded, and then cleared her throat. DEAR DIARY: "I bought this diary because I am certain that I am entering an interesting period in my life. The last diary which I kept was when I was in Junior High School, and it was Sooooo boring when I read it later. Now I have met a man who is unlike any other who I have known - no, silly! - not 'known' as in having had sex with them - although that's true, too." She paused and chuckled at her own written comment. "I am in San Francisco on a study tour with some other people from my class, visiting police academies, training programs and parole offices. It is very tiring, can be a bit of a grind, but I'm learning a lot. Especially with Bernard!!!!! "I shouldn't get ahead of the story, Diary, but it's hard not to hurry to the best parts. And Bernard has the best parts!!! "Anywayyyyy....we were in this police academy classroom, taught by Sergeant Linda M-something, and she started out by announcing that someone special would be auditing the class today. Of course, Stella (my friend in class) and I looked at each other and grinned, because we thought she would introduce us. "Instead, she introduced Bernard, this "...very persuasive Frenchman..." as she called him, who had asked to attend our class for an article that he was writing for a magazine. She winked at him as she pointed him out to us. Maria stopped reading and looked at Dean. "I didn't understand then just what she meant by "persuasive" the way I do now. I can easily understand how he persuaded her." There was an edge to the tone of her voice. She picked up the book again. DEAR DIARY: "I did not pay too much attention to Bernard at first... I was kind of miffed that he got the introduction, and that Linda M. forgot about us completely. "During the break, though, he came up to us and told us that he had heard that we were also visiting. He wanted to ask questions about a couple of questions that we had asked-- things about the American justice system which he did not understand. He was so warmly confident... not arrogant... and he was so interested in Stella and I, that we found that we enjoyed talking with him. "Strength... certainty... they seemed to flow from him. I found myself being interested in knowing more about him, and Stella was feeling the same things. After class, it was easy for the two of us to agree to have coffee with him-- it was too early for dinner, and besides, with the two of us, we were safe. Stella is an older Hispanic woman, who came back to school after raising her kids. She has a lot of common sense. "At coffee, he was so at ease and full of interesting questions and comments that I could not help but feel a lot of respect for Bernard. Stella really was enjoying his company, too. When he suggested dinner, his Gallic charm must have overcome us, because it seemed so logical for both of us to join him. He claimed that he could put us all on his expense account, as he was interviewing us for his article. "He must have been more than just a news reporter, though-- maybe his family has some money. He took us to the Top of the Mark, and as the fun flowed on, I felt a stronger and stronger feeling of connection with him. We knew so much about each other now-- I began to feel very warm about him. Stella did, too! If things are okay with her, this must be good. "Later, I started to worry a bit. I recognized the desire building inside me. This was crazy-- too impulsive. I wanted the evening to go on and on. And yet I was worrying-- what if he picks Stella and they just say "good night" to me? What if he picks me, and I'm left with this guy I need to know more about? We're just going down to his room to see the view he's been telling us about, and to talk some more. The waiters are getting ready to go home. Maria almost groaned as she reviewed all the worries that had crossed her mind. DEAR DIARY: "Even though I was sure we'd just be chatting, I found myself wondering if more would happen. And then the WORST thought hit me-- I had always planned sex carefully, even when the guy was SURE that it was spontaneous. I'd go through my dresser drawers for an hour, trying on different things for him. The Sweet Nothings Classic for the first time I'd let him caress my breasts (touching the lace was WAY COOL for Ralph in Freshman year!!!), and then the Savvy when it was time for him to kiss me there, and the Flamenco for a hot night in Ralph's car at the lake, the Private Affair Lace High-Cuts for the night at his place while his folks were on vacation, etc., etc.! Maria enjoyed even the sound of the lingerie brand names, slipping them off her tongue just as smoothly as her boyfriends had tried to slip them off her in real life. DEAR DIARY: "But now, here I am, with this cool Frenchman, and I'm wearing Wise Buys and Cotton Couture!!!! I am comfortable and saving money, and what will he think of me?????!!! Finally, I told myself that anything more than talking was unlikely with the two of us there. I could count on Stella and her common sense. "The view from his room was magnificent. We stood side by side, him between the two of us, to drink it in. He spoke in low tones-- I almost had to strain to listen to him, but I wanted to feel every thought of his. What he said was so important! He asked us questions about some things which showed that he thought very deeply. "He began reminiscing about his home in Southern France, about warm days on the beaches. The warmth that he described seemed to surround us. I remember that he was amused that American women did not feel comfortable going topless on the Riviera, or much anywhere else, for that matter. Of course, he said, that must include us. "No, it doesn't include us, does it!" Stella said. My mouth must have opened so wide... Stella laughed at me, and Bernard chuckled with her. "I guess Stella has a bit more of that Continental love of living in her, Maria." He was teasing me, as he hugged her playfully around the shoulders. I felt an urgent desire to have him now, and I was not going to let him go. Seeing him touching her, even so innocently, made my blood hot. He was looking into her eyes. "My people invented sunny islands in the Mediterranean, and we know how to live life!" That's what I told him! Imagine, Diary! "Bernard still watched Stella. I began unbuttoning my blouse. Stella saw this, and her fingers raced to open hers. I hurried to remove my bra, and tossed it aside as Bernard turned back to me. It was just a piece of cloth now, and he would not notice the cut-rate cloth when every centimeter of my breasts was exposed to his gaze. "Behind him, Stella's minimizer was off now and her buxom charms were equally open to his view. She was shorter than I am, and her bust size was bigger. Even though we both have dark complexions, we were different in every physical way. "I thought that Bernard would be embarrassed by this tableau, but he seemed unconcerned. Yet, I knew that he was enjoying our nude femininity-- it's just that the way that he did made us want him the more. "He was continuing his story, about the warm beaches, as we looked out his window together, an arm of his wrapped around each of us. Somehow, it seemed more blissful than I could have imagined. His embrace was so reassuring. "Then he laughed in that engaging way of his, as he admitted that he was feeling warm himself - perhaps as he described the beaches, or perhaps as he enjoyed our beauty. He wasn't sure which. He took off his shirt and undershirt, and now the three of us stood there topless. "When he described us as beautiful, we both blushed, even though it sounded corny... our skin was flushed down onto our breasts. "As my breasts grazed against his bare chest, my nipples went hard, and I felt myself filling out. Instead of feeling embarrassed or self-conscious, I just understood that this would make me more attractive to Bernard - not that Stella wasn't enjoying the same things happening to her. Now, as we talked with him, it was close, intimate, in lowered tones on our part, too, and it seemed so natural that my purpose in being here was to please him. A gradually receding part of me was telling me to call a halt to things, but that was so foolish. After all, Stella was here, and if I left, she would take him. It was obvious, the way she was touching him. Suddenly I was unable to avoid visualizing her smiling at me after making love to this sweet man.... telling me what I had missed. "And it was so safe with Stella there. After all, she wouldn't be interested in staying if Bernard were in some way risky. We were laughing and teasing now, anyway. I felt wonderful, especially as I caressed Bernard's back. "Damn! Stella was unzipping him and he was pretending (I think) to struggle against her and then he kissed her. Why should SHE be getting the fun? "I tugged at his pants from behind, being sure to grab his silk boxers with both hands. He squirmed and protested, but we teasingly yanked them to the floor, Stella from the front and I from the back. He sure would pay for having taunted us into going topless! Now HE was the one showing his nude beauty. "Stella and I stepped back to admire our work, as it was Bernard's turn to finally blush a bit. His manhood, HELL, his penis, was trying to come up. There was a glistening, swelling drop riding on its tip. "Hey, instead of staring at me, let's look at something else that I wanted you to see. I bet you ladies are too tired this late at night to be wanting any more from me anyway." Bernard said that in an honest tone, and he should have been right. Until that point, I mostly was competing with Stella, I realize now. "He wanted us to look at just one more thing before we ended this silly game and dressed and left-- the soothing, rhythmic flashing of a light across the City. It was so interesting, he was right, but he was also right about us being sleepy. Both Stella and I were nodding off, it seemed. "The brief catnap which this induced was just the thing we needed. We both were suddenly full of vigor... and as my English prof used to say, deviltry! "Bernard," Stella archly inquired, "have you ever been taken to bed by two horny women at the same time?" She stood with her hands on her broad hips, her legs planted firmly apart. She leaned back slightly, so that her mount of Venus showed through her slacks. It wasn't really a question, Diary, more like an order. Later on, she told me that he was going to have no choice but to fuck her! That's what she said!!! "Stella!" I began to object, but then I began to fully understand how very horny I truly, truly was. Hornier than that time with >Ron "Race you!" I said to her, ignoring Bernard for a moment. I cheated! I had already started pulling my slacks down when I said that . Stella worked fast to catch up. It felt great for us to be out of our clothes, a delicious feeling of freedom, and I forgot all about worrying about my bargain panties. "We converged on Bernard, our wet pussies pressing into his flanks, and the heat of our breasts close to him, rubbing gently against him. Our perfumes mingled in a pleasant way - I found it pleasant, anyway. His face showed surprise, but his penis was up for this, we both saw that! "Ladies, please...." he began. "Don't you think that we ought to know each other better?" He was chuckling as he said that, which made it hard for us to take it seriously. Stella advanced on him from the front now, her busty bosom pressing against him, forcing him to back up. I stepped around and snapped the covers off, and then the three of us were in his bed. "I don't recall everything that happened, it was as if there was a golden haze around us. I do remember that Stella took him into herself first, but I didn't care, because he was kissing ME and saying my name when they came. He was murmuring sweet things to me, even while she was greedily holding him inside herself. She was just SHOWING OFF that she was so coordinated and experienced, milking him that way and trying not to leave any for me. "It was Bernard, always the GENTLEMAN, who suggested that I should have a better spot and gently, but firmly, moved her off himself. It seemed right now that my ONLY purpose in life was to please him, and so I ignored the way that she cuddled to him. She was caressing and cooing at his side, taking his hand and drawing it to her pussy, encouraging him to stroke her. "I knew what to do, though. Diary, I bet that you just wish that I was keeping you when I was with Ralph. That time at his folk's place while they were at the convention, the first time we really got to be adults and do everything beautifully instead of grabbing each other in the car, I discovered that I could get him ready for seconds soooo quickly.... Dean watched as Maria shifted position restlessly. Her nipples were pushing outward on the tan cloth which still covered them. He resisted the urge to give her the "Act Out" command, realizing that it would be awfully juvenile of him to do so. On the other hand, it was very tempting. Maria described how she kissed Bernard back to weary life, and then as he rose to half-staff, how she had knelt over him and caressed herself with his manhood-- the thrill of watching her approaching orgasm created a desperate urge within him. She had felt him stiffening against her outer lips, and as he did, she held him, squeezed gently, and placed his refreshed pre-cum on her clitoris. Rocking smoothly against the velvet ridges of his penis, she sensed every steely inch of the Frenchman, and then with a roar of excitement he was ready to enter her. Bernard sat up on the bed, dragging Stella up with him. His sudden strength lifted Maria above his lap, and he planted her on his almost painfully erect member. The three of them rocked in ascending rhythm to a flaming climax. "Diary, I slept awfully hard that night, in bed with Bernard and Stella. It was a bit crowded, but it didn't seem to matter. The odd thing is that I had many strange dreams, especially about a shadowy figure who is even more masterful than Bernard. But I can't think of who that might be, even though I felt a desire for him. Certainly not Ralph!!! "In the morning, of course we made love again. Even though I AM NOT a Lesbian, I have to admit that it felt good when Stella and I were touching each other. Bernard only let us do that a bit at first, and then he took over. He always knew what to do. Later, when he saw how much we enjoyed it, and when he was a bit rundown, he told us to go ahead, and we, Stella and I, went ALL THE WAY. Bernard watched, and by the time we were finished, HE was horny again. "When we went to take showers, we shampooed each other, and it felt great to be together. It was so sweet, when I went in, to look down closely and discover a curl of Bernard's and another of Stella's caught in mine. It was so perfect. A tear formed and went down the young woman's face. Dean pulled out a Kleenex and dabbed the drop away. "Why are you crying? Was this too perfect?" Dean's voice shifted in rapport with Maria's distress. "There's a part further along in here which will explain it," Maria sobbed. "I'll skip ahead to it." Dean nodded agreement. "Stella and I were over to Bernard's a lot, I guess..." Maria flipped through the pages of the diary, a pensive look on her face. "And then things began to change." She began to read aloud again. "Bernard brought a young male friend of his to dinner with us one evening, and it was not long before the friend and Stella had hit it off with each other. They decided to go to the friend's place after we'd been at Bernard's to see the lights - something that had become our fun tradition. All four of us enjoyed the winking light across "Baghdad-by-the-Bay." Stella told me just after that she had a really good feeling about the friend, that she was outgrowing Bernard. It all seemed sudden, but somehow made sense to me. "It was great having Bernard to myself. There were things that I wanted to do with him that I had never even thought of before, and now with Stella out of the way, it seemed so natural to think of these things. I'd never been a little doggie in the park before, all excited by having the big St. Bernard! And he was so perfect in me!!!" She giggled as she read this part, and then frowned. Dean asked her what was wrong. "He was too perfect. I should have understood that a man so experienced had not just been with other women, but would want to keep on being with other women." "How do you know that?" The train lurched as Dean asked Maria the follow-up question, and he could not help but notice how attractively she moved to hold her balance. Maria thumbed further ahead in her diary. "The awful night - when everything fell apart. I had called Bernard to see about dinner with him-- my class schedule had changed. I called him at the hotel number, and I guess I must have interrupted a cellphone conversation that he was having. He was hurried, curt... and then when he hung up, the handset didn't go back onto the cradle right. I could hear everything!!! I thought I would listen for a moment, just hear him moving around his hotel room. And then I heard him return to the cellphone conversation. I could hear every damn word that he said!" A tear began to form at her right eye. Dean saw that this was a critical point, worth using his investment in hypnotizing Maria. "Perhaps it would help if you would *act out* what he said," Dean suggested. "Yes!" Maria almost jumped at the thought. Her voice dropped an octave or more - any lower, Dean thought, and she would have to shave. She even imitated what must have been Bernard's accent. ----------------------------- "... yes, Linda, yes! It was that young woman you pointed out to me in your class, the one studying... criminology. Oui, she's an excellent subject, and it's been fun preparing her for her assignment to the Chief. {Laughing} She's sure that there is someone much better than me waiting for her... non, you think that is not possible? {More laughing.} Oh, I suppose that YOU wanted her. Well, you can't -- she's a joy to be inside, and you couldn't appreciate that.... Sorrrryyy, 'Ms. Linda'....! Her friend Stella? She's assigned to our young man Roland now. Yes, he's still as clumsy as ever, I'm sure, but after I guided her, she thinks he's wonderful. And who knows, eh, if they try it as often as he says they have, he's going to get it right sooner or later??!! {Even more laughing.} At the Summit Ch. 09 "How will it work? I can't tell you over the phone, you know that. But literally, all the Chief has to do is to say the little words, and our Maria will be hungry for him..... yes, it's perfect, because she'll take care of the old man's needs, but our government won't have any background on her. Yes, the public EXPECTS our leaders to have mistresses, but it's been hell on the Chief having to screen out the ones sent to him by the D-bureau. Every time a pretty one points her breasts at him, it's another government agent. Thank God our inside men tip us off to the petite biches. This one'll be different. She'll just think she's been invited to study in France because the foundation WANTS to give away money. They won't notice one more graduate student and she won't want to ask questions. "...oh, Karen? The blonde one... the blonde one, 30 years old, with the champagne-glass breasts, I mean. No, you can't have her either! Ahem.... yes, I'm keeping her for a while longer - perhaps when I'm called back to France I'll assign her to you. {Some bravado in his voice.} Her boyfriend? Oh...., Jim, he's gone. I showed her what a ... the Americans would call him a "jerk" I think. And that was simple, because as she told me more and more about him, I realized that he IS a jerk. But just to show her what a jerk he is, I suggested to him that he DUMP HER. He came up with some very shallow kinds of reasons, but, he WAS kind of shallow, eh? "She reflected on it while we were in bed.... yes! I was deep inside her as we discussed it. Well, yes, she WAS in a trance then, naturellement. Remember, Mesmer WAS a Frenchman. Yes, I took her under for this by steadily caressing her breasts as we quietly talked. Yes, in a soothing pattern. Mesmerisme! Uh huh, you might try it with... oh, tres bon! I thought that provincial policewoman from... it's a Scottish name... Dunsmuir... in your class looked very interesting to you. Oh {laughter}, you already have begun the process with her, eh? "Yes, there is a problem with Karen... I guess you caught that in my voice, you clever one! {Grinning} Yes, she got out of control when she left the City for her grandmother's funeral. Yes, met some new friend from the jewelry business. {Clearing his throat.} "No, I don't expect a problem. As soon as Maria is underway to France, I'll deal with Karen and... {searching some notepaper} her new friend Cam. {Laughing} It's a pleasure working this job, eh, Regina? Oh, sorry.. Linda {laughing again}. Yes, probably no one interested in watching us this time, but still... ja, yes, je' comprend. The Chief will remember what you have done for Lepenism-- even if he is disgusted by us. Your morals are terrible. {Belly laugh.} Yes, and you learned them from me, touche'!" Maria began to silently cry, and acted out the motion of gently slipping a telephone handset onto the cradle. "He's some sort of intelligence agent!" she burst out, replaying her exclamation to herself when she had first overheard all this. --------------------------------------- "You can stop acting out," Dean said. His brain reeled with the links onto which Maria had stumbled. He flipped through mental file cards to try and place these names. Yes, Regina, the bi-sexual German who attended the Master of Seduction class in Marin County also had connections of some sort in France. Bernard sounded like he was a Frenchman, connecting back to Lepenism. He had to find out more from Maria. "Maria, perhaps you can turn back to something which I did not understand." She nodded obligingly. "Please read the part again about how you enjoyed watching the blinking light across the City the last time -- all four of you." As she began to read from that section of her diary again, Dean suggested that she might prefer to *act out* this passage. To make a long story short, Dean learned, as he suspected, that the three guests had all been hypnotized by the genial Bernard. Stella and Maria had gone under quickly, given their previous training by the Frenchman. The slightly dense Roland had taken longer, but now Maria reenacted all the parts via a hypnotic thespianism which made the small sleeping car compartment a grand stage. As Maria unfolded the story, Dean marveled at the flaw in Bernard's operation. It went back to the fatal flaw which had occurred in so many of the Nazis' efforts, he mused. So confident of their superiority, they had not taken precautions against a stupid accident. And, he reflected, when Americans live up to their own self-image, they are great at exploiting stupid accidents. Maria was a fountain of information -- a delicious looking fountain, as she moved about in her trancelike theatrical. And then she stopped talking. She cleared her throat and smiled. She pulled the tan blouse from out of her belt and tossed it on the berth behind her. Her nipples, ready to be suckled, pushed out urgently through the flower charm patterned bra from her firmed breasts. "I'm ready for your instructions, mon amour Bernard!" She tilted her head down submissively, but kept her dark eyes on Dean, unhooking the waistband of her slacks without glancing down. Dean riffled through the information which he had amassed in his mind. Maria was acting out something that had occurred with Bernard. Of course, they were having sex together in those weeks, but what did that have to do with instructions? Why had the agent given the young criminologist instructions on this particular night? From Dean's observation of Maria's play-acting, he surmised that Stella and Roland were still "in the room" at this point, held in deep trances, not observing what was happening between Bernard and Maria. He could picture them calmly frozen in the background, as Maria slipped out of her slacks. And that's what she was doing now. Bernard must have been enjoying his hypno-exhibitionism, obtaining an extra thrill through sex in front of frozen witnesses. Maria's dark eyes remained fixed on Dean, as her hands moved to slip her slacks off past her flowered hi-cut briefs and down her legs. A small dark spot spreading across the rose-colored cloth betrayed the eagerness building in the young woman, an eagerness now being highlighted by her subtle amplification of the swaying motion given her by the train. Dean stood speechless for the moment, as her striptease continued. He had not expected this, had been giving thought to simply leaving her with his own post-hypnotic suggestion to enjoy fantasies of sex with him tonight. He was still struggling with his own personal issues, and did not want to think of himself as having returned to the old easy ways with women. But now he was hit with a double-whammy. Her attractiveness was overwhelming him, but surely he could withstand that. But what was the reason for her need to act out sex with Bernard? He had no further time to think, because she was all over him now. Dean had no time to enjoy the irony of having sex as being another man, as her fingers tugged at his buttons and zipper, caressing him in the process. His lips found her neck and followed it to her breasts in an easy slide that was accompanied by more passion from Maria than he could have imagined. Bernard was either truly a terrific lover, or an excellent hypnotist.... or perhaps both. And now as they embraced, her heat surrounded his still-shielded manhood, radiating through the last flimsy covering which kept them apart. Dean's hands moved with the confidence of experience to her waist, and Maria sighed enthusiastically, nuzzling against him from head to toe. As he stopped to strip off his own briefs, she jumped coyly to the berth behind her, covering her dark, wet curls with her hands in a way that let her arms cover her nipples. "First, you must say the secret word, cher Bernard... and then I am ready for your instructions." Dean was stunned. So Bernard had given Maria some key word to begin his instructions-- something that would keep her from accidentally taking in commands from someone else while making love. His mind worked quickly. He would have to take her deeper, find some way to learn this key word. "Stop *acting out*!" he commanded. Maria returned to the mild trance in which she had been so candid about Bernard and remained coyly posed on the bed. Dean's mind turned over all the notecards on hypnosis which he could recall, and then the Kyrghistan solution occurred to him. He had only used it once before. It was a solution which would blend sex with a deep trance, as Bernard had done. Actually, he hated being manipulative, but now every professional instinct drove him to learn her secret. His second thoughts of the night before vanished, but he wondered if Michelle would understand, if she heard of this somehow. The distraction caused his erection to flag, but it didn't matter. That would become an important part of the process. "Maria," he calmly informed her, "you feel very sexy right now... you deserve to have sex right now... but you are not focusing your mind in the right direction. You need to concentrate on my penis, it will grow when you concentrate on it... it will grow to the shape that you want... but you must focus entirely on it..." Dean saw her glazed eyes turn toward his sagging organ. "And now, as you concentrate on it, you will begin to see it rising... " and Dean smiled as he felt the renewed energy flowing to his member, turned on by seeing her response. "As it rises, you will feel a wonderful sense of relief flooding through you... knowing that you have brought it back to life... and you can now feel so relaxed.... confident... your sexual power is so firmly established." Dean watched a slight smile crossing Maria's face. "You will want to close your eyes, feeling so relaxed, but you will continue to focus your imagination on my manhood. It is still growing in your thoughts... as you enjoy the perfect curve in it... you will think of how it will feel inside you... and you will feel more confident and relaxed. "As you relax further, and as you are so confident of your sexuality, your hands are free to float upwards...." He tested her trance and enjoyed the consequent view as her hands floated away from her sweet triangle. "You are so confident, that you can enjoy thinking about the secret word... the word which opens you to Bernard's private commands." A stern look passed across the young Greek-American girl's face. Her dark eyebrows raised. Dean wondered if he had gone too fast. Hastily, he recovered the fumble. "You feel concerned, because that penis in your imagination is so beautiful, it is so ready for you. It will fold itself away unless you feel confident enough.... to share secrets." Dean's penis was rock hard, and his softening fluid drained uselessly down its side, but deep in Maria's subconscious, the ever more perfect image lured her on. "You must speak the word, Maria! You are so beautiful that I will come before you even touch me. Imagine my white cloud shooting out in front of you, wasted, because you could not say the words. Say the