“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"
Jason had to chuckle as he gobbled down the last bites of his cheeseburger. Felicity only told him she hated him in regard to one subject...food, especially the greasy, delicious kind like the thousand or more calories he'd just consumed.
With her eyes still focused on the instruments of the Slutmobile, she reached out and snagged one of his fries.
“If I ate like that, I'd blow up like a blimp."
“Try it and find out." He held the oily bag toward her.
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
“Hey, I'm a guy. I like my burgers loaded and my women plush."
She pretended to scowl at him, but the curve of her lips betrayed too much smile to pull off any real disapproval. And she did finish his fries.
When she’d eaten the last one, he took all the wrappings and napkins, wadded them into a mass, and stuffed them into the fast food bag. “Thanks for stopping. I was famished."
“No problem,” she said. “The look on the clerk's face was worth losing time."
The expression had been priceless. Half way between “What the fuck" and “I must be dreaming." Felicity had had to wave the money under the guy's nose a couple of times to get him to take it. “He probably doesn't get too many Maseratis in his drive-up."
"With a woman wearing nothing but a man's shirt at the wheel and a bare chested guy in the passenger's seat,” she said.
"I bet he would have liked the French maid's outfit better."
"What there was left of it," she said. "That'll be a tax write-off. Business expense."
"Nice work if you can get it." He reached over and squeezed her bare thigh. Come to think of it, she really could do with a bit more padding.
"I hope you're through stuffing your face for a few minutes,” she said
“Funny thing…as soon as the effects of Ma’s food wore off, I could have eaten a horse.” Had to be some kind of withdrawal thing. No wonder Felicity felt so out of sorts. She was probably as hungry as he’d been but refused to eat for fear of harming her girlish figure. He’d cook her something great as soon as they got home.
“Besides, I had quite a workout,” he added. “Should I remind you I had to satisfy five women?"
“And you did it without breaking a sweat," she said. "I'm proud of you, kid."
That wasn't strictly true. He'd sweated plenty. Ma's girls had wrung him out like a rag. In any sane world, he wouldn't get another hard-on for a month. Working with Wonderslut, Avenger of the Non-Orgasmic, hardly qualified as sane. He'd probably get a boner the moment they got back to the Slutgrotto. Felicity could do that to a guy.
“So, what did you and Ma talk about while I said good-bye to the girls?" he asked.
“Business." She kept her gaze on the instruments, but her eyes crinkled at the corners the way they always did when she had a secret.
“Am I going to find out what kind of business?" he asked.
“Ma and I have a lot in common, when you think of it."
“Riiiiight. She's an old coot, and you're the world's most desirable woman. She has a shotgun, and you have a website.”
“There are a few differences,” she said.
“She can cook, and..."
“Okay, so I don't make biscuits and gravy."
“You barely eat."
“What's gotten into you?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don't you like my body the way it is?"
“Love it, but if there were more, I could love all of that, too."
“Not in this lifetime." She nodded toward the glove compartment. “Now, why don't you see what's in there?"
He did as instructed and found a brown paper bag. Inside was a plastic container of what looked like something you might put into a hookah and light. “Is this what I think it is?"
“You don't smoke it." Her eyes crinkled again.
“You put it in brownies?"
“You're getting warmer."
“Did Ma give you this?" he asked.
“After a bit of...ah...negotiation," she said. “Some of her magical herbs."
He put the package back in the glove compartment. “What did she get out of the deal?"
“Well, it seemed you really impressed her."
Hey, wait a minute. Doing the nasty with Ma? No way. He was an open-minded guy, but a woman old enough to be his mother’s babysitter? A woman with a shotgun? No fucking way. “I hope you didn’t promise her anything. She’s not exactly my type.”
Felicity laughed loudly enough for her voice to ricochet around the interior of the Slutmobile. “Don’t worry. Ma’s not interested in you for herself.”
“The girls?” he said.
She didn’t answer but just smiled.
