Lloyd's Angel

Lloyd's Angel
by Virtual Scott

October 2010

It was shaping up to be another busy day. The remote vibrated discreetly in my pocket and I headed for the mall entrance. "On it," my partner's voice sounded in my earbud. Angela was there before me, courteously but firmly blocking the progress of a very flustered-looking middle-aged woman. I got there just at the end of the usual speech -- "do you mind if we make a quick search of your bag?" We all knew the request was for form's sake only.

The lady was looking distinctly ashen under her cosmetics when Angela produced the necklace from the bottom of her bag. Unboxed, and unadorned by any of the layers of carefully folded tissue that normally surrounded purchases, it sported only the small RFID tag that had triggered the door sensors. "I have no idea how that got there!" she stammered.

Angela looked frankly disbelieving, but she was always a hard audience. My read of the situation was that she probably was telling the truth. "I'm sure it was an honest mistake," I told her in my most comforting gentlemanly voice. "Vanessa is always leaving things on the counter, and it probably got caught when she was wrapping your purchases."

My partner looked briefly rebellious but followed my lead. "Thank you for your cooperation, Ma'am. We truly value your patronage; please visit us again soon."

Her brilliant smile startled the woman, who mumbled something unintelligible and hurried to put the incident, and us, behind her as quickly as possible. As we walked the necklace back to its rightful place, our minor disturbance was already forgotten by the other shoppers, just like the management preferred.

"Loss Prevention" was management's buzzword for it, and we were the store's best team, and a study in contrasts. Angela was young and dynamic and shit-hot; she wore her security uniform in a way that was 100% professional but put those fake-cop strippers to shame. I was forgettably (and intentionally) plain-clothes and old enough to be her grandfather.

We had good chemistry, but what management cared about was that our loss rate was less than half of anybody else's. When you were the flagship, most exclusive department store at the area's most upscale mall, that translated into serious dollars. The only knock against us was that we didn't like working with anybody else and only worked days. Angela was taking classes at night to earn her degree. I could have (and had) retired years ago, and took the job to avoid boredom; I saw no reason to screw up my nights.

The store manager didn't have any leverage, but probably consoled himself with the thought that our target demographic was rich enough that many of them didn't work, so we were busier during the days than most of the rest of the mall. Unfortunately, that traffic included the usual proportion of people who preferred to avoid paying for their merchandise.

Angela clearly suspected the lady was one of that demographic. "How do you know she wasn't lying to us, Lloyd?" she asked me again after we returned the necklace to one of the jewelry counters.

"I don't," I replied with a shrug, "but she struck me as genuinely surprised and upset -- and not about getting caught. I've had practice reading people since before you were born. Besides..." We recited the tired refrain together, she with an air of resignation, "...the customer always gets the benefit of the doubt."

It wasn't surprising Angela had pressed me on it; you didn't get far in this business without learning to play a hunch, and she suspected I had some trick I wasn't sharing. However, the fact that she was right didn't change matters. It wasn't something I could teach, and I wasn't entirely sure I understood it myself.

It was something I could do with my mind, although I didn't have a neat name for it. The best description is that I could sort of "push" at another person, and influence them. It wasn't a "your wish is my command" sort of thing; there was an odd, well, "twist" involved. Several, I suspected. Struggling with its application, and with the murky ethics of it all, had occupied me for several decades. Even if it seemed appropriate, it worked best at a simple emotional level; intellectual things usually required coming at the desired result sideways.

More detailed work was possible, but it was inordinately tricky and prone to outright failure, especially if I wasn't familiar with the other mind. They looked (or felt?) like fuzzy balls of static, and delicate work required teasing through them like a ball of tangled string.

The immediate point was that, although I couldn't read minds, I could sense the level of resistance I was getting when I pushed a person. When I'd thought I hate shoplifting at the lady with the necklace, it had been like missing a step on a staircase -- I was as sure as I could be that she'd already believed it and hadn't stolen the necklace.

Reminding Vanessa I feel good when I return jewelry to the display cases immediately was like pushing a finger through a sheet of tissue paper -- while holding it with the same hand. I usually tried to avoid messing about with people who didn't need it, but this wasn't the first time she'd forgotten, and some folks just couldn't resist an opportunity if they saw one. It was good if we got them at the entrance, better if we could intercept shoplifters still inside the store, but best if they never got an opportunity in the first place.

If only the shoplifters were our only problem. We headed to men's furnishings, in response to a report of a customer causing a disturbance. As I feared, it was the young asshole who'd been yanking our chains on and off for a month or so. Even without cheating I could see he wasn't serious about lifting anything, and he only turned up on our shift. My take was that Angela had a fan who'd seen that stupid toilet commercial too many times -- the one where the guy stuffs everything he can down the bowl in an attempt to score a service visit from the foxy plumber next door.

That plumber had nothing on my partner, even with the exasperated frown marring Angela's expression. The idiot had something, probably a pack of socks, stuffed down the front of his pants; Tim, the sales associate, clearly wanted to belt him but was playing by the rules that said, "Hands off and call security."

"I ain't got nothin'," smirked the slimeball when we got within earshot, "frisk me if you don't believe me."

I obligingly took a step forward.

"Not you, old dude!" he warned. "I'm not gonna let some random guy handle my junk unless you want a lawsuit. If the store wants to search me, I want a uniformed officer." All of us were perfectly aware that I was as fully accredited by the store as Angela, and that she was the only security uniform in the store at the moment.

Some people had it coming. "Fine," I growled. "If you'll accompany us to the security office?" Angela knew something was up, because his last few visits had ended with an escort to the door and a suggestion not to return that day. She silently led off, followed by the jerk and myself.

"I'd love to tap that," he confided, as we both watched her tight ass in the form-fitting uniform slacks.

She stiffened, still in hearing range. "Don't push your luck, punk," I warned him, but he was feeling invulnerable and in control.

That feeling faded a bit when we both accompanied him into our Spartan detention room. "It's for your protection," I sarcastically informed him. "You've waved your right to be frisked by a member of the same sex, but store policy requires an observer be present to ensure the inspecting officer does not behave improperly. You also have the right to have this inspection recorded," I concluded with a nod at the camera in the corner.

I could see him working the angles in his head, trying to decide if it was a trick question. I honestly didn't care, but he deserved to squirm. He finally decided to have it taped, which probably was smart if he thought we were going to beat the crap out of him.

I stepped out of the room and started the recorder, verifying it looked good and that the red light on the camera was illuminated. I also used the opportunity to give Angela a quick heads-up via the comm while he couldn't hear me. "Give him the works." She twitched. "Be nice, but be thorough -- at least five minutes."

Angela growled inarticulately in response but gave me a barely perceptible nod as I reentered the room. "Please stand with your legs spread and your arms out, sir," she told him, biting off the honorific as if it were an epithet.

"Don't try anything funny," I warned him, "she's a combat vet." Besides being true, I hoped it would keep him quiet and avoid unnecessary distractions. I leaned against the wall by the corner, where she wouldn't be blocking my view, and gave Angela a thumbs-up.

She moved in close and began running her hands slowly and carefully along one arm. She didn't touch him with anything except the palms of her hands, but Angela was nearly in his face, looked like a wet dream, and had good taste in perfume. I waited until the inevitable stiffening became visible, and then I started pushing.

This was a complicated one because I was trying to juggle several things at once. I knew he must be feeling arousal, and Angela's hands methodically working their way across his body. I left a space for those, and then wove around them desire and the sort of visceral sensations all men had -- the pungent musk of perspiration after hard exercise, the feel of stubble beneath your fingers just before you shaved, the feel of hard cock in your hand; who hasn't masturbated?

I pushed all of it to him, hard, and kept pushing. It was a lot of effort, and it was difficult to maintain the pressure and keep a physical eye on things at the same time. I knew I was getting to him when I felt the pressure start to fade and he started watching me instead of Angela, but I kept pushing anyway. Fucking slimebag.

Finally, Angela stepped back. "Don't move!" she told him, before speaking for the camera. "My inspection is completed. A foreign object appears to be concealed near the subject's genital area." She looked distastefully at his tenting crotch. "Lloyd?"

I had to let up on the pressure to talk, but I'd already worked out what I was going to say, which made things easier. "Sir, our policies strictly prohibit invasive searches by members of the opposite sex. Therefore, I am going to remove the object you have concealed in your pants."

I walked over to him, a little unsteadily, then brusquely pulled out his waistband with one hand, reached in to grab the plastic packaging with the other, and pushed as I withdrew it. I didn't quite have the socks clear before the punk exploded all over the inside of his pants. He jerked like I'd sucker-punched him, but the recording would make it clear neither of us had done anything of the kind.

"Angela, can you escort this gentleman off the premises?" I needed to catch my breath.

"Certainly," she replied with crisp enthusiasm. "Further, as an attempted shoplifter" -- the bag looked like it might not be suitable for returning to inventory -- "you are no longer welcome in this establishment. Please do not return." She marched him out while he was still poking ineffectually at his pants.

"Lloyd, what the hell was that?" Angela asked when she returned a few minutes later.

By then I was up to having a conversation, or at least avoiding one. "I guess you're just too hot to handle, Angela! Hell, if I were his age, I'd probably have that problem too. No offense intended, of course."

"None taken, of course," she rejoined, looking unsatisfied. "Should I feel offended that towards the end I think he was paying more attention to you than me?"

"Probably just worrying that I'd clock him if he got frisky," I quipped.

"Now I am offended," Angela said with a smile. "You think I can't take care of myself? You looked like you were getting winded just holding up the wall, Grandpa; everything all right?"

"Oh, fine; just not a spry as I used to be." I pushed myself back to my feet. "Let's get back to making the world safe for retail therapy, shall we?"

With luck, we'd never see sock-boy again. If I'd done the job right, he'd be too interested in getting felt up by other men to bother coming around here. I told myself it was good for the store, and good for Angela, and tried to put it all behind me.

The activity made it easy to do; maybe the official holiday shopping season hadn't started yet, but the decorations and holiday displays were up, and foot traffic was heavier than usual. We circulated randomly, and I dispensed a few light I hate shoplifting pushes at people that looked problematic.

I hadn't done a big push like that in a while, and I guess my adrenaline was still going, because I was a little wild that afternoon. Angela got a line on a girl we suspected of being a serial shoplifter; clever enough to never get caught, but always seeming to come out of the changing rooms with less than she went in carrying. While Angela was conducting an on-the-spot search, I pressed my back to the other side of the partition, located the static of the unfamiliar mind, and pushed it makes me hot to leave my clothing in dressing rooms .

Angela subsequently reported she hadn't found anything incriminating, but that the girl "was weird" without providing any details. I kicked myself, wondering why I'd passed on the usual reinforcement and wondering if the girl would actually stop stealing or just start trading outfits. Well, spilt milk.

The most exciting moment, for bystanders, came mid-afternoon. A guy at the watch counter tried a snatch and dash, with Angela in hot pursuit. In the open, she probably would have caught him; in the store, the gawkers stirred up by his passage got in her way and she was losing ground.

He was at the limit of my range when I pushed a frantic I love to taunt people but couldn't feel if it had any effect. Whether it was me or karma, he turned to look back at Angela and ran right into a newly-emplaced Christmas tree inside the store entrance. A gun I hadn't realized he had went skidding away, and my heart missed a beat -- what if he'd shot her?

Angela was on top of him before he could regain his footing, and it was all over after that. She had him on the ground and cuffed before I could even get there. My contribution was to collect the watch and gun before somebody else could. The onlookers applauded as she jerked him to his feet and we marched him back to our holding room to wait for the real cops to take him off our hands.

I tried to apologize, although I wasn't sure for what exactly, but Angela cut me off and told me she knew I wouldn't let her get hurt. It felt nice, if unrealistic. I'd already hurt her worse than she'd ever know.

Dinner was reassuringly normal. I gulped a couple aspirin for my headache, and flipped through another chapter of "Advanced Topics in Supply Chain Management" while I waited for the microwave to heat one of those allegedly healthy freezer meals, and then absent-mindedly consumed it.

After that, I sacked out in my recliner and listened to the classical station for half an hour or so while I just let my mind drift. Then it was time to get dressed for my night job. Ironically, although the surroundings were seedier than my day job, the dress code was much classier. The commute was better, too; I walked downstairs and the car was waiting as usual.

It whisked me, with only desultory conversation, to an uninhabited alley. I let myself in the back door, nodded to the staff in sight, and headed up to my office. If I'd gone in the front door, I would have had to navigate velvet ropes and bouncers to pass under a sign reading "HOME RUN -- Home of the Grand Slam Girls."

My office door boasted a small sign that read, "LP." It amused Danny, the owner, to use the same term the store did -- "loss prevention" -- even if the merchandise was different. I was already getting hard in anticipation as I opened the door and walked into the office, closing it again behind me.

"Boss," she greeted me, rising from the expensive chair. "Angel," I replied. The body was the same, and the perfume, but nothing else. She was my greatest creation, my worst failure, the fairest fruit of my gift, and a stark warning of its corrosive effect, all rolled into one sultry package.

Like a modern-day Jekyll and Hyde, two personalities inhabited the body before me, each ignorant of the other. Angela had a body built for sex; Angel frankly invited it. Angela was my partner; Angel my depraved toy. She stalked across the office to me, displaying herself for my enjoyment.

There was a lot to enjoy. Dark hair cascaded across one shoulder to fall just short of her breasts. As I watched she brushed it back with one hand to present herself, parting lips painted a deep ruby red to reveal a flash of white teeth and pink tongue. Her breasts, high, firm and beautifully shaped, rode exposed atop the ribbed bustier she'd chosen to wear this evening. The nipples capping them were rigidly erect and dark with rouge.

Angel's hands drifted to her hips and plucked the ties of her string bikini, letting it fall to the floor. It revealed a bare sex swollen and dripping with desire. She swayed close to me, limbs covered with opera gloves and dark lace stockings, balancing gracefully on the five-inch heels that enhanced her blood-boiling gait.

"Fuck me," she breathed in a husky voice that couldn't be mistaken for her alter ego's business-like soprano. I unzipped my fly, but she batted my hands aside and finished unfastening my trousers. Squatting gracefully, she inhaled my rigid organ until her nose was nestled in my wiry hair.

My balls churned and I shuddered with need, but she knew my body nearly as well as I did. She rose again and pulled me toward the desk, which not coincidentally was cleared. She leaned back against it, and the slight spreading of her legs and the molten urgency in her dark eyes was all the invitation I needed. I sheathed myself in her welcoming depths, both of us gasping with the intensity of the sensation.

I hissed, "Fucking slut," through my teeth as I withdrew slightly and forced myself into her again.