words!" She smiled, her confidence back. Her lips began to move, silently at first, then in a whisper and then with strongly spoken words. "...chez moi un orgasme devastateur, Bruno! " she blurted. And with a tigress roar, she leapt upon Dean, burying herself in his embrace, grinding her loins against his, then jumped coyly back to the berth. ----------------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 10 Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. ------------------------------------------------- by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) -------------------------------------------------- Part 10 - "Maria's Lust" BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE "You feel concerned, because that penis in your imagination is so beautiful, it is so ready for you. It will fold itself away unless you feel confident enough.... to share secrets." Thus Dean had offered the lust-drenched Maria a challenge which she could not help but rise to meet. She rose on the sleeping car berth, on her knees to avoid bumping her head on the upper, her legs spread apart. She was opening to him, but in a way that showed her strength and her self-confidence. She tossed her hair back and licked her lips, but made no move to him, expecting Dean to follow the lead of his rock-hard staff which swayed between them. Of course, she had no way of knowing that Dean was not seeing her in this moment, a moment when most other red-blooded men would have been leaping onto the berth to plunge gladly into her wet slit. Dean had been in this moment before, and he was quickly riffling the mental file cards, exercising the ancient skills which allowed him to transfer the visual contributions of her sexual desire to the area below his waist. His sexual power thus was building and building, while his mind remained clear and in control-- thinking of the Kyrghistan solution again, and where it had led after he had learned the key information in that case. His mind flashed back to Elena, the blonde Russian engineer, stretched out so fully, sighing and trembling in their night of passion in a dusty nuclear reactor town in Central Asia. He remembered looking down with satisfaction at her wet body, her generous curves retaining their shape to a lovely degree as her chest rose and fell with her deep breathing; he had wanted to lick his lips as he recalled the way that her faithful workouts had translated into wonderful waves of shared passion. She must, he thought, have been the only natural blonde in this dirtwater, frontier town, and surely the only one trying to keep in shape and keep clean. And her efforts had succeeded to dreamlike levels. Her slim waist and firm hips made the beautiful curves of her bust outstandingly attractive. When he had caressed and kissed Elena's breasts, he had been surprised at how much it affected him. The softness seemed even more alluring in the grim setting. He whispered sweet and gentle thoughts into her ear, tenderly repairing her self-esteem. It was easy to do, Dean remembered, because what he told her was true. She just was not used to hearing it. In return, the desire to take in the one man who had treated her like the brilliant woman that she knew she was had overwhelmed her-- Elena told him that she could see herself being swept into waves of sensuality with him, and then they soared together as he stroked her tenderly, taking her mind into the skies far above the dust and dirt which had surrounded her. Elena, as with Maria now, had been a mental prisoner of a controlling man in her past. Now she was released. Yes, she had shared the key information his bosses had demanded about the crumbling concrete around the cooling tower of the reactor, but more importantly, their experience together had transformed her by releasing her from the hold that someone else had on her, apparently the plant manager. He was, Dean had concluded, a man who thought sexual harassment was a goal to achieve, not prevent, and controlling the lovely Elena was the manager's recent objective. Up till now, his superiors should have rated him as an over-achiever. Dean's attention dissolved back to the hot young woman in front of him, and as it did, he effortlessly slid into the same mode which had freed Elena from her dominator. Reaching back into his things, he grabbed the already-opened Sakura box, and plucked out the second of the three semi-precious condoms. He knelt beside Maria. "You'd like to have this on me, wouldn't you?" He did not know what contacts Bernard might have made in addition to this young Greek-American. No sense taking chances. Maria smiled bashfully, something which amused Dean. As on so many past occasions, a woman who was burning to have him, who had strutted naked before him to fire his lust, suddenly turned shy and fumblesome when invited to roll the protective shield over his erect member. She hesitated, as Dean had expected. Actually, he could have put it on himself quicker, but this gave him a neutral reason for coming close to her without immediately commencing activities. He took her hand, and guided it over his manhood. Gently, he led her fingers around the engorged head, and quietly talked her through every detail. "It reminds you of something, doesn't it?" he asked, in a command down tone, rather than as a real question. "Yes.... a long time ago....." she murmured. He teased the back of her hands with little kisses, foreplay for her, establishing an anchor in her emotions for him. "Your first love?" he gently inquired. "No, he was so clumsy.... it was.... Ron...." Maria's words ended in a sigh as Dean kissed along her arm. He had seen her body's tiny signals of the deep memories coming up, and he planted the anchors higher. "You can remember that time?...." Dean asked another question as a command. "Yes," Maria began to breathe more deeply, and Dean kissed her shoulders. "Can YOU TELL ME ABOUT IT, Maria?" Dean asked, imbedding the command which would release her subconscious restraints. Maria began to speak in a low, sensuous voice, pausing to bring thoughts out from her deep memory. Dean listened intently, and lost none of his erection as he saw her lust deepening with each recollection. ---------------------------------------------------- "It was on the elk hunt. Ron's dad had taken us up to Idaho when we lived in California, Ron and I, and our friends, Mick and Bridget, hunting. He was going to chaperone us, of course, so the guys would share one two-man tent and Bridget and I would share the other one. Ron's dad would sleep in the camper. "For the first couple of nights that's how it worked, and the four of us kids did learn a lot about hunting. I thought I would hate it, but there was something magic about it. We hadn't shot anything yet, but we had come close. Maybe we were too noisy, but anyway, I started to get excited about it. I mean, I was already excited about spending so much time with Ron. It got even worse on the second night, when Bridget snuck away from the campfire for a while with Mick and didn't get caught. Ron and I kept his dad busy with some questions about the rifles. "Bridget came back to the tent, and she was glowing. A few feet out into the dark woods, Mick and she had been necking, and then they pulled their sweatshirts off, because Mick said that nothing would feel like the moonlight would feel on their chests. I could see Bridget grinning as she said this, and she wiggled a bit thinking about it, and that showed me that her nipples were getting hard again as she thought about it. I started getting excited talking about it with her, I mean, Mick had only kissed her breasts, and cuddled them, so it really was okay, right, but it was soooo sexy! "We opened up the tent vent, and lay there under the stars, talking about our boyfriends. They were so close to us, but we couldn't have them, and it didn't seem fair. Later on, we discovered that they were thinking the same thing, also looking up at the stars, each trying not to let the other notice his hard-on. And their hard-ons grew more and more painful the more they talked, especially as Mick described Bridget's bosom and the saucy way her nipples turned up as they filled out in the chill air. The more you think about, the hornier you get. "Anyway, the next night Ron's dad was getting kind of frustrated about not bagging an elk yet, and we were all frustrated by not having had sex with each other yet, I mean we weren't virgins, but both couples were new with each other. I'd had one real, intimate boyfriend before. I think Bridget was the same. We'd double-dated with these guys before, so I knew that both of us couples had been just having fun petting. "The guys suggested that Ron's dad break out the liquor that he had meant to use for a celebration, to kind of use it to forget how frustrated he was getting. I guess it was time for that, because he took them up on it, and proceeded to try and teach them how to drink like men. Of course, they encouraged him to get stinking drunk; I don't think they had any taste for bourbon, anyway. He fell asleep and the boys dragged him into the cozy camper. "We all stood there looking at each other for a minute, our mouths just open, the stars seeming to whirl over our heads, it was suddenly so exciting. We just held hands for a few minutes, both couples, and then we were hugging and kissing with modest, sweet little kisses, almost like we were suddenly scared of what would happen next, holding back, I guess. Our breath came out in the cold air in little puffs. Finally, Ron suggested quietly that maybe we could try sharing the tents differently tonight. "Bridget and Mick didn't need much of a hint. She grabbed his hand, and they were off to our tent. I started to move, but Ron took me around the waist, and held me on the spot. ""I want to feel the moonlight on us, too!" he commanded. That powerful image must have kept him up all night the last night, and now it grabbed my mind, too. Almost shyly, we unbuttoned our plaid shirts. Luckily, I had on a front-clip bra (well, actually, I was hoping something like this would happen), and I undid that, too. "It did feel wonderful. The last firelight, the moonlight, maybe even the stars, shone on our chests. He was strong, and I ran my fingers over his muscles, loving the way he caught the light. Then he kissed down my neck, so tenderly, and I felt more and more excited as I kept expecting him to kiss my nipples. He took his time getting there, and then it felt so wonderful when he reached them. "Just then, Bridget came out of our tent to get something she had forgotten in her bag, maybe her diaphragm. Her mother was pretty sensible about things like that, so it was okay. She was topless, and I could see why Mick had been so turned on. She had supposed that we would be banging away in our tent, and was just as surprised to see us as we were to see her-- and to be caught in the act, so to speak. "She just blinked, and then she ducked her head back into the tent to whisper a summons to Mick. Her breasts hung down, like really conspicuously, as her head disappeared inside the tent flap. Mick appeared in a moment. "He had his shirt off, too. They came over to us, and it was soooo cooool. We were all shivering a bit, but that just made it more unique. We hugged each other, and then we stood around the fireplace, holding hands, the firelight dancing on our bodies. We promised never to tell anyone else about this night, and to always remember it and each other. It was like a camp ritual, I guess, but with a LOT of lust in it. We couldn't help looking at each other. The guys had trouble walking back to the tents, something about how tight their jeans were now, and I suppose that Bridget felt the cold air in her same wet place as I did. "It was like we had taken in a POWER! I suppose the idea that this would be our only night together really gripped us. When we got to the guy's tent, where Ron and I ended up, he was so strong and certain. I just lay back, my vagina hungering, that I couldn't think of what to do, and let him lift me out of my jeans. There was no silk or satin or diamonds here, just two young bodies in perfect tune with each other, and just at that point in our lives where we were ready to let go. His dick was like a steel shaft, but one covered with a royal velvet. I took him over and over again. "One of the times, we were elk. Neither of us had ever done it that way before, and I wouldn't even have dreamed of trying before this special night. But Ron told me it was an Indian ritual, one that made good hunting most likely. I just laughed as the bull elk mounted me, and then we both laughed and laughed out loud as the doe quivered and trembled with the thrill, and then laughing segued into the natural gasping rhythym which brought my bull and me to a climax. We had SUCH a good time! Ron's dad missed all the fun, snoring in the camper. "After the elk mating season had ended with Ron's sweet, slow, and sticky withdrawal from upside down, as I thought of it, in my pussy, we cuddled in the sleeping bags-- snapped the two together. In the frosty early morning, I awoke and found that Ron was missing, but he had just gone to piss and to see how his dad was doing. His dad was snoring away, and so of course we cuddled more in the double sleeping bag, and soon enjoyed each other's hot bodies again. "It was funny to find a Playboy tucked in the bag that I was in. It turned out that Mick had brought it along. After our first orgasm of the morning, Ron and I had fun flipping the pages in it, while I asked about which guys he knew would like which girls in the photo features. I learned a lot, and then we were so horny from talking about this and looking at the magazine together, that I had to stretch out and take him in again to do me. I needed his dick, and besides, it made me feel superior to those women. I had Ron, and they didn't. "This couldn't go on indefinitely, so we did get sort of dressed and I headed back to the girls' tent. Bridget and Mick had done the same thing with the double bags as we had, but they were asleep when I arrived. As I learned later, they woke up very, very early, and had fallen asleep after dancing and then fucking again under the last moonlight. The cosy bags' warmth had seemed so wonderful after their sensuous brush with frostbite that they had really zonked out. "I dragged at them, worried that Ron's dad would come stumbling out of the camper. I yanked the bags' zippers down, and let the cold air hit them. They were both nude, but they weren't bothered by me being there. Mick looked deeply at Bridget, and she started puckering her lips at him. I saw his tired dick start to sway tentatively back and forth at about quarter-mast. I thought he was going to get a hard-on one more time and take her right in front of me. "Just then, I heard a yelp from the camper, and turned to see Ron's dad falling on the steps. I ran over to help him, as Bridget and Mick madly tossed on clothes. Ron's dad was swearing a blue streak, and had picked himself up by the time I got there. "He had figured out what had happened, and even though he didn't see any of the fun, he saw Mick and Bridget coming out of the same tent. I guess the whisker burn on my neck didn't help, and maybe the hickeys on Mick's neck said something to him, too. "He really laid down the law on us, said that today was going to be it, he was never taking us hunting again. He barely spoke during breakfast. "Something about ham and eggs in the fog, getting his stomach reset and filled up, and then the sun burning off the clouds, made him feel better. "And, the BEST part, is that we got our elk that day. Ron just kept grinning and winking at me, I mean he was thinking about our Indian ceremony. We all felt a lot better about it. "Ron had some kind of yelling match with his dad about it when they got home, but the funny thing is that he must have hinted something about the Indian ceremony to him. The reason I think that is because next elk season, Ron's dad invited the four of us back along with him, AND announced after we were on the way, that he thought he would just go with the flow, and suggested that despite what he had told the other parents, we should sleep together however we wanted to, if that would guarantee we would get an elk. I mean, to a real elk hunter, whatever works best, you go with it. "Of course, we REALLY knew what to do this time, and every night was more wonderful than the first. On our last night, there was a light snowfall. In the morning, the sun shone on us, reflected back by the tender layer of white powder that covered everything like fairy dust. As we went about getting breakfast ready, we stopped several times to enjoy the view! "Ron's dad was sleeping in again, maybe for diplomatic reasons. Our wonderful times together ended the way they had begun. Bridget stopped by the fire and set down her empty coffee cup. Then she unzipped her jacket, unbuttoned her flannel shirt, unbuttoned her long johns, and carefully slid them back so that her freckled breasts cantilevered out. She flipped back her red hair and laughed with the sheer joy of the moment. Soon, we all followed her example, and then we were all crying and hugging each other, because it was too perfect and had to end..... -------------------------------------------- Maria trailed off in her story as she reached a stopping point. She had been so absorbed in it that she had not even noticed that Dean's kisses had trickled down her breasts, and that each of her demanding nipples had received her fair share of kisses and sucking. Dean's magnificent hard-on kept the condom taut, but he could feel it beginning to slosh with the outpouring of precum. The situation was getting critical. Calmly though, drawing on his depth of experience, Dean drew Maria back into one more trance. Tenderly, he discussed the elk-hunt story with her. When he counted up to ten, she would relive it as they made love, wiping out any thought of Bernard or Bruno; it would be the most beautiful time in her life now, combining that perfect experience of her younger years with the thrills which he would add now. "One.... as you awaken, your subconscious will draw on all its wonderful memories.... "Two.... but it looks after you, even when you are thinking of other things... it knows what is important.... "Three... and it is putting away the pictures of Bernard and the thoughts of that Bruno... filing them away in a tiny, dark corner.... "Four.... because you will understand that in your own mind you already have the knowledge of yourself, of your mind and your body... "Five..." he paced her rising consciousness, "you have the self-knowledge to choose your own man.... "Sex... and to take beautiful pleasure in being with him....." "Seven... you see a new window opening with a man in it... a man you may want to try.... to broaden your experience...." "Eight.... you understand that this is just a one-night stand... but you have the power to choose that path when it appeals to you..." "Nine... you will discover, if you choose to take him, that your pleasure grows as you tell him what appeals to you..." "Ten.... and you awake rested and full of vigor... ready..." And Maria snapped to clear-headed consciousness. As Dean had hoped, her decision to take him was formed in an instant. She practically threw her older partner back onto the bed, and they tossed and turned in intimate embraces and tussles. When she climbed aboard him and eagerly bent his penis to meet her onrushing vagina, it hurt a bit, but the sensation was lost in the beautiful trip in his spacesuit into Planet Maria's molten core. As Dean swam in her waves, he pulled himself up to kiss her, following the trail of triggers which he had set. Swishing them together repeatedly, he built her excitement beyond anything she had ever known. As he had promised in her trance, the magic of the elk hunt came back to her, swirling in her imagination with this master's unimagined touch. Her head spun, she saw again the hunter stars swirling over her, Orion pulled back his bow, further, further, "IT'LL BREAK!!!" she screamed, and the soup of hormones and pheremones bubbled over. Overarching heaven exploded into the blackness with the fireworks of her own mind. At the Summit Ch. 10 The young woman and her older companion did not get much sleep that night in the sleeping car. In the early morning, Dean tipped the car attendant to bring breakfast to them. They ate lustily, and then fucked just as eagerly. That was the word Maria used that morning after the attendant had taken away their dishes. She had taken her robe back off, and stood boldly in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes smoldering, wearing the red hikini panties she had put on this morning for breakfast, her hands in fists on her hips, reveling in the way that the slight thrust of her pelvis made her mons stand out in the clinging cotton -- "Fuck me, Dean... once more, just one more time..." Dean obliged. It really was fucking, he found himself agreeing. He never liked the word, but it was clear that Maria was using him to get things out of her mind. He didn't mind being used as a sex object, because he could see the future benefits of this time. Connellsville rushed upon them too soon. Maria's trip from Lemon Grove had, she laughed, gone faster than if she had flown. In fact, she HAD flown, in a way, she murmured to Dean. She assured him that she would call him at the private voice mail number which he gave her. He took her into a trance for one last time. Yes, Bernard and Bruno were packed tightly into the little box in the corner of her mind, trapped where Dean was sure they would never get out. She was determined to hunt for Ron, see how things were coming with him. She'd heard that he and his wife had broken up. And, yes, she had access to the Internet. Yes, she would like to visit Dean every now and then on a special webpage. "You will be fully conscious of what this webpage is about. It takes a password..." and Dean entered the password into her subconscious. "You will find it to be an exciting place, full of things to learn, and people who want to share their knowledge with you. When you feel a little curious, or a little horny, and there is no one handy to share that experience with you, just click on this website." And then it was time to bring her out of the last trance and send her home. ----------------------------------------- LATER IN 1997 It was morning in Denver. We were back in the Oxford, Sophia and I. After a solid night of sleep, I had been continuing the tale of Dean and his friends and enemies. Room service arrived with a hearty breakfast. Sophia called a halt to the story for a bit, as she returned some business calls and read her e-mail. I went through my notes for a paper that I was writing. Somehow, it all felt very domestic and good as we chatted about different things. Then, she clicked the last words on her laptop and set it aside, and looked up at me. "I have a lot of questions," she said by way of re-opening the story. "What's the deal with this website?" "I'm not clear on that. Dean wouldn't say more about it, so I don't know if it's something like an extension service for the "School for Social Expression" (Sophia stuck out her tongue at me for using its more discreet disguised title). Or maybe his agency runs it for their contacts. It seems to enhance the users' sexual skills, though. "Speaking of the agency, I know that bureaucracy really gets you down, that it ties up your business activities, but you'll be amused by the next part of this story. Or at least by part of the next part." I shifted into a more comfortable position, and re-tied my robe. "How is that?" she queried. Sophia did the same, although the decolletage of her attractive nighty remained partially visible. She could not help, I thought, being good-looking, even in a robe. "After all those adventures," I began, "when Dean got back to Washington, D.C., it was like no one cared. They were all caught up in their own lives or careers. He wanted to tell someone more than what he could put in his report, but everyone was too busy. "His family wasn't interested either. They were too busy. He felt like he could have walked up to his wife and told her, "honey, I met an old girlfriend on my trip, and then I made love to two beautiful young women." Then she would have said, "that's nice, but why don't you tell me about it after 'E.R.' is done, or maybe on the weekend." "One person did want to know what had happened on the trip. Unfortunately, that was Rose from Accounting. She was still on the trail of the unauthorized condom purchase. And after we get some work done today, I'll tell you about how that came out. "Awwww....." Sophia made a sound of disappointment, but I knew that she had crucial work to do today. I had some business calls to make, too, as Sophia was setting up a foundation to finance my return to research into the paranormal. She was having me meet with lawyers, and so forth. The accounting specialist's story would have to wait. My balls rolled eagerly as I thought of continuing the story tonight in bed. ---------------------------------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 11 Copyright 2005, All rights reserved Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website. ---------------------------------------------------- by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) ---------------------------------------------------- Part 11 - "Expense Account" LATE IN 1997 It was the close of another day in Denver, and Sophia had joined me at what was becoming our regular table in the Cruise Room. The glass of white wine in front of her caught the light, and as I raised mine to meet hers in a toast to the day's accomplishments, the light caught both in a single flash. "Here's to overcoming bureaucracy!" Sophia had pushed her project through a maze of regulations today. She deserved the celebration. "Didn't you say that Dean's story was coming to something about bureaucracy? I'm ready to hear about someone else having to deal with that." My dark-haired lover tossed her head back in a sign of frustration. "You might find Dean's solution interesting.... and enjoyable." I chuckled a bit as I thought of it. Yes, Sophia would enjoy this. "You remember that one person did want to know what had happened on Dean's trip. Rose from Accounting was still after him about that unauthorized foreign condom purchase. Dean had violated the "Buy America" rules, and she wanted him to pay for it, literally. Here's what happened while Dean was back in the nation's capitol. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE As he slipped through the office after reporting to his former boss, Dean once again felt a bit like a ghost. Officially retired, he was older than most of the people in the cubicles and corner offices. He had known the men who had battled the Axis intelligence activities in World War II, and they had seemed remote figures to him. Now, he must seem the same way to these people. He still moved stiffly, a result of the combination of the minor beating he had received and then the energy he had spent in taking young Maria through the sexual roller coaster of her lifetime. "Damn!" He almost muttered aloud. Which event took more out of him? It was not till three days after the night with Maria that he had again awoken with his normal erection. He paused in the office corridor for a moment and thought about it. He told himself that he should have felt bad about having her, but that was not the case. In spite of the fact that he was married, everything about the event had seemed right. He almost wanted to feel guilty, but could not. Just as a renewed wave of confidence passed through him, a familiar voice crashed into his reverie. Rose from Accounting had caught up with him. "Dean! There you are. I've been looking for you. Since you don't have a desk here anymore, I wasn't sure how to catch hold of you." Rose was not quite breathless, but just wanted to imply that Dean was trying not to be caught. She was right, too. "Dean, the auditors demanded to know what happened to those three Japanese condoms that I expensed for you. They said there wasn't enough supporting evidence for the $50 charge from Kazakhistan. They're making it pretty hard for me." She swept her hand back to realign her long, red hair, and pouted. "I know you're busy right now. We should have lunch some time and sort things out." Dean recognized his own words to her from before his trip to Denver. His suggestion was now her idea. Last time they had talked, though, he was still trying to stay on the straight and narrow. Now, he let his eyes drift over the late-30's, slim, slightly athletic figure, and found himself agreeing with her. His discovery that his home life was less important than ever to his family had lifted the burden of guilt from him, and he was beginning to feel like his old self. Wiser, perhaps, and not wanting to try and make points, but absolutely enjoying the sense of tuning himself to the woman now confronting him. "Yes, and I guess you need it soon. The information, I mean. Me, I'm retired, so we can do it whenever you want to. Today, if you like that." She smiled and suddenly blushed, as if she had caught the gentle double entendre in his words. Dean had wondered at how closely she might be paying attention, and was pleased to see the inviting results of his wordplay. "I have to work out today at lunchtime, that's my schedule. How about tomorrow?" Rose sounded so professional, but Dean's careful attention noted a bit of insecurity in her tilted head. It was, he supposed, a result of being the person in the office who no one wanted to see. When a man in the office saw Rose coming to his desk, he did not see her trim shape or the sparkle in her eyes-- he saw a mistake in his expense account coming back to haunt him, or a purchase order error. When a woman in the office saw Rose, she did not see a potential friend or lesbian lover-- she saw someone who wanted to catch her in an addition error. Now, that is just what her boss in Accounting expected of her. After all, she was not supposed to be a sex object-- that would be demeaning, but somehow she had instead become a piece of office equipment, and that was fine with her boss. Rose knew that, and now, as they gazed at each other for a moment, Dean knew that. He took her hand, as if to shake it. "Then we're agreed on that," he said, and Dean held her hand in mid-shake for a moment, looking deeply into her emerald eyes. "I think that we can make it right when we get together." He watched the blush spread beneath her freckles on her pale complexion, down beneath her sweater, and then felt her hand warming in his. "Yes," she murmured, shifting to a quiet tone. It was a "yes" to his surface question about his expense report, and as they both knew now, it was a "yes" to their unspoken understanding that when the right time came, they would make love. They completed their handshake and made arrangements to meet for lunch the next day. