How I Stumbled into Modeling

How I Stumbled into Modeling

a Short Story by Kellis

It was a broad!

I had just loped out into the meadow, past a huge mountain oak, not running but still hurrying, and there she sat on a camp stool.� I stopped about ten feet out of the woods to look her over.� She had some kind of wooden contraption opened up in front of her with her hand poised to do something on it.� She was big, blonde and fortyish, wearing a long green robe or smock that buttoned up the front.� I saw nothing that looked like a weapon.� She was no threat, except maybe in the long run.

She spared me a glance, then concentrated on her �� painting.� That�s what she was up to:� an artist painting a landscape.� I�ve seen them do it on TV.

�H�lo, there!� I called as I drew near.

She looked up then.� Flick, flick, flick:� her eyes went all over me.� She smiled.� �Good afternoon, sir.�� She glanced at her wristwatch then back to me.� �I�m awfully glad you made it.�

�You were expecting me, then?� I suggested, sort of grinning.

�Oh, yes.� Everything is ready for you.�

By that time I had come up beside her.� Hey, this old gal was good!� In front of her was a damn big boulder and the meadow stretching down to the cliff and the distant landscape beyond that, plus white clouds in a blue sky.� Damned if she didn�t have them exact, shapes, colors, everything!� A photograph couldn�t�ve shown it better.

�Do you think you can climb that rock?�

I turned to look it over.� �Yeah, in the back.� See where it slopes down?�

She peered where I pointed and chuckled.� �I guess, if you have a monkey�s agility.�

�I�m in pretty good shape,� I admitted.

She turned to look me up and down again.� �I hope so.� Take off your clothes.�

�My � what?�

She said primly, �Heroes wear no clothes.�

She was so matter-of-fact that she tickled me, telling a strange man to strip!� Why the hell not?� Then I thought of a reason why not and cocked my head to listen.� But all I could hear was the breeze in the trees above us plus crickets and a bird call or two.� The county�s engines had either gone away or been shut down.

But what did she have in mind?� �Why don�t you strip, too?� I suggested.

She smiled.� �Oh, it would be so cool and free, wouldn�t it?� But it�s such a bother, getting acrylics out of your hair, if you know what I mean.� Go ahead.� I want to see your pectorals particularly.� And your penis.� I can adjust proportions to suit the objective, but only if the prototype has good character.� Lay your clothes on the grass behind me and put your boots on top so the wind won�t bother them.�

�Let me get this straight.� You want to make sure my pec � pec ��

�Pectorals.�

�What�s that?�

�The big muscles in the front of your chest.� From what I can tell under that orange suit, they should be very satisfactory.�

�Them and my dick you want to make sure has character, did you say?�

�Oh, I do hope so!� Please make haste, sir.� The sun has just about reached the perfect angle.�

What the hell!� Clothes would just get in the way of what I was beginning to fancy, anyway.� One advantage, maybe the only advantage, of a jail suit is that it goes on and off easy.� I shrugged out of the top and threw it beside her.

�What about the � pecters?�

Her eyes lit up.� �They're very good, I must say!�

I jerked off boots and socks, untied the rope belt and stepped out of britches and underpants.� I pointed my soft dick at her and asked, �Any character?�

�You are so wonderfully pale, sir!� The contrast will be perfect.�� She shook her head, rummaging in her paint box.� �Of course I can�t tell yet about the penis.� At least it�s uncut.�

She came up with a tube that didn�t look like paint.� �Lean close to me, sir, and let�s protect you from sunburn.�

She rubbed some white stuff all over me, starting with my forehead, ears, nose and cheeks.� When she reached my chest she used both hands.� �Oh, yes, sir, very nice pectorals indeed!� And the shadows in your stomach ripples will stand out so attractively.�� She worked on my hipbones, my ass cheeks, the fronts of my legs, my calves and the tops of my feet.

She was stooping by that time.� She raised up and cupped my balls thoughtfully.� �I guess these don�t need any special attention.�

�What about my dick?� I asked.

�It�s beginning to shape up, isn�t it?�� She sounded pleased.� Then she chuckled up at me.� �Oh, you mean, in regard to sunburn, don�t you!� I have just the thing.�

She dived back into her paint box and came out with a piece of cloth that proved to be a little bag with a drawstring at one end.� �They used to send camera film in this,� she explained.� �I normally use it for extra easel nuts, but in this case �� She was busy spreading the mouth of it.� She slipped it right over the head of my dick and pulled the drawstring snug.� �Now,� she smiled fondly, �there�s protection!�

Maybe, so long as I didn�t get a full boner.

