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My Ballantyne Ch. 01

By: Egmont Grigor



ONE

When former champion ballroom dancer Isobel Ballantyne was on the eve of closing the Ballantyne School of Ballroom Dancing in December last year, her youngest daughter Sierra returned home, wounded, emerging from her unexpected divorce.

Sierra had fallen on hard times because marriage to an older and wealthy husband had landed her into a sumptuous life-style and there was no way that could continue with the paltry $2 million her incompetent lawyer had managed to extract in the divorce settlement.

"Heavens above, mom, the mansion I lived in cost us almost $4 million to buy but in some shady deal before the divorce, Rafael it sold at auction for just under $2 million and that was with more than a million in furniture and fittings."

"Oh my poor baby," consoled Isobel, staggered at hearing Sierra dismiss the $2 million she received as if it were shopping money.

"What will you do, darling?"

"I'll have to find another provider, of course."

"Of course, but what will you do in the meantime?"

"I don't know, mom," wailed Sierra, clutching her mother and sobbing, "You know I've never worked."

Isobel went to bed that night, and after husband Alex had bumbled around with her body in his usual way and fell asleep, Isobel was left staring into the darkness wondering how she could get some of her daughter's money into her pocket.

Three weeks later Sierra handed her mother a check for $275,000. She had purchased from her mother a single level concrete building on the edge of the commercial district of the city housing the ailing Ballantyne School of Ballroom Dancing. Isobel had convinced her daughter that if she thought she was sinking towards the bottom of life she may as well entertaining herself running the ailing dancing school and then ultimately selling off the building for a profit.

A profit? 

Mention of the word profit was like music in Sierra's ears so the deal was settled, the price fixed at book value plus 20% which made Sierra feel she was getting a bargain. The deal confirmed to Isobel that Sierra had no idea of the value of money; the best offer Isobel had received with the business and building being on the market for eight months was $237,000.

Sierra had been a brilliant dancer, winning titles galore including an international title for the Cha Cha at world competitions in Argentina, where she met Rafael, then president of the world organizing body for the competitions.

TWO

Almost six months after purchasing the dance school, Sierra was in a bar, drinking with old girlfriends. Sierra confided with Jennie that she found out why the dance tuition was ailing – it was because very few people wanted to learn to dance; she'd erroneously assumed it was because her mother had run out of energy.

"Why don't you turn it into a brothel," cackled Jennie. The other four women wanted to know what the joke was. When it had been explained they all urged Sierra to open a brothel and they all got gloriously drunk while relating brothel stories.

The next day, nursing an awfully sore head, Sierra had a long talk to her two dance instructors and receptionist; all agreed to consider staying on and began printing out letters to the present 285 students attending day and evening classes advising that the studio would be closing at the end of the current quarter in six weeks' time.

Six week later the building was painted and the new sign writing, 'Ballantyne's School of Seduction' created an immediate stir, with complaints pouring into the offices of the Mayor and the Chief of Police.

City officials, vice-squad police and TV film crews and radio and newspaper teams were waiting at the doors of the remodeled building when Sierra arrived at 9 o'clock; it was she who'd arranged for the media to be alerted.

Camera crews hurled themselves at her black Mercedes as she pulled into her parking space, just as she knew they would. The start of the daily post-breakfast program Good Morning Folk was interrupted to take the filming live which TVAIM08 was sending live feeds round the country.

"Miss Ballantyne, is this a hoax!"

"Are you in business suicide mode?"

"How do you teach seduction, Miss Ballantyne?"

The media was in feeding frenzy.

"Miss Ballantyne, are you in the process of illegally opening a brothel," thundered a uniform policeman, surrounded by grim-faced plainclothes men and women who could only be vice-squad police.

There was silence, the only sound being humming video motors, clicking camera shutters and the nervous shuffling of feet.

"A brothel, what would I know about brothels?" simpered Sierra, dressed in a black diamante gown from Paris that fitted like a glove, with a slit almost up to her left hip. She wore only a diamond choker and brilliant red high heel shoes as adornments and carried a small black handbag of the same material as her gown. Clearly she epitomized the highest-class madam seen on Earth in recent decades.

"Who asked the question how do you teach seduction?"

A pouting female journalist, about Sierra's age of thirty, raised her hand saying, "I'm sorry to ask something that is impossible to answer."