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LATE IN 1997 Sophia smiled at me in a way that halted my storytelling. "You know, I wouldn't have believed this story, I mean, believed how they knew so quickly that they would end up in bed together, before we met." Sophia was recollecting our first meeting on the "California Zephyr" and that was a good comparison. "Yes, in one of my research projects I did a number of interviews with intimate couples at the university and found that about a third of them claimed to have been certain from their first meeting that they would eventually become lovers. For them, it was just a matter of coming into the right time and place together." My own mind started to drift back to the pleasure of doing that study, and I told Sophia about Priscilla, my virgin intern that year, who became more and more tense as our research interviews progressed. Talking with one intimate couple after another was very hard on her. I had thought about trying to help her lose it myself, I confessed to grinning Sophia ("How noble of you!"), but I was too involved with another student at the time. I was almost as relieved as my virgin was when she called me one Monday morning and told me that she and her new boyfriend would be staying an extra day at the mountain apres ski, after the rest of the kids came back to campus. After that, Priscilla did a 180-degree turn, and was very effective-- eager to draw out the research subject couples' stories. Sophia began to pull her things together. "I think that we need to continue this story upstairs." My lover's dark eyes were smoldering. She marked our room number on the check, and we headed out of the lounge and up the stairs. Once in the room, we left a trail of clothes to the bed. I stopped her as she reached the bed and we embraced, me in my cotton briefs, she in her black satin panties. The embrace was full of our joy and pleasure in each other-- she nuzzled my hardening penis through the cloth with her superheated sex, and grinned lustfully as her warmth drove me to crush her against myself. Then we wrenched off each other's last coverings and leapt into the bed. Afterward, as I lay propped up on my elbow, tracing the entrancing curves of her full breasts, enjoying the way her large, dark aureoles capped them, we talked for a bit about how Dean and Rose each must have felt. It was one of those intensely adult moments in life, each of us glowing from our shared energy, each full of thoughts about love and sex and how complex and diverse our species' relationships are. And then Sophia asked me to continue. I kissed each of her nipples, and then cleared my throat and struck a pose as if I was an old-time platform speaker. "Mmmm, yes. Lunch the next day." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE Dean and Rose found themselves in a loud, clattering lunch place. It was crowded with government employees, the support staff of lobbyists, low-ranking military personnel, and reporters for obscure publications. The object of the exercise there was to wolf down their food as quickly as possible, while exchanging information vital to the conduct of the nation's business. That would not work for Dean and Rose, no matter how hard they tried to converse through the din. Finally, they reached a stage of mutual agreement-- to escape. Grabbing their soft drink cups, they tossed the rest of the lunch litter into a trash can and headed for the nearby park. As they walked, it dawned on Dean as to why the single Rose was overlooked by some of the office Romeos. She wore a dark blue sweater, and a long, denim blue skirt that came down to her black stockings and black shoes. It actually was a nice color combination, setting off the asset of her long, red hair, but it was not an outfit that advertised availability. When she sat at her desk, as most people saw her, her slim figure did not fill out the clothing, which draped loosely on her frame. Now, though, as they walked, Dean saw her energy, and her clothing flashed interrupted images of her outlined figure. And her walk was purposeful, moving at a pace that Dean liked. A woman who did not mince words or take mincing steps, he realized. In the park, at the feet of the graven image of an almost forgotten political leader, they continued their exploratory conversation. "So you came to Washington and became a bureaucrat because of Reagan?" Dean was amazed at this thought. "Yes. I wanted to see that our tax money was wisely spent. I already had some bookkeeping experience." She stiffened up and looked defensively at Dean as though he should say something sarcastic; apparently that was what usually happened when she gave her simple explanation. Dean gazed at her in silence, encouraging her to go on. He watched as she relaxed, and then continued her story. "My mother was the secretary for a Model Cities program, back in the Johnson era. It was taken over by a bunch of crooks. I don't think that happened everywhere, but it did in my mom's, and when she tried to report it, she was told to go away, that it wasn't enough money to bother with. They didn't want to tackle the politicians who were in that community. I grew up hearing about how the money was wasted, diverted. When I was old enough, my mother told me more details. She had to tell someone!" She paused reflectively, recalling her mother's anguish. To Dean, in this moment, the Lepenistes, Michelle, Laetitia, Maria, his wife and son, all faded into the background as he finally understood Rose's motivation. He wondered if anyone else in the office even knew this. "I couldn't catch those crooks, but I could work to see that things were run honestly. I guess our agency seemed like a more exciting place to work, of course; even a bookkeeper gets in on secret agent stuff." Rose turned to Dean and smiled. Then she affected a stern look. "So you have me telling stories on myself, but aren't we here to determine what became of those costly condoms?" They laughed. "You convinced me to convince the auditors that the purchase was justified in the first place. But what became of them?" She arched an eyebrow and her gray-green eyes sparkled. "Don't you have to go back to the office pretty soon?" Dean parried. "I marked on the board that I would be out till 2:30 p.m. on a cost study." Rose riposted. "This justification is going to get pretty confidential, Rose. How would you feel about handling that?" Dean wondered if this would put her off his trail. "I have a security clearance." She chortled. "You know, I mean erotic, intimate. It's hard to talk about." Dean wanted to be exasperated, but found himself laughing with Rose at his unplanned pun. He had met his match. She swished her long hair back impatiently, as if to tell him to get on with it. "Okay, but I assume that you can summarize this in a way that won't raise too many eyebrows." Rose nodded her head in agreement with him. "Or raise anything else, eh?" Dean wanted to stamp his foot in objection to being fenced in with puns by the quick-witted redhead, but as they were stretched out on the lawn, that would not work. And so he gnashed his teeth and began his tale. He explained how the Sakura condoms in the red-for-good-luck box had come home from the former Soviet Union intact. Rose nodded her head, "uh-huh, uh-huh. And then what?" Dean rubbed his chin for a moment, trying to think of how to explain that he had bedded the daughter of his former lover, at his former lover's near-suggestion. When he tried to gloss over details, Rose caught him on it and extracted more and more of the story. It seemed, though, that she was not asking questions that would imperil his mission. She was enjoying the erotic side of the adventure. The retired agent began embellishing his account with sensual details, and found himself choosing words for their erotic edge. As he continued, he watched Rose for any sign that she was being turned off by the tale, but instead her interest was growing. Her face was flushed, and her breathing paced his. As he straightened himself out to take a different position on the grass, so did she. Dean began to describe his adventure with Maria and hinted at the stories which, in turn, the dark-haired young woman had told him during their hours of intimacy in the "Capitol Limited" -- and Rose involuntarily licked her lips. Dean caught the motion, and watched attentively as she subconsciously smoothed her skirt down over her legs, and then stroked out her cascading hair. As she did that, she arched her back a bit, and her erect nipples pouted at him through the dark blue sweater. Another woman might have been outraged by Dean's report, another might have feigned outrage. Rose took it in, and in her mind was becoming the recipient of Dean's skilled attentions. He halted the story. "We don't have much time left, Rose. It's almost time to go in." Dean said it in a voice that Rose knew meant that he did not want their time together to end. "Yes..." she paused. "... and you haven't accounted for the third condom." She was still trying to do her duty, even though the words now came out in a throaty tone that she barely recognized herself. "Rose, let's get you back to the office before you have to do a lot of explaining." Dean rose from the grass, plucking a dandelion head. The retired secret agent looked at the soft, fuzzy weed for a moment, puckered as if to blow on it, then handed it to Rose as if it were a bouquet. She smiled and climbed to her feet. Her figure reappeared briefly as her skirt shifted. "Here, you do it!" he commanded, ambiguously leaving open the possibility that he was talking about the dandelion puff. "You know that we only have a brief time together. This is our moment. You know how I am, what kind of person I am, and now you need to decide what we'll have to do to continue." "It'll blow seeds all over the place; that's not very responsible." Rose was in a genuine moment of decision, although not really about the weed. She looked at the white fuzz as if it were a loaded weapon. He sensed the struggle between her desire to complete her investigation and the desire building within her loins. Dean felt his manhood surge in his briefs as his subconscious tuned himself to her and registered what was happening. A passerby looked at them looking at the dandelion head, and shook his head in amusement. "Imagine," he seemed to be saying to himself, "two adults arguing over who will blow on a dandelion!" "This isn't... right, but it feels right" she finally whispered, struggling to get the commonplace words out. And then, freed of that ordinary sentiment, she pursed her lips and blew. It was a firm, steady breath, and it launched the tiny seeds out into the sluggish Foggy Bottom air high enough that they began to move. Dean watched her with lust and with admiration at the same time. They watched side by side, their hands cautiously, discretely intertwined, as the small ball of fuzz became a cloud of windborne seeds. Dean marveled at the turn in her, even though he had experienced it with other women so many times before. He could feel it in her touch and see it in her body language; it was the magic moment when the woman he was with would feel her femininity taking charge. She had taken down the barriers herself, and now she was reveling in the secret preparations her body was making to receive him. "I have an idea. Come with me!" Rose put her assertiveness to new purpose. Dean followed along, knowing that the bookkeeper's sharp mind was working now on a plan for the two of them. It was hard walking back into the office, but they did. The two of them were still nearly invisible, Dean because of his retired status, and Rose because everyone had one reason or another to avoid eye contact with her. She steamed ahead of him through some push-carts full of interoffice mail that blocked their path, went to the sign-out board and moved the magnetic bead over to the end of the scheduled workday. "Deep Archives" she scribbled next to the 5 p.m. column. A secretary started to say something to Rose about why she might need to come down to the Deep Archives, and Rose simply looked at her and said, "Oh, yes, you wanted to talk with me about the errors in your petty cash..." The secretary's jaw dropped and then clamped shut. No one else blinked or said a word to the couple. Perhaps the only person who registered what was really happening had just the briefest glance at them. Jill Hardaway, Ms. Hardaway as she was known in the office, had been one of the first Playmates. Perhaps her adventures in the long-ago days at the Mansion had given her a particular gift for watching the body language of intending lovers. In any case, she flashed Dean and Rose a "thumbs up" sign as they hurried past in a corridor by the freight elevator. Dean had never been in the Deep Archives before. He had never even been on this elevator before. Rose, though, had been down here on audit processes. The elevator door closed with a smashing sound, but that did not startle her. She knew which buttons to push for a security check, hit the old-fashioned brass elevator button, and then turned and looked into his eyes. The elevator paused almost as long as they did. Then it lurched to a start just as they embraced. They fell against the wall, and into a passionate tangle as it crawled down past unknown and unnoted floors. Dean's hands were everywhere, and everywhere he found that the slim, athletic body which had been so hidden in the vague folds of her sweater and long skirt was perfectly tuned to his touch. At the Summit Ch. 11 The elevator lurched again and halted in the second or third basement level of the office block. They looked out at long rows of file boxes on metal shelves, old steamer trunks and footlockers, wooden packing cases, all barely lit by incandescent bulbs in green enamel-coated metal shades. Rose deftly tugged on the lever and snapped the folding elevator barricade open. The movement highlighted her breasts in the bulky sweater for a sweet instant. Somewhere, a fan system was slowly moving the air and filtering it. The room was not as dusty as Dean had pictured it. The air was soft and warm, with no sign of human presence in it. "Sort of like the warehouse in 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', eh?" She gestured expansively as they stepped from the lift. "No," he disagreed, "but is there a vintage Rolls Royce parked down here?" Dean teased her with the 'Titanic' reference to her name. She playfully swatted at him. "Come with me." Rose took him firmly by the hand and led him through twists and turns of shelving and boxes and to an old roll-top desk. There was a leather-padded swivel chair here, and some rolled up linen maps from long ago. A tiny desk lamp was mounted under the pigeon holes of the desk. "I use this as a work area so that I don't have to have the boxes shipped upstairs," she murmured in a low tone, as if anyone would hear them there. The bookkeeper clicked the little light on, and it cast a small circle of cheery yellow over the desktop. Dean began to embrace Rose again, but she pulled away. She unrolled an old linen map of Vichy France and laid it face down on the desktop. Dean moved toward her again. "Just a moment!" She walked over to a circuit breaker box and popped it open. Rose studied it for a moment, then snapped a pair of switches. The long strings of lights over the aisles blinked off. As Dean's eyes grew accustomed to the overwhelming darkness, the tiny desklamp seemed to become a giant lighthouse. Now they embraced. Passion swept over them, no, actually passions plural. The afternoon together had released their inner feelings, but their different and common feelings about their workplace emerged as a different kind of passion. Afterward, Dean said that it felt like they were in a fugue, with many musical themes overlapping, twining together, washing over them. Dean saw briefly that her forest green sports bra/panty set brought out the beauty of her creamy skin in this light, and then he was too involved with chasing trails of freckles down from her cheeks to her neck and onto her breasts to take further notice of fashions. Somehow, all their clothes except for his briefs and her panties came off, and the lithe Rose swung up onto the desktop. The light from behind her silhouetted her slim waist, and the once-hidden shape of her figure was marvelous. As Dean embraced in their first near-nude contact, he saw that the redhead's nipples seemed larger than he could have imagined, set against her small and well-supported breasts. He leaned over to kiss them each, as his hands slid up her thighs. Gently he guided her legs apart, and leaned lower and lower, taking his kisses across her flat tummy, savoring the feeling as her muscles involuntarily contracted with excitement, feeling her thighs closing and opening around him as she trembled a bit from excitement. His well-practiced hands converged on her vagina lips through the soft cloth as his kisses reached that same wet junction. Tenderly, he kissed her through the satin barrier, drawing it the few millimeters back and forth over her in a way that would compel her to her first orgasm with him. At times like this, Dean was aware of entering an alternate state of consciousness, a state in which he became the guide, drawing out the passionate woman from within the layers of civilization blocking her path. The beauty was inside her, and now Dean was the key to releasing the inner Rose. Somewhere in her subconscious, the key turned in her lock. Rose sighed a deep and sensuous sigh and smoothly lifted herself so that he could tug off her last covering, almost shuddering as he bent over to draw her into his lips again and then danced with her-- his tongue and her clitoris twined together. Dean felt the force within her building like a coil spring, tightened, tightened. Deep waves of feeling flowed through his strong, caressing hands. And then Rose exploded in a suppressed shriek of pleasure. For a moment afterward, Dean stood there, hands on hips, letting his eyes sweep over her shadowy figure. The light over her shoulder caught him for her to view. Later, she told him how good it was to watch his briefs being tensioned by his excitement as he stood before her. It had been too long, she said, since she had last enjoyed that feeling, too long since she had seen a man prepared to become a part of her. "That was how it always should be, but too often never is," she had said to him later. "A man strong enough to pause and take enjoyment. It made me feel like such an adult, having you there for me, being able to enjoy all the little details of each other." And then they embraced again, and her hands were at his waistband, greedily pulling it out and away over his erect organ. Dean stepped smoothly out of the briefs, which dropped to the floor where her panties had fallen. Now, he pulled her forward on the desk, embracing her completely, with her thighs wrapped around him, his penis grazing her sensitive vagina in their moving passion. Hungrily, her lips parted for him. "I want you inside me, Dean...." she whispered hoarsely, "we're going to be goners." But not too quickly, Dean reminded himself. He teased her with his hard staff, caressing her with it. The silver stream from Dean's tip allowed him to glide over her, touching her, caressing her more tenderly than his hands might have, but suddenly she realized that they had not planned ahead, that they had been carried along by emotions, surfing the waves of hormones. "Did you... did you bring protection?" Rose pulled herself upright in his arms to ask. "Yes, just a moment.... it's here somewhere in the dark," Dean muttered, having lost track of the little plastic box in his coat pocket. He fished around for it with one hand, while the two of them breathed heavily. She twirled his other hand around her own, over and under her fingertips, enjoying his feel. When they talked later, she admitted that, she thought at first that she could just enjoy his scent for a moment. Enjoy seeing the curve of his penis. Enjoy the whole moment. Each of these thoughts just made things worse. The need to have him in her was building-- she wondered if it would snap her common sense and drive her to take him as he was. She would do anything now to have this sudden demigod in her, to take him and make him her own. The thought of his sperm jetting deep into her special places was so very tempting! What day of her cycle was it? Her mind was too clouded with beautiful images to do arithmetic. And then Dean found it. Snapping the wrapper aside in the dark, he smoothly fingered the latex shield, unrolling it enough to wrap it over his swollen penis head, and hastily bring it up over the rock-hard erection and snugly into his curling hairs. He smiled a broad smile that caught the light; the condom wrapper had not. It floated onto his briefs, which lay on her panties, on the floor. Relieved and thrilled, Rose moved forward on the desktop, and eagerly took him in her own hands to guide him in. He moved in the way that took advantage of her urgent need-- in a bit, out, in a bit deeper, driving her to a frenzy. Dean felt her feminine power surging, knew that he was taking her past the level of her first orgasm, knew that she would barely recall the spasms that had set her passion free when the ones building now around his masculine force filled her mind and body and soul with their unheard music. And then he lost himself in her. They were one being-- but continued cuddling, encouraging, teasing, challenging, thrusting in the way that only a loving couple could. Neither could analyze or rationalize, they could only give and accept. Having reached that point together, their control vanished like the bright flash of light in a sci-fi film, when the spaceship goes into hyperdrive. He felt her respond to the hot jet of sperm, even though it was safely contained in his lightweight shield. They stayed together for what they hoped was a long time, enjoying the intimacy. Rose ran her fingers through his remaining hair, and down over his chest, recording all the feelings, saying that she did not know when they would be together again. Dean did the same, arranging and rearranging her long, red hair, and then kissing her cooling breasts until she trembled again with renewed excitement. He liked the feeling of her strong response closing around his penis, squeezing the last drops of him. Finally, there was too much danger of sliding out, and Dean took the rubber's rim and slowly withdrew. Rose parted her lips as he did so, closed her eyes, and sighed a bit as she savored even his exit. "That was... great.....!" She said it in a deep voice of sated sensuality, eager to let Dean know that she would be pleased to take more of him as the occasion arose. She watched as Dean tied off the condom and leaned down to stow it in a tissue in his coat pocket. "This is something that we should have done a long time ago." Dean could not help but agree, having discovered what a storehouse of pent-up sex drive Rose was. However, he could not have done this till now. His mind was free, it had not been before. He had focused entirely on Rose, met her needs, had let himself loose from the rusty padlocks of his marriage, and now was finding that there was no guilt within himself. They talked about this as they helped each other to dress. "You would have known if I had not been ready to enjoy being with you," Dean noted. I know the rumors around the office, that I once was quite a Romeo, but I'm not 25 anymore. I had to be able to be doing this with you, not to you." Rose nodded as she pulled her bunched-up sweater down to her waist. She looked good as she shimmied in it. She reached down into the darkness for her shoes. "Oh, Dean, let's not forget this..." she had found the condom wrapper, which Dean had not yet collected. No sense tipping off some other occasional visitor as to what had happened here. She held the red package to the light, as Dean held his breath. "It's.... it's a Sakura!" she exclaimed, "It's like the ones you expensed." "Well, to be more precise, it was THE one that I expensed. The last one." Dean offered this information cautiously. He waited. Rose looked blankly at the wrapper for a moment, and then laughed uproariously. "Very funny, Dean! Now I need to think of a way to explain that I supervised the disposition of the final condom." Rose affected a comic grimace. "Maybe you could transfer the expense to the Employee Recreation Fund?" She nudged him in the ribs for that one, and then a look of sweet calm passed over her. "I think I can come up with something, and it will be a pleasure to think about this while I do it. Now, kiss me, Dean!" They embraced long and hard, until finally, she broke away and hit the light switches. Carefully, they straightened the place up. Dean looked idly at the old linen map of France; it now showed an interesting wet spot over Marseille. "At least we're keeping on top of things with the French right-wingers!" They giggled over the pun, but as the elevator brought them back to the boring surface of the earth, Dean's mind returned to the tough problems awaiting Michelle on her return to Denver. His penis tingled as it settled down in his briefs. He wondered whether Rose would accept his peculiar status. His head was full of questions as they stepped into Rose's cubicle. Dean started to quietly ask her how she would felt about what had just happened between them, wondered if Rose would be willing to just take pleasure in aesthetic sex. What was to happen next? She interrupted his thoughts with a question of her own. "Are you going to see Michelle again when you go back to Denver?" "Remember, I'm retired, that trip was a one-shot deal to help out the agency." Dean raised an eyebrow at her question. "You didn't know? You're going back to Denver for the Summit Conference. You're going to back up the crowd of security people! They can't get things done without you." Rose grinned at him and nudged him in the ribs. "How do you know that?" Dean looked skeptically at her. "Nobody has asked me about it. Do they think I want to get beat up again?" "The chief had me start on the paperwork this morning. No, they don't think anyone likes getting beat up, but maybe they think you will do it to see Michelle again." Rose smiled seductively, and stood so close that he sensed the warmth of her breasts. "But when you come back," and she dropped her voice, "there is some thing of yours that I want to go over with you... (and then her voice dropped to a seductive whisper) and over and over again." To the snoopy colleague on the other side of the cubicle, the audible message was ambiguous. The bookkeeper's message was rather clearer to Dean, as she boldly punctuated the words by shaping her mouth for a kiss. To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 12 At the Summit - Part Twelve ------------------------------------------------- by Richard Williams Copyright 2005, All rights reserved ------------------------------------------------- Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. ------------------------------------------------- AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) ------------------------------------------------- Part 12 - "On The Way" LATE IN 1997 Sophia and I were on our way down in the long drop ride of an elevator from her attorney's office. We were making no stops, and so she took advantage of the temporary privacy to move closer to me and whisper a reminder of her eagerness to learn more of my friend Dean's story. The paperwork to create a foundation to back my research into the paranormal had taken some