She raised up and cocked her head at me.� �Wonderful!� You�re the perfect hero, sir!�

�Thank you,� I said.� This was a smart old gal!� I had always thought myself a hero, too, but she was the first to confirm it.

�Now please take your place and let me pose you.�

�My place?�

�On the rock, of course.�

Suddenly I figured out what was going on.� She thought I was a model she had ordered from some agency.� I shrugged mentally.� All right, I would play along for awhile.� So far it was interesting.

I scampered up the backside of her boulder and looked down at her.

�Like this, sir, if you please.�� She struck a pose, shoulders thrown back with arms in front of her, both fists raised about even with her head.� �You have just saved the world.� This is the Olympian salute to the gods.�

If she said so.� I stuck out my belly and raised my fists.

�Good.� Turn a little more toward me�� Put your left foot forward and the right back�� Perfect!�

She bustled around with her paints for a moment, then stood behind the canvas, looking back and forth between me and it, shoulder twitching as she painted.

I listened to the birds and the bugs and the breeze.� After awhile I asked, �How long do I have to stand here?�

�Are you tired or just bored?�

I had to chuckle.� �Tired?� This ain�t work.�

�No?� Don�t tell your union that.� They think it�s worth 500 an hour.�

No shit!� But she didn�t sound too put out.� I asked, �You don�t think that�s too high?�

�Well, it�s high, but not when it persuades a specimen like you.�� She chuckled.� �You probably know that women only get 250.�

Had I been out of circulation that long?� I commented, �The last time I looked, that would get you five women!�

She smiled.� �Perhaps, but those women don�t have to hold still.�

Interesting point.� Should it be more expensive for a broad to hold still than to swivel her hips?� I said, �I don�t think I�d pay one to hold still.�

�Ah, I see.� You prefer dynamic art!�

�Huh!� Is that what they call it these days?�

�Oh, you�d be surprised.� Travis Jointree got twenty grand for his Wobbling Tarts.�

�What�s that?� Wobbling?�

�So he calls it.� It�s just three female bodies, sculpted in rubber, threaded on bent wires driven by a common crank.� I don�t think they look arty at all.� Or even very tasteful.� But I have to admit, every man standing around the exhibit had his hand in his pocket.� Of course, there�s no accounting for taste.�� She smiled up at me.� �Though I suspect you would find it more to yours.�

�Better than broads that hold still,� I groused.

She nodded.� �Some of the new schools would agree.� They take photographs and paint from them.� But I�m fast.� I learned to paint a quick likeness in the carny.� And there�s just no substitute for the live model.� If the shadow�s not right in the photograph, you have no remedy but to guess.� Whereas here �� Turn just a bit away from me, sir, if you please.�

I took a breath.� �Ma�am, do you by any chance have anything to drink with you?�

�Well, yes, a thermos of coffee.� If you can stand it another couple of minutes, I�ll reach a point where we can take a break.�

�Okay.�

From her concentration and shoulder twitches she was painting like mad when it happened.� With a roar that was almost an explosion two county hogs sailed out of woods behind her.� I�d seen it before:� the trees and the folds in the land could muffle engine sounds, even from motorcycles big as these, until they were right on top of you.� The deputies in their brown uniforms hung about with all kinds of technical crap were leaning forward, staring at us from under their helmets through silvery sunglasses.

I tensed, ready to break for the woods again, even wearing nothing but a cotton codpiece.� But I saw my artist do something that changed my mind completely in a flash.� She reached out with her foot and drug my orange clothing out of sight under the flaps of her camp stool.� I had flinched, but I straightened back up with my fists in the air.

The hogs pulled up beside the woman as their engines died.� The closest mounty cocked his head, looking back and forth from her picture to me.� She just went right on painting.

In the silence except for the bugs and birds that I�ve already mentioned, he cleared his throat.� �Excuse me, Ms. Hendrick, I really hate to bother you.�

From her shoulder twitches I could tell she was still painting.� �That�s all right, Deputy Brindle.� You�re not bothering me, though if the rain this morning hadn�t settled the dust I suspect I�d have some unkind things to say to you just now.�

God, she even knew these pigs!� If I dropped behind the boulder and kept low, I might make it to the cliff �� But the man was talking.