"I'll always be your slut," she sighed, her eyelids heavy with desire. I knew I'd go to Hell for what I'd done to her, but at the moment there was nothing the Devil could tempt me with that would outdo my Angel. I shot my load inside her, and she climaxed too, as she always did. She milked my rapidly deflating organ with her muscles, and then pushed me away so she could kneel and clean me with her kitten tongue.

While she worked, I stroked her hair gently and carefully laid my latest reading assignment into the baroque tangle of sparks that was her mind. Angela would wake with memories of another lecture. I actually was qualified to teach this subject, and most of the others Angela had "taken" over the past two years; it was the least I could do for her.

Our mutual tasks accomplished, we dressed ourselves. Angel didn't bother to clean herself before tying on her panties and checking her garters and stockings were straight. Call me petty, but it was another unexpected twist to our strange arrangement.

A hint to other seventy-plus-year-old would-be perverts: do not acquire companions whose sex drives significantly exceed your own capabilities. I could play a few games with my own mind, but my body just was not physically up to the challenge of orgasming more than once a night. Angel lived for sex and needed multiple climaxes a night to be happy; unfortunately my conceit of tying her orgasms to her partner's necessarily meant she was a party girl.

She fit right in at Home Run. A natural Grand Slam Girl -- "you get all the way to home base, and so do your friends!" -- Danny usually had her booked well in advance. I wasn't the jealous type, mostly, as long as I made sure all the other guys got sloppy seconds. I kept an eye on her, and knowing she was taking all those other loads solely because I wanted her to pandered to my baser instincts.

After a surprisingly chaste kiss and a final grab of that sweet ass, we went our separate ways and I settled down to business. The concept was the same, but "Loss Prevention" had some unique twists when it applied to workers at a thinly disguised brothel when prostitution was illegal. There was a lot more proactive work, for one thing. Danny didn't understand exactly what I did, but he understood I was doing something that netted him a lot of profit and he took care to keep me happy.

For my part, I sometimes regretted our pact but I felt owed it to the girls to make sure they were treated semi-decently. And, honestly, it provided a place where I could do the least damage when I hit one of my backsliding phases. I'd had a lot of them over the years.

November 1961

It was ludicrous, but I couldn't tell Dr. Reynolds that. I might have been short-sighted enough to tell him anyway, but my mouth and brain were frozen in stunned surprise until the opportunity was past.

Finally I just picked up the notes and left without saying anything. I was convinced none of this would have happened if Dr. Needum hadn't been on sabbatical, but he was -- and my Ph.D. prospects were in Dr. Reynolds' hands for this academic year.

It was expected that Reynolds would have me doing his scutwork. It was, perhaps, bearable that he had me doing busywork for the benefit of his own graduate students; I could expect they might feel they owed me a favor in return some day. Accusing me of deliberately sabotaging one of his researcher's experiments was nearly unbearable; not least because the accusation was completely unfounded.

Now I was committed to spending the weekend before Thanksgiving, including my birthday, redoing some screw-up Master candidate's work so I could prove that I was innocent of malfeasance. What a farce. The worst part was that it was all statistics, which I hated. I'd seen math wizards who could make their slide rules fly, but I wasn't one of them.

I started after dinner, putting aside my own dissertation and research notes, and proceeded to cover my desk with neat stacks of paper. By the time I'd finished sorting, I'd remembered the experiment they described. It had been another deadly dull survey intended to measure attitudes across the student body; anybody with any excuse had contrived to be unavailable and Reynolds had started drafting the unwary -- like me -- to assist.

Reynolds' student, Alex, had claimed I had messed up my interviews and thrown off the entire study. More precisely, my data was skewed enough from the other interviewers' data that the uncertainty intervals became absurdly large. Removing my data reduced the population sufficiently that it was no longer possible to draw statistically significant inferences, even if the act of removing them didn't raise questions about the survey's methodology.

The survey was too simple to screw up. The interviewer showed the subject a pair of pictures, and recorded which was preferred. Then repeat about a hundred times. There were a lot of pictures, all carefully ordered and categorized so as to eliminate bias and allow conclusions to be based on the subject's demographic. It was deadly dull, but I knew I hadn't messed it up -- which meant the math claiming I did was wrong.

My problem was that by Saturday afternoon, it didn't look like the math was wrong after all. Sure, I'd done it five times and gotten three different answers, but I was beginning to think the accusation was correct -- or there was something subtly wrong with the experiment and nobody else had picked up on it. I changed tack and started looking for patterns in the data for my surveys.

I stumbled across it after dinner, and ended up awake well past midnight trying to confirm it. When I looked at my interviews in chronological order, I found the deviations were greatest with the first interviews of the day, and decreased until they became indistinguishable from the data collected by other interviewers. The other interesting quirk was that the deviations seemed to be generally in the same direction.

By Sunday afternoon, I had established a statistically significant trend existed; responses at the beginning of each day tended to converge, and responses at the end of each day tended to match the overall survey results. I also knew that I didn't know enough to take things any further. Since there was no way I was going to go to Reynolds and tell him that without knowing why, my obvious next step was to find Alex and talk to him.

I hurried through my own class Monday and let my students go a few minutes early so I could get across the quad before the end of the period. I'd never met him, but a glance at the schedule showed Alex was teaching a recitation section of Reynolds' Introduction to Psychology class; I figured it would be easy enough to intercept him at the end of the hour and introduce myself.

The students were already bolting from the classroom when I rounded the corner, so I let the mob pass before poking my head in the door. My first thought was that I'd missed Alex; the only person remaining in the room was a stunning blonde transferring some papers into a briefcase. I paused to admire the view for a moment, until it was clear she'd noticed me.

"Yes?" she prompted, obviously less taken with me than I with her. "Did you want something?"

"I was looking for Alex Sullivan; do you know where I can find him?"

The blonde barked a brief, unhappy laugh. "I'm Alexandra Sullivan -- what did you want?"

I walked a little further into the classroom. "I wanted to talk with you about your popular opinion survey." Her expression lightened, until I added, "My name is Lloyd Parker."

"You!" I think if she'd had something heavier in her hand than paper, she would have thrown it. "Do you know what kind of mess you've caused?"

Holding up both hands in self-defense, I admitted, "Yes; Dr. Reynolds pointed it out to me last week, rather forcefully!"

I thought perhaps her stern expression wavered a little bit. "Do you know how many weeks this is going to set me back while I repeat those surveys? I was supposed to have the next draft of my thesis submitted before the holiday break!"

"Hey, I'm really sorry about that. I looked at the data all weekend, and I agree that something funny happened, but I honestly don't think I did anything and I don't know how to explain it. I was hoping maybe you would spot something I missed."

It looked like she wanted to refuse, but nobody I knew put in the effort it took for post-graduate work unless it really meant something to them. "Yeah, okay," Alexandra sighed. "I have office hours, but I think everybody is already thinking about Thanksgiving. Listening to you might be more entertaining than wondering how to salvage my study." She finished filling her briefcase and we headed out.

It turned out she had half of a small office on the third floor. It was, as she'd predicted, deserted. Unlike my basement lair on the other side of campus, it sported a window, but the folded towel stuffed along the bottom of the pane suggested this wasn't the best time of year to appreciate it.

Alexandra set her briefcase on the desk in one corner, leaned against the wall next to the radiator, and turned her blue eyes on me. "Go ahead, Lloyd -- impress me." Her crossed arms and body language suggested she wasn't expecting much.

In other circumstances, I might have been intimidated -- I didn't run across really attractive postgraduate coeds every day -- but my mind was already focused on the puzzle I'd turned up the previous afternoon. I plopped my own briefcase atop the bare table in the center of the office, extracted my quasi-legible notes, and started talking.

She lasted about five minutes before abandoning the radiator and trying to read my notes upside down. That lasted about a minute before she was standing beside me trying, with equal lack of success, to read my notes right side up. "Can you read these?" Alexandra asked in annoyance, before proceeding to barrage me with a stream of increasingly pointed questions.

We'd been alternating at the chalkboard and pacing back and forth arguing for some time when I finally noticed it was dark outside and my stomach was rumbling. "Hey, it's late; would you like to continue this over dinner?"

"Oh!" Alexandra had been pretty animated, but she visibly shut down as her sense of surroundings returned and she looked at the clock. "I'm sorry, Lloyd, but I don't think that would be appropriate."

"Maybe a cup of coffee, then?" I suggested, unwilling to let things go without making another try.

"Thank you, but no." I would have felt better if she'd shown at least a little regret.

I belatedly noticed she was wearing an engagement ring, although not a wedding band. Smooth move, Lloyd, I told myself in disgust. "Okay, well, thanks for listening," I told her, trying to smooth over the awkward spot. "Let me know if you figure out anything, will you?"

"Certainly," Alexandra said, a bit distantly.

Probably I'd never hear from her again, but hopefully at least I'd done enough to get off of Dr. Reynolds' shit list. "Good night," I told her, and walked out.

It was hard to get going on Monday morning. The roads hadn't been good Sunday, and although my ten-year-old Ford would probably live to run me into the ground, the tires were a little bald and I'd been sane enough to drive slowly. One of the perks of being an advanced student was the avoidance of early morning classes, but apparently nobody had told Dr. Reynolds that.

Another of his annoying qualities was a bizarre fondness for early morning status meetings, which this semester were every Monday and Friday. I told myself that I was lucky he'd let me skip the post-Thanksgiving meeting, but I was still in a bad mood when I stumped into his office.

I was surprised to see Alexandra waiting in his office, apparently for me.

"Now, Alex tells me you're willing to work with her to correct your little mishap, Lloyd," he said without anything in the way of a preamble. "Commendable, my boy, commendable."

That wasn't the way I remembered leaving things and I was trying to collect my wits enough to respond when Alexandra, who also wore a pained expression, spoke up. "Um, Dr. Reynolds, what I had meant to suggest was that Lloyd perhaps could assist with a follow-on study to determine the source of the error in the original."

"Well, of course!" Reynolds chuckled. "Of course he'll assist you; that's what collaboration is all about, right? I expect to hear details on your plan come Friday, now. Carry on!"

I hated morning people. I was really tempted to hate Alexandra, too; my own dissertation had just been sidetracked indefinitely and Reynolds effectively had put me in the role of an assistant to a researcher who was junior to me. However, it was hard to hate a girl as beautiful as Alexandra, and in all fairness, she didn't seem much happier about it than I.

"Your place or mine?" I asked as we stood in the hallway.

"Uugh!" she cursed a moment later after the double entrendre sank in. Alexandra turned away without another word and stalked toward the stairs.

Dr. Reynolds could still see me from his chair, so I hastily scampered after Alexandra, catching up with her as she started upward. Apparently, she preferred her office to mine.

"Just be quiet!" she snarled, before I even opened my mouth. "Do you know how hard it is to be a woman? Nobody takes you seriously! I use 'Alex' for a pen name so I can get published." She was stomping up the stairs rather noisily. "I've spent years trying to get men to treat me like somebody competent, and then this happens!"

Alexandra stopped abruptly and turned to face me. "You know what they're going to say about this..."

She was two steps above me; I forced my eyes up to her face. "What?"

"Oh, Alexandra just got her math wrong; it's so hard for her. Luckily she'll have Lloyd to help keep her from getting into trouble now!" She twitched as if she'd been planning to throw up her hands and discovered one of them burdened by her briefcase. "Aaaaah!"

I couldn't help it; I laughed in her face. "One of NASA's chimpanzees probably can do better math than I can! Besides," I continued, "how do you think I feel about this? I'm a doctoral candidate, for crying out loud; I should be conducting my own research, not assisting some... graduate study."

Visibly clenching her teeth, she replied, "Well, I guess we can agree that neither of us wants to be doing this."

Glumly nodding, I couldn't resist adding, "And Dr. Reynolds could care less what we think, so we're stuck doing it anyway."

Alexandra sighed in agreement and resumed her climb.

That conversation pretty much foreshadowed the short remainder of the semester. I became a fixture in Alexandra's office. Her officemate, Susan, silently procured an additional chair from somewhere, further cramping the already-tight space. After her initial stairwell explosion, Alexandra remained punctuously correct but distant. I dreaded those sessions, but the kibitzing Susan, who was rather more taken with my exalted status than was Alexandra, interjected enough humor to keep them bearable.

We wasted the rest of the month re-interviewing subjects, comparing results, and checking math, to no avail. Alexandra surveyed students I'd interviewed earlier in the semester, and, while there were some minor variations, got basically the same results I had. I repeated some of her interviews, with Alexandra watching me like a hawk, with the same lack of useful results. All of us got a lot better at statistics, but the numbers stubbornly insisted that "my" interviewees had noticeably different preferences than their peers, regardless of demographic. I left for Christmas wondering if pumping gas was such a bad living after all.

November 2010

I was nursing a drink downstairs in the lounge, watching the crowd, when the detective came in. The lounge provided space for the bar, and a small dance floor. It looked like a typical (and law-abiding) club offering adult entertainment, if you didn't stop to wonder how much of the building it didn't occupy. It catered to heavy drinkers, those too clueless or too timid to make it to the suites upstairs, and to our friends in the law enforcement community.

I'd been grinning over my beer at the dazed expressions on the frat boys coming down the stairs; by my watch, these would be Angel's first party. The change in the eddy of the crowd by the door caught my attention. I don't know what it was about the police types; no matter what they wore, they seemed to exude a buzz-kill aura that tipped off even those much less observant than myself.

What I should have done, and had done countless times before, was have the hostess bring the guy over, spot him a drink and a seat for the floor show, and leave him positively convinced that nothing illegal was happening here, even if the place was littered with Danny's stupidly clever allusions to the contrary.

But, like I mentioned, I was in a bad place. What I did do was buzz the hostess on the comm, tell her to stall the cop for ten minutes, and bring him up to the red suite. Then I ghosted up the back stairs to find Angel. She was alone in the gold suite, which reeked of sex, but looking remarkably composed as she combed out her lustrous hair. Her panties were gone and her swollen slit was oozing cum, but with a little lipstick she'd be as presentable as she had been at the beginning of the night. What a slut; my cock gave an involuntary twitch at the thought.

"Hey, Boss," she said, noticing me. "What's up?"

"Change of plan," I told her. "We have a visitor downstairs, probably a cop. How'd you like to drop by the red suite and pretend to be Danny for a while?"

"I can do that," she answered, her face so intent that she reminded me of Angela and my conscience twinged again. "How do you want me to play him?"

"Find out why he's here. Compromise him, if you can; just be sure he makes the first move." The red suite was right next to my office and outfitted with video and audio pickups -- perfect for catching people red-handed, and thus the name. I shrugged. "Go with your instincts."

The little vixen grinned widely. "I love a challenge! How long do I have?"

"About five minutes now," I replied, looking at my watch.