convoluted twists, and it had been quite a while since I had last talked with my lover and advisor about the ex-agent's experiences in Denver. Silently, I nodded my agreement with her. "Let's head over to the Wynkoop and try the seasonal," I suggested. "It's noisy enough there, that we can talk." We had not been to the brewpub in a while, and Sophia accepted readily. Since we went directly from the lawyer's office, we were there before the rush, and soon we were snug in a booth. I resumed the story after the beer appeared. ------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT Dean was on an airplane headed to Denver once again. This time, he told himself, the preparations had been made, and it was time for the big show-- the Summit Conference. He found himself wondering what all the preparations had been. Once again, Dean mentally divided up what he knew into 3x5 cards. Then, he divided up what he knew he did not know on additional mental cards. Once again, he would be meeting Michelle. They were both just to be back up for the professional security people, trolling around the edges of the event, looking for problems. Of course, the FBI guys had told his boss that if anything did turn up that way, that Dean could just let them know, and they would step in. In other words, Dean told himself, they were just tolerating him and his agency. Humor us, he thought, and keep us out of the picture. Grade crossing patrols could handle what he was doing. Michelle, too, was officially expected to work on a tangential security project supporting the Summit. The French government had lots of important security people there, and they were working with the important security people from the U.S. In turn, they were working with the important security people from Denver. On his mental index cards, Dean reviewed his resource people for this assignment. He would be working with the unimportant people: Val and Deborah at the B&B might be able to help; Tony, the young man who I had introduced Dean to and his girlfriend from the park, maybe. I was not available then. He could count on Michelle, but what if she was ordered elsewhere? He was heading into unknown problems, without much help. He knew that Michelle and he would be assigned to be in the same places as each other twice: on the First Ladies' trip into the Rockies on the Ski Train, and on the First Ladies' breakfast at the Oxford Hotel. This had sounded sooo social that certain other government agencies had turned up their noses at the assignments, booking junior staff if they had to, or passing it up altogether if they could get away with it. He also knew from an unlikely source that there might be more to these media events than it seemed. Rose, from Accounting, had tipped him to the fact that there was an extra car being added to the train that would be set up for a meeting. And during the First Ladies' breakfast, there was an extra meeting room booked upstairs in the Oxford. Rose knew that because she had been asked to clear these expenses. And she told Dean that because, well, perhaps because her clit was still tingling from the joy of capturing the retired agent's... attention. No, Dean corrected himself, Rose would not have done that. She had told him because she wanted him to know what was going on, she wanted him to watch what he got into. Uh oh, Dean mused, she cares about me. His wife, on the other hand, had dismissed him during his return home with little curiosity. She had other interests. He mentally flipped that card over. What about the Lepenistes? He had figured out that they were up to more than trying to stop Michelle from setting up a link with his agency against their penetration of her bureau. He knew pieces of their activities, and his chance encounter with the entranced Maria had opened his eyes to more of what they were doing out in California. None of that fit together, though. Too many cards lay face down on the imaginary table. Dean let his mind float away from the immediate problem. His seat mates were two bubbly young Asian women, students on their way to get established for university classes in Denver. They had barely noticed him, being caught up in their own conversation-- and giggles. They reminded him of an incident years ago, and as he was dead-ended with the mental files, he continued free-associating, finding that to be relaxing. What were their names? The names in his recollection, not the names of the two students beside him; he fished around for them. Atka. Atka! That was the name of the one with the bright imagination. She was the plainer of the two, physically, but he had quickly spotted her as the sharper of the pair of Mongolian students he had met in Moscow. He could not think of her friend's name, although he could visualize her cute smile and curvy figure.... and the rosy spread of the blush from her cheeks. Atka's friend was used to being the center of attention without much effort. ------------------------------------------------- MOSCOW IN THE EARLY 1980's They were in the library when he met them together. He had seen Atka's friend before, as she worked there, and had enjoyed chatting with her. It was clear that she was used to having men want to talk with her, she just expected that. She was studying foreign languages at the university, and he was easily able to rationalize that his bosses would approve of him getting acquainted with her. Of course, he knew that it was a rationalization, but, on the other hand, in his world, any contact might pay off in the future. That night, Atka had stopped by to chat. Her friend had introduced her to Dean. He had barely noticed her standing there at first, poised, but not obviously attractive the way that the woman behind the counter was. Then Dean noticed Atka's eyes. Intense, flashing almost, they drew his attention from where it had rested on her friend's shapely rear. "I didn't want to study, so I came down here!" she candidly answered when Dean asked whether she was working in the library also. It turned out that the two Mongolians were roommates, and that Atka did work in the library, too. This was not her shift, though, just a little break from her demanding Chemistry studies. He could feel that the pair were intrigued by him, and he found that they were amused by his struggles with Russian. Atka suggested that if he found Russian difficult, he should try Mongolian! Her spirit appealed to Dean, and as he would be back to the library many times in his current "diplomatic" assignment, it seemed like a real opportunity to expand his knowledge. "Who knows? - Chto znaet?" as the Russians would say, he told himself, he might be able to use a snatch of that language in some future work. He turned so that he would face the two women head on. "That seems like an opportunity for you two and for me, too. Your English is better than most Americans', but everyone could use some touch-ups. But I don't know how you could teach me much Mongolian. Do you have a suggestion?" He paced the plain, honest words with their breathing, thankful that his experience at the School for Sexual Expression allowed him to calmly watch their breasts rise and fall without getting an instant hard-on. In turn, they could feel comfortable with him, breathing subconsciously with him, relaxed even. Their faces flushed with warm excitement, although, of course, they were not thinking consciously of sex, but of education. Hopefully, according to Dean, their subconscious was taking their natural needs and enhancing his message. "Perhaps one of you has a good idea... something fun" he began slowly, and enjoyed the sudden, darting sideways glances as each checked to see what the other was up to. Of course, each saw that on the surface the other was drifting into a pleasing state of euphoria, and that was so reassuring to their thoughts. Dean saw them relax further. In their subconscious minds, though, ancient images took focus, rivalries, needs, awareness that this powerful, confident male would naturally have his choice of women, and beneath that understanding, the urge each had to validate her own femininity, to be chosen as the dominant female. Dean watched as the conversation floated forward, and felt for the undercurrents carrying them all along. Atka's tongue darted over her lips as she rose to the challenge with words, as her friend drifted helplessly, wordlessly-- used to having her beauty as her trump card. "Why don't we set up a regular meeting in our apartment? We'll both be there, so it will be permissible. We can teach you many things." "Yes! That's a wonderful idea." Her friend came alive to the idea, turning slightly and presenting her breasts to Dean in a way that brought the bright stripes of a thoroughly un-Communist bra to show against her ordinary student's white blouse. He felt a sense of relief that she had not done that before when he was inducing their interest, as it played hell with his concentration on developing the growing connection between them. And so, having suggested the process which would bring them together, Atka ripped a corner off of a library bulletin page and wrote out the information for Dean. Just like a Russian, she wrote it in script that was beautiful but hard for him to read. He had to ask her to print out the Cyrillic characters, and they were interrupted by a couple of other library users who came to ask questions. Still, it was pleasing to note that she did not lose interest or forget her task. The idea had become her own, just as thoughts of one-upping her had become her friends' own plan. He left the library with a light step and a rendezvous in his pocket. ------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE Dean stirred in his airplane seat, and found himself back in the present. The two Asian women were quietly working together on a crossword puzzle. The plane droned on, the sound of muffled conversations reaching him without communicating any sense. One of the students triumphantly pounced on the puzzle sheet, and then both of them laughed with relief at a solution. Their shared enthusiasm, especially the sight of them puzzling over the crosswords, led Dean back to his pleasant recollections. ------------------------------------------------- MOSCOW IN THE EARLY 1980's Dean's lesson began so innocently, but the undercurrents between the two Mongolian friends remained. Their apartment was small, and so every movement became a kind of dance with one another. Atka's friend had to sit on the bed, because there were only two chairs. Every so often, she stretched back, making some small comment about it being uncomfortable. Both Dean and Atka offered her their places, but she heroically said that she could get by. Stretching back, of course, showed off her figure in an artistic way. Dean caught a glimpse of Atka frowning at her roommate. When Dean's afternoon came for the first English lesson, he brought a special exercise. This would help him to determine what their needs were, he explained. It was a set of crossword puzzles that the two students could work together. He would just observe and see how they worked out the English conversation needed to complete their assignment. It was outstanding, Dean recollected, how the crossword puzzles had brought them together. He had not been sure how it would work out-- the printed cards were stamped on the back with the intricate holographic logo of the School for Social Expression. He had never used the cards before, just had heard a presentation on them in the school. Atka's friend had picked one up and looked at it idly, flipping it back and forth to see the pattern changes. Dean had been pleased to note that she had begun to lose her train of thought as she tried to make sense of the almost hypnotic intertwining. He wondered if she had taken in enough of the subtle messages in the design. The more task-oriented Atka just noted that the backs of the cards were decorative, and turned them all face up to work on them. Drawing her friend's attention back to the crosswords, Atka led her through the exercise. Their fluency together with English was remarkable, Dean told himself. He had not falsely complimented them the other evening at the library. His remaining concern about the effectiveness faded as the two linked word after word, concept after concept. Words like "lace" and "seduction" occasionally intertwined with seemingly ordinary fillers like "notice" and "connect." They chattered busily in English and Mongolian. "Daydream" crossed "desire" and "need" intersected with "myself." Their speech began to take on a dreamy quality as they absorbed the concepts through their interaction. Then "wanton" penetrated through the center of "now." Their conversation was stilled. Dean wanted to hold his breath, but instead he continued to pace the gentle movement of their chests. What was about to happen? Had they seen through it? Atka paused, and picked up the cards, looking at their face sides intently. He could see the wheels going in her head-- damn, he thought, she's figured it out! For a moment he had to grip the chair to keep from fleeing the room. And then she began arranging and rearranging the cards. "There is a pattern in these," Atka murmured to her friend. After a few moments of shuffling the cards, she began laying them down on the table. Suddenly the hidden beauty of the cards came clear to Dean, and undoubtedly it was clear to Atka as an artistic feature in her conscious mind, and as a guide in her subconscious. "Look, the words flow from one card to another to form a geometric pattern." Dean glanced and then quickly looked away. It was the pattern of the School for Sexual Expressions logo, representing itself as the hypnotic intertwining of the bland School for Social Expression cover name. Atka traced the patterns endlessly with her fingers, moving ever slower, until finally her hand hung motionless in the air. Her friend nodded as she watched, her eyes half-glazed over. Dean touched Atka's right hand gently, pushing it to rise toward her face. "Your eyes are closing because you are so sleepy," he suggested. When her hand touched her eye, she blinked and went out like a light. Her friend had reached a certain point, but seemed to go no further. Dean scrambled mentally, and realized that she was not understanding enough of the English words to follow the intertwining concepts. "You thought the back side of the cards was beautiful... now that Atka is asleep, you can look at them again.... she wanted to stop you, but now you can do it..." Dean intoned, and Atka's friend recalled her interrupted look at the card. Atka had kept her from doing what felt like real fun. Smiling faintly, and picking one up, she twitched it back and forth in the light, slowly and more slowly. "The more slowly you move, the better it gets..." Dean suggested, and her hands moved in smaller and smaller measures, until she stopped all together. "If you look more closely at the card, look at the center of the symbol, you will find that you can pause and look into the beautiful dreams that are coming now." He led her deeper into her trance, while noticing that this was a different effect than Atka's showed. The symbol's sexual suggestions were being deeply understood now, as the attractive young student's nipples rose beneath her sweater. He watched her face flush with excitement, and her eyes dilate. She seemed unaware of her body's preparations. A wave of warmth drew him toward her, but he steadied himself and went on. Calm in their trances, they answered the standard School survey questions about their sexual experience and preparedness. Reflecting their society, they had little of either. Both were virgins. The latter discovery gave Dean a start. He was not often asked to weigh the pros and cons of being a woman's first. The plus side of the situation is that he could talk with each of them about it in an honest manner. Atka's friend gave a high priority to being a virgin when she married, while Atka expressed herself ambivalently on the subject. As their allotted time was coming to an end, Dean had to close their trances, shortening the process for the next time with their own trance words. He left them with the thought that through the week each should think about how they would have sex with him, and think further as to how they felt about potentially losing their maiden status. ------------------------------------------------- LATE IN 1997 We were interrupted by the waiter. I felt Sophia's hand on my knee, caressing me. Her eyes sparkled, and I could see by the smile on her face that it was going to be worth letting the food get cold in order to bring this tale to a climax. ------------------------------------------------- MOSCOW IN THE EARLY 1980's When Dean returned for the next session, he climbed the creaking stairs in their poorly-maintained apartment building two or three at a time. He had put himself in the position of expecting something to happen, but not being sure what. He found that he was eager as a schoolboy. Their apartment was spic and span when he entered. Fresh flowers had been placed in a bowl on the kitchen/dining room table. Books were neatly aligned on the shelves. Atka and her friend were just as scrubbed, and each was dressed in a simple white robe. Their figures showed nicely as they moved in the material. "Atka did it..." giggled her friend when Dean asked who had been housekeeping. "She was a regular dust storm this past week." "No! SHE did it!" Atka pointed emphaticly at her roommate. "She was everywhere with the dust rag." Dean let them know how pleasing it was, whoever had done it, and started to say something else. He was interrupted. "Would you bring out the crossword puzzle cards for us?" Atka's friend asked for it coyly. "They are such a pleasure." "Nooo...., Dean, we have an idea!" Atka interrupted. The two young friends argued back and forth in Mongolian for a minute, then began giggling hopelessly from embarrassment, peeking at Dean. Of course, he could not understand what was so titillating. He could see that Atka was getting the upper hand in the discussion, and he could tell by the tone that it was the sequel to a conversation that had gone on before. Finally, the two turned to look at him. For a moment, Dean felt like he was the hunted rather than the hunter. "Hchoeur hchoochen adoo oonazh yavna." Atka said the words with a sensuous smile that looked much more mature than he had seen from her before. Her friend grinned as she nodded agreement. "Hchoeur..." was what it sounded like. Of course, the Mongolian words, written in the Cyrillic alphabet, were a bit difficult for Dean to note down later. At the time, he was rather preoccupied, as the two advanced toward him, dark eyes flashing. At the Summit Ch. 12 Graciously, but with nimble fingers, they began to remove his clothing. Atka stood close to him and almost whispered... the thin walls in the apartment must have had ears. "Hchouer..." she rolled the phrase out again, more times, as if it was a mantra, enjoying the sound of the words. "The ancient custom," she murmured to him, as her friend undid his belt buckle. "What ancient custom?" Dean was genuinely perplexed. It was clear that the week-long obsession that he had suggested as to how they would best have sex with him had worked, but for what? ------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT Leaning back in the airplane seat now, he remember how mystified he had been. His Asian seatmates had closed their eyes for a nap now, and as he studied their relaxed faces, his thoughts returned to his long ago Moscow experiences. The plane's engines droned. ------------------------------------------------- MOSCOW IN THE EARLY 1980's "The ancient custom," Atka continued, "of the story of two maidens on a stallion." Her friend sighed approvingly and caressed his swelling manhood as she unzipped him. "I don't know the story..." he gasped, vaguely remembering only the informal title. Perhaps it had been in a Playboy vignette, or had it been in the too-hasty World Sex unit at the Marin county School for Sexual Expression? No matter how innovative a school is, there always seemed to be something short-changed, the interesting stuff that they rush you through. Atka whispered an outline of it to him, as her friend tenderly slid his pants down. "Two maidens loved the same man, but they could not marry him because of family commitments. Their parents wanted them to marry other men. Of course, they had to be virgins for their wedding nights, or else great criticism would come on their parents, who they dearly loved." Dean loved the sound of her accented, slightly archaic English. He nodded to her to go on, as her friend kissed her way up his legs, caressing them as she went upwards. Atka adoringly slipped his shirt from his shoulders, doing it slowly as she spoke. "They realized that they would never trust each other or him to go to a tryst. It would be too tempting to meet as a couple, and be swept away by lust or passion, whichever it might have been. But if the two women went with him together, they could enjoy a special night with him and do nice things [her vocabulary failed her] with him. Pleasing him things. "That night, they took horses out to run little races with; he rode a handsome white stallion. They ran the races farther and farther from their homes, until finally they ran off over the horizon. Their families were distressed, sending their brothers out to look for them. But they were in a secluded spot that their boyfriend, uh, their lover, had found. "Tenderly, lovingly, they undressed him, and enjoyed the touch of skin to skin. Gentle caresses, and then their nipples grazing on his bare chest. Sweet kisses, and then their lips taking turns around his hard staff. Eagerly, they took turns riding him, clutching his man thing to themselves, but being careful not to lose their precious maidenheads as they stimulated themselves to electric excitement. At last, satiated, they stroked him to a desperate climax, and watched his fountain flow between them as they knelt on each side. This went on for some time. In the late night, when he no longer could rise to their touch, they slept on each side of him, enjoying his warmth, and in the morning, came home, saying that they had gotten lost. Their boy friend, they said, was tired because he had climbed a mountain for them to look for the way home. "'Hchoeur hchoochen adoo oonazh yavna.' It's really a very simple solution." Atka looked pleased at completing the explanation in English, and celebrated by removing her blouse. Her friend knelt at Dean's feet, kissing and teasing up the inside of his thighs. "We'll still be virgins when we are finished, yes?" Her question was an order. Dean nodded agreement. He noticed that Atka let her friend think that she was agreeing, but had actually said nothing concrete. Atka paused for a moment with her hands on her bra clip. A pensive look crossed her visage. Was it shyness or was she crossing a divide in her mind? "Mine are not very large." She looked down at her friend, who had wriggled out of her sweater and was unbuttoning her crisp, white student's uniform blouse. Her friends' bosom cantilevered out from between the receding cotton blouse, suspended in a sturdy, old-fashioned looking bra. Dean smiled gently, and touched Atka's bra, outlining her curves. It was easy to take a reassuring tone, because what he told her was true-- that he was not concerned about it (the advantage, he realized, of experience), and that as she let herself enjoy what was happening now, beginning with his touch, she would think less and less about her concerns... and more and more about the beauty that she was becoming a part of.... and that as she thought about it in these relaxed surroundings, she might be surprised to feel that her breasts were growing in size. Atka did look surprised as she realized the truth in what he said, and looked down to see why her bra now felt so snug, almost uncomfortably so, now that she thought about it. There must have been magic in Dean's fingers-- she recalled another folk tale that she would tell him later. Now she relieved the stress by flinging off her bra, and advanced on him proudly, her nipples showing her readiness. "Stretch out on the bed," she motioned, and Dean did as he was told. Atka and her friend knelt over him to pull of his pants, taking his underpants with them in one grab. His freed penis rose triumphantly, and the two young woman tittered with amusement, their high voices fading into mellower tones that came from deep within. They raced each other to remove their last coverings, leaving their socks on against the chilly floor. The dark uniform socks looked amazingly complementary to their dark triangles. Distracting though their proud charms were, Dean was alert enough to realize that the post-hypnotic suggestion to think about having sex with him had definitely dominated their week. They were hot and eager to nuzzle against him, grazing every part of their soft bodies skin to skin across his firm muscles, enjoying their discoveries. Their excitement left moist trails as they criss-crossed over him; they paused for kisses, and went on for caresses. His own flow of softening fluid strung across them, forming a kind of web surrounding the trio. Dean was also alert enough to notice that Atka was subtly orchestrating their movements, as though she had thought out the whole thing. Of course, being the brighter of the two, she would have been more deeply affected by the suggestions-- suggestions which had mainly served to open their imaginations to sensual possibilities. She was at once lost in enjoyment, and yet following some sort of plan. Gently, unobtrusively, and reflecting her mild image, Atka yielded to her friend's move to slide a knee over Dean's chest and bend over him, straddling to hold her steamy sex against him. Her friend slid back and forth, teasing Dean with her breasts, letting him suck on her nipples, coaxing him to greater efforts. And then Atka's plan lit up in Dean's mind like an overloaded reactor-- Atka slid over him in the "two maidens on a stallion" position, too, her arms around her friend as if she were the passenger on a motorcycle. Gliding her hands to the sides of her friend's breasts, she kneaded them sensuously, seductively. Combined with Dean's kisses and her friend's own motions, the curves of her friend swelled and heaved with each heartbeat-- no doubt further excited by having "won out" for the favored position on the stallion-- a position that she knew that she had deserved all along. Atka's own seeming subordination just added to the thrill of victory. Dean would have held his breath if he could have, for what happened next. Guided by Atka's hands, her friend leaned far forward, practically smothering him with the luscious softness at his lips. And as she leaned forward, Atka moved forward, too, rising slightly, grazing along Dean's rigid manhood. Now he knew that he was right as to what was happening. As she reached his tip, it only took a gentle flip with one hand, and she was coming down on his hardness. Without conscious thought, his experienced muscles flexed, and a thick stream of his fluid mingled with hers. Dean swam steadily through her tight vagina, opening her to the world of pleasure at her own pace as she closed around him. Atka's face showed her wanton hunger for him, but also some uncertainty-- she truly was a virgin till this moment. Dean felt his reflexes taking control, as he set the pace for their gyrations, lifting both women upwards with his strength. Atka's anxiety faded as she realized that he was enjoying being in her, that everything was going the way that she had wanted it. Their buxom companion stroked herself wildly now, driven on by Dean's lips on her breasts, cooing and crying out for more. Behind her, Atka silently, smoothly, rode the waves that she shared with Dean, higher and higher. The smile on her face broadened, and then broke into ecstasy as their mutual wave crested and Dean pumped himself deep into her. Afterward, they lolled about on the bed. Dean helped them find their undergarments-- they suddenly felt schoolgirl shyness. Atka's friend chattered on about all the wonderful sensations, and once having donned the littlest bit of clothing, admitted to her curiosity about Dean's lazily moving penis. He showed her how it would come back to life with just the right kisses from her. She squealed with delight as he hardened at the touch of her coaxing fingers and lips. Atka, having discreetly cleaned herself while her friend played with Dean, looked on silently, daydreaming. Once her panties were on, she had sat with her legs crossed, leaning back on the pillows, holding Dean still deep within her mind. "Wouldn't it feel good to have this inside of you? That would wake you up, sleepyhead!" Atka's friend teased her. Atka feigned a blush. "I had always wanted my first time to be beautiful," she said quietly. "And it will be, Atka!" Her friend misunderstood her as talking about the future, rather than the very recent past. She continued. "There are some things about English verbs that I do not understand," Atka's friend said. "You should say that you 'have always wanted' your first time to be beautiful. Mine will be." Atka smiled and quietly agreed. "Yes, I should have said 'my first time will be