Tagged: sex

“Show Me What You Can Do”

  • by Kent“Up inside there?”
  • expensive adulterous affairs
  • simply too much debris
  • including 6 pairs of shoes
  • on such gleaming skin

Tune in next time part 258                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Show me what you can do,” Betsy Murgatroid cooed. “Go on, I know you have something more for me. You know what to do. Can you do it? Can you give me your special gift?” She batted her lashes. “Up inside there?”

I had mixed feelings about my circumstances. I was skeptical about these claims of an exotic compound in my semen. I suspected it was part of a disinformation campaign, or maybe just Betsy’s excuse to charge expensive adulterous affairs to her Academy spending account. But it seemed wisest for now to behave as though they were true. Which was not how I was behaving.

With a final longing look at the feminine form astride mine, I summoned all my self-restraint and lifted her off of me. I scrambled to my feet as Betsy Murgatroid raised her walkie. “Fernando, please report to the other side of the subbasement, over.”

I pulled up my pants and dashed into the tunnel entrance. Fernando Heavens was right behind me, so on my way through I toppled stacks of boxes and shelving units to obstruct his progress. He crashed against the logjam, but it held, leaving him standing over Betsy’s supine form. He said into his walkie, “I cannot give chase, for there is simply too much debris, including 6 pairs of shoes made from ferret leather, polished to a mirror shine, and festooned with rabbit’s-foot tassels. And it grieves me to see such superstitious and superfluous accoutrements on such gleaming skin of the polecat.” He sobbed. “Over.”

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Whipping Out Her Walkie-Talkie

  • by jenIs that his name?
  • conducted a cascade
  • came from the heart and not from the lips
  • where the Tenth Doctor is Chandler or something, I don’t know.
  • she said she felt sorry for him

Tune in next time part 257                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Whipping out her walkie-talkie, Betsy growled, “Stay out of this, Fernando Heavens.”

I was distracted from my libidinous release. “Fernando Heavens? Seriously? Is that his name?

“Shush.” She laid her finger over my lips. Taking up her walkie again she said, as if explaining to a child, “By now he should have ‘conducted a cascade‘ as the kids call it. His exotic compound would already be ours.”

Suddenly I was tired of all this intrigue. I longed for a coupling that came from the heart and not from the lips of shadowy spy masters.

Betsy saw the dissatisfaction on my face. She said, “Oh no you don’t. We have to finish this or we’ll both be in trouble.” She pumped her hips. “What would help? Role playing, maybe? We could act something out where I’m a horny alien who’s just met her first Time Lord — that’s you — and where the Tenth Doctor is Chandler or something, I don’t know. How complicated do you wanna make it?”

Without waiting for my response, she launched into an elaborate monologue, acting the part of alien vixen. She said she found the Doctor stranded in his malfunctioning TARDIS. She said she loved his sarcastic comebacks and floppy hair. She said she felt sorry for him because everyone else from his planet was dead, including the five friends he always got coffee with.

Her story was oddly specific and fleshed out, and the opposite of erotic, but her movements and her body kept my attention.

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Fernando’s Eyes

  • by jenthrust awkwardly into a gardening glove
  • the same position I was in
  • low relief with pubic hair
  • staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-luster eyes
  • In that instant the lynx struck

Tune in next time part 255                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fernando’s eyes avoided my nudity by fixing themselves on his right hand which he flexed once or twice and then thrust awkwardly into a gardening glove that was too small for him. Betsy Murgatroid took that as her cue to put herself in the same position I was in, namely pantsless. Despite my discomfort at her earlier bug impression I found myself aroused, seeking that low relief, with pubic hairs, mine and hers, mingling. She smiled and made her chittering noise again while staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-luster eyes. This time I found it quite erotic.

While we got down to the business of pleasure I could hear Fernando in the background, fastidiously straightening items on a workbench.