�Ah, yes, ma�am.� Excuse me.� We�re looking for an escapee who came this way, about five ten, 180 pounds, a white man a lot like that fellow on the rock, except for an orange suit and a shackle on his leg dragging a chain.� Have you seen anybody answering that description?�

�What�s his name?� she asked, still painting.

�Andrew Kellibang.�

�Kellibang!� What an unusual name!�

�We believe it�s an alias, after that Australian porn star.� Have you seen him, ma�am?�

�A porn star?�

�No, no.� Have you seen our escapee?�

�No one who looked like a Kellibang, you may be sure!� In fact until you and Deputy Jones arrived just now, I hadn�t seen anyone except myself and my model, there.�� She cocked her head.� �Now that you mention it, he could be a star, couldn�t he?�

�I wouldn�t know.� What�s his name?�

�Well, it would hardly be Kellibang!�

The farther pig, Deputy Jones, I presumed, got off his hog and took a couple steps toward me.� �What�s your name, bud?� he inquired coldly.

�He�s from Kamchatka,� the woman declared with a sniff.� �You know:� eastern Siberia.� Doesn�t speak English yet.� Up there he�s got a better view than I have.� Let me ask him whom he�s seen.�� She raised her voice and called with an earnest and solicitous expression, �Gobble cardastink fordebag clod?�

Say again?� It was all I could do to keep a straight face, but I could sure speak that language!� I answered with a sneer, �Forda porsche quatpoot.�

She nodded.� �As I expected.� He�s seen only you two �� Ahem!� You two policemen.� I�m afraid he used a rather impolite word, but the Siberian police have treated their people so poorly ��

�An impolite word?�� Deputy Brindle bristled.� �He called us pigs, didn�t he!�

�Oh, no.� The Kamchatkan word, quatpoot, actually means female reindeer, but as you know, among reindeer the female bosses the herd.�

The deputy looked from her to me to the painting.� The other one asked, �What�s so impolite about female reindeer?�

�Nothing about the animals themselves, of course.� It�s their habit of making their mates pay for � ah � favors.� You slept through that class, didn�t you, Deputy Jones?�

But Deputy Brindle was studying me closely.� �He sure is pale!�

�Well, of course.� Kamchatka is just coming out of its long night.� In a few days he�ll be as tanned as you are.� I needed a pale model for the contrast, you know.� I was lucky to get him right off the plane.�

�Ms. Hendrick, I am concerned about your safety.� Did you get him from a proper modeling agency?�

�You�ve known me a long time, Deputy Brindle.� Did you ever hear of me taking up with just anybody who came waltzing around an oak tree?�

�Well, no, ma�am, I guess I never heard that.�

Jones demanded, �What�s that on his di�� his penis?�

�A film bag.� He has to stand just so, you know.� I wouldn�t want that part to get sunburned.�

Jones huffed a few times, sort of a deep belly chuckle, then noted with a leer, �Sure is cute.�� The son of a bitch!

�Yeah, cute,� Deputy Brindle agreed dryly.� �Ms. Hendrick, please keep your eye peeled for Kellibang.� You got your cell phone?�

�In the paint box.�

�Good.� Tell your Mr. �� By the way, what is his name?�

She cocked her head at me.� �Curdle pondrover shimmytaze?�

Of course I answered, �Shimmytaze fankidder.�

�Fankidder?� she asked, face lighting up.

I nodded deadpan.� �Fankidder.�

She smiled around at the cops.� �Fan!� That means � well, it means penis in Kamchatkan.� Literally his name would translate as Masterpenis.�� She chuckled a little.� �Excuse me, gentlemen.� I�m sure it�s a family name with no personal significance.�

Deputy Jones studied me some more.� �Yeah.� A family name.�

�How do you spell that?� asked Brindle, pulling out his notebook.

�Let me.�

He surrendered the notebook and pencil to her but scowled when he got it back.� �What�s that chicken scratch?�

�Oh, I�m sorry.� Of course they use the Cyrillic alphabet.� Here, let me write it in Roman characters.�

�Okay, Fankidder.�� This time he put it away.� �Let�s go, Jones.� I still think Kellibang turned left at the fork.�

Mounting his hog, he said to the woman, �Sorry to bother you, Ms. Hendrick.�� He grinned, thumb poised on the starter.� �You�d please Jones if you�d make his ass bigger.�

She answered sweetly.� �It would give him a better seat on his motorcycle, wouldn�t it!�

He growled.� �I meant Fandiddle�s ass.�

I shouted, �Fankidder, you bastard!�� Va-room!� Their engines had caught with the barest touch, drowning me out.� They made a tight circle, semi-dirts tearing up the grass, and roared back over the ridge.� Almost immediately the sound faded out.