"You teach it like teaching ABD and one and one are two – creating an elementary base, then increasing knowledge and understanding in incremental steps."

"But you can't teach emotions?" fired back the know-all pouter.

"What would you know, you ignorant over-dressed and sell-opinioned woman?"

"I beg your pardon!" squawked the offended journalist, turning fiery red and spluttering.

"I think I have demonstrated how easy it is to trigger emotions," smiled Sierra sweetly, drawing laughter and some handclaps.

"So this is not going to be a brothel?"

"No, sorry officer. I guess you and your fellow officers will have to find what you're looking for elsewhere."

The sergeant had the sense to smile broadly and not retort as the TV cameras turned on to him.

A city official cleared his throat: "Madam..."

"I am not a madam in either sense of the word. Please address me either as Miss Ballantyne or Sierra."

"Miss Ballantyne, I am Withers of city regulations, licensing and inspections. I am here to advise you must keep this business closed until you apply and have approved an operating licensing for the changed used of these premises."

A disappointed sigh swept through the media. All attention swung back to Sierra who was looking into a hand mirror, touching up her lip gloss. She put those aids back into her handbag, squared her shoulders and smiled.

"I beg to differ, Mr Withers, but the usage of these premises remains unchanged. Please consult your records, we are licensed for educational tuition and that's exactly what we shall be doing here. Our first classes commence at 10 o'clock on Wednesday morning and you all are invited to enroll, including you Mr Withers.

"Now, would you all like to come in and inspect our set-up; I'm afraid classrooms are not very sexy to look at."

Four self-contained and sound-proofed classrooms with glass doors were set up inside the large area of the former dance studio, two marked 'Males' and two 'Females' and each had twenty lecturer desk units for students with a pull down screen mounted on the ceiling, video-cam recorders set up and on the stage was a model home lounge set, then a kitchen set then a bedroom set.

"What happens on the bed?" asked the police sergeant.

"The more conventional approach to seduction."

"Is there penetration?"

"Good gracious no, this is a respectable teaching facility."

"What videos will be shown?" asked a newspaper reporter.

"Clips from Health and Sexuality films issued by the Government Health Department."

"And what will be filmed," asked a vice-squad woman.

"A man pouring a drink for a woman, then in the kitchen showing how to gently touch the shoulder of a woman when she slips with dishes."

"No porn stuff?"

"Goodness no – just look at what you see. Isn't it set up exactly like a TV cooking class studio or an educational classroom for expectant mothers?"

Most people present looked around disappointedly. It was then Sierra once again noticed a tall well-built journalist who was still grinning; he'd been like that from the first time she saw him with his female photographer. She'd thought that was unusual – more often than not it was female journalists with male photographers and, besides, they usually scowl, not smile. 

As those who'd stayed for morning tea drifted away the tall smiling journalist came over and introduced himself as Mason Littlejohn and his photographer, Macie Jones. They were from the trendy weekly magazine Village Thinking, currently the darling read for folk trapped in high-rise apartments or feeling lost in suburbia.

"I suspected this was a promotional ploy," smiled Mason, noting that Sierra made no attempt to conceal her blush of embarrassment. "We just took this at face value – a teaching facility on a subject most people prefer to keep to themselves, even from their own adolescent children."

"Very astute of you, Mason," laughed Sierra, "but them journalists are trained to be astute I guess."

"He's not a journalist, really," interjected Macie almost indignantly. "He's our publisher."

"But still a working journalist," said Mason smoothly. "I still write a weekly syndicated column for newspapers and write my monthly article for Utopia 21st Century magazine."

"Oh yes, Mason Littlejohn; that's where I've come across your name. You write on ways of reducing stress in living totally in a high density urban environment – I particularly liked that advice about getting a second part-time job that doesn't really suit to help make you focus on what really matters. A piece of innovative, intelligent writing, I thought at the time."

"Why thank you, Sierra, what an intelligent thing to say."

His smile was mocking but his eyes looked warm; Sierra was wondering whether she should invite him out for lunch, Macie too, but hopefully Macie would have the nous of a knowing woman to decline, allowing Sierra to try her luck.

"Sierra, what a pretty name, though its meaning is a little rocky and jagged, which I'm sure is not you," Mason said, as if launching into a speech. "We would like to interview you for a feature article – but to do it as a working lunch, at Melba I should think unless you have another restaurant you would prefer."