"I'll be ready!" she rose and swept out of the room, moving quickly without looking like she was working at it.

I sauntered back to my office, riffed through a set of placards until I found one reading, "Staff Supervisor," and another labeled, "Ms. Jones." Stepping back outside, I popped the "Red Suite" sign off the magnetic mount on the door and positioned the two replacements in its place. I pushed open the door and took a quick look at the room, confirming it was presentable and could reasonably pass for an ostentatious, but not extravagant, office.

Angel brushed past me, making sure I felt the curve of a breast through our clothing. She'd put up her hair in a quick twist, traded in her slut shoes for more modest three-inch pumps, and exchanged the gloves for a corporate grey pinstripe skirt and blazer. I doubted she looked very modest beneath it, but that wasn't the point. After a quick look in the wall mirror (which incidentally concealed the main camera) she wiped away the remains of her lipstick with a tissue and quickly but neatly retouched her lips with a more muted shade.

We traded thumbs-up, and I closed the door behind me before returning to my own office. Once there, I started the video and confirmed I had a good image; Angel was seated behind "her" desk typing at the PC there. I buzzed the host station with a go-ahead, and sat back to finish organizing my thoughts.

A knock sounded through the speaker a moment later. "Ms. Jones? There's a Detective Snowden here to see you." Angel nodded and beckoned.

With a grimace, I noticed she was surfing a pornography site. The face of the display wasn't visible from the visitor chair in front of the desk, but I hoped we wouldn't need that secondary view later.

An obviously disgruntled middle-aged man entered the picture and stared at Angel for a long moment before settling into the chair. I heard the door close behind him.

"You're the manager of this place?" he asked in evident disbelief. Is this your idea of a joke? Where's Sullivan?" That was Danny.

Angel arched one delicate eyebrow. "Yes, I'm the manager. No, I am not joking. Mr. Sullivan has better things to do with his time than fill out personnel reports and cater to unannounced visits from sexist troglodytes." She considered, and added, "Not that it's your business, but the girls prefer a manager who can sympathize with their viewpoint."

"This makes it my business," he snarled, slamming his badge on the desk. Yep, there was a lot of anger there. "And we both know 'your girls' spend far more time on their backs in these rooms than they do on that sham of a stage you have downstairs!"

"I beg to differ," Angel responded calmly. "What we both know is that we provide changing rooms for the comfort and convenience of our featured entertainers, and that multiple previous investigations -- official ones -- have uncovered no evidence that would substantiate your wild, and frankly slanderous, accusations."

What an earful. Maybe it was somehow bleeding over, but it sure sounded like Angel was making good use of Angela's unorthodox MBA coursework.

"Perhaps you would care to explain this?" Snowden asked, suddenly ice cool, as he flicked a small trinket onto the desk with apparent indifference.

"A lapel pin, it appears," she commented, not impressed. "Your point?"

It took me a moment longer to recognize it; the video quality was good but not great. I wanted to beat my head against my desk. Danny couldn't resist being clever, especially when he thought he had me to bail him out. It looked like I was going to be doing some bailing tonight.

"A lapel pin I confiscated from my son," the detective grated. Just great; I just shook my head. "You will please not insult my intelligence by pretending it is a coincidence that it is shaped like your 'Home Run' logo, or that by coincidence that same logo appears on the plaque at the head of the stairs, which by further striking coincidence bears my son's name, among others."

I was already pulling up the roster on the computer; there was a Darren Snowden added in the spring. That explained the detective's interest, and suggested this was an off-the-books probe, but why the intensity?

"Yes," Angel admitted blandly, "we do award the Home Run pin to some of our best customers."

"My son is 16 years old!" he erupted.

Snowden and the office computer had a critically important five-year difference of opinion regarding Darren's age. If, as seemed likely, the elder Snowden had a heart attack next door, I couldn't decide if I would be happy or sad.

Angel managed a nicely calibrated expression of pained surprise and sympathy. "I assure you, Detective Snowden, we do not knowingly admit minors to this establishment and we are extremely vigilant about checking identification. I am profoundly sorry this situation has arisen, but you cannot reasonably hold us accountable for it."

He waved her off, "oh I know, of course he has fake identification! But you are the peddlers of smut that actively encourage this moral decay! Peddling sex -- no, women -- like they were pieces of meat. A Home Run pin -- to my son! "

The cop was literally pounding on the edge of her desk. I knew what was coming, but what remained to be seen was how Angel would respond.

"Best customers!" he shouted. "You know how you get a Home Run pin?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, and Snowden raced on as soon as he drew a ragged breath. "You tit-fuck one of your 'performers' -- and then she blows you, and then you fuck her, and then you're not done, oh no, you sodomize her. Then you give him a fucking pin so he can boast to his friends and corrupt them too!"

Technically, the guy had to ejaculate all four times. Originally, the only restriction was that they had to occur on the same visit, but some high rollers weren't beyond forking out to engage a girl all night; now, Danny had a one-hour limit on it. Pin holders had their names engraved on the wall of fame and received preferential booking and discounts on their future visits. There was no doubt Snowden had the basics down; it was one of Danny's wildly idiotic brainstorms that had proven to be wildly successful. If you ignored fallout like this.

"You must be very proud of your son," Angel told him.

The detective was literally shocked silent, and I might have thought he'd suffered that promised heart attack if it weren't for the continued sparkle of his consciousness.

"What?" he choked out, apparently unable to believe his ears. I couldn't blame him.

"It sounds like your son is a real man," Angel purred. "Think about it. Imagine trapping your cock between a woman's breasts, and spraying your essence on her body." She leaned forward intently, bracing her forearms on the desk.

I didn't for a second think the way her upper arms compressed her breasts, exposing more of them and emphasizing her cleavage, was accidental. Nodding with appreciation, I focused on Snowden and pushed. Lust . Envy . It was surprising how little resistance I found.

"Teasing her with his scent," she continued, "until she just has to taste him." Perfect lips formed an open "O" as she paused to reflect a moment.

Snowden stirred but said nothing.

"If he's still hard, why, what woman wouldn't want a tool like that inside her?" Angel jerked minutely, and both of us realized her hands were no longer resting on the desk.

"Slut!" Snowden screamed, standing. His erection was obvious, at least on the secondary camera; I had a feeling we wouldn't need it after another minute or two. Two long strides took him around the desk. "Fucking slut! Is this what you want? Is it?"

He slapped her and Angel went over backwards. I wouldn't have put it past her to have taken a pratfall; the blow hadn't really looked that hard. The detective's eyes bulged as he took in the view I had on the overhead camera; somehow Angel's jacket had come unbuttoned and fallen open, exposing a bustier and her heaving tits. With one of her long legs still propped on the fallen chair, the front of her skirt had ridden up to her waist, providing a classic beaver shot of her creaming gash framed between the tops of her stockings.

Best of all, none of it showed on the main video, which didn't extend down to the floor. All I could see was the one calf and a foot atop the overturned chair, and a man who, after a moment of stunned inaction, began frantically unfastening his trousers.

Pay dirt. We wouldn't have to worry about Detective Snowden again.

I took a deep breath, and stood up to go back downstairs; Angel could take care of herself now. On reflection, I double-checked to make sure the time of day was visible in the corner of the monitor. If I knew my Angel, Snowden was going to join his son in the Home Run club tonight or die trying.

January 1962

"Maybe Lloyd guessed somehow," hypothesized Susan. The comment came out of left field, interrupting Alexandra's stilted description of her wedding planning progress. The only other news we had to share was that Dr. Reynolds had talked to Dr. Fredrekksen, with the result that Susan was officially part of our research team now.

I gazed appreciatively at the brunette. The thought was ridiculous, but she'd changed her hair over the break. Susan was no Alexandra, but she was attractive -- especially once she'd come out of her shell -- and I'd thought more than once letting her hair down would look better -- a good guess on my part. I was sure Alexandra spent hours each morning perfecting that professional look before she set foot outside.

"Guessed how they'd answer the survey? Don't be ridiculous, Susan!" exclaimed the blonde, echoing my thought. "We took people in the order they came in, randomly. And even if that weren't true, how could he possibly know what they'd think?" She smiled, which was like a laugh for Alexandra. "That perm didn't get to your brain, did it?"

Susan huffed. "Well, we didn't think of anything better last year! Besides, it would be easy enough to test, right?"

"No," Alexandra and I replied in unison. It was scary, sometimes, how similar we could be; if she would just take the chip off her shoulder and thaw out a little bit... "I don't have any way to guess what people are thinking," I objected after Alexandra gave me a wave.

"Oh, poo!" Susan dismissed our concerns. "Where's your sense of adventure? Would you rather be building up calluses with your slide rules? Just try it!" She laughed. "I volunteer to be your test subject."

"Oh, no you don't!" cautioned Alexandra, but it looked like she was trying not to laugh. "We've all been over this data so many times that I bet all of us could recite answers in our sleep." Standing, she added, "if you want to do this, I'm going to find a subject -- this is my research, after all."

"Okay," Susan assented, "but I'll do the survey, and you'll watch both me and Lloyd to make sure we aren't cheating or influencing anything."

Susan and I spent a few minutes clearing the table and pulling out one of the survey photo decks before Alexandra returned with a student in tow. "Do any of you know each other?" she asked.

All of us, and the student, shook our heads. He sat at the table across from Susan, and I took a seat at Alexandra's desk where I could see his face and the pictures, but not what he was writing. Alexandra hovered like a parochial school nun, ready to dispense corporal punishment to unruly students.

"Okay," Susan smiled, and launched into the standard introduction. "This is just an opinion survey -- there are no right or wrong answers; what we are interested in is what you, personally, think. I'm going to show you a series of pictures, in pairs. All you need to do is look at each pair, and note which image you prefer."

I studied the student, Robert, while Susan ran through the introductory demographic questions, and tried to get a feel for him. He just looked like some random undergrad who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time and couldn't say "no" to a beautiful girl. Susan's suggestion was ridiculous, but I wasn't going to open myself up for any grief from Alexandra by giving it less than my best effort.

As Alexandra had alluded, I already had the photo decks memorized, so I was free to devote all of my attention to Robert, concentrating on his face, and looking down to note a choice just after he made his. President Kennedy or Reverend King? Ocean waves or a hillside meadow? A kitten or a puppy? A blonde or a brunette? A swath of tartan, or one with polka dots? Alexandra knelt beside me at one point, apparently to make sure I couldn't see which column he was marking, but remained silent the entire time.

"Darn!" Susan interjected unexpectedly when she reached the end. "Somebody left the deck out of order; number 1 got rotated to the end by mistake. What do we do now?"

"Well, we're not doing this again," I voted. Maybe my eyes needed checking, because after 30 minutes of this I had a splitting headache.

"Just make a note on the forms, Susan," Alexandra decided, "and we can correct the data when we analyze it. Thank you very much for your time, Robert." After he left, she gave Susan and me a new set of blanks and we quickly copied the two spoiled sheets, moving each answer down one space and pulling the last up to the top so they would correspond to our existing data.

The three of us gathered around the table and stared at the results. I admit I was thinking mostly about where I could get some aspirin.

"Sugar," a disappointed Susan said, "it's not even worth running the numbers. I don't think even half of them matched -- are you sure weren't trying to lose, Lloyd?"

"Unbelievable," Alexandra breathed in a very different tone of voice. She found a column of data and laid it beside Robert's survey; even at a cursory glance it was clear they were very similar to each other. "What are the odds?"

I looked more closely and saw the new data was the aggregate data from "my" demographic group. The alignment was as inexplicable as my predictive performance was expected; Alexandra had pulled this guy out of the hallway, but she might just as well have pulled the data from the folder on her desk! "I need a drink," I moaned, wishing hard for the day to be over.

"I agree," Alexandra chimed in unexpectedly, and an excited Susan squealed assent and grabbed for her coat before either of us could change our minds.

We ended up in a booth at Nino's, nursing beers while we waited for our burgers and fries. Apparently, having an unofficial chaperone in Susan was sufficient to get past Alexandra's defenses. I caught one or two envious glances from guys who saw me with the two girls; if only they'd heard the conversation!

Alexandra started out worrying over the practical impossibility we'd just encountered, then loosened up enough to start worrying about whether she'd be able to keep ahead of the wedding preparations and live up to her family's and fiancee's expectations for it.

The guy sounded like a pompous prick, frankly, which might make him a good match for Alexandra Sullivan the Ice Queen but not somebody I'd want to marry. Luckily, all I needed to do was maintain a noncommittal expression while Susan made sympathetic noises and Alexandra spilled more personal information in an hour than she had in weeks.

We didn't resolve anything, but I stumped back to my room feeling better than I had -- at least I didn't have Alexandra's problems! I told Mrs. Hudson I'd already had dinner and went up to flip through the professor's notes for my class the next day before going to sleep.

I tromped through an inch of fresh snow the next morning, determined to take another look at Robert's survey with a clear head before heading off to my first class. I remembered that Alexandra had a lecture that hour, but it appeared that Susan had decided to come in early, too.

"Ha!" she exclaimed when I appeared in the office doorway. "I knew it!"

"Knew what?" I asked, hanging up my coat and hat. The radiator wouldn't catch up enough for me to remove the sweater until much later in the day.

"I knew you were sandbagging," Susan laughed, "look!" She gestured at the paperwork spread out on the table.

I sat down heavily. Susan had matched up my original response sheet with Robert's and our aggregate data. "Matched up" was the right term -- my results were exactly on the baseline, and Robert was in the 99th percentile.

"Why didn't we see this before?" she crowed. "When we consider the pictures you thought you were looking at, you're an exact match! I mean, exact !"

"I never actually took the survey myself, before yesterday," I said weakly, and looked up again. "How is this even possible?" I couldn't dispute the facts, even if I couldn't explain them.

"Maybe it's mind control!" giggled Susan, and she made vaguely threatening gestures with her arms.

"Oh, come on!" My headache felt like it was coming back again. "I really wish you wouldn't mention that to anybody," I told her, dreading the thought of Alexandra hearing that hypothesis.

"Let's find out! Let's do the survey again!" Susan was like some kid who'd had too much sugar to eat.

I shook my head. "That won't work. Alexandra's right; we both know the survey data too well." I could help laughing faintly as I poked my response sheet, which proved the point.

"Well, make me do something," Susan suggested.

"Bark like a dog," I offered.

"I'm serious!" she snapped at me.

I sighed and considered her. She really did look much better with her hair down, although the bulky sweater she was wearing didn't do her figure any favors. It was a pretty nice figure, when I thought about it. What I did next I chalked up solely to being a man who'd gone too long without getting any satisfaction.

"Show me your tits," I commanded, trying on my best vampire-like hypnotic gaze.