I looked down at her.� She was painting like mad.� �Damn cops!� she muttered.� �Took the best light.� Fannie-boy, would you turn just a little further away from me?�

�Aray ouyay a azycray oadbray?� I asked, turning just a little further.

She grinned, shoulder twitching furiously.� �Why, Mr. Fankidder, I had no idea you were such an accomplished linguist!�

�Well, are you?�

�Surely you�re not complaining.� Or is it Kellibang?�

�Ms. Hendrick, ma�am, what are you counting on?� Here you�ve gone and run off the cops.� Do you think I ought to be grateful?� Well, maybe I am, but in case you�ve forgotten what a man in good shape can do, I could reach you in a jump and a leap, long before you might get that cell phone out of your paint box.�

�Oh, Mr. Fankidder, what a splendid idea!�

�Huh?�

�But can you hold off just a bit?� I need your masterful penis now.�

�That�s what I meant.�

She grinned.� �I mean in the painting.�� She laid her palette on the paint box and came toward me.� �Sit down on the rock, please, and I�ll help you pose it.�

I obeyed, curious as to what she had in mind.� She wanted my legs to dangle off the edge.� On tiptoe, she could get her head up about as high as my ass.

She pulled the film bag off the end of my shrunken dick and grinned up at me.� �I hate the taste of suntan lotion.�� The next thing I knew she had stretched up and sucked me right into her mouth.

Whoa!� Mine was sure as hell not the first dick she ever sucked nor the first set of balls she ever squeezed.� The hang-jaw surprise of it helped, along with the realization that she had meant to do this from the beginning.� I think my Rambo came to attention faster than he ever did before.� She actually sucked the foreskin back over her tongue while swabbing out the eye.� Delicious!� I hadn�t touched a woman in two years nor my fist in three days.� I was straining to give her mouthful.� She felt it of course and backed off.

�There!�� She was dashing back to her paints and calling over her shoulder, �Stand up, Mr. Supercock.� Come back into your pose, please!�� She grabbed up her palette.� �Keep what almost happened in mind and it�ll happen yet.�

�It�s going to happen right now,� I announced, getting to my feet before leaping off the rock.

�Now, now, sir.� You know how dangerous it is to rape a crazy broad�s mouth.� But in two minutes it won�t have to be rape.�

She had a point.� My pal Joey has got half of his left for just that reason.� Up went the fists again.

�Turn a little more, sir.� Ah, yes!� Now that�s character!�

I couldn�t believe what she implied.� I asked, �Are you really going to suck me off voluntarily?�

�Oh, yes, my dear Mr. Well-named Fankidder.� Tell me:� when you climax, would you prefer I spit the head out and let it cream all over my face?� Or would you have me keep it inside?�

Her shoulder was twitching like mad.� I groused, �We ain�t making a movie.�

�Meaning that you don�t need to see it on me; you can feel it in me.� Very good.� So, then, when you have finished, should I swallow or spit?�

�Good god, ma�am!� By the way, what is your name?�

�Oh, my, I�ve done it again: sucked a cock without being introduced!� But why should that be embarrassing?� Did you ever think it might be the best arrangement?�

�I � never thought about it.�

�My first name is Chastity, which is actually more descriptive than not.� Which you should approve because, as you may have noticed, chaste women give the best head.� Enthusiasm, you know.�

�If you say so.�� I studied her intent face.� �You�re not nervous are you?�

�Because I�m talking a lot?�� She grinned.� �I do have a reason, a very nice one, and it�s still standing straight out.� In just about half a minute you will jump down from that rock and poke it into my mouth.� I�m also interested in what you plan to do after that.� Will you need a long period of recuperation?�

�Of what?�

�Of rest before you can again rise to the occasion.� I am most anxious to feel that plump gristle in a very tender spot with your hard chest lying on my soft one.� This grass is so nice and thick.� It will make us a soft nest.�

�But what if the cops �� I had to chuckle.� �The reindeer come back?�

�Now, Fannie-boy, you aren�t supposed to be concerned just now with such practical matters.� But what if they do?� I don�t think they can arrest us for taking our pleasure under God�s blue sky � on land that happens to be my property.�

�Your property?�

�223 acres, Fannie-boy, all the way down to the cliff.�

�Good god, Chastity!�

She chuckled.� �I�m glad it pleases you.�

�Chastity, I need a place to stay for awhile.�

�I suppose you do.� And I need a willing model.� You�d be surprised how few will show their cocks, not to speak of those many other uses for one.� There!� You can come down now and I�ll go down!�

I didn�t need a second invitation.� As I jumped she was shrugging out of her painter�s smock.� Would you believe this broad � naked as a jaybird under it?� And lush.� Big, soft, saggy tits, wide hips, plenty of hair where it belongs, and, god, a whole pan of bacon frying!� My mouth watered.� I almost ate her out without thinking, except she beat me to the knees in the grass.