"Your choice is fine," Sierra said.

THREE

They arrived at Melba and it turned into a scene from Hullo Dolly, with the maitre-d' scuttling over and kissing Sierra's hand with so much showmanship that Macie had time to whip up one of her cameras and capture the moment of Miss Ballantyne smilingly acknowledging Gustave who was saying it was so nice to see her back again. 

The resident woman pianist, catching sight of who it was, halted midway through playing 'Tea for Two' to slip into a stirring piece of Cha-cha music.

"I gather you've been here before," Mason said dryly.

"She is one of our famous regulars of the past," explained Gustave. "Come with me please, and look at her picture."

"My God," breathed Mason, looking at one of ten large framed photos on the restaurant wall called Celebrity Corner; it was a photo taken almost five years earlier which caught Sierra in a dazzling colored gossamer dress amid a spectacular leap; one breasts was clearly visible but what attracted eyes were her elegantly long legs, exposed right up to her panties.

"You like this, yes, Mr Littlejohn?" asked Gustave proudly, saying it was acknowledged those were the best legs in Latin American dancing.

Macie's reaction was to pass over her card, asking Sierra to get a copy of that print or preferably the negative delivered to her urgently along with a photo of herself receiving dancing instruction from her mother.

After entrée and wine, Macie took some photographs and then excused herself, winking at Sierra as she departed.

"That's one intelligent woman," commented Sierra.

"Who, Macie? Yeah, she does have what it takes," Mason said, looking at the beauty with her classical facial features across the table from him. The beauty with the fabulous legs; he wondered if they were still in great shape.

"How do you maintain fitness?" he asked, beginning the interview.

"At present by worrying," Sierra frowned, explaining that she was reconstructing her life after divorce.

"I mean physical fitness?" coaxed Mason.

"I've just answered that question," she replied. "Worry makes you keep on the move all the time, moving your eyes, your hands and you walk and worry, climb stairs much faster than necessary."

"I mean do you go to the gym?"

"Yes, three times a week."

"Do you still dance?"

"Yes, it is one of my pleasures."

"Will you dance for me?"

Time momentarily stood still for Sierra. Was this the moment of destiny? She couldn't tell, having no feeling about it. It had caught her unprepared, giving no lead-in time. She decided to decline but then in typical fashion went against her own advice.

"Yes, if you insist. But only in my former dance studio – it's still a dancing floor."

"That would be lovely – tonight at eight?"

"Very well."

"Am I permitted to bring a bottle of wine and glasses?" "Bring whatever you wish, even your mother and father and your wife."

"I'm not married, never have been."

Sierra had a feeling flutter through her that was bordering on being an orgasm. But then she thought sadly that a forty year old man who'd never married would be far too set in his ways for her – that no way did she want her spirit to be imprisoned.

Mason smiled, said he'd attend the private recital alone, and then continued with the interview.

More than an hour later they parted, Mason returning by cab to his office, Sierra walking to visit her accountant. She'd expected a goodbye kiss, but Mason just smiled and almost saluted, watching her walking off. With a few drinks under her belt, Sierra ensured a sassy sway was incorporated into her walk.

Sierra arrived at her education centre at 7:30 to change and limber up, and precisely at eight the doorbell went and she admitted Mason, who carried a dozen red roses which he presented with a flourish, kissing her on the cheek after doing so. Dressed in a tuxedo, he also carried a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"My, you do look handsome," said Sierra, noting a pleased response.

She seated Mason in a director's chair and disappeared, to change into her first costume to begin her prepared program of short excerpts from major dances she'd performed in her past. 

Sierra was aware that the flexibility and strength of her youth had diminished but she concealed that to a large extent by the later-life development of passionate flamboyance.

For the next hour Sierra performed very credibly, past her peak of course, but nevertheless it was a delightful performance and Mason watched entranced. 

After the final encore he asked, "Do you have a foxtrot on your musical system?"

Sierra said yes, scores of them.

"Beautiful dancer, may I have the next dance?" grinned Mason, walking to her.

They danced, and to her surprise Sierra found he was quite an accomplished dancer of the foxtrot – his timing and balance were good, and the fingers in her back signaled his intentions decisively and early which pleased her and lifted him above the pack of male dancehall grinders. His touch of flamboyance was also well received.