Our unusual situation reminded me of several training exercises I’d participated in at the Academy, and I could feel my finely honed instincts taking over, like a lynx stalking its prey. I didn’t know yet what my ultimate action would be, but I hoped I’d have a chance to finish what I was doing before I took it. I also hoped that Betsy wouldn’t suddenly whip out her Darts of Insanity. This was not a situation that would be improved by the feel and taste of fried chicken.

Betsy’s walkie-talkie crackled and a voice on it said, “Heavens to Murgatroid, come in Murgatroid.”

“You don’t have to use the radio, Fernando,” Betsy said. “We’re in the same room.”

The lynx was stalking closer, preparing to pounce. I turned my head and saw Fernando in the corner with his garden-gloved hand cupped secretively around his own walkie-talkie. He stuck out his tongue at me, then spoke into the radio again. “Hurry up. We’re on a mission, over.”

“I’d be done a lot quicker without you interrupting me,” she said. “And anyway, this is part of the mission. I’m supposed to get a sample of a ‘certain exotic compound.'”

In that instant the lynx struck. Unfortunately it was hampered by my handcuffs.

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As John Gladly Followed Hipster Jane

  • by jenwasn’t wearing his shoes
  • something incredibly icky was about to go down
  • online spirituality does have its limits
  • my opinion on these matters is final
  • found in high levels in semen

Tune in next time part 251                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

As John gladly followed Hipster Jane up the stairs, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his shoes. John’s bare feet are not a sight for the faint of heart, and Hipster Jane’s foot fetish was the stuff of legends, which meant that something incredibly icky was about to go down in the root cellar. That suited my plans just fine. I’d stand a better chance with Tessa without others around confusing the matter. Step three, here we go.

“I’m glad we’re finally alone,” I said in my best husky voice.

“Me too,” Tessa said. “I’ve been trying to learn mindfulness from a YouTube guru, but online spirituality does have its limits, and I was never the best student.” Her hand fell to the knife hilt protruding from her belt.

“You were valedictorian!”

She snorted. “That’s only because I drugged the rest of you and the faculty needed someone to stand up there and give a pretty speech.”

“It was a very pretty speech.” Tessa was always a sucker for flattery from me.

My opinion on these matters is finally clear,” she said. “No matter how attractive I find you, you’re no good for me.”

“Tessa,” I pleaded. “Take these cuffs off me, or don’t, and let’s get out of here. I’ll show you how good I can be for you.” I turned my smolder up to maximum and saw her decisiveness falter.

She whispered, “The only way out of here is through the root cellar, and if we go upstairs now we’ll have to see whatever it is John and Jane are doing.” She leaned in close and ran her hand down my chest. “But maybe you can show me now and we can get out of here later.”

It really wasn’t the best plan, and I knew for a fact that there was a tunnel leading from this subbasement to the Academy’s submarine dock, but the idea of being with Tessa again after so long drove all other thoughts from my brain.

She shoved me to the floor and left the cuffs on me, but I rose to the occasion. She rode me like a woman possessed. After the climactic moment she leapt off and inserted a sponge into her underpants.

To my look of confusion she said, “A certain exotic compound is found in high levels in semen in the men in your family. When I get back to the lab, our scientists can use this sample to devise a synthetic equivalent, and we’ll finally be able to achieve our ultimate goal!” She smiled down at me, laying pantsless and handcuffed on the floor.

“Ultimate goal?” I asked, baffled.

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Remembering Father’s Mistress in Her New Collar

  • by jenhe couldn’t rubberneck around
  • “Walk backwards toward me.”
  • a disgraced exotic beauty contestant is the best kind of exotic beauty contestant
  • mere will-o-the-wisps of the imagination
  • I’ll tell you a story about the joker and the thief

Tune in next time part 241                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Remembering Father’s mistress in her new collar was almost as bad as experiencing my present day reality. In that memory he turned to me and said that the best part about the collar was that when she was wearing it she couldn’t rubberneck around.

Turning his attention back to the woman he said, “Walk backwards toward me.”

While she did that he winked at me, and imparted what he considered to be paternal wisdom: “Never forget, son, a disgraced exotic beauty contestant is the best kind of exotic beauty contestant.”