This is some talented broad!� �What are you, Chastity, a retired Las Vegas showgirl?�� Of course she couldn�t answer and I didn�t care, because about then Rambo starting giving her his best pulsing throat spray.� Must�ve been.� He is six and a half from the backup pad and every inch was out of sight.� She held still until I finished, then did a tingly clean-off.� She spat a glob into the grass, but I�m confident it was a lot less than Rambo slipped her.

�No,� she said finally.� �I�ve never even been to Las Vegas.�

�That�s amazing.� You suck better than they do!� Better even than a ��

She chuckled.� �A vacuum cleaner?�

�I was about to say, a shower crowder.�

�What�s that?�

�The prisons are full of them.� Lay back, will you?�

�Don�t you want some coffee first?�

�Oh, yeah.� I am thirsty!�� I took a deep breath.� �All right.� We�ll wait a bit to find out what comes next.�

She rummaged in her paint box, came up with a thermos and a cup.� The top of the thermos made another.� She spread a plastic sheet on the grass, sat on it and patted a spot beside her.� I sat, too.� We drew our knees up Indian-fashion.� She poured the coffee in both cups, then opened a plastic vial and poured maybe a teaspoon�s worth of clear liquid into both.

�What�s that, sugar water?� I prefer it straight.�

�I, too,� she agreed, �except for this.� It�s called �valipor.�� Something new.� When your brew has been sitting in a thermos half the day, it takes the edge off � you know, the bitterness.� Try it.�

She handed me one cup and raised the other to her lip.� I took a cautious sip.� �Not bad,� I admitted.� �It tastes a little different, but not bad.�

�You like it?� Let me give you a little more.�

She extended the vial and dropped in another dollop.� �Shake it around to stir it up.�

More didn�t seem to make any difference, but it was tasty enough and I was thirsty, all right, having pushed a mile or two through the woods at a fast walk after I found the right pair of stones to smash that manacle.� Posing for half an hour, strutting for the county mounties and whitewashing Chastity�s tonsils hadn�t helped.� One thing the extra dollop did accomplish was cool the coffee just enough for me to turn it up and pour it down.

She smiled.� �Want more?�

�I don�t want to clean you out.�

She turned the thermos up and frowned.� �I�m sorry.� We�ve already done that.� Are you still very thirsty?�

�I could use another, but it�s all right.�

�Here, drink mine.� I�ve hardly tasted it.�

�Are you sure?�

She leered.� �I just had a drink, you know.�

If that�s how she felt about it �� Hers was too hot to chugalug, but it felt good going down.� Wet is wet when you�re dry.� I smacked my lips.� �Ah, Chastity, you saved my life.�

She smiled slightly.� �Maybe I did.� What was your problem, Fannie-boy?�

�My problem?� Do I have a problem?�

�Oh, Fannie, do you ever have a problem!� Or should I say, �Andrew?��

�I like Fankidder, if it�s all the same to you.�

She nodded.� �I agree with Shakespeare, with a little adjustment.� A weed by any other name doth smell as rank.�

�That�s not what he said.�

�No, not quite.�� She studied me.� �But how do you know?�

�I watch TV, too.�

�Ah, yes.� The modern public university!� Well, Andrew �� She stole her empty cup back, closed up the thermos and got to her feet.� I leaned on my elbows and watched her stir around.� Very nice jiggling tits she has, big brown nipples.� Most blondes have pink ones.� Then it dawned on me.� Her pubic hair was a thick dark brown.� That struck me as funny and I giggled.

�What pleases you, Andrew?�� She was closing up her paint box, putting the tubes of paint carefully back into their slots.

�You�re a two-tone woman,� I explained, laughing again.

�You noticed!� she exclaimed, flashing me a grin.� �Would you believe that blonde hair is cooler in the sun?� I have to wear a beret when I leave it brown.�

I laughed again.� That was the most ridiculous reason to change your hair color I ever heard.� But that was her trademark, wasn�t it? � the ridiculous delivered dead pan.