I think we both blushed as I stammered an apology. "I'm really sorry, Susan; I shouldn't have said that." At least she wasn't running out of the room or screaming. "I guess I just let my hormones get the better of me." Just for good luck, I added, "I wanted to try something you wouldn't do normally, just for a test."

Susan looked only slightly mollified, but she nodded.

I was thankful that Susan didn't say anything about the incident to Alexandra, but it was curious that she didn't bring up her research breakthrough either. More curiously, I didn't mention it, although my original survey was buried in my briefcase now. I told myself I just wanted to think things over before getting Alexandra all excited, but I wasn't really sure that was it. There was no way Susan's wild suggestion could be true, right?

That night, I jerked off before going to sleep, trying my best to keep the squeaking of the old bedsprings to a minimum. The mental picture of a tranced Susan slowly unfastening her nightgown had me cumming like a fire hose.

Wednesday started off bright and early with a status conference with Dr. Reynolds, which maybe boosted his spirits but nobody else's. After that, we went our own ways for the rest of the morning. Following lunch, I finally gathered my courage and pulled out my survey sheet.

"Hey," I told Alexandra, "you should see what Susan found." I figured it wouldn't hurt to skip over the delay in sharing the information, and I was giving credit where it was due.

"My gosh, Susan," gasped the blonde, but she wasn't looking at the paper. "Are you going out somewhere?"

The brunette had just removed her sweater, revealing a very tight top that showcased all of her curves and was cut low enough that it really should have been left for summer. I wouldn't have complained in any circumstances, but just then my mind was racing. Did I have anything to do with this? That it was just coincidence seemed extremely unlikely, but the alternative was totally unbelievable.

"No, why?" Susan asked. "But, Alexandra, look!" she continued, bending over the table to point. Alexandra's eyes followed the finger; mine followed the breasts that swayed to reveal even more cleavage between them. If she hadn't been wearing a bra, I don't know what would have happened.

"I don't believe it!" Alexandra gasped, as quick on the uptake as I had been. She turned accusing eyes on me. "How did you do this, Lloyd?"

"I don't know," I muttered, thinking I was starting to sound like a broken record. "Honestly! You were right beside me the entire time." I could see the wheels turning in her mind.

"You know," Alexandra mused, "if you accept this is happening at all, it's a lot more likely they're somehow being influenced than it is that all these people just coincidentally have nearly identical opinions."

"That's just what I think!" burst out Susan, as if hearing the words had released something inside her.

For my part, I wanted to pound my head against the wall. Even if any of this was true, the last thing I wanted was to be poked and studied and commented on like some exotic bug in a jar. "Look," I said heavily, "I don't know what's going on, either. But can we please not go talking to people about this; at least until we understand what's really happening?" I put on my best pleading, hangdog expression and strained to convey my sincerity and desire. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" Susan asked, while Alexandra eyed me warily.

"A headache," I explained. "Do either of you have any aspirin? I think this entire line of conversation is hurting my brain." I'd always seemed to be prone to stress headaches, and this qualified as a stressful situation in my book. Susan turned and started rummaging in her desk.

Alexandra sighed. "Believe me; it's hurting my brain, too. We'll stay quiet, for now." Susan nodded her agreement and handed me a few pills, which I gulped dry. "This is still my research project, and I have no greater desire to become a laughingstock than do you. The question is, what do we do now?"

We all stared at each other silently. "Can you put on your sweater, Susan?" Alexandra asked after watching my eyes slide sideways for the second or third time.

Susan shrugged, delightfully, and pulled on the cardigan. She didn't say anything, but I had the impression she knew I was watching and liked it. I wasn't a dork or anything, but it had been awhile since a girl had flirted with me. "What now, indeed?"

"Don't look at me!" Alexandra held her head in her hands. "I'm supposed to be writing a psychology dissertation, not..."

"Science Fiction?" I suggested, wryly.

"Um. Human physiology or neurology might be better, but we're all equally unqualified for any of them, anyway. This is really stupid, you know -- what are we going to do, test on each other?"

In retrospect, of course, it was amazing we were even having the conversation. We were all suspicious I was somehow influencing people, and Alexandra at least had to be wondering why Susan had decided to wear that top. If I were some coed, the last thing I'd do was invite some boy to experiment on me, no matter how well-behaved he'd been up to that point.

I could only hypothesize that I'd always tried to be a trustworthy person, and that without knowing I was even doing anything, I'd influenced people to trust me rather than simply demonstrating I was trustworthy, as I'd thought. It hurt to think about, but I wasn't thinking about it then. My cock was thinking about all the things I could do, and my conscience was thinking about all the things I shouldn't even be thinking about.

"Well, if we're keeping it private, we don't have too many options," opined Susan, heedless of my private musings. "If you're the principal investigator, Alexandra, and obviously Lloyd can't be the subject, then I guess that leaves me." She turned her attention to me. "We just need to be methodical and only try things we all agree to."

"Of course," Alexandra agreed, ignorant of the subtext of Susan's warning. "But first, Lloyd, I'd like to know everything that was going through your head on Monday."

The remainder of the afternoon was rather dull, as the girls peppered me with questions I couldn't answer about things I'd never even thought about before. I had to admire the way Alexandra's mind worked; several of her questions were extremely insightful and bore thinking on, even when I couldn't answer them satisfactorily.

I did some of that thinking later that evening, between stroke sessions. Apparently, my track record as an upstanding young man was due to lack of opportunity rather than moral character. I would tell myself I shouldn't be doing this, feel guilty for a minute, and then resume working the angles while my cock got hard again. It got even harder when I remembered that I'd be alone with Susan the next morning.

Feeling remarkably chipper, and glad my coat concealed my erection as well as keeping me warm, I took the stairs two at a time the next morning, speeding past slower or less awake students. The office door was closed, but I could see the light was on inside, suggesting Susan was there before me.

"Hi, Lloyd," Susan greeted me. "Does it seem like the radiator is working better today?" She'd already taken off her sweater and turned around as I closed the door behind me. The radiator definitely wasn't any warmer than usual, but Susan was looking pretty hot. Her top was as tight as the previous day, but she'd obviously gone without a bra and her nipples were threatening to poke holes in the knit fabric.

I swallowed twice before answering. "I don't think it's that warm, Susan; you should put your sweater on before you catch cold." Or somebody else saw her, I thought to myself.

One thing we'd all agreed on was that whatever I did, it didn't have anything to do with verbalization; I'd never said a single word beyond "hello" and "goodbye" to Robert. So, while I fumbled with my coat and Susan reluctantly pulled on her cardigan, I thought furiously about how great her breasts looked, how much I wanted to see them, and how much my aching penis needed relief.

"I think I'm having trouble with this button," Susan announced with a crooked smile. The cardigan was fastened up to the bottom of her bust, but gaped at the top -- emphasizing rather than obscuring her breasts. "Can you look at it for me?"

I nodded breathlessly. Fantasizing about it was one thing, but I guess subconsciously I still didn't believe any of this was real, and I hadn't thought ahead to what would happen if my suggestions worked. It looked like I'd have to approach it like any other normal guy, and just make things up as I went along.

Susan walked over to me, although it wasn't exactly a normal walk, until her chest was nearly touching mine. "See?"

I certainly did. My hands were trembling slightly as I reached out and pulled the top of the sweater tight against the swell of her breasts. The button looked okay, but surprisingly the sweater looked too small to reach. I could feel Susan's body moving slightly as she breathed. My cock was pressing hard against my slacks, but we were so close together there was no way she could see it, even if she hadn't been looking at my hands.

Holding my breath, I made another attempt to tug the cardigan into place. Not only did I fail again, the change in tension apparently popped the second button on her top -- when it came loose, the buttons on either side did too, suddenly revealing a scandalous amount of pale skin.

"Oh!" Susan shrieked. Her hands flew up to cover herself, but bounced off mine and failed to catch the edges of the top. She ended up pressing her tits together, revealing dark nipples peeking out between spread fingers.

"Jesus, Susan!" It had all happened so quickly I was still frozen in position, hands grasping at thin air. I might have had a heart attack, except I could see the safely closed office door over her shoulder.

She giggled softly. "They're kind of a handful, aren't they?" Susan leaned forward into me, dropping her hands, until I could feel her nubs pressing against my chest. "So are you," she sighed, her voice husky, and I jumped as she suddenly squeezed my rigid organ through my trousers.

I reached for her wrist, but Susan intercepted my hand and routed it to her tit. It was warm and silky smooth beneath my fingers, and she moaned entrancingly when I caressed it. I kissed her, both to muffle the moan and because I could. Unlike my fantasies, we groped each other for only a minute or two before her firm grip coaxed me into firing a big load in my underwear.

We grinned at each other. I hadn't made it to home base today, but I was pretty confident I'd be getting there sooner rather than later, and enjoying the trip. What Susan was thinking I didn't know, but it was clear she'd enjoyed the experience, too.

"I think I ruined Yelena's blouse," Susan said, looking at the button dangling literally by a thread and apparently uncaring of her exposed state.

She was a sight worth looking at, but I was more worried about my trousers. "I don't think I've ruined my pants, yet. I'm going to go visit the restroom and clean up, okay?"

"You can't open the door while I'm like this -- people might see!" exclaimed Susan, wide-eyed.

I couldn't help laughing. "What about me?"

"It's not funny, Lloyd. I wanted to show off for you, not the whole world."

"I appreciate the thought," I said, suddenly distracted. "But what made you decide to show me today? You seemed a little angry about it a couple days ago."

"You didn't ask very nicely. I'm a lady, not some piece of meat you just order around." Susan shrugged, making her breasts jiggle in interesting ways. "I thought about it, and it seemed exciting, especially since I knew you'd be receptive and I could trust you not to handle it badly."

Part of me didn't want to ask the next question, but Susan was a nice girl, and I was genuinely curious to hear her answer. "Do you think I -- you know -- made you do it?"

She considered it. "I don't think so." Susan pursed her lips. "I know I thought about it last night, and planned what I was going to do. I didn't feel compelled, or anything like that." Her face showed a faint blush, which was interesting. "But really, how would I know for sure?"

Susan continued, more thoughtfully. "I've never done anything like this before" -- she laughed -- "but a girl can't be prim and proper all the time. Except maybe Alexandra! If you did have something to do with it, you wouldn't make me do anything bad, would you?"

I tried for a poker face and hoped the heat I felt wasn't showing. "Alexandra said yesterday we'd only try things we all agreed to," I answered, and then changed the subject. "I really need to clean up."

"Oh, just a minute." She showed me a devilish grin, and Susan's suddenly dexterous fingers quickly unfastened the remaining buttons. She removed her top, giving me a full-frontal view of her body from the waist up, and pulled on her cardigan. "You can't see anything now, can you?" she asked, as she fastened the sweater.

"Well, no," I admitted, "but my imagination is running wild."

"That's the idea. Now go run along so we can get back to work."

My briefs were a sticky mess. After some internal debate, I finally ended up removing them in one of the bathroom stalls. I wasn't really comfortable going bare beneath my trousers, but I didn't want to risk the moisture soaking through. I made a mental note to start packing a spare pair, too.

I made my way back to the office, only to discover Susan was talking with a student. I belatedly remembered she had office hours, and suffered a panic attack thinking of what could have happened if the guy had showed up earlier. I quickly changed my plans, and wandered down the hallway to dump my paper towel-wrapped underwear discreetly in a trash can before returning. There had to be a better way of handling this.

It took Susan a few more minutes to sooth her student's angst regarding expected workload for the semester while I doodled on a notepad and thought. Afterwards, we had time to agree that we couldn't afford to get caught messing around in the office, but nothing else of interest occurred before Alexandra arrived.

Coming off her early recitation section, she looked more frazzled than usual as she dumped a stack of homework assignments on her desk and collapsed in her chair. "I think this wedding is going to kill me," she moaned, pushing a stray blonde tendril back behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" asked Susan, who was always ready to hear details.

"What isn't?" Alexandra asked the ceiling. "There's some problem with the invitations, the hall wants a bigger deposit than we can really afford, and the outfits for the groomsmen are still up in the air." She sighed and looked down again. "At least Jonathan is coming up this weekend and we'll hopefully get everything squared away."

I knew Jonathan -- never just "Jon," Heaven forbid -- was her fiance. "That's nice, but wouldn't it be easier for you to go home instead?" I asked, trying to sound helpful.

Both women turned disdainful looks upon me. "With Connie and Danny both here too?" Susan asked, demonstrating she was on top of things.

"Oh, yeah," I said, feeling like an idiot. Connie, Alexandra's best friend and her maid of honor, was also enrolled in the graduate program. Her younger brother, Danny, was in his senior year and one of the groomsmen. Obviously I hadn't been paying enough attention to their earlier conversations; that would have to change. "Sorry for putting my foot in it."

Alexandra waved off the apology. "Don't worry. I hear stupider questions in class, from people that are paying to ask them." She shook her head and leaned back. "So -- let's talk about our other interesting problem, shall we?"

"I've been thinking about that," I replied. I was thinking about it then, in fact; I was concentrating hard about trusting me. It was difficult, trying to do that and talk at the same time, but I hoped the women would just think I was choosing my words carefully.

I continued, "I see several issues with the experimental protocol. First, Susan and I were discussing this and there's a fundamental problem with measuring impact, if any, on a knowing subject. It'll be hard enough to figure out if there's any influence in the first place, right?" The girls nodded, but Alexandra was frowning. "If we tell Susan what we're going to try, how do any of us really know if she's responding to what we told her instead of, um, other influences?"

Alexandra spoke up immediately. "Granted. But, Lloyd, testing on unsuspecting subjects is completely unethical -- that's why we're not going to try anything all of us -- especially Susan -- haven't agreed to!"

"I know," I said, holding up my hands, "I know. I didn't mean going behind her back. I just think that telling her exactly what I'm supposed to be trying to do will be counterproductive."

"I have a suggestion," Susan chimed in. "We can all agree on some general areas that are okay to explore, but I'll give Alexandra my proxy to approve specific tests. That way I won't know what exactly is supposed to happen."

"That could work," nodded Alexandra.

"I suppose I should start keeping a journal," Susan mused. "That might make it easier to see if anything is happening, too." I mumbled something approving.

"Excellent!" Alexandra smiled, and loosened up enough to attempt a small joke. "Where shall we start first? I swear, Susan, if you had worn that top again, I would have asked Lloyd to make you take it off -- Yelena can wear what she likes, but I think it made you look cheap." All of us smiled, and Alexandra, ignorant of the real joke, looked pleased at her success.