But the collared beauty queen and that younger version of my father were mere will-o-the-wisps of the imagination, memories of a childhood that seemed idyllic now in light of my current sordid surroundings.

From the black velvet bed, my father called my name. When I reflexively looked at him, he met my eye and said, “I’ll tell you a story about the joker and the thief.”

I was stunned. Those were the affectionate pet names he used for John and Tessa. Was he going to actually pass along useful covert intelligence? Even though I had finally found the exit from the black velvet nightmare, I dared not leave before hearing what he had to say.

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I’d Heard Entirely Enough About the Viscount’s Ornamentation

  • by jenappreciated Jim’s zeal
  • let’s play Master and Servant
  • “When Ralph was at work sometimes
  • Why should I care what happens now?
  • I almost forgot to ask

Tune in next time part 239                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I’d heard entirely enough about the Viscount’s ornamentation, and I’d seen far more than enough of my father’s sexual escapades. What surprised me the most about the situation before me was Esmerelda’s seeming enthusiasm. From everything I’d ever heard she appreciated Jim’s zeal, in both the sack and in all other aspects of their marriage, and I was surprised she’d throw that all away for a roll in the hay with a wannabe despot.

As I fumbled my way around the black velvet draperies, searching for the exit, I heard my father say, “Hey ladies, let’s play Master and Servant.”

I hastened my search.

“When Ralph was at work sometimes,” my father continued (even though Mother’s name was ZsaZsa, he always called her Ralph), “she’d call me into the Oval Office and make me wear only a collar and hide under her desk.”

The girls Morse-coded at each other, “He’s about to spill state secrets!”

Why should I care what happens now? I wondered. Whatever political machinations my father was planning were unlikely to come to fruition when he was so easily distracted. But my training wouldn’t allow me to walk away from such a potentially disastrous espionage situation.

By now Darlene had bounded onto the bed with the amorous trio. I was so mortified by the raw animal lust displayed by my father that I almost forgot to ask myself the most important question an operative can ask: what is this meant to distract me from?

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The Trouble With Spoken Codes

  • by Kentit can be a little intimidating, a little scary
  • fantastically gilded and filagreed
  • he’d chubbed up quite a bit
  • more than a billion dollars
  • she claimed to have met several of them

Tune in next time part 238                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The trouble with spoken codes is that they have dialects. This made it difficult to be sure I was picking up the intended meanings of all the symbols. I was left hoping I had misconstrued some parts of the conversation. And at no point could I tell which sister was speaking.

“Seeing it for the first time, it can be a little intimidating, a little scary. Most of the others I’ve seen are rather plain, but his is fantastically gilded and filagreed.”

“Yes, it’s a bit overwhelming at first. I for one was pleasantly surprised, having been told that he’d chubbed up quite a bit over the past year.”

“She’s the one you have to thank there, for sparing no expense on his fitness coaches. We know it was more than a billion dollars. Contrarian dollars, sure. But that’s still a lotta chedda.”

“Fitness coaches? Do you really believe that? I mean, she claimed to have met several of them at her father’s private club, and we both know who has membership there.”

“Wait, are you telling me this is a coup?”

“That hadn’t occurred to me. My hunch is it’s something far more ordinary and wearisome.”

“Maybe it could use some filagree!”

This was, seemingly, a very funny thing to say in code. Their eroticized cackling will haunt me to my grave.

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“Are You Getting Out of Here?”

  • by jen“Should I come with you?’
  • “Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!”
  • you can’t do it in less than six hours
  • had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet
  • I don’t remember what day of the week it was

Tune in next time part 237                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Are you getting out of here?” Darlene asked, still rocking her hips. “Should I come with you?” She gazed at the trio on the bed. “Or..?”

“Well I’m certainly not sticking around to watch,” I replied.

From the tangle of nude limbs I heard a female voice repeating, “Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!” It sounded like someone trying to speak morse code, which is something they teach at the Academy. You can learn it, but you can’t do it in less than six hours, so the course usually takes two days. But I did it in one. While my brain tried to catch all the nuances and decode the message, my eyes had the unenviable task of tracing out all the ways the three lovers were intertwined in order to see which woman’s mouth was free to speak unencumbered.