“Did you offer a return engagement?" he said.
“You could say...something like that. You had a good time, right?"
“I barely survived."
She patted him on the cheek. "It's good practice for you. You're always going to be in great demand, kiddo. Better get used to it."
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you taken five guys on at once?"
She gave him an evil chuckle. "Didn’t I ever tell you about the Americans for a Decent America convention?"
"The ADA? You attended one of those?" he said.
"Undercover. Research purposes only. You've never seen a bigger bunch of twits and pervs."
"Really? I would have thought they'd be squeaky clean."
"You know what I always say...scratch a prude and find a pervert." She banked the Slutmobile and settled into their regular landing pattern. They'd be back at the Slutgrotto in a matter of minutes.
"Now, that's a story I'd like to hear," he said.
"Rustle me up some of your special scrambled eggs and meet me at the hot tub. You won't believe your ears."
*
It had been seven years earlier. Felicity had just graduated to the top tier of Sly's assistants when Sly gave her her first real assignment - infiltrate the Americans for a Decent America's annual get together. Disguised as a milquetoast biddy, albeit a young one, she’d dressed up in sensible shoes and support hose, a gray suit with a pleated skirt that fell to mid calf, and a wig that hung into her eyes. She drew no attention at all when she registered.
The whole scene was sickly sweet...all the vapid smiles and “praise the Lords." They obviously didn't let atheists in, or maybe atheists had their own prudish group-gropes. Hard to picture what that would look like.
For the first day of the conference, she attended seminars on “Family Values, Weaponized," "How to Pretend You‘re an Oppressed Minority," “Bringing back the Ladies Auxiliary,” and various other stifling subjects. By five, she needed a few stiff drinks to wash the taste of all that righteous indignation out of her mouth. But first, she stopped in the ladies room on her way the hell out of the hotel.
The murmuring and giggling were her first clue that something interesting was going on near the sinks. She ducked into a stall and climbed up on the toilet seat before any of the fine examples of moral femininity discovered someone was eavesdropping.
"Enrapture," one of the women said. "My Charles says he's enrolled me in a special session for this evening. There are a few other openings if you sign up right away."
That was met by squeals of delight of the kind that serious discussions of morality didn't normally elicit. In fact, their voices held a more or less obvious sexual excitement. Enrapture, indeed. Felicity needed to get herself into that session and get names and evidence. So, when the voices stilled and the door opened, she gave the women just enough time to get out into the hallway before following them.
They weren't hard to spot. Three perfectly coiffed heads hovered together as the women proceeded down the corridor in a flutter of decent clothing and barely restrained estrogen. Felicity hung back enough to hide from them while keeping them in her sight. They went down a small staircase and around a corner to a part of the conference center she hadn't noticed before. Nothing in particular marked the room where they ended up, just a table at the doorway and an upstanding middle-aged couple taking the registrations. The pair didn’t remark on the first three women but merely checked their names against a list on their clipboard, but Felicity was another matter entirely.
The woman sniffed. “She’s not on the list.”
“I-I’m sorry.” Felicity did her best to stammer in a subservient manner. “I only just found out about this session, and I do so want to attend.”
“You weren’t supposed to know about it.” The woman stiffened. “It’s only for a few select of our members.”
“My dear, why don’t we let the young lady in?” the man said.
The woman stared at him as if he were some kind of idiot.
The man gave her a patronizing smile. “What harm could she possibly do?”
“She’s not on the list,” the woman repeated between gritted teeth. She turned an insincere smile on Felicity. “Who’s your sponsor, dear?”
“Sponsor?” Felicity repeated.
“The man who registered you for this event,” the woman said.
She couldn’t get in without a man. Didn’t that just figure? “Oh, you mean my sponsor! Well, he’s…um…that is he…he’s in the men’s room.”
The woman slowly set down the clipboard. “And what’s his name?”
“George,” Felicity said. “George Smith.”