We spent the rest of the morning debating strategy and blocking out the high level steps we'd pursue next. All of us exerted a significant amount of intellectual effort and I found the session surprisingly engaging. We were reluctant to break up at lunchtime, but agreed Alexandra and I would meet privately the next day to plan our first experiment. It was disconcerting to feel the unexpected freedom of my penis when I stood up and recalled how the morning had started.

I was far from satisfied, but decided it made a lot of sense to stick largely to the plan we'd devised together until I knew more. A misstep would be embarrassing at best, and possibly far worse. Besides, I was in it for the long haul, not just a short-term fling.

It was about that point I realized, somewhat to my surprise, that I wanted Alexandra and intended to get her -- even if I had to cheat. Sure, she was drop-dead gorgeous, but looks weren't everything and she had that ice queen personality going on. Somewhere in the last month she'd kind of snuck up on me and I realized there was a first-class mind beneath those blonde locks, and an engaging personality if you got past her defenses.

Normally, the fact she was engaged to a guy who, judging by her ring, was a heck of a lot richer than I'd ever be would be considered an insurmountable obstacle. I told myself that women had changed their minds before, even without the sort of help I intended to provide. The trick would be to not screw up a good thing with a stupid mistake.

If there was anything to our guesses and it came to light, I could see myself locked up in some government lab for the rest of my life. If Alexandra realized anything like what I planned was happening, she'd leave and I'd be out of luck. Bumbling might leave me with a compliant body, bereft of the mind I admired. I could see already this wouldn't just be science; it would be art, too. My cock lengthened in anticipation.

Dr. Reynolds was all smiles Friday morning after Alexandra told him, in suitably vague terms, that she was following some promising leads. I said little but tried different approaches to convey disinterest in Alexandra's project; I didn't want any more oversight if I could help it.

After our meeting was over, the two of us bundled up and trudged around the quad to the new annex, and then downstairs to the basement. "You live in a cave," Alexandra commented when I showed her into my office and turned on the light.

"Yes, but it's a warm cave," I rejoined, hanging my coat and jacket on the rack appropriated from an office upstairs. The ceiling was a little low and there were no windows, but it was a little larger than her office and I didn't have to share it with anybody. "I like it." Brushing off my manners, I helped Alexandra remove her coat and hung it up, too. As usual, she was tastefully, if conservatively, dressed.

"Well, it might be more comfortable to work here during the winter," admitted Alexandra, "but you conducted all the surveys in the Evans Building, right? I don't want to introduce any more variables, at least at first."

I nodded agreement. Alexandra's original study was focused on basically emotional response -- "do you like this more or less than that?" -- and we strongly suspected I'd been able to affect those responses. What we didn't know, and wanted to find out, was whether that was the limit of my alleged capabilities or not.

Consequently, we'd decided to try a sequence of trials to test my capability for emotional influence, intellectual influence, and physical influence. Susan wouldn't know the specific tests, which Alexandra and I were about to discuss, or even the order in which I'd try them. When we met this afternoon, I'd try each for 10 minutes or until it was clear something had happened.

"Well, easy stuff first," I said. "Write a word on a piece of paper, show it to me, and put it in your purse. I'll try to communicate it to Susan."

Alexandra grinned. "Easy?"

"Well, easy to think about and confirm," I countered.

She produced a small address book, thought a moment, wrote something, and tore out the page to hand to me.

"Cyan?" I asked, returning it to her.

"It's short and abstract," said Alexandra, as she folded the paper and slipped it back into the address book. "You can't cheat by sending a mental image of an object, and if you manage to project the color, Susan's as likely to say 'teal' or 'turquoise' -- which would tell us something, too."

I was impressed again, and said so. "Do you have any equally clever suggestions for the other tests?"

"Of course," she replied. I had enough familiarity now to recognize her extremely dry and understated sense of humor, rather than confusing it for self-superiority. "I thought we'd go out to Nino's again tonight -- Jonathan wants to meet my school friends."

I'm sure I looked blank as I processed the non-sequitur, my apparent promotion to "friend," and Alexandra's unconscious assumption that of course we'd be free on a Friday night. Not that she wasn't right, at least in my case, but it was a little annoying.

"You remember the fry conversation from last time?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I answered, smiling now. Susan had been mock-horrified when Alexandra and I had "tainted" our fries by putting ketchup on them. She'd steadfastly refused to put anything on hers, insisting that ketchup was solely for burgers and meatloaf.

"Well, try to convince her she likes ketchup on French fries, and we'll see what happens."

I matched her wicked grin. "And Susan agreed to this?"

"In principle. It's harmless -- she likes fries, and she likes ketchup; just not together. Besides, she won't be expecting it then, and it will be interesting to see both if she puts any ketchup on them in the first place, and what she does if she eats one."

There was no question Alexandra had a twisty mind, and I reminded myself to tread extremely carefully before trying anything with her. "Won't Susan be expecting something this afternoon?"

"I brought in some new lipsticks. I'll ask her which one she likes best. It doesn't matter which one she picks; just look disappointed and tell her it didn't work. We can tell her about the real test after dinner."

"I can do that," I agreed. "You're going to try them on, right?"

"Well, of course. How else would anybody know what the color really looks like?"

"Excuse me, I'm a guy." I smiled. "How about if you have Susan try them on too, and I'll see if I can make her hand jerk while she's applying one? That should be easy to spot, and easy to clean up, too."

"Great thought, Lloyd!" Alexandra flashed a brief smile that would have warmed me even if we'd been in her office rather than mine. "Now we just have to choose an order."

"No problem," I assured her, and fished a penny out of my pocket. "Heads, we do the lipstick first; tails, we try the word first." I flipped it and it came up tails. "Anything else?"

"Just that it will be really important for you to note anything you can think of about what you try or any sensations you have."

I nodded again. "Certainly. I think I'll start keeping a journal, too."

"We'll see you about 4:00, then." Alexandra rose and pulled on her coat before I could get there to help, and exited without any further conversation.

I know I did useful things that day, and even attended a lecture, but nothing stuck in my mind. All I could think of was my afternoon appointment.

Exactly on time, I strolled into their office and hung up my coat. Both of the girls looked a little nervous, but I couldn't blame them because I felt the same way, too. "Hey, calm down, ladies. I think I'm the one on trial here."

"Right," Alexandra said, and settled herself in her chair.

Susan followed suit. She was looking good in another cardigan, more form-fitting than others I remembered but not tight. What, if anything, might be beneath it I couldn't tell.

"If you're ready, Lloyd?"

I pulled a composition book and pen out of my briefcase, and leaned back in my chair. I was tenser than I'd expected, and took a deep breath to try and calm myself. "Go ahead."

Alexandra briefly consulted the notes in front of her. I saw the folded page torn from her address book sitting on the tabletop, but she didn't refer to it or glance at it. "Okay, Susan, we're going to start now."

That was the last thing any of us said for ten minutes. We all looked at each other, occasionally scribbling a brief note, while I thought "CYAN" as hard as I could and stared at Susan.

"Time," Alexandra spoke softly into the silence. I had a bit of a headache from concentrating so hard, but nothing seemed to have happened. Susan opened her mouth, but Alexandra cut her off, saying, "Afterwards."

I rocked back and forth in my chair a few times, and cracked my knuckles, then nodded.

"This should be a little more entertaining," Alexandra smiled. "I have a few new shades of lipstick, and I thought we might try them on." She leaned back to her desk and grabbed first a box of tissues, and then several tubes. A compact mirror came out of a drawer.

Susan started by looking at the color chips on the ends of the tubes and writing a few notes. She and Alexandra then began alternating, each girl wiping off her current color and applying a new one while the other watched.

I focused on Susan, dutifully concentrating on how great fries with ketchup tasted while Alexandra was applying lipstick, and trying to make Susan's hand bounce when she was doing her own lips. I generally ignored the lipstick, until they came to a deep vivid red. It was the sort of thing a girl might wear to a party, vibrant and eye-catching, and too flashy for regular clothes. It made me think of sex.

Without really thinking about the merits or my earlier caution, I concentrated on that color, and how beautiful and attractive and sexy lips that shade were. I still had no idea what I was doing, but I focused hard on each girl as she examined herself in the mirror.

Whether by chance or planning -- I would have bet on the latter -- the last color was pretty close to the muted rose that Alexandra normally wore. As had been the case with each application before it, Susan's hand never wavered.

Alexandra called time and everybody scribbled a few more notes in their logs. My headache had diminished slightly; I didn't know if it was because I had been alternating between two different things, or due to the first attempt being harder than the others. I duly recorded those thoughts without mentioning my unplanned detour.

"Well?" Alexandra asked, providing only the bare minimum prompting.

"Midnight Siren, obviously," answered Susan with a wide smile.

I worked at maintaining a neutral expression. I was surprised, not so much that she'd identified the red that I liked, but at her level of confidence.

Alexandra looked a little startled, too. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, come on," Susan laughed. "I had Autumn Rose down on my initial list; Midnight Siren was maybe number three. Now I just love it!" Both girls looked at me.

Clearly Susan was no idiot, either. "I was concentrating on that browny-looking one," I protested, trying to look disappointed. "That red did look nice, though -- speaking off the clock, if you will."

Susan suddenly looked uncertain. "Drat! I was so sure." She sighed and continued, "I guess that's why we don't just go by the colors on the tubes."

Alexandra was studying the lipsticks again. "Yes, it did look better than I expected. Although you couldn't wear it with just anything..." She visibly shook herself and refocused her attention on Susan. "Anything else?" I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"What? That's it?" Susan asked.

"We doubled up," I broke in. "I was trying to make you smear yourself, but your hand was steady as a rock the whole time. I didn't have the slightest sense anything was happening."

Susan stuck out her tongue at me. "What about the third test? Or the first, I guess?"

"Does this mean anything to you?" Alexandra asked, holding up the folded slip of paper.

"Noooo," Susan answered hesitantly. She paused a moment longer and shook her head. "No, I don't think so." Alexandra handed over the paper; Susan unfolded and read it. "Cyan? Honestly, it's still drawing a blank."

"I was trying to communicate that word to you," I explained. "It gave me more of a headache than anything else did, for whatever that's worth."

Alexandra jotted down a few more thoughts in her log before closing it. "Well; zero for three on our first try. Just remember, Rome wasn't built in a day -- we'll try again next week. In the meantime, if you'd care to accompany me to Nino's?"

All of us were happy to abandon the gloom of the office for the warmer and more convivial atmosphere of the pub. Once inside, Alexandra made straight for one of the large round tables, which was occupied by a mismatched couple. They rose as we approached.

Introductions were made all around, and I found myself sitting between Susan on one side and Alexandra's friend, Connie, on the other. Beyond Susan, Alexandra's brother, Danny, was holding forth on his final undergrad semester. We had an empty chair, presumably for Jonathan, between Connie and Alexandra.

"What's he majoring in?" I leaned over to ask Connie. Danny was clearly the youngest of us, and also the most voluble. He was talking to Susan too quickly for me to follow.

"Women," she said with a laugh, and corrected herself. "I think the diploma will say 'Business' but it's a minor miracle if he graduates in four years without getting expelled first." Connie winked at me. "If you were a girl, I'd tell you to watch yourself around him, but you aren't his type." She waited a beat, and continued, "no offense, but I wouldn't have thought you were Alexandra's type, either."

"None taken," I assured her. "Dr. Reynolds assigned me and Susan to help Alexandra with her research." I started projecting a reassuring sense of trustworthiness and likeability.

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "You're that ham-handed idiot?" Connie put a hand on my arm before I could take offense. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that. Really, Alexandra has had nothing but good things to say about you, Lloyd. The 'ham-handed' comment was from last year when she was feeling frustrated; I'm sure she didn't mean it then, and she surely doesn't mean it now."

We talked easily for a few minutes more until Jonathan arrived. I might have been tempted to ask for her phone number if I hadn't already had my sights set on Alexandra. If Danny stood out from the rest of us because of his relative youth, Jonathan did too. He looked like an up-and-coming executive, and we looked like rumpled academics. Danny and I did, anyway; the girls probably would have looked attractive, no matter what.

Jonathan greeted his fiancee with a kiss, and she introduced him around. I smiled through a bone-crushing handshake and did my usual best to appear trustworthy and nonthreatening.

After ordering, Jonathan produced a proof of the wedding invitations and showed it to Alexandra. Naturally, everybody else wanted to see it too, and it ended up getting passed around the table. It looked fine to me, properly elegant, but apparently I lacked the discernment to note that the wrong typeface had been used and that the vertical spacing wasn't perfectly balanced.

I guessed Alexandra was upset, less by the expression on her face than by Connie's. All of us praised the invitation, and Alexandra finally said it would be good enough, if nobody else could tell the difference.

Just the same, when Jonathan announced, "I thought you'd say that, so I told them to go ahead, and print and mail them," I caught a glimpse of white knuckles before she put her hands in her lap. I thought hard about how irritating Jonathan was.

Alexandra might have said something, but the waitress chose that time to return with our food -- Nino's wasn't fancy, but service wasn't slow, either. I met Alexandra's gaze, and we both covertly watched Susan as the waitress deposited a plate in front of her.

Once we'd all been served, Alexandra was quick to snatch the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and pour some on her fries and another dollop on her burger. She passed the bottle to Danny, who followed suit and then handed it on to Susan. I watched carefully, trying to hide my excitement, as she hesitated after putting some on her cheeseburger, but after a moment she passed it on to me without doing anything more.

The remainder of the meal passed with casual conversation. Alexandra groused about her thesis in general terms, without impressing Jonathan much as far as I could see. The wedding seemed a more popular topic, as everybody except Susan and I were more involved in it and Jonathan could intimate how great a catch he was. His attitude annoyed me, so I retaliated, to unknown effect, with a general broadcast of my negative impressions.

Our plates were nearly cleared when Susan surprised me by stabbing her last fry into the puddle of ketchup on my plate. She stuck it in her mouth, then made a face, but ate it anyway. It wasn't out of line with some of the other joking and clowning around that had been going on, so only Alexandra and I froze momentarily.

A few minutes later, the ladies made one of those group pilgrimages to the restroom. "Can't we do the penguin suit thing tomorrow?" Danny asked Jonathan as soon as the others were out of hearing distance. "This is prime time for window shopping!" The hourglass he sketched in the air made it clear what he meant.

Jonathan looked intrigued but sighed. "No such luck, kid. The shop already arranged to stay open late just for us, and officially I'm off the market." He could have just been playing to Danny, who'd been eying all of the women in the room all evening, but it didn't exactly feel that way to me; he'd put an unusual stress on "officially." "How about you, Lloyd? Are you off the market?"

A little surprised, I replied, "I guess I'd say not so much off the market, as not really in it to begin with. I'm here to get my doctorate, not have a good time."

"What a waste!" exclaimed Danny. "I bet Susan would show you a good time, if you know what I mean," he added speculatively.