beautiful.' That would be the right thing to say, wouldn't it, Dean?" She licked her lips slightly, and crossed her legs more closely together. "And, when it has happened, I will always keep the moment in my memories." ------------------------------------------------- Dean recalled how their lessons had come to include not only languages, but also many other enjoyable ways of pleasuring each other without 'having sex.' Atka never said a word more about what had happened, not even when her friend had sighed and said that sometimes, just sometimes, she thought about going all the way with Dean. Atka had just smiled seraphically and crossed her legs gracefully, as if she was recalling how Dean felt in her. ------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT One of the two students next to him stirred and glanced over at him. He felt his manhood stirring. He had eye contact-- he thought of his bag under the seat in front. The cards from the School for Social Expression were in there. He could just pull them out, just for old times sake.... and then he stopped himself. It was not going to be like old times, yet. Maybe never again. Suddenly he wanted to know where he stood with Michelle-- that was more important than proving himself for the zillionth time. "Boy, that's dumb!" Dean told himself. But as the seatbelt light came on for the Denver approach, he felt better than he had in a long time. ------------------------------------------------- LATE IN 1997 Sophia gulped down the last sips of the seasonal special. "Richard!" She stage-whispered. "We've got to get back to the Oxford!" In a lower tone, she said that she wondered if I could guess what was happening in her French-cut panties. The question in itself was enough to speed me up. We slapped down too big a tip, in order to pay cash, and hurried back to our hotel room home. ------------------------------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 13 by Richard Williams Copyright 2005, All rights reserved -------------------------------- Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission. -------------------------------- AT THE SUMMIT by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) -------------------------------- Part 13 - "Deadly Turn" LATE IN 1997 The seasonal special had worn off, but Sophia and I still glowed from the warm discovery that she had encouraged me to find in her cute, new French-cut panties. The noise from the street scene in Lower Downtown's main intersection had faded away. Lazily, we traced each other's curves and found our hard and soft places. It was a beautiful moment, but I was wrestling with a dilemma. Somehow, this moment was more poignant than Sophia yet knew because the next part of Dean's story was linked to this feeling of completeness that we were sharing. It would make us cry all the more. Should I wait till cold and sober morning? It would be easier to put it off. Finally, I asked Sophia. Of course, it was hard to frame the question, as I was sure that she could not imagine the answer. But, yes, I should go ahead and tell her the most difficult part of the story, the part that would be most difficult to share. And so, as we held tight to each other in the hotel room bed, I continued the account of Dean's return to Denver. -------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE Dean stepped from the cab that had brought him up from the skyRide bus station. He stood outside the gate of the Bed & Breakfast for a moment, taking in the subtle sounds of a neighborhood readying itself for supper. Traffic noise from the Interstate down the hill rumbled beneath the more distinct sounds of cars arriving home, a bus on Tejon Street stopping and then pulling away, squirrels chattering at a dog. That the old dog was on a leash and oblivious to them went unnoticed, as they did their squirrelly duty. Dean identified with the dog. I would not say that Dean relaxed in this setting, as he had been on the edge of trouble most of the time during his previous visit to Denver, but everything seemed to be in its place. Through an open door, a radio carried news about the final preparations underway for the Summit Conference. The only piece of the picture that did not fit was a red Geo misaligned against the curb, its windows rolled down. The right front wheel had scraped against the old pink sandstone curb. The sound of a guest arriving had not brought out either of the proprietresses. Dean pushed the gate open and stepped into the yard. No response to the clink of the gate. Garden tools lay by an abandoned kneeling pad. If you or I had been watching, we would have seen his intense eyes scanning the place, showing a mixture of curiosity and concern. He saw that the tools had been tossed down carelessly, tines on a rake facing hazardously upward. A water bottle, ever present in Denver's arid climate, lay on its side. Warily, Dean climbed the worn, sandstone steps of the Victorian house. The door was open; no one came to greet him as he entered the hall, but now he was moving as quietly as possible. He set his bag down and flinched at the click of its brad feet on the hardwood floor. Dean's imagination was under control-- there were a lot of reasonable explanations for what he had just seen. Still, he was not prepared for what he found in the parlor. Val and Deborah were there, and so was Cheryl, the young woman who had so convincingly played the part of lover with Tony during Dean's walk in the park with Laetitia. His two friends looked up at him, but said nothing. Cheryl did not notice him, as she leaned her head on Val's shoulder. Tears were streaming from her dark eyes, and her long black hair cascaded over Val's white blouse. As the two women looked at him, Dean saw that they, too, had been crying, but their expressions now were more of anger than of sadness. "What happened?" he blurted out. There did not seem to be a good way to start a conversation. "Tony is dead... murdered." Deborah spat the words out, as if they had a bitter taste. Dean dropped into a chair, his head spinning with the new possibilities that came with this news. It was a drive-by, they told him. No one had a description-- the shooter's Jeep Cherokee had the usual tinted windows and barely visible temporary paper license-- as with hundreds of other unidentifiable vehicles shielded by Colorado's chronically underfunded registration offices. The police, of course, thought it was gang-related, though they could not say how. Not that they thought Tony was in a gang, they had reassured his mother, it just could have been mistaken identity. But who were his friends? Who did he "hang" with. They had asked his brother questions like that, too, using gang-banger slang in a confiding, familiar way, perhaps to show that they understood and empathized. It rankled Tony's kid brother, who had mostly learned the words from watching the news on television. His friends in the Future Business Leaders of America club meetings at North High never used words like that, except as a joke. The officers left, puzzled when they learned that Tony was studying at Metro State to become a law enforcement officer. Cheryl had raced in tears to the only two other people in town who would understand her grief. Val and Deborah had immediately realized that the shooting might have related to the escalating affair with the Lepenistes. They were genuinely concerned for Cheryl, but they also wanted to keep her away from the police till she had calmed down. Val had a contact in police headquarters-- he was in the Traffic division, but could help her. She wanted a quiet interview for Cheryl with someone who would take the information about Tony's recent activities seriously-- and keep it quiet until whatever storm that was darkening their lives blew on. Dean heard their softly spoken words, and his respect for the women went up another notch. Finally, Cheryl cried herself to sleep, and Val eased her out onto the couch pillows. -------------------------------- LATE IN 1997 Now, in the Oxford, Sophia was in tears, too. She stopped me in mid-sentence, and molded her generous curves against me in a long and hard embrace. Her vagina lips tenderly closed around my exhausted penis, as if holding onto the life that it held for her. I wondered if I should have waited till morning. I paused. "Go on," she whispered with sad urgency. We pulled apart enough to breath, but held me at the waist so that she could keep me between her legs. And so I continued, in caresses that under other circumstances would have brought us to a boiling explosion, but now deepened our intimacy in a tender way that I cannot explain. -------------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE In the kitchen, Deborah was making tea. Dean caught up with her there-- held her hand for a moment. The contact seemed to let something loose-- she whirled and then embraced him for a moment. Then, as abruptly, she turned back to the kitchen utensils, angrily slamming down the teapot so that Dean expected it to break. They sat till late that night, forgetting to turn on the lights. They talked about Tony, who they had known since the day they had moved in to the ramshackle fixer-upper. He had come to their gate and asked if they needed to hire someone to mow the yard. He had seemed to young to cope with the overgrown mess at the formerly abandoned mansion-come boarding house-come rest home-come B&B, but he charged into it with the energy that he had later shown at Metro State. They wanted to blame themselves, Deborah said, for his fatal involvement in whatever was going on, but there was no one to blame except whoever had done the shooting. Tony had come to my attention when I was looking for help in investigating the Voodoo Candle swindle. He helped me gain entry to a number of Mexican-American homes where trusting old ladies had been fleeced by a fake medium. "It was like the 'X-Files'," he had said. Except that we had been served iced tea, and lard-laden cookies by the kind ladies. They had loved Tony, and been impressed by me sitting down with them-- Señor Professor! The only personal safety hazard for us was the resulting cholesterol build-up. I had seen that young Tony had the good policeman's knack for relating to people, while not losing sight of the overall goal. So Dean had learned about him from me, and then discovered more about Tony from his old friends Val and Deborah. Just as Dean and I had reasoned, Tony wanted to be a part of this. The more that he saw and understood, the more that his horizon expanded from neighborhood police issues to the international scale that Dean opened to him. Still, Dean and I, Val and Deborah, had all thought of the sexual/political struggle only as a "war" in metaphoric terms. Now, Tony, most blithe and ardent of us all, was a presumed casualty in that war. As the women spoke with Dean, their conversation drifted over every aspect of Tony. Dean did not need their words to tell him that both had been intimate with the virile young man. Deborah had repeatedly smoothed her gardening smock as she spoke of him. Val's hands, usually so strong and purpose-driven, caressed each other lazily as she spoke, as she recalled times when she had coaxed Tony to slow down and enjoy. Memories spilled out, and Dean learned that after the first time ("It was an accident...") when Deborah had just accidentally brushed against the young man while helping him change a light bulb, they had always flipped a coin before he came to them. They both knew then who he was to end up with, but he had to guess. The three would have dinner together, and the women enjoyed the split attention as he tried to guess which teacher would guide the extension of his education that night. It drove him crazy, and they loved it. He called himself the Vanilla in between the Strawberry and the Chocolate... those became his pet names for blonde Deborah and ebony Val. It quickly became their custom that the coin toss winner brought him a bowl of Neapolitan, while the other cleared away the dishes and disappeared for the night. They laughed when they recalled the week that Val had used a trick quarter to win every toss for four visits in a row. Deborah recalled how frustrated she had become-- ostensibly at Val's inability to get much work done that week. Val's floating around the house, humming to herself, THAT had irked her. Now, Deborah confessed with a sad smile, it was the thought of being denied her share of Tony's youthful energy that was so vexing. She had to admit that even now, she could not think of him as cold on a slab at the medical examiner's office. In her mind, he was still brimming with life, listening attentively, his manhood curving beautifully erect, while on behalf of all women who love, she taught him how to pleasure her. Tony, as it turned out, subscribed to a certain moral code. The night that Dean and Laetitia had seen him striding away from the B&B had been the night when he explained his new love for Cheryl to the strawberry/chocolate pair. He had asked Cheryl, a drama student at Metro, to play the part of his girlfriend on an earlier sting operation on stores selling liquor to minors. Somehow, things had turned real, the women explained now to Dean. The cuddling and petting that he and Laetitia had seen was the genuine article. Tony had come to the B&B that night as soon as he could, to share the news with his female mentors. Dean understood what had happened-- it had happened between Michelle and him ages ago in Hamburg. It had been a sad and sensual moment, with everyone trying to keep a stiff upper lip. When the hugging started, it lasted longer and longer than anyone had meant it to. For the first and last time, the proprietresses found themselves sharing Tony together. "We never expected that," Deborah emphasized. "But we were both so perfectly tuned to him," Val interjected. "You know how it is when you're with someone good-- someone maybe you're a bit edgy with at first... maybe he has trouble even finding it, and then, each time, he's more confident and you're less apprehensive and more ready... and now it's not a pearl... it's a walnut and you want him pressing against you so bad....!" Val stopped herself. "I guess you wouldn't know exactly what I mean." She was silent. Deborah smiled at her. She had been following each word. She had finally hung up the garden smock and her nipples were hard outlined in her blouse. "Not exactly, Val," Dean observed, "but it feels good from my side, too-- that feeling that a man's touch is more and more welcome -- desired -- needed -- essential." Then Deborah described how Tony had earnestly told them that he would look after finding them someone else for maintenance work around the B&B. Val cracked a smile. In a flash, Deborah was chuckling softly. While each of them had been responsibly ready to let go of steamy times in the hot tub with Tony, he had been worrying about who would do things like climbing the porch roof to clear it of leaves in the Autumn. Val began to recollect about how great Tony looked as he climbed ladders in his usual jeans and t-shirt. Deborah said nothing for a minute, looking, it seemed, at a sealed jar of homemade strawberry jam on the counter. "Remember the time when Tony helped us pick these strawberries?" A broad grin crossed her face and her tongue darted to the corner of her lips. "And helped us eat them!" Val chimed in. They began to remember candid things about Tony that made Dean feel warmer and warmer-- and a bit out of place. Finally, he excused himself and headed back toward the main stairway, thinking he would head to bed and think this out in the morning. Already, their hurt was being scabbed over by the protective gold coating of memories. Cheryl was sitting up now. She looked at Dean with blank eyes. Her dark hair hung in tired clumps. He walked towards her, trying to think of something to say. She stood silently for a moment. Suddenly she rushed toward him, her long nails slashing wildly in the air as she advanced. She cried out curses in Spanish, bringing Val and Deborah rushing from the kitchen. Looking into the parlor, they saw Dean standing his ground, but fending off the distraught young woman's grief-weakened attack. They saw her collapse against him-- sobs convulsing her body. She leaned on the middle-aged agent for support. She, too, it seems, wanted to blame someone, but could not. Val led the way to the same room where Dean and Laetitia had spent their unique night together. She helped Dean lay Cheryl out on the canopied bed. It was like adjusting a rag doll. Dean spoke in whispers to Cheryl, caressing her brow rhythmically. She drifted off, breathing heavily. Occasionally, even in half-sleep, her bosom jerked as a wave of sobs swept over her. "I just talked about Tony, suggested that it was okay to dream of him as she remembered him-- in the most beautiful times. And I told her that since Tony had never done anything half-way in his life, that I was sure that he was welcome with God where he is now." Dean paused. They looked down at the Hispanic angel stretched out on top of the sheets and saw the tension lines fading from her face. "And I told her that we needn't pray for Tony, that we needed to pray for those of us who were still here." They saw that her lips were parted, and moved a tiny bit, as if she was speaking, but Val and Dean could make out no words. Instead, they found themselves embracing, then quietly walking out of the room. "You probably have to make some phone calls," Val sighed-- a resigned tone in her voice. "What else do you need to know?" Dean took some notes as they spoke, and then headed to the common phone in the upstairs hallway. Then he stopped. "Have you had the phone checked for bugs?" Enough was going on that Dean was beginning to have second thoughts about everything. "We hadn't thought of it," Val replied. "But a woman from your agency came here two days ago and checked it." "That's interesting. After the last round of budget cuts, my agency doesn't have anyone who does that. That's when I had my cellphone cut off, too. We farm out our security checks to contractors. Remember anything about her?" Dean scowled. "Not much. She's kind of a farmgirl build, stocky... I think that she said she used to work as a police officer before she got into security work." "Do you remember where? Did she say where she worked?" "Yes, she was kind of spaced out, hard to follow, but I do remember it was someplace up in northern California, someplace with a Scottish name, I kind of think." Dean recalled the overheard conversation reported to him by Cheryl. The Svengali-like Lepeniste agent Bernard and his woman confederate ("Regina? Linda?" Dean mused.) had discussed a potential recruit that she was "developing." Whether this development was as a lover or as an agent of some kind -- or both -- was not clear. "There's a payphone at the Panaderia down the street, isn't there?" Dean tilted his head obliquely at the now-suspect phone in a manner that communicated danger. Val's eyes grew large as she understood Dean's pantomime. "Yes." Val confirmed. "You'd better make those calls." She watched passively as the weary agent and friend stuffed his notes into his pocket and headed out into the dark Denver night. -------------------------------- LATE IN 1997 Tears had begun to appear around my lover and patron Sophia's eyes, and now they crawled down her face. We had moved to the overstuffed antique chairs in her suite at the Oxford as I completed the account of Dean's first night back in the Mile High City. The day's light was gone. "So that's why I didn't see Tony again." Sophia had only met him once, but had been charmed by his lively eyes and intelligent conversation. It was easy for a woman to enjoy imagining him as her lover, if only for a moment. Wordlessly, as if on cue, we rose to embrace each other. We held each other for what seemed to go on and on, so close that we had to breathe together. Then we returned to our bed in slow motion, pausing to hold each other again and again. As Sophia's chest pressed against mine, I could feel her heartbeat. For a long time in bed, we just held each other, appreciating the life that was in our arms. Then, we found ourselves exchanging whispers, as if our own feelings would be too fragile for full voices. Sophia felt the pain of the three women, each now faced with memories of Tony's life with them. "Imagine them waking up and feeling him there," she finally murmured, and as she said that, Sophia took my hand and moved it over herself, from her heart to her vagina. I held it over her moist curls for a long time, feeling her heat penetrating my hand. Finally, I let my fingers gently spread her lips and touched her complete, swollen readiness. That triggered something in both of us. What had begun so slowly rolled on like an avalanche gathering momentum. Sophia swung her broad hips over me as we savored the life in each other. Tonight, the offering of her full breasts to my lips was more meaningful than ever, and I kissed them adoringly. Holding my erect staff against her clitoris, squeezing my softening fluid in a silver coating over her tenderest places, she glided in our mingling fluids back and forth, again and again. I looked up at her luminous face and I had to come. At the Summit Ch. 13 "Yes, Richard....!" my lover gasped. She tried to watch through tightly squinting eyes, opposing the orgasm that was now engulfing her, caught in the delicious irony that the more she saw, the stronger the force within her was becoming. Her electricity shot through me. As my semen jetted out across my stomach, she murmured a prayer or an exclamation and flashed to a black-out orgasm that seemed to envelope us. We lay perspiring in each other's arms, cuddled and fired off little aftershocks by touching each other's sensitive spots. As we cuddled, we talked more about Tony and the three women who he had loved. "What made you come like that?" I queried-- more scientifically than prudently. "Or should I have asked?" Sophia was silent for a long time. "No, it's okay. I know this'll sound silly, but I'd never seen cum shoot so far. I could barely watch it, so maybe it was my imagination, but all of a sudden I thought of Tony and Cheryl, thought of them happy together, ready to have a baby, and I could just picture him deep in her, so hard and masculine, and then at the command of their love, a surge of power and he's filling Cheryl with all those wonderful possibilities." And with that, she cried in my arms to sleep. My tears ran down onto her face. -------------------------------- To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 14 Part 14 - "Into the Shadows" LATE IN 1997 "It seems like everything in the Summit Conference preparations was coming together," observed Sophia. I agreed, unable to say more due to the toast with marmalade in my mouth. We were having breakfast in our room in the Oxford, Room Service now having become our practice. It was a luxury, but Sophia's business was benefiting from Denver's booming economy, and it felt so wonderful to be together after our tear-soaked lovemaking of the night before. "We have an hour or so before my first appointment, and its only a block away, so please... It seems like the more you tell me, the more I want to learn about these people. And we keep getting interrupted!" Sophia wriggled teasingly, remembering something especially delicious. --------------------------- BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE Morning for Dean and the women in the Bed & Breakfast did not dawn as tenderly as Sophia's and mine. Everyone had rings around their eyes as they went about the process of getting going. Ragged edges were frazzled further by the need to go down to the Panaderia for any sensitive phone call, as it seemed likely that the former policewoman had planted a bug. Perhaps the only things that kept them going were their individual desires to work this mystery through to the end, and deep memories of wonderful, young Tony. Now it was not just an intellectual exercise or a patriotic effort to intercept some unidentified foreign threat-- it was personal for each of them. Val came back from the Panaderia, grabbed a cup of the coffee that Deborah had brewed, and joined Dean and Deborah at the kitchen table. "I got a hold of my friend in Traffic," Val announced. "And we are going to be able to meet with a couple of his contacts in the Department at lunch... just a casual introduction. One of them is in Intelligence, the other is in Homicide, so we'll cover both sides of it. Just casually...." she added. Their story would sound too bizarre to unload on the unsuspecting officers in one sitting, the three partners surmised. "My office says they'll look in the files on stuff like this, but not much additional help. The Cold War is over, and the budget has been cut way back." Dean reported on his phone conversations with his Washington headquarters. Cheryl came down the stairs, her hair freshly washed and her face sparkling clean. She said nothing, but took a cup of coffee and joined them at the table. She stared into the cup as if it would answer some deep question for her-- but it did not. There was a long silence-- no one knew what to say. The innkeepers and Dean each would have blushed and confessed to being something of an expert on coping with bad news by their stage in life, but none of them knew what to say to this young woman. Dean, in particular, who had spoken with men about life and death issues, and who thought that he knew how to speak with women, suddenly felt terribly shallow. On some other occasion, he thought, they would have begun chatting about silly things, and found themselves linking deeper and deeper with each other, feeling themselves opening to each other, and then, as nature intended, being carried on waves of pent-up energy into bed. Now, he had to think of something to say to a woman who had reasonably formed the idea that she would be spending the rest of her life with a terrific man, and then had seen that certainty ripped crudely from her. "Would you like to help us nail Tony's killers?" The words came blurting out. Dean could not even say why he had said them-- in fact, they sounded like someone else was talking. "This usually just happens in movies, I know, and it's against my agency's rules, but I think there are some things that you can do." "Like what?" Cheryl raised an eyebrow. Her words sounded dull. "I'm not sure yet, other than coming with us to the police. You'll have to do that anyway, but Val has found a way that you can really get attention paid to what you have to say." What he told the young woman was as honest as could be. He was making things up as he went along. "You can tell the detective who we're going to introduce you to everything that you know, okay?" Dean was counting on Cheryl not knowing enough about the intricacies to say too much at this stage. Cheryl ran her hands through her dark hair, paused for a moment, and then nodded agreement. --------------------------- Lunch was at the Cherokee Bar and Grill, just south of Police Headquarters. Val, Dean and Cheryl were ushered through a cozy set of rooms decorated with sketches of habitués from journalism, broadcasting and local government-- the main industries of this end of town. They were led around a "closed" sign onto the patio, where three police officers were waiting. A woman about Dean's age was introduced as "Margaret" from Intelligence, and a man in his thirties, Dean did not catch the name, was introduced from Homicide. Val's friend from Traffic was their host, and he was the only one in uniform. It was, to a passer-by on the sidewalk, a collegial group, enjoying a break from the office. The sound of a fountain trickling, the noise of traffic over on Speer Blvd., the comings and goings in the restaurant, would not have covered their conversation, but neither would the spoken words have caught the attention of someone not listening for something in particular. Much of the conversation would have sounded typical of the things one talks about in such a setting: where they came from, what kind of work they did, places they knew in common, oh... and, by the way, a dangerous conspiracy, objectives unknown, goals being to place New-Age fascism on the world political stage. Glancing around, Dean noted that they had not lost these officers' interest, although it appeared that the Traffic officer and Val were communicating more as recent or former lovers than as intrigue experts. Still, he observed, one could see respect in the officer's conversation, not just idle hands thinking of going back into the devil's playground. Val's approach to this problem had proven invaluable. Dean was relieved to see Cheryl relaxing in the company of the Homicide detective. He had hoped that this approach would make it easier for the troubled Hispana to dredge up every possible detail on the murder case. Big plates of Mexican food were scraped clean and pushed aside and Cheryl and the Homicide detective quietly excused themselves. Val and Dean both looked at each other with a feeling of relief, as rightly or wrongly, now at least the conventional police process was advancing, and Cheryl was able to do something practical for her dear Tony. And from Dean and Val's standpoint, there was an assurance that important aspects of the murder