The man gestured toward the closed door to the conference room. “You go inside. We’ll send George along when he gets here.”
“Don’t you dare.” The woman gestured with her head, and the couple moved several feet off to have a private conversation. By the looks of things, it didn’t go well. The man loomed over the woman in a particularly intimidating manner, while she gesticulated and got red in the face. Finally, he waved his finger under the woman’s nose, and the words “submit” and “male authority,’ wafted to Felicity.
After a few seconds, the woman returned, her lips a straight line of displeasure. “You can go inside now.”
The man opened the door, and as Felicity walked by, he put his palm at the small of her back.
“The changing room is over there,” he said, his lips nearly grazing her ear. She glanced around. Newly out of Sly’s academy, she hadn’t yet learned complete control of her astonishment, and she gasped audibly. He might have said “changing room,” but the women hadn’t changed into anything. They were all nude. No, not completely nude. Each wore a delicate collar around her neck, connecting them by leashes to their male partners.
“I gather George didn’t explain it all to you,” the man said.
“He left a few details out.”
“Then, he hasn’t given you a collar?”
She could answer that question honestly enough. “No.”
“Don’t worry, there are extras in the changing room. Take one you like and bring it back to me.”
“You?” She hadn’t learned to keep the tone of her voice even, either, because the pitch went up a few octaves. She gestured toward the doorway and the corridor outside. “What about your wife?”
“She has things to keep her busy.” His smile turned unctuous. “I’ll watch out for you until George gets here.”
“I don’t know. George might not approve.”
A cold light entered his gaze - a warning they could both stop pretending George existed. “Run along now. The session is about to get started.”
“Right. That is, yes sir.” She eased her way through the crowd in the direction the man had indicated. Wonderful, she was going to get naked and put on a collar for a man whose name she didn’t know. Did she even want to know? Probably not.
For the first time, she took in the composition of the crowd. Most participants were in pairs - one man and one woman - but several of the men held more than one leash. Polygyny, of course. The opposite - one female with more than one male - didn’t exist inside this moral universe, it seemed. And forget any man-on-man or woman-on-woman love. Well, hell, where had she thought she was going?
As she walked across the room, the microphone on stage came to life with a screech. A woman - clothed, this one, and with a bouffant hairdo that made her head the size of a melon - took the mic from its stand.
“Enrapture,” she breathed into the metal orb. “Ladies, we’re here to show you how to enrapture your men.”
Didn’t that just figure, too? Rapture didn’t go both ways in their world.
A chorus of ooohs went up around the room.
“And we all know what our men like best, don’t we, ladies?” the woman crowed. “Oral sex.”
That would probably go in one direction, too, and the man who’d escorted Felicity inside would no doubt expect service from her. She’d trained for this for years. She could do whatever he required and do a damned good job of it.
She ducked inside the changing room, finding only one woman who was in the process of fitting a slender leather collar around her neck.
“They’ve started, haven’t they?” the young woman asked.
“Just now,” Felicity answered.
“You’d better hurry,” the woman said. “The men don’t like it when we’re late.”
And what the men wanted ruled. “I’ll be right out.”
The woman left the changing room as if she were late for the last bit of chocolate mousse. Felicity stripped, leaving her clothing in a heap on the floor. She kept the wig on her head.
Being naked felt good, even under such weird circumstances. Being naked was natural…the way she conducted business. It gave her an edge. Now in her element, she selected a lace collar from the collection hanging from hooks on the wall, fixed it around her neck, and emerged into the main hall.
On stage, the woman with the pouffy hair had settled to her knees before a man in a finely tailored business suit. She held his rigid and impressive cock in her hand.
“And now, ladies, learn to explore your man,” she said. “Find his sensitive spots. Learn how to give him maximum pleasure. Remember, the enraptured man is a captured man.””
With that, the instructor proceeded to give her partner head with an expertise that would make any of Sly’s students proud. Well, Felicity could do even better, so she went off in search of her sponsor…whatever the hell his name was.
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