I stifled a cringe, uncertain if he was just making an inflammatory barb, or had sensed something from her, or just made a lucky guess. Luckily for me, the girls made a prompt return and saved me from having to continue the conversation.

Unless I was hallucinating, they'd redone their lipstick and the ruby red of Midnight Siren now graced two pairs of lips. It was a bit over the top, but I still thought it looked very becoming, especially in the softer light of the pub. Susan was giving me a calculating look that was, frankly, unnerving.

"We should be going," Alexandra said. The comment was punctuated by the snap of Jonathan's fingers as he got the waitress' attention and gestured for the bill. "Lloyd, you can see Susan home, can't you?"

"Certainly, I'd be delighted," I assured her. Even if there'd been no ulterior motive, as the two odd people out, I would have offered if she hadn't asked first. Perhaps I was no social butterfly, but my parents hadn't raised a complete idiot.

Jonathan dispensed with the bill almost negligently, hugely overtipping the waitress. It wasn't that she didn't deserve a tip, but I sensed the point was more to make sure we all knew it didn't bother him to spend money like water than because of any real sense of largess.

November 2010

Our day at the store was blissfully uneventful. Perhaps the would-be shoplifters had watched the evening news and decided they didn't want to mess with security that could take out armed robbers bare-handed.

Angela endured a fair amount of good-natured teasing, and some wags constructed a "bulletproof vest" from inventory in the lingerie department; she looked at it round-eyed and claimed it wouldn't fit beneath her uniform. Both of us told anyone who'd listen that if we'd known the perp had a gun, we would have held the doors open for him.

We had to take a break during the morning to pose for a picture that was promised for a write-up in the next company newsletter. The writer was dutifully impressed by Angela's history and efforts to improve herself, and by my, um, longevity. There was no media presence to worry about, as the company detailed a flack to intercept all inquiries and make sure no prospective customers were scared off by thoughts of gun-wielding bandits.

It was sobering to look at the young woman standing next to me and worry, not for the first time, what would happen to her if something happened to me. We were both single now, but I'd enjoyed 42 years of marriage -- and effectively foreclosed that option for her. Any man who tried to enter into a relationship with Angela would be in for a real surprise; although between both jobs that possibility was remote.

A laughing Angela punched me in the shoulder. "Why so glum? Cheer up, Lloyd! Did you buy a lottery ticket while we're still lucky?"

I was still feeling a touch morose when I clocked out at the end of the afternoon. My mood darkened when a young woman approached me just after I left the store. She was a looker, but I was already looking forward to Angel and didn't need another disruption to my schedule. I hoped she wasn't press; I'd already forgotten everything the company handler had told us about responding to queries.

"Are you Lloyd?" she asked, unexpectedly hesitant for whatever reason.

I was tempted to blow her off, but my parents had raised me not to lie. "Maybe," was the best I could do.

"Lloyd? Can I talk to you about Angela?"

Drat. "No comment," I mumbled, trying to look as forbidding as possible.

"What?" She looked confused.

"I said, 'no comment.' You have to talk to media relations if you want a story."

The girl shook her head. "No, that wasn't what I meant. You're Angela's friend Lloyd, right? I think she's in trouble -- can you help?"

"You have my attention," I said, stopping abruptly.

She took a step or two more alone, before realizing I wasn't there and doubling back. "Look, can we talk somewhere? Maybe get dinner?"

We ended up at Applebee's. Or Chili's. Or something; I don't know, they were all the same to me. I ordered coffee and a burger; she, iced tea and some high-concept salad.

"Talk," I suggested as soon as the waitress had left. "Start with your name."

"Oh!" A comical look of dismay flitted across her face. "I'm sorry; I'm Rose. I'm Angela's friend from high school, and now I live in the same building she does. I've heard so much about you, I forgot you might not know me."

It sounded worse and worse the more I heard. I'd done a bit of a check a few years back when Angel was born, so to speak, but I'd neglected to consider Angela might reconnect with older acquaintances.

"I'm pleased to meet another friend of Angela's," I assured her. "I apologize for the rocky reception; I'm just a crotchety old man. Now -- what's happening with Angela?"

"I think she's joined a cult," Rose whispered, looking around us as if she suspected cultists might be lurking nearby.

That wasn't what I'd expected to hear, but the good news was it sounded more like my problem rather than Angela's problem. "Really?" I asked, aiming for a tone of curiosity rather than disbelief.

"You know she's going to school in the evenings?" I nodded. "Well, I think she's lying about it. Look, her birthday was last month, right?"

"Yes; the fifteenth, wasn't it?" I asked. That was disingenuous; I knew it was. I had vivid memories of the wild party at Home Run where Angel had fucked 27 different guys -- one for each year. She'd been a tousled, creamy mess when all of them, including two who'd earned their Home Run pins that night, finished with her. I'd been first, of course. I could feel myself stiffening slightly just thinking about it. Shaking off the distraction, I returned my focus to the girl sitting across from me. "Did something happen?"

"Yes! I mean, no!" Rose's eyes sparked as my failure to dismiss her fears out of hand apparently buoyed her confidence. "Wait." She took a breath. "Okay, I was going to surprise her and take her out for a little party, just the two of us, so I dropped by the University that evening. She wasn't there at all!"

I already knew where she was going, but I couldn't tell how much Rose knew and I needed time to think. I needed to do some damage control, at the very least. "Did she just skip class that night?" I asked, playing dumb, and started pushing. I want to help my friends alternated with I want to be discreet and I trust Lloyd .

"I don't think so," Rose reflected, unaware of the thoughts racing through my head. "I asked several of her classmates, and not one of them knew her -- or recognized her when I described her. I mean, how likely is that?" I had to smile at her indignant outrage. "I don't think she ever attended that class."

"Could you just have gotten the wrong room?" I wondered. I hate nosy people.

She nodded. "I thought about that, too." A trifle sheepishly, Rose admitted, "I started paying a lot closer attention to what she did. You remember that big flap with the electrical main at the end of the month?"

"The one where the worker accidentally blew the building transformer and blacked out the campus?" Something that colorful had made all the papers and news programs, of course; they'd had to cancel classes Friday and work all weekend to get the electricity working again.

"Exactly! Well, when I asked that weekend, she said she'd attended class as usual; she even made up details about the lecture. There was no way she could have been there. I know Angela lied to me about it!"

I stopped pushing and tried to work it out in my head. "I thought Angela didn't have any classes on Friday," I said slowly.

"She doesn't," Rose agreed. "That's not my point. The power went out Thursday night. Right after dinner. Before her class. There was no way they could have held it, in the dark with no light or heat!"

Damn, what a sloppy mistake. I'd skimmed the news coverage and gotten the impression -- obviously incorrect -- it had happened later in the evening. The problem was, Angela didn't believe she was lying, because the memory would be as clear as that of every other class she'd "attended" during the past two years, and Rose would never believe her friend hadn't lied. "That seems pretty suspicious," I belatedly commented after realizing Rose was waiting for my reaction.

"I thought so, too. So I've been trying to follow her."

My blood froze, and then rethawed. If Rose had succeeded, she'd hardly be sitting here talking to me now, would she? I trust Lloyd . I'd do anything to help Angela .

"I didn't have much luck," Rose continued, unwittingly mirroring my thought. "There's almost always this unmarked sedan that picks her up around the corner, and the few times I tried tailing it, I always lost it. All I know is that she goes somewhere in the direction of downtown."

I made a mental note to ask the driver if he'd ever noticed anything -- and if he had, why nobody had mentioned it to me.

Rose's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I even thought she might be moonlighting as a call girl," she admitted with uncanny accuracy. She blushed faintly and added, "I sneaked a peek in her room once and she doesn't seem to have any, you know, outfits." I nodded, knowing Angel kept her wardrobe entirely at Home Run.

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Rose concluded, "She's too straight-laced for that, anyway; that much hasn't changed. But there's something not right about Angela, and I can't figure out what it is. Please help me."

There was an unhappy silence while the waitress returned with our food, and I pushed another round of I trust Lloyd and I'd do anything to help Angela at Rose for good measure.

"I want to help you, Rose," I assured her when we were alone again. "I want to help Angela. But I need to think about this. Can I sleep on it, and contact you in a day or so? I promise not to leave you hanging."

"Certainly," she gushed, obviously relieved to have somebody she trusted helping her. "Let me give you my number!" Rose extracted a business card from her purse, scribbled a number on the back of it, and pushed it across the table to me. "That's my private cell on the back, or you can call me at the office number if you need to."

I tucked the card into a jacket pocket and we both addressed our meals in a more cheerful mood. Rose and I traded a few light-hearted Angela stories, and she was better company than I'd expected; it was easy to see why the two were friends. I was surprised to find myself tempted to fiddle more than I already had, but really, I knew next to nothing about this girl and I'd just had a refresher course on the perils of poor execution.

We parted later than I planned, and I headed home as fast as I could. I didn't need dinner, but I'd have to pass on the music and study this evening to have a hope of staying on schedule. Luckily, it sounded like Angela unwittingly was a lecture ahead of where she should have been anyway; I made a mental note to have Danny's contact at the University procure an updated lesson plan, if there was one.

As if to make up for the day, Home Run was a progressive disaster that night. I was late despite my best efforts, and Danny himself was cooling his heels inside the back entrance -- never a good sign.

"Jesus, Lloyd, why don't you answer your fucking phone?" he burst out the moment I made it inside the door.

"I'm too old to be a slave to a chunk of electronics," I told him. "Where's Angel?"

"Put that thought on hold, buddy. I need you to fix a problem first. We've got a situation in the gold suite that needs to be addressed ASAP."

I felt frustrated and wanted my Angel. I'm sure Danny, who knew me pretty well, sensed it.

"Lloyd!" He braced my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the face. "Don't worry about Angel; she's fine. Look, I switched her and Crystal, and she's in the lesbo lounge. You can't break in on paying customers, okay? You'll still be first in line when she gets out."

"Angel was okay with that?" I knew better than most she didn't really go that way.

"Yeah, that girl's a trooper. I told her it was a favor for me -- and you. Now can you just get upstairs and talk to Shannon before the wheels come off? Good man!" He clapped me on the back and pushed me in the direction of the stairs. "And come see me later when you get a chance!"

I stumped up the stairs muttering under my breath, but after the landing managed to force my mind back to business. If I recalled the schedule correctly, Shannon was supposed to be working a grand slam package for some guy's bachelor party. She'd done scores of them; Shannon looked younger than her age and had perfected an aura of corruptible innocence that drove the cradle-robbers wild. I couldn't imagine what the holdup would be on this one.

Sure enough, Shannon was pacing nervously in the hall when I got there, looking scrumptious in her Catholic schoolgirl uniform. In my day, anyway, the parochial dress code never included shoes like that, but hey -- I was in Loss Prevention, not Wardrobe. She looked desperately glad to see me.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, taking a quick glance through the peephole. I saw four restless, and doubtless horny, young men laughing together. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

"I know those guys," Shannon said. "Rob -- the cute one in the armchair -- he's going to be my husband."

Oh, thanks, Danny. I would have rolled my eyes but Shannon's nerves didn't need it. "You're entertaining at your own fiance's bachelor party?" I repeated, just to make sure I had it straight. She nodded. "Does he know you work here?"

In a small voice, Shannon said, "no."

"How about the others?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe Derrik; he's Rob's Best Man."

"Which one is he?" It would be interesting to see who had booked the engagement, and if Shannon had been requested specifically or not. Either way, it wasn't something she needed to be dealing with now.

"Derrik's really tall and thin."

"Okay, good. Now take a deep breath and calm down, Shannon," I told her, "everything is going to be just fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

She smiled hopefully at me.

"Now, don't think about them for minute; just think about yourself. How do you feel about doing this?"

"Good, I guess," Shannon decided. "I like fucking boys, and Rob makes me hot." More possessively, she added, "I'm kind of glad I get to do this for him and not some other girl."

That's fine. She was telling the truth. "Now, how do you think Rob will feel about this?"

Her face clouded over. "I don't know. We fuck a lot, and neither of us were virgins when we met, but he talks a lot about committing to each other and I'm worried he'll think I'm a slut or be upset I didn't tell him sooner."

I added "and when were you going to tell him?" to my mental list of questions that wouldn't get asked although I'd love to know the answers. "Don't worry, I think everything will work out great," I assured her. "He wouldn't be here if he wasn't up for this sort of thing, right?"

Shannon perked back up, overlooking the possibility that this was another "ambush" event -- some people took bachelor parties as a general license to torment the groom and push his limits one last time.

"Okay, Shannon, here's what we're going to do. You've got your act worked out, right?" I got a quick nod. "I want you to go in and do your thing, just like you planned. Now, Rob might seem to get upset, but remember, he's got to look tough for his friends, right?" I cobbled together the best approximation to I love it when Rob shares me with his friends I could manage, and pushed it into her head.

Shannon nodded again, but there was an uncertain look on her face. "Are you sure?"

"Almost positive! Look, just stay by the door when you first go in. He might shout and say things that sound hurtful, but one way or another he'll come over to you. You've been around enough men, Shannon, to know if they're turned on or faking it. Check him out; if you drive him wild like I think, have a good time! If you still have doubts, just step back out the door and I'll be right here. Can you do that?"

"I know I can," she asserted.

I hoped I could hold up my end of the bargain; if Rob moved quickly, I would have very little time between when he entered my effective range and when he reached Shannon. I prepared my mind, glued an eye to the peephole, and whispered, "You go, girl!"

There was a brief rustle beside me and Shannon was inside the room. "Is this the detention study hall?" she chirped in a bright voice.

Events started to play out as I'd suspected they would. "Shannon?!" Rob jerked erect in his chair, absently spilling his drink on the floor. Two of his friends were equally stunned, but the tall one, Derrik, brayed a nasal laugh and I didn't like the look of his body language.

"What are you doing here?" stammered Rob; I put him at about 50% embarrassment and 50% anger.

Derrik was quick with the unnecessary answer. "Dude! Your girl is here to fuck all of us for money. She's a fucking hooker, man!"

Shannon gamely soldiered on. "This is so unfair! They gave me detention because I didn't wear their stupid white bra. I mean, you can't even really see it, can you?"

My angle was all wrong, but I knew she was arching her back to push out her chest, and that anybody with eyes would have no problem seeing the frilly black lace -- and her berry-tipped tits -- through the extremely thin white blouse.

Rob stood up. "What the fuck, Shannon! What kind of slut are you?"

"I'm not a slut; I'm just misunderstood," she simpered. "Sluts don't wear underwear; I do. See?" At this point she'd be raising the front of her tartan skirt, displaying plain white panties just as thin as her blouse, and probably pulled tight enough to form a camel toe against her mound.