"You're very good – excellent in fact, she said."

"I love having you in my arms," he said, unsmilingly.

That caught Sierra unawares. Not knowing which way to turn away she faced him and let him read her delighted look, colored by a teenager-like blush. He read it but said nothing, sparing her further embarrassment.

They went on stage in one of the classrooms to sit in the lounge segment to drink their champagne, silently choosing to share the sofa rather than sit opposite in the lounge chairs as if both acknowledging something was developing between them.

Pouring the final top-ups, Mason stood up and putting out his hand said, "Come to bed."

TO BE CONTINUED... 

My Ballantyne Ch. 02



The story so far: A former international champion ballroom dancer of the Cha Cha, Sierra Ballantyne, buys her mother's failing dance studio and is unable to turn it around. So she converts it into the Ballantyne School of Seduction against a background of controversy that she sets out to mollify. The young divorcee catches the eye of the publisher of a trendy urban magazine.

*

FOUR

Well, a mini moment of destiny had arrived, thought Sierra Ballantyne, standing up in response to Mason Littlejohn's sweetly uttered invitation, "Come to bed."

Did she need to go to bed with someone! She was taut with sexual longing as she'd not had release for quite sometime but now that she had the glimmer of hope that she was bottoming out on her downward socio-economic spiral, this offer was reason to celebrate.

But she decided not to be too eager.

"No," flustered Sierra, "I've been dancing dynamically, getting all hot and sweaty; I need to shower."

"I'll adore smelling the flesh of the real you," said Mason, in almost a whisper.

"I really don't know."

Mason put down his glass and picked up the mentally teetering dancer and took her to the bed in the stage set next door.

As they reached the bed they ended their first kiss and Mason dropped Sierra lightly, and in one easy movement dove two hands in under the peasant's skirt of her dancing costume, raising her ass and drawing down her panties in almost a continuous seamless movement.

"God, you're good," she said, watching her panties fly through the air. "I scarcely felt them being removed."

"It comes from plenty of practice – so you want me to wear a condom?"

"Are you clean?"

"To be best of my knowledge."

"Then no, I want skin and membrane against skin and membrane. Should I remove my bra?"

"That would be most hospitable."

"Hospitable?"

"Perhaps a very appropriate word because its general meaning is receiving and entertaining strangers, with kindness and without reward."

"But the plan is to exchange rewards, isn't it."

"Yes, very much," said Mason, running his tongue down those still very beautiful although somewhat sweaty legs.

"This is fabulous," he said, "causing Sierra's well-primed body to judder into small waves of orgasm.

Mason performed a little cunnilingus but Sierra was so charged through her erotic dancing that she was threshing above and urging him to start thrusting into her. The urgency of that request brought Mason to near-peak of arousal so, happily unzipping, he pushed a very ready penis into her liquefied depths.

"Oh Mason, ram me, ram me – it's been more than four months since I've had a penis to satisfy me."

That impassioned plea inflated Mason's cock to maximum and with a guttural roar he began plowing into Sierra's fat-lipped cunt with unrestrained enthusiasm, imbued with the feeling that he was delivering a command performance.

Sierra screamed and ejaculated a few seconds before he climaxed but he caught her mood, and pulling out stroked his engorged dick five times and it began pumping white fluid over her upper body. Sierra joyfully licked some into her mouth and then began massaging the remainder into her body, moaning and panting like a woman possessed.

The sight of this aroused Mason to new heights, and a couple of jigs with a fist were sufficient to send a second wave of cum splattering on to the heaving body of Sierra. 

"Omigod," she wailed in delight, "is there no end?"

Fifteen minutes later, dressed and elated, they walked from the building to Sierra's car.

"Are you okay to drive home?" worried Mason.

"I am beautiful in my head but foul in my body – I believe with the sweat and body fluids I probably smell like a cat escaped from a whorehouse," she giggled.

"Not a description that fits mine – you smell exactly like a happy well-fucked woman should, so accept your lot and wallow in it before your next shower washes it all away."

They looked at each other, as if not wishing to part.

"Tomorrow night then?" he asked

"What's on tomorrow night?"

"Dinner at a club where there is dancing."

"Isn't there someone else?"