case would be mislaid or held back until after the Summit. As the four-way conversation deepened, Dean learned that the Traffic officer would be working on the Summit Conference motorcades, so each of them was involved in this event in one way or another. Without much back-up from his agency, Dean felt it necessary to be more candid with local police than might be expected from a Federal agent. Besides, his office had hinted in his series of phone calls in the past several days that they suspected that there were moles in both the CIA and the FBI. Those agencies were still covering the important stuff, and Dean, who had little experience with even this type of marginal security matter, found that big city police knew more about some issues than he did. As Dean and Val outlined most of what they knew, solid, calm Margaret had been dredging her own mind for anything relevant. "We have a surveillance video from the Drug Task Force that might fit some of what you've talked about," she interjected. The other three looked at her with curiosity. "It was on a camera that was set up after a tip that something suspicious was going on in the old Queen City Gear warehouse in LoDo. They decided that it wasn't drugs, but they didn't know what to make of it, so they passed it on to us." "Could we get a look at it?" queried Dean. "I have a 2:30 appointment, but if you can come over now, no problem." Dean and Val nodded agreement. They figured out how to divide up the check, and took the short walk to the cop shop. It took almost as long to get past the sign-in process and through the maze of offices. Margaret showed them into a small training room, offered them the option of "really bad coffee" and left for a moment to call the Traffic man's supervisor for permission to include him in the project. She returned with a videocassette in her hands, and confirmation that Val's friend could sit in-- officially because of his involvement with planning for the big events. "This camera was set up as close as we could get, which was on the Terminal Annex building. Postal Service security let us get in under cover of checking on building safety. Our Drug people were concerned about going in any closer at this stage-- the risks did not outweigh the advantages. They just had a tip from a carpenter who works on restoration projects in the old buildings down there. The Queen City warehouse was as yet untouched by development, but he had worked all around it. He had noticed people coming and going at odd hours, and riding the freight elevator to the top floor, an area that should have been storage, according to the fire marshal's records. Of course, near so many nightlife spots, he thought of drugs." Margaret punched the tape into the machine and it started playing... showing a fisheye picture of the whole building from one side, with nothing happening. She dug around for the remote, and clicked it to speed up the tape. Date and time counter numbers flashed by. The sun's shadows lengthened and then faded into black and grey, replaced by artificial shadows of street lamps. "Our people saw what was on the tape, it wasn't anyone they knew, and it just looked weird to them," the intelligence officer continued. The Traffic man laughed: "Of course, if it's weird, we give that stuff to you people!" Margaret smiled and hit the button to bring the picture to a normal speed. It was an eerie stop action effect, because it only "took" a new frame every so many seconds. A shadowy young woman appeared in the frame, walking into the entrance of the building. There was a pause, and then lights in the doorway came on. The young woman turned back to look at the street, as if afraid of being followed, or, as Val suggested later, looking back because something was telling her that if she entered, her life would not be the same thereafter. "It's Maria?!" Dean sputtered out the name. "You know her?" Margaret asked. "In a way." She was heavier than he remembered her, but she had a figure that might have lent itself to that, if she was not taking care of herself. Dean squinted at the vague pictures, but felt certain that he was seeing the soft-eyed young Greek-American woman who he thought he had rescued from the rogue French intelligence group that seemed to be circling toward some sort of objective around Denver's Summit Conference. He outlined a bit about her to the group, holding for himself the velvet feel of her curves pressed hard against him in the sleeping car compartment. He held back the moment when she had taken her robe off, stood boldly in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes smoldering, wearing the red bikini panties she had put on that morning before breakfast, her hands in fists on her hips, reveling in the way that the slight thrust of her pelvis made her mons stand out in the clinging cotton -- "Fuck me, Dean... once more, just one more time..." "Dean? One more time! You recognize her?" Val persisted in bringing his attention back to the present. This time he was a bit more candid, but also explained how she was supposed to be seeing an expert who would help clear out the programming that had made her the willing toy of "Bernard" - the San Francisco-based Frenchman who was linked to the activities now confronting Dean. Obviously, the influences on her were much greater than he had supposed. They turned back to the screen, and Margaret clicked the remote to advance the frames again. The camera showed glimpses of the Maria-figure entering the old warehouse and riding up in the slow-moving freight elevator. Its slowness allowed the stop action camera to pick up flashes of her ride to the top. A light blinked on in the hallway and a door opened. Two figures emerged in the murky surveillance camera image. First toward Maria was a woman with a farm girl build, stocky... "That's the woman who came to check our phones for bugs!" Val blurted out. "I'd swear it!" "Linda M." murmured Dean. "The policewoman from the small Northern California town..." and he explained what he had learned from Maria, that it seemed that "Linda", too, was being prepared hypnotically or otherwise for service to the radical Lepenistes. The second figure came into view, moving in what Dean took to be a deliberate manner, although the method of videotaping made it hard to be sure about that. He wondered if it might be the elusive Bernard, or perhaps someone else. Dean felt that he had the answer as he saw Maria's reaction to meeting the shadowy male figure. Their eyes connected in a single frame, and then the next showed her standing submissively before him, her head bowed down. The next frames showed Linda kissing her on the cheek, and then leading her into the room. And then the light went out. "Whew!" was all that anyone could think of to say after viewing this, with Dean and Val's additional information applied to what they were seeing. "What was going on there?" asked the Traffic officer. Margaret nodded her interest in the answer to that, too. Dean explained as much as he could. "I'd say that Bernard is assembling some kind of team, whether they are willing to help him or not. It's got to have something to do with the Summit Conference, although I think that he was getting Maria tuned up as a future sex slave gift for someone named Bruno back in France." He paused, and then pounded the table with the flat of hand. "Damn!" Dean muttered. "I thought that we had Maria off his hook." Turning to the officers, he asked if he could use the phone in the conference room. "It's getting late in Washington, but I might still be able to catch someone in my office who knows why Maria is out and under Bernard's thumb again. And maybe they can help us some other way, too." Margaret passed the phone over to him. The phone on the other end rang and rang. Dean looked at his watch - it was now after 5 p.m. back in Washington. The office could be empty. Then a familiar voice came on the line. "Rose here..." "Rose?! What are you doing there? I thought that Accounting always got out of the office by 4:30!" Dean was caught off-guard. The briefest sound of her voice brought back the image of her late-30's, slim, slightly athletic figure, pressed hotly against his in the deep storage file area. "I'm temporarily not in Accounting." "What do you mean?" "We have a hiring freeze on since you left town, and the Chief asked me to work in Operations for a while. I have to have the security clearance for doing accounting anyway, and they can't hire someone else for this job till the freeze ends. Did you know that I still wake up horny thinking about you?" "Uh, Rose, I'm in a conference with some people here in Denver. I need to know something that you may be able to tell me. Are we still paying Doctor Marcus for helping break that hypnotic hold on the young woman, Maria?" "You mean the one you fucked on the train? I read the report, including between the lines. Maria you did it with, I mean, not Doctor Marcus." Rose said this in such a delightful way, not mean-spirited at all, that Dean almost dropped the telephone handset laughing. "I'm just glad I'm not on a speakerphone." "Oh, darn, I thought you were." "Thank you, Rose. I'll call tomorrow morning and get the answer from you, okay?" "I can probably tell you right now. Accounting knows everything. When the budget cut came through, we had to slow down the payments to Doctor Marcus. I think he got ticked off at us, and finally he told us that he would have to drop the treatment sessions. Maybe he did?" Rose paused. "I can have the official scoop tomorrow morning if you want it." "Just a moment...." Dean asked Margaret if they could meet in the same room the next morning for a briefing. Everyone tossed out times from their calendars, and came up with a compromise. "Sorry, Dean," Rose responded. "The Chief isn't available at that time. He's got to see a congresswoman." "Could you give us a rundown on all of this? What we have in the files?" "What we had in the files???" Rose teased, dropping her voice to a reminder of the way she had murmured to Dean during their subterranean tryst. Dean gnashed his teeth in mock annoyance. "Just give us a rundown on what new information is relevant. And next time, you WILL be on the speakerphone with these police officers, Val, and myself." "Ok. I'll be waiting." Rose sighed in a Victorian effect. "Go home and get some sleep, Rose. Bye." Dean hung up. --------------------------- On the way home to the Bed & Breakfast from Police Headquarters, the three rode in silence. Cheryl was exhausted from her interview with Homicide, but Dean sensed a new calmness in her. Telling her part of the story must have helped. --------------------------- Deborah was waiting for them, a videocassette in her hand. "You'll never guess who sent this tape over." "Who?" "Michelle. Your... amie." "How do you know?" "I wondered that myself, but she called and I recognized her voice from a long time ago. I tipped her off that the phone line was bugged, but she didn't have to actually tell me anything much, just to enjoy watching this tape." Dean thought of all the awful things that an unsolicited tape could mean, but there did not seem to be anything wrong with it. It was labeled in French, with a date from the previous Spring. "Did she say where she is?" Dean did not know when she was coming back into town. "No, but she stuck this pager number with the tape." "Is anyone hungry?" asked Val. "Let's get something to eat and then we can watch this tape." It dawned on Dean that he had been burning calories like crazy. "There's not enough left in the kitchen to serve four," Deborah reported. "Does 'Pagliacci' sound good? The restaurant by that name, I mean." --------------------------- After dinner, drowsy with heavy Italian food - nothing nova about those dishes - the four of them made it back to the living room of the B&B. Despite the temptation to close his eyes, Dean made it across the room to the vcr and popped the tape in. The machine clunked and whirred, interrupted a news story about Summit preparations, and then filled the screen with blue. There was a long pause, and then a theme fanfare that included bars from 'La Marsellaise' that blended into a more modern synthesizer sound as a tricolor flag appeared. Evidently, this was a pre-recorded opening sequence, because the picture lurched suddenly into a single camera shot frozen on an unoccupied lectern. A man whose face was now familiar to Dean and Val strode to the lectern, shuffled some papers, and looked intently into the camera. "It's that Bernard!" whispered Val. Dean nodded. As the hard voice of Bernard ironed out all flourishes of the French tongue into a dangerous sounding rasp, Dean translated as best he could. "Fellow men of the Force Droit.... fellow MEN....." Dean began. Bernard had doubled back on his first sentence to make sure that his non-correct use of words was noticed. At the Summit Ch. 14 "I really like him already," Deborah said ironically. "This message is to be distributed to all of the right-thinking men who love France and respect her women as mothers, sisters, or..." and Bernard smiled "... as lovers." "We cannot, of course, trust our so-called female colleagues with this information. That is why you received...." Dean stumbled on the technical term "... special information regarding the security for this tape." Bernard paused. "What you are about to see will help you to participate in the important event of our time... the most important event of our time," Dean corrected himself. "We will need information from our bureaus in all parts of the world for this project. The leaders of women's political movements and government officials working on women's matters will be in Denver, Colorado for the G-7 Summit. While the press covers the world leaders and their shallow, posturing discussions, these women are to be meeting to strengthen their hold on society. As you know, many of the positions in our own Force Droit are now taken by women, and there are "men" who go along with that." He sounded as though he was going to spit when he mentioned "men" who went along with this incursion into the male world of intelligence work. "In order to prepare for our operations in Denver, your cooperation is a ... necessity. We need information on the background of the women who will be representing their governmental and non-governmental.... organizations in... the Denver conferences. They will be listed as supporting the so-called "First Ladies" activities. With your information, we will be able to contact them individually and persuade them to delay their activities... persuade them by whatever means are necessary." "That sounds cheery," Deborah interjected. Dean nodded his head. Cheryl's eyes flashed with anger as she realized how her Tony had fallen into that vague "whatever means" definition when this man's thugs had killed him. Bernard paused for a moment, switching to a different sheet of paper. "Some of you have questioned our leaders about this, some of you are very cautious and you... want to know how we will do this without creating a disturbance... without drawing attention to outside efforts such as ours directed against these meetings. "By blending the efforts of several MEN of science..." "He likes to say that," observed Cheryl. "... we have developed a program that will permit us to control events..." he smiled "...by controlling some of the participants or removing them from the scene... by their own choice." All in the B&B living room found themselves looking at each other with puzzlement. Why would someone choose to cooperate with these men? Dean realized it had something to do with the hypnotic control shown by Bernard over Maria, but he was not sure how that connected with this tape, or if it did. "We have developed a diversified program, so that our actions will not be identifiable," Bernard went on. "Our resources around the world will be mobilized. Some delegates will simply miss their flights from remote places. Many will reach Denver, but here we will count on numerous actors. Diverse groups of demonstrators will be convinced of the need to appear at locations that will delay delegates. And, naturally, for key delegates, we will arrange special reasons to retard their arrivals. Selected persons in the Denver population are being prepared now for their roles. As well, some MEN of the Force Droit will be called upon to make the sweetest sacrifice for our noble cause, and I am sure that they will respond to the challenge with elan." The tape blinked to an end. "Huh? The sweetest sacrifice?" Val raised a quizzical eyebrow. Dean could think of no answer, except to suggest that they were all tired and needed to get to bed. There was no debate. Even with his head whirling from all the new information, he fell asleep easily. He did not hear the doorbell ring. --------------------------- LATER IN 1997 When I started to tell Sophia about the late night caller, she smiled and pointed out the time. Her appointment was coming up shortly. She rose to slip on her dress and make some last minute adjustments as she spoke. "And, besides.... (she adjusted her bra) I am going to tell YOU the next part of the story!" Sophia had a Cheshire cat grin on her face now. Perhaps it had something to do with the way she had wriggled when she first coaxed me into resuming the tale this morning. "How is that?" I was going to tell her the outline of what Dean had learned later from Val about the visitor. "I spoke with Val the other day, and she filled me in on this part. I think that it will come out better with a woman telling the story." She looked at me in a way that indicated this was more than a mild suggestion-- and then it was time for a good-bye kiss. --------------------------- It was the sort of kiss that promises wonderful things. That and my curiosity as to what I would learn that evening made it hard to follow notes on my desk in regard to reports that the Russian woman who ran a hot dog vending cart was entrancing men with some special condiment and obtaining their VISA card numbers and expiry dates from them. According to the reports, she was either 65, 35 or 17 years old, had white, blonde, or henna-colored hair, and was seen intermittently at several locations. I had noticed myself that one hot dog vendor had a lovely way of wiping off the top of a soda can before presenting it to her male customers, another had a tender way of pulling up the bratwurst from its steaming tank, and a third always stopped to watch male customers squirt mayonnaise from the plastic squeeze bottle, but I could make no sense of all this information. I kept thinking about what Sophia might have to tell. --------------------------- "I had wanted to ask Val if she could share more of her point of view on the events surrounding the Summit Conference," Sophia explained. We were having an after-dinner drink in Jax. It was happily noisy around us, but Sophia leaned forward in an intriguing way, and I could understand her without difficulty. "She told me much that matched what you have passed on from Dean, but she admitted that there were some things that she had not yet shared with him. Open as he was to women's involvement in his work, there were still times when he would show a paternal streak and fret. How she had dealt with that night caller was one of the things that she had not shared with him-- just had shared the information that resulted." Sophia paused and sipped her sherry. I sat silent, knowing that any interruption would make her feel as up tight with me as Val had felt with Dean. --------------------------- *** Val's Story - as told to and by Sophia BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE Just after Dean had headed for bed, the doorbell had been rung by a police officer who Val recognized as a novice colleague of her friend in Traffic. Perhaps, in another situation, Val would not have been on her guard, but this seemed strange. He told her through the locked screen door that he had to talk with her about something very important, that he needed to come inside, it was too urgent to be overheard. A number of possibilities whirled through her head as they stood there for a moment. He might have seen her tender moments with his colleague and developed some weird fascination with her. Or he could be genuinely concerned about something. Or he could be working for the opposition. The last thought sent her mind racing. If she refused to let him in, it would be safer, or at least force him to do something that would look a lot like breaking and entering. But if she succeeded in keeping him out, or called for Dean or one of the other women, he would leave without her finding out what his thinking was. She held him at the door with some conversation and questions, while she tried to think of a plan. "Just a minute, I have to find the key..." she lied. It was hidden out of sight of the door, but she went back into the desk in the study, rummaged around in a corner where she had long ago left an important piece of jewelry, pulled her t-shirt up, pinned the bauble on her bra (thankful that she was still wearing the Second Glance underwire that had so nicely held the attention of her friend from Traffic), picked up the key on the way back, and then re-emerged at the door. "Come in," she murmured to the young officer. He smiled, too eagerly, Val thought, and stepped into the entry way. "Sorry to bother you so late at night, ma'am," he said, just a bit too respectfully, "but I need to ask you to identify something." He moved in closer to Val without asking. "You must be the only one up right now, so I hope you can help us, huh?" "Perhaps you will recognize this...." he said, as he pulled a shiny card out of his uniform jacket pocket. Val caught a glimpse of it before he could show her the intricate pattern printed on the card. She did recognize it, which he must not have expected, as the hypnotically appealing logo of the group known to the public as the Society for Social Expression, known to its graduates as the Society for Sexual Expression. She averted her eyes from it by looking deep into his, and miming a kiss. Her mind was on fire as she formed an idea for avoiding the potential enslavement that might be his plan if he was part of the Lepeniste conspiracy. "I am the only one awake right now," she murmured, adopting a sensual tone, "and I would like you to come in." She let the words sink in. He must have been twenty years younger than her, but the effect that she obtained brought back flashes of fond memories of her days as an agent with Dean. He relaxed a bit, and she could see his subconscious mind interpreting her statement and manner as a primitive invitation for sex. Likely that was already on his mind, given his use of the card. She mimed another kiss. "It would be easier for me to look at what you've got if we sit down on the couch in the parlor," she whispered, enjoying laying the double entendre on in a second helping. "Of course," he said as she took his hand and led him to the Victorian red plush sofa. They sat down, with Val letting him see her noting his muscular build and tight butt, and he started to pull out the card again. "Now, I do need to ask you to look at this." He was on a mission of some kind. Val took his free hand and placed it on her t-shirt, resting on her breast. He paused for a moment, entranced the old-fashioned way by visions of her proud softness-- and then collected his thoughts. "Really," he muttered, "you are very attractive, but I need you to look at this." He started to show her the card again. Val responded. "Isn't it warm in here?" Val grinned, and tugged her t-shirt out from under his hand and up over her bra. She hated the idea that she was throwing herself at him, but she was counting on male psychology kicking in. And soon, he would remember none of this. The stunned young officer looked at Val's generous offering and could not keep his eyes off her or his mouth closed. --------------------------- LATE IN 1997 "Richard, I'm going to have to stop right now!" Sophia shout-whispered in my ear over the happy noise in the bar. Now it was my turn to try to wheedle more of the story out of her. "No!" she asserted as I began to plead. "I do know what happens next, and just thinking about it is making me VERY HORNY. I'll tell you the story in bed... in between." An unfortunate lull in the music caused a 20-something couple to raise their eyebrows, perhaps shocked to think that we Boomers would entertain such thoughts. I knew Sophia's most urgent need, and we scurried diagonally across the intersection to our Oxford Hotel hideaway. --------------------------- More to come, as Val helps the officer unload his feelings. At the Summit Ch. 15 by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Part 15 - "Val's Discovery" As promised, I found myself hearing the rest of Sophia's report while we cuddled in our bed in the Oxford Hotel. Outside, the faintly heard routine of the city was underway-- so normal sounding. Inside, my lover and companion reclined comfortably in my arms, enjoying having accepted the warm fullness that I had prepared for her. I found myself smiling at her in that silly, confident way that comes with having her magic wetness all over my relaxing manhood. She had to clear her throat a couple of times. I would have had as much trouble talking now, had I anything to say. ============================ BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT "Isn't it warm in here?" Val grinned, and tugged her t-shirt out from under the officer's hand and up over her bra. She hated the idea that she seemed to be throwing herself at him, but she was counting on male psychology kicking in. And she was not disappointed. The stunned young officer looked at Val's generous offering and could not keep his eyes off her, nor could he keep his mouth closed. Years-ago training came flashing back to her now, and her breasts rose and fell as her breathing paced his, the young man's eyes naturally drawn to them, his hot hand frozen now on her glowing curves. "You may find it easy to forget your mission for a while," she suggested, "as you feel yourself so at ease now, but first perhaps you would find it intriguing to understand that this piece of jewelry has the same pattern as printed on your card... except that it looks nicer, don't you think?" She guided his hand to the bauble pinned on her bra. "Doesn't it look good, resting here, as you would like to, between my breasts..." Val did not need to speak any further words. His square jaw dropped for an instant as he recognized the hypnotic seal, and if anything, his understanding of what he had just taken in led to an immediate trance that was deeper than anything Val had ever achieved before. His mind, in a sense, was already prepared for complete acceptance of the power of the infinite, intertwined curves on his imagination, just as he had expected his bootleg copy of the image to entrance her. "Perhaps, possibly, you would enjoy seeing more... you only need raise your right hand... it is rising now, isn't it? Your subconscious mind knows what you need... and it knows that you will see more only as you stay relaxed, open to my suggestions." His right hand began to rise in response. Her body was warmed. The mysterious bauble on her bra continued to rise and fall, and the young officer never flinched as she raised her arms, stretching the t-shirt up and over. His right hand remained poised as if asking permission to speak. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. For a moment she stood, enjoying her progress while she also dredged up recollections from classes taken two decades earlier. "You must feel comfortable testifying in court.... and perhaps you have learned to think of other things as you wait your turn... do my breasts remind you of that?" She paused as the wheels turned slowly in his head, and then took on a cross-examining tone. "Answer, yes or no!" "Yes!" "Do they remind you of someone in the courtroom?" "Yes.!" "Who?" "The bailiff, Ms. Martinez." "Is there something similar about us?" "Yes." "Is she about my age?" "Yes" "Have you wondered what it would be like to be with her?" "Yes!" Val paused for a moment to restore the pace of their breathing. His hand remained in the swearing-in position that it had slipped to. Then she gently led him through his collected thoughts about the older woman bailiff. His face flushed and Val supposed that her own was, too, as the virile young officer described his fantasy adventures with the buxom court official. Her purpose, really, was not to turn herself on. Rather, she wanted to accustom the young man to sharing his innermost thoughts with her. Perhaps Bernard or an associate had hypnotized him to gain his cooperation; in that case, it might be difficult to learn more unless he felt completely comfortable. Still, she felt the female steel coil within winding up, and pacing with her, perhaps, the officer felt the same thing happening. Her bra grew increasingly uncomfortable, now warm and a size too small. Her nipples pressed to escape. She had no intention of having sex with this dangerous man, her relationship was developing well with her friend in Traffic. But, something had to happen. "You might have thought of what it would be like to reach inside the bailiff's bra......" "Yes!" "As you think of that now, feeling your hand following her curves, you could imagine that if you tell me some other interesting stories that you have deep inside your thoughts, that I would let you do the same thing...." To emphasize that, Val unclipped her bra. It hung loosely over her breasts, supported by her firming nipples. She felt frightened and thrilled and stimulated, all at the same time. It had been so long since she had done this-- but she had been good back then! "Does it remind you of another time when you had sex?" "Yes." "Can you remember what it felt like, what you saw, what you heard, and how it felt in your body when you have had sex?" "Yes." As he experienced this again in his mind, she noticed things start to change. His face flushed, his breathing got heavy, his lower lip got larger, and he actually re-experienced in his body all those lovely erotic feelings he had when he first went through the experience. As he was doing this, she told him that when those feelings in his body reached their peak, he should wiggle his middle finger on his right hand, rather than coming. He would not be able to come until he answered some other questions. Gently, Val began leading the ever more deeply entranced young officer through a series of questions. When he reached each further sharing of secrets, his middle finger wiggled desperately. When he wiggled it, she reached over and give his right wrist a squeeze, and at the same time, said, "Good." Bit by bit, she was teaching him to enjoy a sexual haze on her touched/voice command, a sexual haze that would only continue with his answers to her questions. The bulge in his uniform pants confirmed that everything was proceeding in the natural direction. The information came in a flood with the energy that his body cried out to send into his sexual organs.... "Bernard.... women meeting... at the Summit... stopping the women's conference... dangerous if the meeting goes on... need to intervene... do anything...." His middle finger wiggled dangerously-- it was tough for him to spill these beans. Val had him clear his mind, and close his eyes. She reached over to him, letting her breast graze across his arm, squeezed his wrist, and said "good." He went right back into the erotic state he was in before, but more relaxed. Now it was time for the most critical questions. "Did Bernard ask you to help?" "Yes." "Did he ask you to come here?" "Yes." "Did he show you how to use the symbol to hypnotize us?" "Yes." "Did he tell you that you could have sex with us?" "Yes." "Three of us?" "Yes." "Including the young woman, Cheryl?" "Yes." "And this would keep us busy, so we could not interfere with Bernard's plans?" "Yes." "And can you tell me what those plans are?" "No." Now, Val teased him with her touch. She went back to normal questions, then a minute later, reached over and triggered him again. She looked into his eyes, and smiled at him as she did it, but this time, did not let go of his wrist. She just kept squeezing, keeping him in the erotic state until his wiggling finger looked like it was going to leap out of his hand. "It would be a relief to let go of those plans, yes?" "Yes." "Your balls are very full now, yes?....." Val found herself licking her lips. "Yes." "You understand that when you tell me those plans, you will be able to come." "Yes." "Your penis is uncomfortable?" "Yes." "Unzip your pants.... and pull out your dick...." Val barely murmured the words, but they were what the officer's subconscious longed to hear. He dropped his hand to his fly; the unzipping sound seemed to echo through the big old house. Without a blush, he struggled briefly and then stood with his penis resuming the upward climb that it had tried to achieve while trapped in his pants. "You may touch yourself... as you speak... as you touch yourself you will want to tell me what you would do with the women in this house... and as you tell me more, you will enjoy thinking of Ms. Martinez... thinking of being with her...." He began to speak, while his hand rhythmically stroked what even to Val's knowledgeable eye, was an attractive shaft. His assignment from Bernard was to first gain control of each of the women through the low-grade hypnotic power of the seduction logo. Then, he would occupy their thoughts completely, leading them to fight over him, covet him. Their effectiveness in supporting Dean and the agency would be lost. He had been selected, it seemed, because he was a stud. Whether all three women joined him in bed, or each waited for him in her own room, it did not matter. They were to think of little besides how to get him into their hungry mouths. Whenever Val felt that the horny young man was lagging in his answers, she had begun to clip up her bra. Now, his answers were flowing freely, as was the clear fluid drizzling down from his dick. Question by question, she removed her clothing in a kind of striptease. The officer's subconscious saw her as Ms. Martinez, she knew, but still she found the situation exciting. Finally, he had told her everything that he knew. Val stood before him in her moist panties, hands on her hips, nearly exhausted by the struggle of obtaining the last details from him. Her chocolate body glowed, setting off the lemon color of her last covering. She felt her clit fighting insistently for attention. "Did Bernard tell you not to tell anyone about this?" Dead silence. The officer's finger wiggled madly. His penis surged up and down with pent up sexual power. Val felt her own juices flowing in response. "Ms. Martinez would not be happy with you..." Val intoned, adopting a stern tone. She reached as if to put her bra back on, still in command. "Yes!" He relented. Val took the sensual jewel from the bra, and dropped the garment to the floor. "Step forward." The officer did as he was directed. "When you see this same image in the hands of Bernard, you will be able to tell him that your mission is accomplished. You will be able to describe me in detail...." Val slipped her panties out over her broad hips; they fell useless to the floor and she stepped out of them. "Because now you will come with me..." Val stood before him, her hands on her hips, her black, tightly curled hairs wet with lust, but her mind perfectly controlling her body... and his. "Let your eyes enjoy....." she suggested, and his eyes swept over the ready curves of her body. She watched the pulse in his pink member, enjoyed its black uniformed setting, the threatening holster, all the police gear on his belt. He stood legs apart, trying to make his madly rolling balls comfortable... and then a deep, guttural groan rocked him. His muscular thighs jerked rapidly. A jet of semen shot forward, some coming far enough to hit Val's thigh. The ivory flow was warm and sticky, and brought back too many good memories. She felt her own desire to cum. She turned back to work. Luckily, she thought, he had stepped forward onto the hardwood floor. It would be easier for him when he cleaned it up. And then she heard it. Below his moans, there was another sound. A higher-pitched sigh. It was coming from the parlor. "Cheryl? Come out of there!" Val guessed who it might be. Abashed, the young woman came out from behind a beaded curtain. She was wearing a baby doll nighty, and her fingers had been inside her panties. Val could tell from the shiny reflection on the hastily withdrawn digits. A dark spot circled the swollen curves that marked the Hispana's vagina. "It looks like this guy is already accomplishing his mission!" Val said that with an ironic tone. Her conquest was busy stimulating the last drops of cum out of his still erect penis. Cheryl shyly came forward. "Val!" she whispered urgently, "I came down while you were getting him to tell everything." She paused. "I want to know how to do that!" Her eyes glowed with excitement... and sensuality. It was not the reaction that Val expected, but it made sense in this strange situation. She responded in an urgent undertone. "I can't teach you everything right now, but quick, answer one big question for me, and then go get a towel." The officer's organ was gradually relaxing now, marked by the occasional surge that sent out leftover semen. "Yes?" "You said that you would do anything to help get the killer of your man." "Yes!" "Just think about that while you are getting the towel, and then I'll have an idea for you when you get back." Cheryl nodded and left the room. Val walked closely to the silent officer, again letting her breast graze him, but focusing on touching him, saying "good." His penis stirred and his lip relaxed. "From now on, when any of the women of this house touch you and say 'good' ... you will feel excited... aroused... and you will feel the need to pleasure them, in the way that they instruct you." She stood again with her hands on her hips, legs apart, her pink treasure box just slightly revealed. "You will remember this night when you are touched in this way, but when Bernard or anyone else questions you, it will be a haze." "Yes." "But, you want to make Bernard happy?" "Yes." "Then tell him that you showed the card with the logo on it to each of us women, and that we are your slaves. That will make him happy." "Yes." "But give the card to me, and I will keep it in a safe place." "Yes." He handed it to her and she slipped it away out of sight, just as Cheryl returned. ==================== AFTER THE 1997 SUMMIT "How do you think that Cheryl felt at this point?" I queried Sophia. She seemed to welcome the question as an opportunity to clear her throat again. "From what I understand from the situation, and from talking with her later, she was really of two minds. On the one hand, her conscious mind wanted to lash out and be angry with the officer. He was part of the conspiracy that had killed her Tony. But on the other hand, she knew that the officer was innocent in the sense of being an unwitting pawn. That was the conscious struggle. The subconscious part, which Val showed a lot of understanding of, was that since Tony's death, this healthy young woman had been holding back on her physical needs -- everything: food, rest, and, of course, sex. She had felt guilty about Tony." Sophia turned in a way that grazed a nipple under my arm. She was becoming aroused again. "Of course, sex!" I repeated after her, with a smile. "As you think about it now, you can feel how it had been building up, and you'd have to do something about it sooner... or later." "Sooner!" she exclaimed, and wrestled herself up over me. "And now, she could imagine having her very own sex toy!" I gasped, as Sophia pressed my laggard penis between her firming lips, against her clit. Instinctively, I took her full breasts and began to caress them in narrowing circles. "Exactlyyyy....." she continued, "....it's so nice to have a man... in the house." Sophia moved gracefully, but with energy, above me. "Someone who would come... when he's needed..?" I offered. And then for a few minutes, we forgot all the conspiracies and adventures, and created our own. Afterward, as we stretched out at arm's length to cool off, I indicated that I could guess what happened: "From your enthusiasm just now, I think that Cheryl must have come back with her mind made up." "Yes." Sophia imitated the trancelike response of the policeman, and we found ourselves laughing now for no real reason, other than, perhaps, the joy of being so completely together. And then she resumed the story. ==================== BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT Cheryl returned with the towel as promised; she watched in awe as he knelt at Val's suggestion and wiped up the stream of ejaculate. She trembled as he calmly rose again to await instructions. "Cheryl, you understand that there are risks involved here. I have to tell you that. I can cut them down, but there are no guarantees." Val was serious. "I understand." Cheryl trembled with the mixed emotions now sweeping through her. "If we can keep him convinced that we are following his plans, we can keep Bernard and the others away from us. And there could be lots more to learn from this young man, with the right questions." She glanced over at the catatonic form in the black uniform. "I'm ready to do that. And, I know what you must be worrying about. That I'll mistreat him... but I won't, because I know he's just caught up in this like I am. And you probably wonder whether I know enough about sex..." "I admit to wondering about that..." nodded Val. "I don't know you THAT well." "With Tony, it was wonderful, but it was different, kind of serious, too. We were really in love. I have to admit," she blushed, "that I was kind of a wild kid. And there are things that I never asked Tony to try. I didn't want him to think I was a slut or something." "I understand," Val agreed. "There are some things that you want to introduce gently, later on. But you wouldn't need to worry about that with this guy. He's going to think that he is turning you into a slut. You have to convince him that he's succeeding." She laughed. Cheryl looked startled at the turn of words, blushed, and then giggled at the feeling of utter sexual freedom that Val was offering. "I can do it." "Let me ask him a few questions, and you listen to how I do it." Val led the policeman through the usual battery of sexual interview questions, as taught to her years ago in the Marin county school. She also learned that he had told his girlfriend that he was going to be up all night on a secret assignment. It was clear that failure had not occurred to him as a possibility when he strode out of her place and mounted his motorcycle. His girlfriend had offered him the "trucker's wife's farewell" -- hoping to "disarm" him by kneeling to unzip his fly and offering to suck his excitement away. He had turned her down with a laugh, telling her that she could trust him, and telling himself that as ordered by Bernard, he would be having sex with three other women this night. Then Val reinforced the suggestions about accepting instruction from any of the women in the house. "Do I have to share him?" Cheryl asked. "He's going to at least have to think that," Val responded, "or he won't be able to report accomplishing his mission." Cheryl rolled her dark brown eyes and tossed her black hair back in a comic sign of disgust. "Damn!" she stage-whispered. "Okay...... but there may not be much left in him when I'm done....." Val purred: "... you'll be surprised at what elderly Val and Deborah can accomplish....!" She paused, and then looked deeply into Cheryl's eyes for what seemed like an age. "Okay. He's yours first. I'm going to watch and coach you for a bit, and then you can wake me up later...." Cheryl nodded agreement, then watched with puzzlement as Val searched in the grocery coupon box on the writing desk. "Here is the special card that Bernard gave you... the one that I kept safe for you." The older woman handed the young man a coupon for "fifty cents off frozen peach slices." At the Summit Ch. 15 Val turned to the equally frozen officer and suggested that he cover up... zip up... wake up. She barely had time to remind Cheryl about the trance word for her use, when the young man triumphantly displayed the fifty-cents-off coupon to the two women. He was so excited that he had not noticed the passage of time at all, nor the change in Val's clothing, nor the arrival of Cheryl. "You are under my power!" he exulted, likely forgetting anything that Bernard or his team had tried to teach him. Val hung her head and responded "yes, master..." to him in such a theatrical way that Cheryl almost laughed. But she was able to imitate Val, adopting a submissive pose, even though the heat from her vagina seemed ready to burn through her pajama panties. Carefully, he put the frozen peaches coupon into his shirt pocket. Val found herself hoping that someday, but not right away, he showed this "valuable" item to Bernard. She kept her head bowed, guessing at what the officer would choose to do-- and was not surprised by what happened. "Raise your eyes and look into mine..." he commanded, continuing in a Grade-B movie tone. The two women did so, trying not to burst out laughing. He tried out his new found "power" by having Cheryl strip to her panties. Not very original, Val thought, and not much to it since she was in pajamas. It was like he was acting out a deep fantasy of his own. Cheryl hammed it up by pretending to resist his thoughts, then taking the baby doll top off verrrry slowly. Val noted that her nipples stood firm already, her libido excited at what was to come. The two women stood at attention in their panties. "You, come forward and kiss me!" he ordered, motioning to Cheryl. His attention focused on the younger of the pair, and Val was able to motion with a nod for Cheryl to respond. Robotlike, she walked forward and pecked the novice hypnotic seducer on the cheek. "Pretend that you love me!" The officer was slightly annoyed at her holding back. Cheryl blinked as if internalizing his crude command, and then embraced him, unleashing the wound up lust that she had long suppressed. Enjoying the sensation of being surrounded by this hot woman, the officer let her take his arm. She looked into his eyes, and smiled at him as she did it, but did not let go of his wrist. She just kept squeezing, bringing him back to the erotic state programmed earlier by Val, until his wiggling finger looked like it was going to leap out of his hand. "You may continue to enjoy this feeling as you follow my suggestions..." Cheryl tried. Val nodded approval, feeling at the same time a twinge of envy at the younger woman's seemingly easy transition to trance-spinner. She was a natural, Val thought. No wonder bright Tony had seen so much in her. She watched as Cheryl repeated some of the steps that she had watched her follow, and then as Cheryl gently led the young officer into agreeing to wear a condom. Then, with Val's discreet cues, Cheryl outlined a script for him to follow in order to give the feeling that he had fulfilled his mission for Bernard. "Ready?" Cheryl mouthed the word as she looked across at Val. Her mentor was an ebony goddess now, so excited was she at watching her new student's progress and the deepening responses of the officer. She had admired the natural way in which Cheryl led him to respond to her by undressing and she had found the officer's new arousal to be more exciting than she expected. On Cheryl's command, framed as a suggestion, his penis had risen into an elegant curve, topped with its purple velvet knob. He posed nude and ready before them. Val drew herself out of her reverie, catching herself stroking her palms against her thighs. She nodded agreement and then adopted the stage pose of being hypnotized. Cheryl gave him the suggestion to wake on her count, and struck a similar pose. Coming back into the "real" world, the officer never noticed that he had removed his clothing, nor that his erection was so prominent. Instead, he issued more orders to Val and Cheryl, instructing them to join him on the couch. From then on, it was a mad scramble based loosely on his suggestion that they remove their last coverings and "make love" to him. Caught up in their own excitement, and with Cheryl filled with the accumulated desire that had been dammed up for days. they threw themselves into the play-acting. The young man found himself at the center of a feminine whirlwind, with hands caressing and examining him from every angle, and sweet kisses over all his body. He had, of course, assumed that the young woman's body would be taken first for his pleasure, but now he began to wonder. Two vaginas coveted him, and Val, perhaps having enjoyed this sort of tableau before, was adroitly taking her turn in front of him when he could stand the tension no more. Thus it was Cheryl who found herself kneading his hips with her hands and then caressing his back with her curves pressing tight against as he plunged into Val's well-wetted opening. Her cum shone on his back as she rode his bucking challenge into Val. He looked pinker and blonder than she had imagined he would, perhaps because his colors were set against Val's chocolate tones. She thought that she had caught Val giving her a conspiratorial wink when she had framed her legs to ease his entry. His joyful velvet ride through Val's ample physique petered out more quickly than it might otherwise have, likely a result of his previous climax during the induction process. He rolled off of her in a rather inelegant way, clinging onto Cheryl, but making no move to take her on the same sort of trip that he had just shared. Cheryl was in no mood to be set aside. Val looked on admiringly as the younger woman took his arm and calmly spoke the trance word, squeezing his wrist until he returned to the relaxed state he had been in earlier. She led him through questions about his fantasies, coached by nods and blinks and smiles from the satiated Val. The latter leaned back on the couch, breathing deeply, her legs spread apart enough to try and cool herself, looking at the whisker burn on her chest and thinking of which top would cover that in the morning. With an understanding of his most intimate fantasies, Cheryl had installed a new trance word, one that had a single purpose-- to produce the hardest, fullest erection that he had ever experienced. And then she was counting down, releasing him to his conscious thoughts-- thoughts that led him to begin taking off the filled condom. As he did so, Cheryl knelt before him, sliding her palms up inside his legs and caressing his balls. Meekly, in her role as hypnotized maiden, she begged for him to take her. He was reeling from all the activity, however, and tried to indicate that she should wait till later. "Perhaps what you need is ...Ffatsgalf..." she intoned, using her newly made-up magic trance word. At the sound, a strange look passed over the officer's visage, and his manhood lurched into the start of another erection. It was a struggle between mind and body, helped along first by Cheryl's tender kisses around and over his balls, and then Val's embrace enveloping him from behind. His penis jerked upward, and then began to sag again. Cheryl rose and whispered the trance word in his ear, letting her body glide over his in the way he described as liking so much. This time, there was no doubt left that his mind would win. Hard as a flagstaff, his penis surged out, making it almost uncomfortable for Cheryl to continue her nuzzling embrace. He moaned with the discomfort as his sacs churned insistently, desperately trying to come up with more of his wonderful fluid so soon. Cheryl knelt and kissed him, up inside his thighs, and then over the hard working balls. By the time she reached his shaft, he screamed emphatically that she had to let him into her box, but calmly, she ignored his ranting and took his steel into her mouth, drawing on it, sucking it, warming it past tolerance. Val saw his muscles tightening and could feel the electric charge shooting through him, as Cheryl twirled her tongue around his most sensitive spot and he came in her controlling lips. Val pulled back and sat down on one end of the long couch, pasting a dopey smile on her face as the harried officer looked back to make sure she was still under his trance. Of course, it was easy to act dreamy now, as her body enjoyed the soothing afterglow she had taken from him. Through her pleasantly tired haze, she watched admiringly as Cheryl talked the policeman through an "understanding" of the situation. Of course, he felt tired, but "everyone knows" that he is a stud, and so quite naturally, it would be his duty to satisfy all three of the women. Bernard would approve. His sleepy eyes, eyelids drooping, suddenly looked alert again. But his exhausted penis lurched drunkenly in slow motion from side to side. "Perhaps what you need again is ...Ffatsgalf..." A perplexed look crossed his face, and then a desperate struggle was resolved inside as his penis soared upward unquestioningly. Adopting his stage hypnotist voice again, he directed Cheryl to pull a condom out of his uniform pocket. Val watched as his re-lusted eyes followed Cheryl's curves across the room and back. She found herself enjoying the whole tableau, as the young woman knelt to tenderly roll the covering onto the young man's erect staff. She found herself thinking about how much had changed since she was that age, when a nice single woman was supposed to pretend that she barely even understood about those things. The somewhat overwhelmed officer simply directed Val to watch and to enjoy touching herself, being unable to deal with the further sensory overload of having these two sensual women at once. That suited Val, as she was still concerned about Cheryl being left alone with him. As she saw, she need not have been concerned. Cheryl's touch on his arm intensified as she led him into slowing down, taking it easy, enjoying. And once she had completed his preparation, she let him "order" her to stretch out on the couch and take him on in the missionary position. Val suddenly realized that this must be reminding Cheryl of her Tony-- she thought that she caught the reflection of a tear on the young woman's eagerly flushed face. Perhaps that is why Cheryl's form trembled... eagerness? fear? intimate memories? And then her view of Cheryl's perfectly prepared body was blocked by the descending powerful tanned form. His back muscles, his buttocks flexed seductively under Val's gaze. She did have enough presence of mind to note his lack of tan lines, and for a moment as he maneuvered into position, she caught a view between his thighs, down the long, hard shaft as it tilted towards Cheryl's sparkling wet opening, saw the young woman's form tilting in turn towards his, moving in unison toward perfection. Val found that it was easy to follow his "hypnotic command" to tease herself. Caressing her thighs before she realized it, and now finding it natural to enjoy touching everywhere, she opened pink secrets to familiar fingers. Cheryl murmured Tony's name, but her stud never noticed, absorbed as he was in penetrating her depths. And then Val saw the Hispana's toes curl up, his muscles tighten, all in one common motion, and there was a mutual scream-grunt of animal release. Val heard Deborah's voice on the stairs. "Is everything okay down there?" Before Val could answer, Deborah was in the room, eyes wide. She was wearing a frilly baby doll nighty that was decorated in a strawberry pattern, all of which cutely worked with her blonde hair, light complexion, and the 9mm Glock pistol that she aimed into the room. ================= To be continued... At the Summit Ch. 16 by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) Part 16 - "Deborah Commands" ============================ LATER IN 1997, AFTER THE SUMMIT CONFERENCE "It must have been quite a puzzle from Deborah's viewpoint," I chuckled. It was hard not to smile, even though the situation that my lover had just described was dangerous. Deborah, pistol in hand, could not tell at first if she was witnessing a rape or an orgy. I wanted to ask what happened next, but Sophia said only one word more. "Yes," Sophia agreed with my statement. And then we drifted off into sweet sleep, my arm gently laid over her breasts. It was only at breakfast the next morning that I learned what had happened next. Sophia and I were sitting in our robes, lifting the silver-plate covers on the different dishes that room service had delivered. A curling strip of slightly scorched bacon caught her fancy and she laughed as she hoisted it to her lips. "This is how that officer must have felt by the time that Deborah had her turn with him." And my lover popped the crunchy curl into her mouth. She savored it on her tongue for a moment, bit down and then swallowed. I watched her with ill-disguised lust. "I asked Deborah about how it looked to her," Sophia continued. BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT Val hastily pulled her fingers from her vulva and waved frantically at Deborah, trying at the same time not to attract the attention of "Officer Friendly" as she was beginning to think of the young man. As Cheryl was concentrating on keeping him inside and going up the ladder of another orgasm with him, it turned out that there was little danger of him noticing anything else. Deborah edged over to Val. "what the hell is going on here?" She asked the serious question with a laugh, as she was beginning to comprehend. She lowered the pistol. "...Ffatsgalf..." Cheryl invoked the command word again, and a look of intense satisfaction crossed her face as the officer's penis hardened inside her vagina. The sensation of feeling him growing stiff again in such an intimate place sent a tremble through her, a tremble of sensuality and newfound power. On his face, a look of despair flashed and then was lost as he felt her muscles gripping his manhood. Cheryl concentrated, and began to sense new abilities developing, being able to control her energy in a way that she had never noticed in her mad flings with Tony. Coaxing, caressing, they overpowered his flagging libido, and drew him into a mad frenzy, as he realized somewhere in his befogged mind that the only way out of this "slut" was to give her a deep orgasm that would absolutely satisfy her. Deborah looked on in amazement as young muscles, no doubt already sore, flexed again and again. Val