Here he came; my eyes lost focus as I concentrated on the other side of the door and found the rushing haze of his mind. I pushed frantically, alternating lust for Shannon and sharing Shannon makes me feel powerful as quickly as I could.

Bodies crashed against the other side of the door and Shannon shrieked; I was afraid I hadn't been fast enough.

"I still think you're a slut," Rob said, but more quietly and in an entirely different tone of voice.

"It feels like you'd like to find out," Shannon replied, and I breathed out a silent sigh of relief. There was some barely audible rustling, and then another soft thud against the door; it was accompanied by a feminine "oh!" of satisfaction.

I put my eye back to the peephole, and was pleased see the other young men were approaching. I couldn't see Rob and Shannon, but by the sound of it he was giving her a stand-up fuck right against the door.

"Maybe -- I am -- a slut," gasped Shannon.

"Maybe you're just easy," countered Rob, doing something that made her moan. "Maybe you're just hot for me. That doesn't make you a slut."

"Come on, man," Derrik complained. "Use your head, Rob!" He was almost in range. "You think she just walked off the street, that this is her first time or something? Shannon fucking works here! I've seen her pull trains, man -- she's a whore! She walked into this room planning to fuck us all blind. How can you pollute yourself with this filthy puta?"

Rob paused. "Is that true?"

"Yes, I was planning to fuck you all. I will, if you still want me to." Clever girl, Shannon, for having the common sense to compose a selective answer in, well, distracting circumstances.

Rob started pounding her again, evidently aroused by the thought. "Does that make you a slut (thud) or a whore? (thud) Is it the money? Would you fuck them if I asked you to?"

"What's the diff?!" shouted a frustrated Derrik. "She's already paid for!" He finally took the last step I needed.

I love Rob-Shannon-couple . That was easier than it sounds to express, and unsurprisingly met with significant resistance when I pushed it into him; I guessed Derrik might be carrying a torch for Shannon, although I couldn't be positive. I could have stopped there, but this bozo had screwed up my evening and come close to screwing up the lives of his two "friends." I wasn't sure it would take, but I did my best to ensure he'd never cum again unless he was getting sloppy seconds from Shannon.

"I'd fuck anybody for you," Shannon sighed, heedless of my work on her behalf.

"Anybody?" challenged Rob. "You'd fuck Fat Eddie?"

"Another girl," suggested one of the other boys, getting into the spirit of it.

"Her brother," drawled Derrik; the pace of the pounding on the door abruptly increased.

"You'd fuck Connor for me? Your own brother?"

"Yes! Yes! All of them!" she gasped raggedly.

"That's sick," Rob grunted, but he obviously found it as arousing as she did. "I bet you'd even take my dog!" Apparently he had unexpected depths.

Shannon started to say, "only if you wa-" and her voice suddenly rose an octave as the door slammed in its frame and Rob grunted explosively.

"I guess you're a slut, then," Rob spoke into the ensuing silence. "So prove it. Show me what a slut does in a room with four men."

I didn't need to stay any longer, and I realized I was achingly hard. In no mood to listen to Danny's next emergency, I walked back to my office and settled in to wait for Angel. Her scent lingered, teasing me.

While it was fresh in my mind, I typed up a quick incident report for Danny, and strongly suggested he meet with both Rob and Shannon about her staying on. It might take some creative concessions to Rob, but not only could we keep a productive employee, there was an opportunity to bolster our offerings. I knew what most people thought about us, but frankly, most of the staff were pretty normal in their outlook and it wasn't easy to accommodate some of the kinks our customers requested.

With that sent, I leaned back to think about what to do about Angel and Rose. That prompted me to lean forward again and dash off the lesson plan request and a query to Angel's driver, which killed another two minutes. The clock on my desk stubbornly advanced at only the usual 60 seconds per minute.

I grabbed a chamber music CD at random from my collection, started it, and crossed to sprawl on the sofa that doubled as guest seating. If I had to wait, I could make a virtue of it and catch up on my meditation. Maybe I'd even get lucky and my drifting mind would hit on a solution to my dilemma.

January 1962

Dinner broke up with a round of "good-nights" and soon Susan and I were walking back across the campus. The two of us strolled quietly for a block, watching our breath steam in the chill night air, while a new round of snowflakes fluttered down past the streetlights.

"Whose idea was the ketchup?" Susan asked after we turned onto a less populated street. Her tone had hints of both resignation and humor, but apparently no anger.

"Alexandra's. She thought something you weren't expecting would be more useful." I was honest enough to assign credit for a clever idea, and not chivalrous enough to take the fall for it if she was really upset. "Tell me about it while it's fresh in your mind," I suggested, genuinely curious.

"She's going to come to a bad end," Susan muttered, then shook her head. "I knew something was up as soon as I'd put it on my burger. I looked at the fries with that bottle in my hand, and I could feel my mouth water. But I knew I hated ketchup on fries!"

We passed another house before she resumed talking, giving me a chance to reflect on what she'd said. It seemed we had another piece of hard evidence that my ability was real, and that it was trickier to use than I'd thought.

"Finally, I just had to try one," Susan admitted. "It was really weird."

"Yeah, I saw your face. You didn't like it after all?"

"Honestly, it's confusing. It tasted exactly like I expected, but..." Susan shrugged. "It was like half my brain was saying, 'you hate this,' and the other half was saying, 'this tastes great!' I'm not sure what to think."

"Wow," I said, and blew out a large cloud of steam. "Would you eat them again?"

She thought on it awhile. "I think so," Susan finally replied. "I think maybe I'd just need to get out of the habit of not liking it, if that makes any sense."

"About as much as any of the rest of it," I mused, pondering the ramifications. "Alexandra will be fascinated, I'm sure."

I sensed more than saw Susan roll her eyes. "She has a low sense of humor, even if food was one of the things we agreed to test. Would you like to come up?"

Startled, I realized we'd reached the student apartment where she lived. "Won't that be a problem? I thought you had a roommate."

Susan laughed. "Yelena? Not on a Friday evening -- I should introduce her to Danny, but I'm not ready to completely ruin her reputation! We're not supposed to have boys in after hours, but the other girls sneak them in all the time."

"Okay, if we won't get in trouble."

"No more trouble than you deserve! Just wait over there by the side door and I'll be back in a minute." She surprised me with a quick kiss and hurried in the front. I meandered over to the side of the building, following the path worn in the snow; I barely had time to look around before Susan had opened the door and dragged me inside. She led me up the back stairs to the second floor and down the hall, passing another girl who only smiled.

Susan let us into her room and I looked around for a moment while she rummaged in a dresser before producing a bobby sock. "Do not disturb," she explained, pulling it over the doorknob before closing and locking the door. Some of the thoughts that had been running idly though my head over the past few minutes came into sharper focus.

We took off our coats, but instead of hanging them in the closet, Susan dropped hers on the floor and started unfastening her sweater. I presumed my coat ended up on the floor too, but I wasn't paying attention to it. It turned out my earlier guess had been correct; there was nothing under the sweater except nubile female flesh.

"I do have nice boobs, don't I?" Susan asked, presenting herself confidently for inspection.

"Oh yeah," I agreed, urgently hard. Thoughts of Alexandra didn't so much disappear as move aside as I admired the attractive and half-naked young woman before me. I needed physical relief, and I wanted to fuck her in the worst way.

"They're bigger than Yelena's," Susan boasted, but I cut her off with an aggressive kiss. She opened her mouth almost immediately and our tongues probed against each other. I'm sure she felt my cock as clearly as I did her tits. We broke apart and almost in unison began shedding our clothes. Susan had a head start, but I didn't have hose to deal with, so we finished in a dead heat.

I thought I read lust in her expression, but Susan turned away from me and started rummaging in one of the dressers, mumbling something under her breath. A little disappointed, I followed her delectable ass and wrapped my arms around her from behind, grinding my rigid tool against the small of her back. "Lloyd!" she squeaked, squirming in my embrace; she had a condom package in one hand.

I felt like a heel for not thinking of the risks, but my remorse quickly was buried beneath my rising anticipation and physical desire. My grip tightened and I lofted Susan onto the nearby bed, smiling at her surprised shriek. "Sssh!" I told her, and knelt on the bed to straddle her as she lay on her back.

Susan looked at my cock, jutting towards her face, and I wondered if she might squeeze it between her tits or even take it in her mouth. Instead, she tore open the packet and started rolling the condom down my penis; apparently she was as eager to reach home base as I was. I trailed my fingers up her flanks to her nipples, watching them stiffen beneath my touch.

As soon as the condom was in place, I crab walked backwards until I was between her legs. I wasn't the world's most experienced lover, but even I realized we hadn't done much in the way of foreplay. I probed her bush gently with a finger, thinking I shouldn't be too selfish, but Susan was already wet and pulling at my arms.

"Oh, just get inside me, hurry!" she moaned.

No man alive, and certainly not me, was going to pass up a request like that from a beautiful girl. I lined up and started easing myself into her molten pussy; about half-way in, Susan got her legs around mine and pulled me the rest of the way into her in a rush. At that point, my remaining self-control vanished and I started rutting into her like a jackhammer. It had been awhile since I'd been with a girl and Susan felt way better than my hand, even with the condom in the way.

She made the most erotic little moans and gasps, as if she were trying to remain quiet but just couldn't hold them in. Her eyes were open, but must have been focused about 100 feet above the roof of the building.

I came embarrassingly quickly, like I was still eighteen or something, and collapsed momentarily atop Susan. Regretfully, I wriggled free before I deflated and lost the bulging condom inside her. My libido was still stuck in overdrive, even if my penis needed a break, and I didn't think Susan had orgasmed yet. Settling myself beside her, I started fingering her dripping crevice. At the same time I was physically stimulating her, I tried to will her to orgasm.

It took a few minutes, but I could see something was working because her nipples were hard like rocks and her knuckles were white where they gripped the bedspread. Suddenly Susan gasped and arched her body completely off the bed while a scream tore itself from her throat. I'd never seen a girl so abandoned, and I didn't think it was an act. My cock was hardening again at the sight of her.

Susan's eyes focused on my face and she brushed a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead. "My gosh, Lloyd, I've never felt so wanton," she whispered hoarsely. A slow smile spread across her face when a questing hand found my firm tool. "Come here, you."

I thought she might want to fuck again, but she pulled on me, leading me by my cock until I was straddling her once more. Susan stripped off the condom and cast it aside, then pressed her breasts together around my now-rigid organ. "Do they feel as good as they look?" she asked me.

"Better," I assured her. My slick flesh easily slid back and forth against hers. It wasn't the same as fucking her, but without the condom in the way, the sensation was intense, and the view was even better. I'd heard about tit-fucking, but never done it before now. It was exciting to be doing it, and even more exciting to think I might have influenced Susan to do it.

It was ungracious, but I had a sudden flash of Alexandra squeezing her tits around my cock. The thought was enough to make me shudder and jet warm spunk onto Susan's neck and chin. She jerked but couldn't avoid either the initial blast or the follow-on emissions that dripped stickily onto her chest.

"Eeww, Lloyd," she complained, evidently as unpracticed in these matters as I. "Come on, get off me!"

I backed off, but slowly, letting a few last drops spatter her belly. I felt like a dog marking his territory, and thought hard about Susan massaging my cum into her flushed skin.

Susan appeared to be oblivious to my thoughts. "Can you get me something?" she asked, sitting up. Some of my spend had already dripped onto the pillow, and now the rest was trailing slowly down her body -- a truly erotic sight.

I looked about for a moment before catching sight of her panties lying on the floor with the rest of our clothing. "Here," I said, stooping to retrieve them, "I think it's your turn to ruin a pair."

She gave me a dirty look before laughing and accepting them. "We don't seem to do a very good job of planning, do we?" she asked, mopping up the worst of the mess. Susan looked doubtfully at the spots on the pillow.

"Lick it up!" I thought while managing to get out a simple verbal, "no." My hopes rose as Susan used a finger to remove most of the excess, but she merely cleaned it on the panties and flipped the pillow so the spots were on the bottom.

She shrugged. "Oh, well. I'm pretty sure Yelena's done worse to me."

"What?" I asked, not getting it.

"This is Yelena's bed," Susan explained. "You don't think I'm the kind of girl who keeps condoms in her dresser, do you?"

I took in her naked body, topped with tousled hair and gleaming here and there with the residue of my orgasm, and thought she looked exactly like that kind of girl. I felt an urge to do her again, but my penis didn't look like it was up to the challenge. Yet.

Susan read the answer in my expression and flushed slightly before giggling. "Well, okay, but I'm not !" We both laughed, and started picking up our abandoned clothing.

It seemed a bit gauche to just leave, but we'd already had dinner. "Do you want to see a movie, or maybe get a cup of coffee?" I asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that the wrong order? Besides, I think I need a little more cleaning up than you do." Her skirt went into the closet in exchange for a robe, which Susan pulled on and belted. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, mind you."

I finished tucking in my shirt and stuffed the tie in my pocket. "Well, another night, then." I hesitated, and then walked over and kissed her again. It was pretty steamy, but without the raw edge of our earlier lust, and Susan pressed her hand over mine when I slid it inside her robe to cup a breast.

"I'd better fix that," Susan told me when we parted, and ran a finger across my mouth; it came away lipstick red. "Better," she pronounced, and walked me to the door.

Susan cracked the door and I slid out, trying for a little discretion, to find myself facing another girl. She was thin, although still feminine, and gave me a piercing look as I emerged from the room.

"So, Susan is not so aloof as she appears," the girl drawled after finishing her examination. "I am pleased to meet you, I think." Her amused smirk was hard to resist.

"I'm Lloyd," I introduced myself, offering my hand.

"Yelena," she responded, placing her hand lightly in mine instead of shaking it as I'd expected.

I yielded to impulse and raised her hand to my lips; it just seemed like a natural thing to do. "Charmed."

"I can see," she commented archly, looking at the red smudge I'd left by her knuckles. "I would wish you a good evening, but I see you've already had one." Yelena stripped the sock from the doorknob and wiped away the lipstick. "Please feel free to visit again."

"Yelena!" Susan moaned from behind me.

"I want to hear all about it," Susan's roommate said as she entered the room. I waved a silent, and unheeded, goodbye and retreated the way I'd entered without encountering anybody else.

The snow was falling again Saturday, and I wasn't exactly a winter person. One of the benefits of boarding instead of living in a dorm or apartment was that I could get away with holing up on these kinds of days; Mrs. Wagner would even bring me coffee without prompting. I claimed my usual chair by the fireplace in the family room and worked through a stack of grading while Mr. Wagner studied the minutia of the sports section and Mrs. Wagner knitted -- very homey.