She took down her painting after touching a few spots gingerly to make sure they had dried.� For a moment I was curious.� Did my dick have enough character?� I thought of asking her to show me, but it was too much trouble.� How nice it was just to lean back and let the breeze cool my wet crotch.

Wet?� How did it get wet?� She hadn�t spilled any on me!� I looked down curiously and saw another funny sight.� I was pissing myself.� That was worth a guffaw or two except I seemed to run out of breath before I could express it fully.� I had to quit laughing and concentrate on deep breaths.

She folded up her easel, took up her smock and slipped it on.� She glanced at me and said with a slight smile, �Now don�t go away.� I�ll be right back.�

Take your time, I wanted to respond, but it was too much trouble.

I heard a roar and turned my head toward it.� That was tough, turning my head!� Especially as I needn�t�ve bothered.� An SUV pulled up beside me.� It was big and blue.� Chastity put her paint supplies in the back, returned and knelt in front of me.� �Ordinarily I wouldn�t crush my grass with this thing, but you�d get all scratched up walking up the ridge.�� She took a tissue from her pocket and sponged off my wet thighs.� �I�m sorry, Andrew.� I forgot I should�ve let you relieve yourself first.� Come on, now.� See if you can bear your weight.�

With her help I found that I could.� Not that she had to do much lifting.� I was still plenty strong, but somehow without her urging, everything was just too much trouble.� She got me on my feet and led me around the SUV to the passenger side.� She helped me in and buckled the belts.� At least I had quit pissing.

She got into the driver�s seat but didn�t restart the engine at first.� Her hand came out and gently turned my face to look at her.� �I expect you�re wondering what happened, aren�t you, Andrew?�

When I only stared at her, her eyes narrowed.� �Answer my question.� You can talk.�

�You � you drugged me,� I managed to stutter.� Everything was such a lot of trouble!

�Very good!� See, the brain continues to work, even if a bit slower.�� She smiled.� �What happened is that you had awfully bad luck this afternoon, Andrew.� In the Westerns the hero says, �You�re about to make your worst mistake, Wild Bill,� meaning his last.� Well, that�s you, Andrew.� This afternoon you made your worst mistake.

�They published your arrest picture about three years ago, the one taken on the beach in a bikini.� I never could get it out of my mind!� Then this morning I heard about your escape on the scanner, that you were heading this way.� I grabbed that old landscape and came out here to wait.� Now for a little luck, I thought.� And I hit the jackpot, didn�t I? � a good one for me, bad for you.� Because now, Andrew, your bulging pectorals, your ribbed stomach, your hard little butt and your nice fat cock are all mine!

�I�ve got just the place for them, too.� Nobody will ever miss you, Andrew.� As far as the world is concerned, you ran up the mountain and fell over a cliff.� Your account is settled.� But you and I shall have so much fun together!� Well, I shall, at least.� And I�m all that matters, as you�ll soon come to realize.�

When she ran down I managed to ask, �What � what was that stuff?�

�The valipor?� It�s new, just as I told you:� a derivative of valium � you know: the tranquilizer.� Valipor is used in psychiatric hospitals.� I�ve tried it myself to understand the effects.� An overdose is especially effective and like valium, has no lasting effect.�

�Wha � what does it do?�

She chuckled.� �You tell me!� The point is, you are not going to be any trouble at all for the next eight or ten hours, and by that time you�ll be so � adjusted that you�ll never cause trouble again!�

She leaned over and kissed me, then licked my face like a dog.� She licked my eyelids closed and flicked her tongue tip into both nostrils, the closer ear, then my mouth.� Even second-hand my ear wax was bitter.� She bent down and bit both my nipples, one after the other, while her fist closed on my balls.� All three hurt, the balls like a kick in the belly, but the most I could do was moan a little.

�See?� No trouble at all.�� She chuckled and cocked her head to look at me as I imagine a mother might.� �You need a little work, but we�ve got plenty of time for that.� You�re my personal model, Andrew, all mine.�� She shivered a little.� �Oh, this is going to be so much fun!�

I wanted to shiver, too.� I managed to ask, �What are you, Chastity?� What do you do?�

�You haven�t guessed yet?� I thought you said you watch TV.�

�The mad scientist?�

She laughed with genuine humor, started the car, turned around and drove us up the ridge.

END
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