I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t witnessing sex. That my father, a famous general, had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet. But I wasn’t buying it.

I don’t remember what day of the week it was when I learned spoken morse code, but I was glad my advisor had insisted. What I was hearing today was not merely one Svenborgian sister speaking, but the two of them alternating to pass along a most astounding message about my wife and Viscount Arlo.

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“Don’t Say a Goddamn Word, Darlene”

  • by jenbounced his face on the pavement
  • when he visits Bermuda to golf
  • Jack’s a doughnut
  • couldn’t understand why Darlene
  • refused to return to his bed

Tune in next time part 233                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t say a goddamn word, Darlene,” Cleopatra snapped.

The Asian woman squeaked and hid her face behind the curtains, disappearing completely. My father leapt to his feet, slipped, and bounced his face on the pavement. But since the pavement in this room was black velvet, just like everything else, he just wound up with a rug burn. It reminded me of how sunburnt he gets when he visits Bermuda to golf and forgets to apply sunscreen.

“Darlene!” Dad yelled. “C’mon back, baby. We’ll kick these interlopers out and lock the door.”

Esmerelda said disgustedly, “Jack’s a doughnut, and he doesn’t care who’s cup of coffee he gets dunked in.”

“Too true,” Cleopatra said.

“Neither of you minded when it was your coffee I was dunking in,” Dad snarked as he made his way to the wall where Darlene disappeared. He started patting it down, searching for her and calling her name.

I knew this was all a ruse, a show put on to distract me from my pointed questions.

I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, watching Dad pretend that he couldn’t understand why Darlene refused to return to his bed, thinking about Esmerelda and Cleopatra. It was true that Cleopatra had lost her accent, but they were sisters, so that meant they were both Svenborgian. And since Esmerelda was an Underduchess, Cleopatra probably was, too. Maybe an Underduchess-once-removed. It was hard to remember all the rules for Svenborgian royal lineage. No matter her title, though, she had to know Viscount Arlo. They both did. They were most likely related to him somehow. And Dad didn’t care.

It was imperative that I figure out what was going on. Without raising their suspicions.

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At the End of a Long, Dank Hallway

  • by jenWe have a ghost, you know.
  • for a few ostentatious minutes
  • “A kidnapper?”
  • though it was badly damaged
  • my bunkmate has malaria

Tune in next time part 231                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

At the end of a long, dank hallway, Esmerelda pressed her eyeball against a retinal scanner and a thick metal panel slid open. The room beyond had black velvet covering every surface, including the floor. Our footsteps were silent as we entered.

The room was lit only by a spotlight that was focused on a raised platform — an island of black velvet in a sea of the same. Upon that platform, which was most likely a bed, lay the nude forms of my father and an Asian woman. Her black hair blended with the velvet, giving her head the unsettling appearance of being incomplete. She coughed.

My father sat up and grumbled, “I think my bunkmate has malaria. Get me a different girl.”

Esmerelda shoved me forward, hissing, “Tell him no more whores!”

When I was a child I had a good relationship with my father, though it was badly damaged through the years by his reckless behavior. Would he listen to me now?

“What’s this?” my father demanded when he caught sight of me. “A kidnapper?”

“No such luck, old man,” I said. And then I stood there while, for a few ostentatious minutes, he stomped around on the bed, bellowing about respect, neglecting to cover his nudity, waving his arms all around. The Asian girl rolled herself onto the floor and stood up. I was relieved to see she did in fact possess an entire head.

I gave Dad some time to tire himself out and work through the familiar first act of his usual tirade. When he finally paused for breath, I said, “We have a ghost, you know. A ghost of a chance of getting you out of here alive. Viscount Arlo is in league with the Contrarians.”

“Arlo?”

“You know, the bald Svenborgian with the eye patch.”

All the hair on my father’s body stood up. I know because he was still naked. “That guy is such a dick,” he said. “I don’t know what your mother ever saw in him.”

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