"I'm not running with anyone at present, but I guess you have noticed the slight possessiveness in my photographer Macie – but it's just a cozy side arrangement and she's married. There's a vacancy if you're interested."

"I'm interested."

"I know where you live; I call at nine."

"Right, see you tomorrow, big boy."

"Big boy?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Sierra smiled. "You have a big heart, and I think you like me."

After the final kiss she was gone.

I also feel well-fucked, sighed Mason happily, watching the rear lights of her vehicle fade from sight. He was experiencing financial problems from his publishing operations and wondered if his new found friend might be a bottomless source of funding, what with a divorce settlement in the bag.

FIVE

The publicity over the phantom 'controversy' over the School of Seduction had given the school tremendous publicity and courses were rapidly filling for the first six weeks. 

Most of the writers and commentators observed in their reports that no penetration or pornography or 'distasteful practices' were involved (correctly quoting Sierra) and the minimum age for enrolment was nineteen with verification of age required.

Following the screening of the TV news clips and newspaper news reports the 'controversy' practically died over night. 

With the dust settling, the president of the local business and professional association called on Sierra and invited her to apply for membership. He did warn her, however, that 'some residual disharmony' may prevent Sierra's application gaining the two-thirds majority member approval vote.

"No problem," said Sierra. "I'll just keep applying until I win your members over."

A courier awoke Sierra just after 7 o'clock on Wednesday – 'O-day', short for opening day. She handed Sierra a copy of Village Thinking magazine.

There was a page one pointer to the feature article on Sierra on the centre-spread and spilling to fill the next two page; the presentation including a factual account of her new business activity. 

Sierra's mother Isobel had told Sierra a reporter had called and asked her 'a few questions' but that was an understatement – her mother had painted Sierra as the 'the most heavenly baby conceived' and over-the-top quotations from her mother continued throughout that extensive interview. 

Sierra's only adverse reaction was publication of her mother's disclosure that her daughter had received 'only a lousy $2 million in divorce settlement from that hard-hearted bum of a husband'. Sierra was appalled that her mother should reveal such confidential information.

To her amazement Sierra found one of her bitchiest competitors in international dancing claiming that Sierra was "in her day the greatest dancer of the Cha Cha the world has ever seen!"

Macie's photos were great but when Sierra turned the page there was a picture that topped them all – the photo of her in Restaurant Melba standing with Gustave looking at that photo of her in Celebrity Corner. The beauty of the simplicity of the composition and the captured poignancy of the two friends renewing contact beneath the portrayed flamboyance that had brought them together was just too much – Sierra's shoulders heaved as she sobbed, wallowing in nostalgia.

Drying her eyes Sierra began reading Mason's article and was both embarrassed and impressed. He painted lovely word pictures and was overly generous in his description of her. It was, she had to admit, a very well crafted portrayal – and who was she to argue with what he saw in her?

The telephone began ringing as old friends and acquaintances who'd read their paper felt the urge to re-establish contact with her, getting Sierra's phone number from her mother who was listed in the phone book. 

Gustave called and said it was a masterly presentation completely befitting of her and 'don't we photograph well'.

Then came a call: "You crazy whore trying to fill the minds of our young people with filth – crawl back into your hole, bitch and stay there."

"Up yours," Sierra said calmly, terminating the call, her hands shaking. 

She was reaching to disconnect the phone from the wall when the phone rang.

"Yes?" she answered defensively.

"Miss Ballantyne?"

"Yes," she replied, still apprehensive.

"Al Morgan, of Morgan Chapman Rizzo. Lovely article about you in this morning's Village Thinking. I would like to see you at your earliest convenience – over lunch perhaps?

"Why?"

"Because of a quotation in that article from your mother, which, if true, we ought to be able to assist you with."

"What quotation?" asked Sierra, trying to think of anything controversial her mother had said.

"The lousy divorce settlement."

"Oh that, but you can't be of any assistance, I signed a final and total settlement agreement."

"Miss Ballantyne," said Al, patiently. "A man of your husband's international status does not merely have assets of five mil or less. He'll have assets that were not disclosed during settlement negotiations. 

"I'm a forensic accountant and work internationally – I specialize in sniffing out cheats. My partner, Anton Rizzo, specializes in taking divorce cheats to Court. If we come involved it will not cost you a cent if our efforts to prove a case fail, but we don't come cheap; if you have success we'll take 15% of gross."