whispered the story of the stud's arrival and filled Deborah in on what she and Cheryl had learned about him. "Deb, he's going to wave a discount coupon at you, whenever Cheryl lets him loose, and he's going to think that it's a School for Sexual Expression logo-- you know, the hypnotic one. He's supposed to put us all into trances that will let him control us for that French rogue agent, Bernard." She paused and grinned at Deborah. "Here's the deal. We've both convinced him that we're his sex slaves and now it's your turn." She chuckled quietly. "For your country, Deb, for your country." Deborah blinked, grinned and ducked out of the room to stow away her pistol. In a moment she returned. Val looked at her friend with new eyes. The babydoll top was open, framing Deborah's attractive pink breasts. She had added her favorite lilac colored costume jewelry necklace, which sparkled in the low light. She still had on the panties, but she paused and looked over the scene with a commanding body language that pushed her Mount of Venus forward, stretching the material and leaving no doubt that she would be up to the task awaiting her. She had returned in the nick of time. The nearly exhausted young couple was finished for the moment, and the officer struggled to his feet, his sagging penis dragging its loosened condom. Cheryl, whose brown body glowed with the rose hue of satiation, stretched out with a catlike smile on her perspiring face as she turned to Val to wink. Then she noticed Deborah for a second wink. "Officer Friendly" fumbled around for the "hypnotic" talisman when he saw Deborah approaching. She was a bit apprehensive that he not panic while searching for it, so she moved slowly. That only made her approach more sensual. The policeman waved his discount coupon-talisman at Deborah and she stopped her approach, staring intently at it. As she did so, trying to imitate something like a subject in a stage trance, she swayed slightly. The necklace resting between her breasts danced in the light, catching his attention. Tired and weakened by his adventures with Val and Cheryl, he began to focus on the necklace. He was trying to ask hypnotic screening questions, Val realized, but as Deborah answered them, she did so in a soothing voice. And then, she suggested, as she had answered his questions (which she had not really answered), he should answer hers. It was only fair, she suggested. Calmly, she led him into a deep trance. Val and Cheryl watched with interest as his chin slumped forward and his body slumped back onto the couch. A little time passed as she worked with him, firming up the new belief in his mind that he could best achieve his goals programmed by Bernard by obeying Deborah's and the other women's instructions. Finally, she gave him his last trance command: "When you awaken, you will feel your penis growing very firm. It will hurt, but it will be a good hurt feeling, yes?" "Yes." "And you will remember that good feeling and you will experience it when you answer my questions honestly." And with that, she snapped her fingers and brought him out of the trance. Deborah continued to stand in front of him, as he sat on the edge of the couch. Blearily, he looked at her, then down at his wearily climbing organ. He began to try standing up. "Just stay there for now," she commanded. The young man slumped back, a perturbed look on his face. "That erection looks uncomfortable. Is it uncomfortable?" He shook his head "no," macho influences still at work. As he did, his penis stopped its climb and fell flaccid on his balls. "Did you enjoy fucking Val?" "Yes." His erection returned. "Did you come here because Bernard sent you to enslave us?" "Er.... uh, no." His penis dropped again. "Did you enjoy fucking Cheryl?" "Yes." His erection returned. Cheryl suppressed a giggle. Step by step, Deborah patiently taught him that the only way to have an erection was to be perfectly honest with her. She led him to reveal more of his instructions from Bernard. Most interesting, he confided that Bernard had trained him to suggest lesbian approaches as a way to keep them busy when he had lost interest in more sex with them. Anything to tie up their time and make them forget about dealing with the conspiracy unfolding in Denver around the Summit Conference. "When you saw me," Deborah asked, "did you think of fucking me?" "Yes." His erection came back more full than ever. "But did you feel the energy to be able to do that?" "No." "Have you ever fucked three women in one night?" "No." "Have you ever fucked two women in one night?" "Once before." "But Bernard told you to have sex with us?" "Yes." "You want to please Bernard?" "Yes...." His voice sounded tired. Deborah smiled and ran her hands over her thighs now as she spoke. Val caught her licking her lips, and then Deborah moved forward with that certainty that Val knew was that of a woman who has decided it is time to take her man. "...Ffatsgalf..." Deborah intoned the trance word that commanded "Officer Friendly" to stand at full attention yet once more. A pained look crossed his face, but his subconscious dreamed up enough energy so that his worn penis rose again, albeit not without a struggle. "Bring that heavy wooden chair over here for me." He complied, lifting it with a tired sigh and placing it where Deborah directed him to. Deborah seated herself in the chair, leaning back snugly against its cushion. Officer Friendly stood at attention in front of her. "Do you like to eat pussy?" Deborah inquired. "Yes." His penis began to drop. "You know what happens when you lie to me?" He nodded and his penis began its ascent again. "Grab that pillow, and kneel in front of me." Val and Cheryl watched intently. Val had never watched Deborah at work, had just known about some of the results back when they worked with Dean at the agency. Cheryl, only learning the first things about sexual power, had never dreamed that such scenes might be played out in real life. "Gently... gently... remove my panties," Deborah directed. Officer Friendly did so. Cheryl was surprised at how tenderly he did that. This man, she thought, was capable of some nice moments. Val enjoyed seeing the way his hands caressed Deborah's ass as he stretched them over her and off. He began to set them aside. "Now, before you fold those neatly and put them on the sidetable, would you like to enjoy the aroma on them?" Again, his penis dropped. "Hmmmm... does it feel good when you say 'yes'?" His penis rose. "And do you know where you would find more of that scent?" "Yes." His penis stiffened back to a young man's curve. "Have you ever eaten... pussy?" Deborah intentionally chose her words for the officer. "No." She glanced down and saw that his penis agreed. "Do you think that is manly?" "Yes." His staff drooped. A smile crossed Deborah's lips. "Would you like to change your mind?" "No." His penis stiffened. Gradually, Deborah changed the subject for a moment, leaving Cheryl wondering why she seemed to have dropped what seemed like such a good idea. Val, on the other hand, understood that Deborah was working around the topic, building up to compelling reasons for Officer Friendly to kneel and kiss. And that is just what he did. With deliberate steps, she taught him a hand sign that would, as a post-hypnotic suggestion, remind him of his desire to bury his face in the clit of the woman signaling him. Deborah leaned back in the chair, her legs spread, motioned him with the sign, and the young stud tenderly kissed her clit into flaming excitement. When he got too rough, she gently advised him to slow down. His idle penis drooped a bit as he concentrated on her sex, and a silver string of man-honey stretched from it. The two women watching were more excited than ever as they saw him tamed for this situation, but Cheryl was also curious. "Why did she phrase it that way?" she inquired in a whisper. "Why 'the clit of a woman' instead of just her?" "She's getting him ready to respond to any woman who has taken the course at the School for Sexual Expression," Val responded, smiling at the thought of this hunk being ready to drop everything when given that little reminder. "It's a handy thing to learn," she continued. "The little hand signals don't look like anything in particular to most people, but if a man... or a woman... has accepted the post-hypnotic suggestions for certain commands, they'll respond when they see the signal." Cheryl found herself breathing heavily and felt the renewed heat in her vagina spread through her body as she thought about being able to do that. Almost as if in a trance herself, she rose to better watch Deborah's commanding sexuality. Without even realizing it, she stood hands on hips, her vulva thrust out and her breasts still tingling, full of the handsome stud's energy now made her own. The young officer's enthusiastic lips and tongue, guided by Deborah's increasingly excited instructions, soon brought her to a shuddering orgasm. For a minute or two, she lay back in the chair, breathing heavily, letting the glow touch every space in her body. He remained kneeling between her thighs, half in a hypnotic state, half just plain tired. Deborah looked down with a benign smile that gradually turned into a look of lust, and flashed the tiny hand signal. The officer's head disappeared between her legs, and Deborah's sighs marked his progress. She leaned back, tossing her head with pleasure, as he topped her previous orgasm with yet another. "Do you think there are more men out there who've been trained like this?" Wide-eyed, Cheryl whispered to Val. "Honey, trust me, there are plenty of studs out there who don't realize that they were not getting lucky, they were performing like a trained seal." Val grinned. "I should know. When we get past this Summit Conference trouble, we'll see about getting you into the program-- that is if you want to go through the training." Cheryl nodded silently, asking herself deep questions, but not wanting to spoil the moment. Deborah was letting her spinning brain rest for a moment, and to Cheryl's intense interest, the police officer rose and stood, relaxed, in front of his blonde temptress/mistress. His penis eased downward, drooped and then drew in, but he said nothing. Deborah looked the now passive young man up and down, studying his chiseled muscles. Then she made the tiniest signal with her fingers. He stood frozen to the spot, but his penis struggled toward an erection once again. A desperate look crossed his face, but it had taken on what seemed to be a life of its own. His temptress smiled and motioned for him to kneel, but this time it was not his face that burrowed into her curls. Val had been digging in a sidetable drawer, and now she tossed what she was afraid might be the last unused condom in the place to Deborah. Silently, his blonde seductress unrolled it over the officer's hard staff, caressing as she did, enjoying what he was about to present to her. Absolutely in command of the situation, she leaned back and savored the feel as he penetrated her right there on the big old chair. His legs did the work, powering him up into her wet heat. She whispered coaching words to him and his thrusting movements grew stronger. Cheryl realized that she was wet again -- a thought flashed through her tired brain, that this scene was something she could never have imagined a few weeks ago. Graduating from high school had been one thing, but now she was graduating into something she could barely have imagined then. As Deborah began to sigh with the waves of pleasure flooding her imaginative mind, Val leaned over to Cheryl. In a sisterly tone, she shared a thought that Cheryl had already begun to consider. "Do you remember what it was like with your young man?" Cheryl nodded her head, suddenly recalling her true love, now dead at the hands of the men who had sent this stud to enslave them. She remembered how shy they both had been as they first made love. "When you take the training, you'll learn how to get back in that frame of mind when you meet a guy who you want for good," Val whispered. "You won't be a virgin again, but you'll learn how to start over, so he thinks that he's teaching you about sex." They shared a giggle, interrupted by Deborah's orgasmic cry. Val counted the inventory to herself and then realized this was the end. Deborah arched her back in the chair as the young policeman filled their last condom. ============================ LATER IN 1997, AFTER THE SUMMIT CONFERENCE "I should stop right now, so that we can have room service clear away the debris," Sophia offered, interrupting her own story. "That must have been his last semen, too, I would think." Sophia giggled at my comment, leaning forward as she did in a way that let one well-rounded breast slip from her robe. I wanted the story to continue, but you can imagine how horny I had become while listening to her tale. I leaned forward, and before she could evade my reach, I tugged the belt loose on her robe. We chased each other to the bed, our robes flapping open. Sophia lay stretched out for a moment on top of her robe, her dark pubic hair contrasting with the white cotton. I sensed her heat as I brought the tip of my penis down to offer her clit a caress without entering her. Back and forth I moved, coating her with the silver syrup of my excitement, rewarding her story-telling with little orgasms that gradually overlapped, taking her higher and higher. We paused in our play and a puzzled look escaped across her face. "Do you think that he really was hypnotized? Perhaps Deborah and the others were making this story up, or stretching the truth? Could he have really kept getting back up that way?" She paused and looked at me intently. "You know a lot about it, from studying some of those ESP and "alien" cases. And wasn't that sort of how you had those students of yours at the University of ______________ coming in your office?" She chuckled when she realized her unintentional pun. "So, could you do something like that?" "I did something related to it. Never got a guy back up, though..." It was my turn to chuckle at her reaction. "And what was it? C'mon, now..." Sophia started tickling me. "I haven't been keeping it from you, you just never asked," I asserted. "I never used hypnotism to get the co-eds interested in having sex with me; that would have been unethical." "Sure!" "Really. What I used it for was to help them enjoy, and it helped them want to keep coming back. You remember that I said that some of them just came to see me out of curiosity. They thought they'd have a little fling and go on their way. Instead, if they interested me, they discovered that they were dreaming about having me. And, they were amazed that they found themselves coming back -- and not only that, but that they felt so hot, so wet when they walked in." I did not mention it to Sophia then, but my hypnotic guidance for them was also useful when they wanted to have unprotected sex. Not only did that avoid some health issues, but I had already learned in college that my man-honey seemed to be particularly powerful in establishing a bond with my lover, and it made things difficult when she would start to talk about babies. "So, would you hypnotize me? I still don't think that it really works that well for sex." Sophia looked at me with skepticism. "You mean that you would want me to give you super-powers like that cop?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are you stalling? C'mon, the more I think about it, the more I'm questioning it." "I might not even be able to hypnotize you, if you feel so feisty right now." She laughed, and I let my hand glide over her belly to enjoy the feel. Her body responded to my touch with readiness. I continued down over her mount, and in a moment she set aside her thoughts and focused on the feeling as I caressed her clit and then slid two fingers inside to explore several eager possibilities. With our knowledge of each other, Sophia came quickly and repeatedly in my arms, finally leaning her head back to let the room slow down its spinning. Gentle strokes along her arms relaxed her, and I whispered to her the suggestion that she feel how her body was relaxing... her toes... ankles... calves... and on up to the top of her scalp. "You're... hypnotizing... me... aren't you?" she whispered dreamily. "Only if you feel more and more comfortable with me..." I replied in the steady voice, the calm, commanding voice that a couple of dozen women of the University of ______________ had felt completely open to in similar circumstances. This, I reflected as I paused to watch Sophia's breathing drop into a steady pattern, was the ideal moment - as with my long-ago co-eds, her subconscious completely trusting the man who had given her such intense pleasure and had proved that he was trustworthy. (I gradually learned that in most cases, their boyfriends had fumbled around at that age and really just pleasured themselves.) At the Summit Ch. 16 [I had never bragged to colleagues and only now, years later, have written about them, clouding the details so that only they recognize themselves in these stories. In fact, some of their daughters are reading these stories, as I learned from an e-mail that correctly speculated as to who one of them was. I did not confirm or deny her educated guess and I think that my young correspondent preferred to leave some mystery to it all. Perhaps someday I'll get someone else's opinion on that, before it happens again.] I completed the usual hypnotic tests to determine that Sophia was ready to receive post-hypnotic suggestions. They went smoothly and it was tempting to get through them too quickly, because of her ready acceptance at each step. She looked sexy as her arms rose at my instructions, held motionless for exactly the minute of my command, and then dropped to fold over her breasts. I had little time to think of how to convince her that hypnotism might explain "Officer Friendly's" stamina with the three women of the North Denver Board & Breakfast. Her own words seemed like a good place to start-- and as I thought about them, an on-line column by seduction expert David Shade flashed back into my mind. My plan took shape. A big shape. "Did you doubt that the police officer could get an erection so firm, over and over?" "Yes," she replied faintly. "It was an exciting story, yes?" "Yes." "So could you visualize his erection?" "Yes." "And was it harder than mine today?" "Yes." I winced, but knew that she was imagining the officer and that it would help with this project if she thought of his penis as super-human. "Imagine how he felt... can you imagine how he felt? Was he proud?" "Yes." "Did it feel good deep inside?" "Yes" "Did it hurt a little bit when it went up so many times?" "Yes." "Was it sensitive?" "Yes." "Did he feel compelled to do something wonderful with it?" "Yes." There was no flicker even of a smile at this, she simply accepted the idea. "So it would be logical to have sex with it?" "Yes." "Would it be so much fun that you would want to do it again each time your penis comes up?" "Yes." "So, can you imagine what it would be like to have a penis?" This was the question that I had been working toward. "Yes." "Your clit is a kind of penis, yes?" "Yes." "Can you imagine it growing as big as a penis?" "Yes." "And what would you do with it?" "Have sex." "Would you enjoy having it stroked?" "Yes." "Would it make you come if it was stroked too much?" She paused. "Yes." "Does a man have fun with his penis?" "Yes." "Would you have fun with your penis?" "Yes." "Does a man like to have his lover swallow his penis?" "Yes." "Would you enjoy having me suck your penis?" "Yes." "Would you like to have a penis when I tell you that it is okay?" That issue of trust again. I would have to rely on her trusting me and not just leave this thing open-ended. I suddenly had realized that if she really started behaving like a man with a penis, she might ask the maid if she wanted to stick around for some off-duty fun, and the hotel might have put us out on the street. "Do you remember the trance word that Deborah used?" "Yes." "What was it?" "...Ffatsgalf..." She did remember. It is fascinating, I thought, what our subconscious holds onto. "When someone said that, what happened to the officer's penis?" "It went up." "Now, think deeply about that word and how your clit feels right now." I knew that her clit would still be tingling from the caresses I had offered her. Sometimes after we had gone out for a walk, Sophia used to giggle a bit and admit to me that it was still giving her pleasure as her legs moved her silken panties back and forth over it. "My clit feels sexy... good." "That is good. Now, think of it growing taller. Do you like that feeling?" "Yes." "And so it will feel even sexier the taller it gets." "Yes." "And the sexier it feels, the taller it will grow." "Yes." Sophia moved just slightly, and for a moment I thought that I was overdoing things and had lost her trance. But, instead, it was just her flower opening-- I could feel the heat radiating from her vulva lips as they filled out, and then saw her clit swelling more beautifully than ever. Her legs lay relaxed and open, permitting me to watch her response as the growing feeling swept over her. "It is growing stronger." "Yes." "You feel as though you could do beautiful things with it." "Yes." I now intensified the commands. "Soon you it will be time to awake again... your conscious mind will be busy... but your subconscious will remember all of this." "Yes." "You will want to do beautiful things with your penis-size clit." "Yes." "And you will need to have caresses or kisses for your penis-size clit?" "Yes." "And when your clit grows so large, will you need to have sex?" "Yes." "So, when I say '...Ffatsgalf...' you will feel all of that." "Yes." I completed the installation of this trance word and did the usual wrap-up, letting her relax and fall into a beautiful sleep for a few minutes. I went around and picked up the breakfast stuff, put on some underwear, tied the drawstring on my bathrobe, opened the door to the hall, and pushed the debris-laden cart out of the room. Sophia began to come out of her deep sleep. "Weren't we supposed to go to that gallery this morning?" She remembered an event that though I was willing to attend, I had little interest in. Some art interests me and some does not. It was a tempting situation, sooner than I had expected. "Weren't you going to finish the story about the police officer and the three women friends of Dean?" "Hmmm. It's been fun telling you about it, but it can wait." Of course, I could not. "...Ffatsgalf..." I said in a calm tone. My lover looked at me with puzzlement. "What's that mean..." she started to say, and then she interrupted herself. "Ohhh, my gawd..." Her face turned scarlet. "Yes?" I queried. "My... clit... it's swelling like mad." She moved her legs to be more comfortable. "And does it feel sensitive to pleasure?" I raised my eyebrow and grinned. "You're damn right it is..." and she touched herself. It felt so good that she began stroking the taut spot. "Do you mind if I get these panties off, my clit is swelling so much that they're getting uncomfortable." "I thought that you'd had enough time in bed and wanted to get going to the gallery." "Damn it, Richard. Quit talking and fuck me!" She looked down as I helped her out of her panties. She wanted me to stretch them way out, just the way that she was going to have to pull down my pants, because she had grown such an erect clit -- she thought. Actually, it was remarkably erect, but not as big as the man's penis that her mind was comparing it with. Without more talk, we were on the bed again, and my lips closed around her clit. She raved about how tall it felt, how good it was to feel my kisses climbing to its tip, and how she was looking forward to feeling it riding the length of my penis when I came into her. That did not take very long to happen. And, of course, her clit did send her waves of pleasure as I probed to her deepest spots, even if it still was not really the size that she imagined it as. Afterward, we lay tangled on the bed, cooling down with playful touches and kisses. "She's going to want more," Sophia murmured greedily. "After you finish the story," I countered. I made a mental note to send David Shade a 'thank you.' Feedback is so important. "Uh, yeah..." and then it hit her. "You hypnotized me to prove that Deborah and her friends could have done that with the cop!" "Yes." "You're evil!" she asserted, negating the words with a laugh. "How else was I going to prove it to you? Wouldn't you have been bored by a science class explanation?" "So instead of being bored, I was drilled..." she chortled. "I guess that you proved your point... or my point if you want a pun. Do you plan on doing this trick again soon?" "Perhaps I'll surprise you. I don't want to wear you out." She nodded. "It's a beautiful way to get tired out. But, that's what the three women were doing to Officer Friendly." Sophia leaned back in the pillows and began to finish her account of what happened in the B&B. ============================ BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT Deborah eased the young officer's penis from her powerful (and gifted) vagina, being careful not to let the filled condom escape. Officer Friendly slumped down on the couch, numb, exhausted. She allowed him to rest for a few minutes -- she needed that time herself, if only to enjoy the good sensations that had flowed out to every part of her body. Cheryl was particularly impressed with what happened next. Although it should have been tempting for her, Deborah or Val to keep him as their own plaything, Deborah's words for him now after she put him into a trance again were not selfish. "Do you have a girlfriend?" "Yes." "Do you spend some nights with her?" "Yes." "Is she fun to be with?" "Yes." Deborah asked some more questions calculated to find out what sort of relationship the young officer had with his girlfriend, Keily. Finally, when she seemed to be satisfied that there was something between the officer and Keily, she gave him post-hypnotic instructions. "When you see her next you may still be very tired sexually. What were you planning on telling her?" "That my hours on this Summit duty had really worn me out." Cheryl and Val winked at each other as they acknowledged that Deborah had correctly guessed that this man already was making up a story to cover with his girlfriend. "You will want to tell her that, but it will be good to kiss her, yes?" "Yes." "And do you remember how you kissed my pussy?" "Yes." "You will remember that when you are with Keily and you will ask to kiss hers." "Yes." "And the more excited she gets, the harder your penis will get." "Yes." "And when she is ready, you will fuck her as much as she wants." The telephone on a side table began ringing. Deborah smoothly folded it into her instructions, suggesting that each time it rang, he would go deeper into his trance. Val backed out of the room and headed for another phone. When she returned, Officer Friendly was slumped in a tired, deep trance on the couch, and Deborah and Cheryl were going around the place straightening things up. "That was Dean," Val chuckled. "He was calling us to warn us that Bernard, that French rogue, has sent his controlled Denver cop here to entrance us and make us his love slaves. I'm paraphrasing, but that's about what he said." In this situation, the delayed warning left the two other women's faces filled with mirth, but in respect of Deborah's project with the officer, they kept silent. Deborah walked back over to him. "At the count of three, you will awake feeling refreshed, but completely spent sexually. Your main interest will be to report to Bernard that you have enslaved the women of this house. But, before you go, you will take the Bed & Breakfast brochure with you. Do you understand?" "Yes." "When you and Keily have breakfast together, you will ask her if she would like to spend time with you in this Bed & Breakfast. You will offer to treat her. It will make you feel very sexy. Do you understand?" "Yes." Val gave a thumbs up sign. Deborah counted to three. The young officer blinked a rose from the couch. Without noticing anything illogical about it, he dressed and gathered his things, commenting to the three that he needed "...to make a report right away." When they heard the rusty gate swinging shut behind him, there was a collective sigh of relief. Deborah collapsed on the couch, perspiration on her brow. That was when Cheryl realized that the road to the School for Social Expression and its seduction training was not easy. But, as she felt the warm glow and the tingle in her clit, it was very attractive. ============================ LATER IN 1997, AFTER THE SUMMIT CONFERENCE Sophia looked archly at me. "Well, aren't you going to say it?" "I thought that we had a gallery to get to." "I'm too hot and bothered now for that gallery." "Wouldn't it be exploitative of me to say it?" "Richard, I want to feel my clit reaching out that way." Sophia grinned at having been so bold. "...Ffatsgalf..." I commanded and laughed at the same time. "Uhhh... wow!" Sophia exulted as she felt -- and imagined she could see -- her clit as powerful as the strongest cock. "I want you to kiss it... NOW." And I did. ### To be continued...