"Hmmmmm."

"Does that mean you're interested?"

"Yes, if only to nail that bastard. As you have my phone number you'll have my address, so please write me a proposal and enclosed your card. I'll seek advice and get back to you, Mr..."

"Al."

"I'll get back to you Al."

"I've seen you dance several times, Miss Ballantyne. We are at our best representing celebrities."

"Even fallen celebrities?"

"They're even better, Miss Ballantyne because we bring them back to life and the publicity enriches us."

"Please call me Sierra, Al. I should think we will be having that lunch soon."

Sierra disconnected the house phone, found Macie's business card and using her cell phone called her.

"Hi, it's Sierra. Great work, Macie – people are raving."

"Oh, Sierra. How kind of you to call. I'm glad you're pleased."

"Marcie – you've got to enter that photo of Gustave and I into a national media awards competition – we may benefit from the publicity but you are the one to receive kudos. I've had a lot of experience at being involved in international photography shoots and I know a winning picture when I see one, even if I happen to be in it."

"I know it's good but perhaps it's even better than I think – Mason has already been on to me, saying the same thing."

"Oh Mason, may I speak to him?"

Marcie giggled – my husband is in the bathroom shaving, Sierra. No, Mason isn't here – I'm not into threesomes. I guess he'd said something about us?"

"Yes, Marcie – just advising me not to become possessive, I guess, as I do have Latin blood in me. The way he put it was rather like there's a little thing of convenience going and it's not my business."

"Well, I don't know what to think. It sounds as if you two have a thing going already – I expected that to happen as soon as I saw you too looking at each other up close. I promise not to get in the way. His casual girlfriends come and go, most cum I think," she giggled, sending Sierra off into a giggling fit.

"I must dash, Macie. We must lunch soon. Bye."

Sierra tried to call Mason but had to leave a message: "Magnificent spread. I've had several complimentary calls but now the phone's disconnected. One abusive call and one I really need to talk to you about. Phone me after four this afternoon."

SIX

From 9 o'clock people in increasing numbers went through the doors of the Ballantyne School of Seduction. The sex education consultant that Sierra had engaged to write up the three-stage syllabus – Intermediate (it was assumed all registrants would have knowledge of basics), Senior and Advance was in attendance. She had also trained the ten instructors working the two shifts.

In typical style Sierra had trained the instructors in presentation, requiring a degree of flamboyance to liven up what academically can be a rather dreary topic as a lecture. The instructors were also coached in assisting students to engage in meaningful character acting roles with two sets in role play – Mr and Mrs Poorly and Mr and Mrs Fantastic.

Ten males turned up for their class with another nine failing to show although phoning in to reserve a place. The first two 20-seat sessions for women attracted one hundred percent attendance and with one-hundred and seventeen other women arriving without bookings, ten went in for a mixed class with the consent of the ten male attendees and another full class of twenty women went into the other empty classroom set aside for males.

"This is so typical of men," said the sex education consultant – females pile in from the start and males will gradually appear when realizing no stigma is attached. By the way, did you spot the male and female police officers?"

"Yes – well dressed, a little uptight and a little conspicuous in posture, don't you think?"

"Yes, I did Sierra. Well, it won't harm them as I have a number of sexually dysfunctional clients from the police and armed forces."

"Well, it's 10 o'clock, time to ring the bell for the inaugural two-hour session," said Sierra.

A reporter and photographer from the daily newspaper came inside just before noon and interviewed people coming out of classes against the backdrop of the big wall sign, 'Respect and Affection Help Create Great Sex'. A TV crew operated outside, also interviewing the not-so-shy students.

With satisfaction Sierra heard very positive remarks being made to the journalists.

She took a call from Lloyd Philp, president of the local business and professional association pleading with Sierra to be guest speaker at the association's annual dinner on Saturday night.

"I was to speak about the erosion of profit margins but women on the executive, aware your application is before the membership committee, want you to speak, and so I'm prepared to step aside and have my address published in the association's bulletin."

Sierra said fine, she'd do that. She was invited to bring a partner.

"It seems every person I know has read your story in the newspaper," Lloyd said. "With you speaking, we'll have to shift to a bigger venue because once we email that you're to be the speaker we'll get close to a record turn-out, I'm picking. Probably we'll have some media reporters dropping in as well."

Lloyd asked Sierra to phone him as soon as she'd work out a topic.

"I can tell you the title now, 'Bed's a Place for Excitement!'

"Er, some of our members are rather traditionalists."

"Yes, well let them go home offended, that always makes some people happy."

"Er, we are a respectable organization."

"For goodness sake, Lloyd, this is only sex we're on about – there's not a lot of difference between having a cough and having an ejaculation."

"Thank you, Sierra," said Lloyd weakly. "I'll bring your tickets around to you tomorrow."

Waiting outside the office were three people – the two undercover cops and a woman.

"I'm Adams, of city regulations, licensing and inspections," said the woman. "Withers instructed me to enroll and assess your operation as performing to requirements. I'll be reporting to Withers that you comply in every respect. The presentation I attended was brilliant – I just can wait to get my Donald enrolled."

"Thank you Mrs Adams, but we do not accept enrolments of children."

"Oh no, Donald is my husband. He really doesn't have a clue at which end to start."

The two police officers also reported they had no problem with the Intermediate and Senior classes but wanted to review an Advance class before filing their report.

"We've got one tomorrow evening at 6 o'clock," said Sierra. "I think would-be attendees are waiting to find out how advance is our advance course – we'll have to get brochures printed."

"There are a couple of things I learned in class this morning," said the policewoman. "I'm taking Timmy here home to try them out."

"Are you?" asked Timmy, astonished. "I'd rather like that, Ingrid."

Mason phoned at 4 o'clock and said he was parked outside the front entrance, ready to take Sierra out for coffee and a snack and to hear her news.

She ran out and jumped into his wagon, kissing him fiercely.

"Oh you good boy – everyone's talking about the article you wrote – are you free to take me out on Saturday night to a dinner."

"Yes, of course."

"What can I do for in return?"

Mason blushed and went "Er".

"Er what?"

"Er, I've had a hard on all day just thinking about you; I need relief."

They drove quickly to the headland and parked discretely. Sierra undid Mason's zip and extracted a very angry red and purpled headed penis. She slipped her top off her shoulders, unchooked her bra and applied a little lubricant from a bottle she'd taken from her handbag. She rubbed that between her breasts and pulled the penis into the cleavage and commanded, "Go boy!"

Mason began thrusting thinking this was a bit of a let-down but then Sierra began talking dirty.

"Look at this cum-chucker wallowing between my tits, the obscene little fucker. Ooooh, doesn't he look as if he's found a crevice to cum in? Meanwhile the pressure is building up in your aching balls and you beautifully powerful-looking cock is ready to squirt its white magic at one hundred miles an hour on to my lily white tits. Your eyes are hooded but the eye of your leaking cock is wide open and..."

There was no need to say more.

Mason roared "Oh, Fuck!" and streams of thick juicy cum shot out and on to the window of his driver's door, and run down the glass obscenely.

"Is that better darling?" asked Sierra in wide-eyed innocence. "Gosh, that was a mighty stream." She pulled her tightly pressed tits up and down his shaft and Mason groaned as another shot of cum discharged.

"I need coffee and food for revival – it's on the back sheet," he sighed heavily.

Fifteen minutes later Sierra had her head and shoulders against the passenger door, her ass pushed along the seat a bit with her cunt tilted upwards and one leg hooked over the steering wheel and the other over the driver's seat. Mason had used her bottle of lube and moving forward on his knees pushed in his dick. Fire showed in their eyes as they locked gazes.

With her back arched inwards, Sierra's bared breasts drooped down, very much to Mason's liking and as the humping started he moved in a began to suck those hangers; Sierra with an arm over his shoulder and another round his head was saying over and over, "My darling, my darling."

Their breathing eventually quickened and it was Sierra who came first, beginning her ejaculation with a mournful sigh and then groaning in delight when hit by release.

By now Mason's balls were tender, having been drained previously and now bouncing a bit on the ribbed-covered seat. Sierra surreptitiously lubed a finger from juices on the seat and rammed it into his asshole. 

Mason bellowed and squirted but not seeing much for a second because of the red stars shooing across his eyes, or so it seemed.

"God, do you know how to fuck a man dry," he sighed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," smiled Sierra. Then looking up she saw to her horror a uniform policeman walking towards their vehicle, looking very grim.

TO BE CONTINUED...