After I'd finished grading, I turned to the more interesting question of assessing what I'd learned the previous day and what I might try next. There was a delicate balance to maintain between what I wanted and what would be safe, and what I could tell Alexandra and what I shouldn't; I ended up just closing my eyes and waiting to see where my mind would drift.

I hadn't quite fallen asleep, or so I thought, when I woke suddenly and found Mrs. Wagner standing beside my chair with a throw in her hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lloyd! I didn't mean to startle you; I just thought you looked a little cold." She proceeded to settle the throw over my lap and legs.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wagner, I wasn't really sleeping. Thanks!"

The whole interaction was almost routine, because Mrs. Wagner was eerily silent in her slippers and really had surprised me any number of times in the past. I'd grown accustomed to it, but it was disconcerting. Somehow it hadn't worked that way today.

I lay back and closed my eyes again, but this time my mind was working much more quickly. What had alerted me this time? I worked on the problem fruitlessly for some time before calming again in the warmth of the fire and the crackle of the burning wood. I'd started watching the transient flashes of imagined stars inside my eyelids when I gradually became aware of a faint lightness somewhere ahead of me. It reminded me somewhat of coals buried beneath ashes after a fire had almost burned out, but without any sense of color.

Opening my eyes momentarily revealed the glow, if it really existed, seemed to coincide with Mr. Wagner. I closed my eyes again and cast about for Mrs. Wagner; I convinced myself that I found a matching glow where she was sitting, but it was too faint to discern with my eyes open. A little experimentation suggested the glows tracked with them, but I couldn't make out anything more. The chief result of sitting there with my eyes closed was that I fell asleep again.

The ringing phone awakened me. For whatever reason, Mr. Wagner was in charge of answering it, and he was most of the way to the kitchen before I was aware enough to close my eyes and try to follow him. I didn't have any luck, either due to the extra distance or my unsettled mental state.

"Lloyd, it's for you," he said after a minute.

I sat up in surprise. Sure, I was listed in the campus directory, but I couldn't remember anybody calling me before this, and it wasn't the right time for my parents to be calling.

"A Susan," he added with a wink. It was ridiculous how excited both of them looked; Mrs. Wagner had let it be known that she thought I didn't socialize enough, and now I'd never hear the end of it.

I got to the phone and tried to ignore my hosts, who were hovering far enough away to give me some space but doubtless close enough to hear every word I said. "Hi, Susan."

"Oh, Lloyd, I hope you don't mind me calling," she apologized. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"Only a thought experiment," I quipped. "I'm happy you called."

"I was just wondering if we could get together and plan some more research." She lowered her voice and continued, "I just couldn't stop thinking about yesterday. You don't think I'm being too forward, do you?"

"I'd like that," I smiled. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Wagner practically jumping up and down and whispering, "Ask her out!"

"This is research!" I hissed, holding a hand over the phone, before putting it back to my ear. "Would you mind coming over here? I board but I don't think the owners will mind. The university doesn't leave the thermostats turned up over the weekend, and it would be more comfortable than your place or the library." It was unlikely to be a problem with the Wagners, and sure enough a quick glance showed Mr. Wagner giving me a thumbs-up.

"That would be fine; can you give me directions?"

"What if I pick you up, instead? It's still miserable outside, and I'd be happy to take you home again afterwards."

"Would you? That'd be swell!"

"About 6:30, then?"

"I'll be waiting in the lobby."

"I'm looking forward to it," I assured her, and hung up.

Mr. Wagner chuckled. "She must be some girl to get you out in the snow."

"Oh, shush," said Mrs. Wagner, elbowing him. "Weren't you telling me you wanted to see 'Lawrence of Arabia'?"

They traded knowing looks. "Well, Lloyd, it looks like some girl is going to drag me out in the snow, too." Mr. Wagner didn't look too upset about it.

"I promise not to throw any wild parties," I grinned, starting to think about what else I might do instead.

We ate lunch, and I called Susan back, just to let her know she didn't have to worry about impressing the Wagners. I then proceeded to do un-Saturday-like activities such as making my bed, showering, and shaving. I also checked to be sure I had a few condoms discreetly tucked where I could reach them at need.

After picking at a dinner that could have been sawdust for all I remembered of it, all of us bundled up, brushed off the cars, and departed in different directions. The movie was long, and the Wagners told me they didn't expect to be home until late. The roads weren't as bad as I'd feared and I made it to Susan's apartment early, but she emerged from the front door as soon as I got out of the car.

I handed her into the passenger's seat, slammed the balky door hard to make sure it latched on the first try, and scampered around to climb back inside myself.

"Thanks for picking me up," Susan told me, huddling in her heavy coat. "I wasn't really looking forward to going anywhere in this."

"Neither was I," I laughed, "but this seemed like a good cause." I concentrated on keeping the Ford in the middle of the street and we made only inconsequential conversation on the thankfully short drive back home. After pulling back into my space in the empty driveway, we dashed up to the house and inside to the warmth of the mud room, where we stamped the snow off our boots.

I offered to hang up her coat, and got the surprise of my life -- beneath it, Susan was naked save for a scarf and her boots. "Jesus, Susan!" I blurted, fumbling with the garment.

She giggled, evidently pleased by the pole-axed expression that must have been visible on my face. "I have a present from Yelena, too," she announced, and withdrew a handful of condoms from one of the pockets. "We only have to promise not to use them on her bed!"

"It's a deal!" I got our coats mostly onto hangers and then, hands free, pulled her tight for a passionate kiss. "This way," I urged her a minute later, tugging in the direction of my room. I had my shirt unbuttoned by the time we got there; I started on my trousers, but Susan pushed me onto my bed and finished the job herself.

"I want you," she growled huskily, shredding one of the condom wrappers. "Do I make you hot?"

"Unbelievably," I gasped, as if my rigid erection wasn't answer enough. There were things I wanted to try, but I suspected I was too worked up at the moment, and the sight of Susan wearing only a scarf was a real turn-on. I made myself lie still while she rolled on the condom, then pulled her onto the bed beside me and we were in each other's arms.

"I'm looking forward to this," I admitted, but she just moaned as I pushed myself into her wet pussy. There was no resistance and in no time at all we were fucking like minks.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck me, Lloyd!" was about the most coherent thing Susan said, but she was vocal enough to make me glad we had the house to ourselves.

I forced myself to slow down so I wouldn't pop right away. "Get on top, baby -- I want to hold your tits," I gasped.

Susan gave me a sly look, and we rolled so she was straddling me. She wriggled a bit and began bouncing up and down on my organ while I cupped her breasts in my hands. The bad news, if you could call it that, was that she was working herself more energetically than I had been. The good news was that I could lie passively and enjoy the ride.

With my eyes closed, I tried to ignore the extremely pleasurable sensations emanating from my groin and focused on the space above me. Almost immediately I found a glow, either brighter or closer, about where Susan's head was; it bobbed slightly in rhythm with her body. I fixated on that spot and concentrated on my arousal, and how good my cock felt inside her, and the orgasm that wasn't too far away.

Everything happened at once, so I never was sure what might be cause or just reaction. The glow rippled slightly, Susan's pussy squeezed me like a vise, and both of us climaxed almost simultaneously. I gasped, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and Susan wailed as if she were dying. A moment later she collapsed atop me and we held each other, breathing heavily.

"God, you are hot," I complimented Susan, meaning every word, and kissed her. I wasn't sure if she'd orgasmed because of what I'd tried or not, but the effect was equally delightful either way.

"Flatterer," she replied. "I've never felt the way you make me feel, Lloyd." A subtle movement of her body reminded us both I was still inside her.

It wasn't every day a guy had a beautiful girl tell him he was the best lay she'd ever had. I was still pretty hard, and motivated to go again, so I pulled Susan close and rolled us back until I was on top of her again. Both of us were smiling in anticipation as I pulled back a bit and thrust into her.

Susan screamed and we both jumped.

"Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

She chewed daintily on a lip and considered. "Oh, yes. I just -- wasn't expecting that." She spread her legs a little wider. "Please don't stop!"

I started pumping again. This time, I didn't stop when Susan started wriggling and panting beneath me; as if we'd played the previous few minutes over again at high speed, she climaxed after only a minute, but continued begging me to fuck her harder. With that stimulus, I rapidly approached my own orgasm. Judging by the jerking and incoherent cries she made, Susan got off one or two more times before I emptied my load into the abused condom.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," she sighed weakly when I pulled out before the condom could leak any of my semen into her.

Feeling a bit drained myself, I skimmed off the condom and discarded it before collapsing back on the bed beside her. "You are a firecracker."

"I know. I mean, my gosh, I've never cum like that before."

I'd been wondering that too, and she'd saved me the awkward question. "I'd like to cum like that again, but I'll need a little rest, first," I chuckled. There was a decent chance my meddling might have had something to do with it, but I couldn't be sure and I didn't have infinite stamina. I had a slight headache, but it was already fading.

Susan giggled. "I guess it's a good thing I have extra condoms!" One hand possessively cradled my shriveled penis.

"I have to admit I have a few laid in, too," I grinned in return. "Do you want to see how many of them we can go through?"

"Yes," Susan answered, with a matching grin. "But maybe we can talk while you recover." Her expression turned more serious.

I braced myself for the sort of touchy-feely dialog many girls seemed to feel went hand-in-hand with sex. "Sure. What did you have in mind? Something about the research project?" It was sort of a joke.

"In a way," was the unexpected answer. Susan rolled on her side so she could look at me. "Help me, Lloyd. Help me be better."

The strange request triggered so many random thoughts that they jumbled together and all that came out of my mouth was, "huh?" It wasn't my finest moment. "What do you mean?" I clarified. "You seem plenty good to me!"

Susan brushed the side of my face with a hand. "Thanks, Lloyd. But I do have a problem, a big one, that I think you could help with -- and not many people could." She took a deep breath and released it, then added, "I'm too shy."

It was a struggle not to laugh in her face, but Susan clearly was serious about it, and it would be rather ungentlemanly of me. "I hadn't noticed," I finally responded, making a point of running my gaze down her nude body.

"I'm serious!" she protested, punching me lightly. "It's different with you -- I'm uninhibited, more confident, more open. I don't know why," Susan reflected. "I just trust you, I guess." I started to reply, but she shushed me and continued. "I'm not this way with anybody else. It took me months to open up with Alexandra, and we share the same office! Remember how long it took me to say anything to you besides 'hello' and 'good-night'? Do you know Dr. Reynolds still calls me 'Susie' and I haven't worked up the courage to tell him I hate that name?"

Susan rolled back to stare at the ceiling. "I shouldn't even be in the graduate program. My parents were so proud I got my bachelor's degree that I couldn't tell them 'no' when they started talking about graduate school. I passed on a grant application for this year because I was embarrassed to ask for help on it, and then I was afraid to admit I missed the filing deadline. I can't go on like this."

"Lots of people have problems, Susan. I'm not exactly a ladies' man myself, in spite of what you might think. I'm not sure I could help, even if there was something to do."

"Don't sell yourself short." She pinned me with a direct look. "I don't want to feel like I'm asphyxiating every time I'm in a room with strangers; I want to be my own woman. Whether it's because we just happen to click, or because you've been meddling with me, I don't care -- just help me learn to do it with other people!"

"Don't you think that's a bit rash? I have no idea what -- if anything -- I'm doing, and I could make things worse without even realizing it." I wondered if that wasn't already the case. "Maybe we should wait until Alexandra's experiments have gotten a little further along."

Susan blew a tendril of hair away from her face. "That could take forever; I don't want to wait." She stroked a finger gently down my chest to my groin. "Please?"

It would have taken a more principled man than I to resist her plea; I sighed. "I'll try. Just lie here quietly, okay?"

She wriggled a bit. "Can we get under the covers first? I'm getting a little chilly."

"I have a better idea," I said, standing up and offering her a hand. "C'mon." I grabbed the throw that had gotten kicked off the foot of the bed at some point and started for the hall.

Susan hung back. "Lloyd! Where are you going?"

"The family room; we can sit in front of the fire. The Wagners won't be home for hours."

Thus reassured, she joined me and we ghosted naked through the house. The fire had died down, but it only took a minute to poke up the coals and add a few more logs. I'd thought we'd use the couch, but Susan had opted to steal a pillow and camp on the rug closer to the fireplace. Soon we were lying spooned together with the throw around us, watching new flames dart up from the seasoned wood.

"Better?" I inquired.

"Much," she answered, arching slightly so her butt was planted even more firmly against me.

"Okay, just relax. I'm not going to do anything right away." Susan nodded, and I closed my eyes. At this range, with her hair tickling my nose, what I thought of as the glow of her mind bloomed in my vision as soon as I started looking for it. I continued concentrating and subtle hints of details began to appear; it was reminiscent of sunspot pictures I'd seen. I had no idea how to manipulate it, but ample reason to believe it was possible. "Hmmm... How to start?"

Self-confidence was a slippery concept, especially since most of my presumed successes seemed to be associated with simpler emotional cues. Reducing Susan's fear of conflict and failure seemed to be what was needed, but I'd never tried to remove rather than impose a feeling, either. The most workable approach seemed to be establishing a positive feedback cycle, but based on what?

"Tell me if you feel anything happening." I tried to form an amalgamation of my impressions of Susan, the notion of strong, independent women, attraction, and desire, and then somehow attempt to project that in front of me. Nothing happened for a long time, but then Susan's glow rippled gently. There was an itch inside my head, and then something twisted in a way I couldn't describe; the penumbra of the mind in my vision flared, and I lost sight of it as I was seized by a splitting headache.

"Damn," I cursed softly, seeing stars.

"What happened?" Susan asked, twisting to try and look at me.

"I'm honestly not sure, but I gave myself a heck of a headache." I tried rubbing my forehead, to no discernable effect. "I think I need some aspirin." I disentangled myself from Susan and the throw, and then stumped off to the bathroom. On the way back, I made a detour to the liquor cabinet and took a quick shot of Mr. Wagner's brandy before carrying a pair of snifters back to the family room.

Susan had thrown off the covering and in the glow of the fire looked like every man's wet dream -- at least, every man who didn't have Alexandra on the brain. I felt a stirring in my groin as I sat down beside her.

"Nightcap?" I asked, handing her one of the glasses.

She sipped it appreciatively; Mr. Wagner had far more experience and financial resources supporting his liquor supply than mere graduate students. Giving me a sly Mona Lisa smile, Susan tilted the glass and spilled some of the alcohol on herself, where it trickled between her breasts and down to her navel. "Ooops!"

I obligingly tossed back the remainder of my drink and leaned over to lick her smooth skin. I sucked the fragrant liquor from her belly and slowly worked my way upwards, kissing and teasing as I went. By the time I was done, her breathing was coming more quickly than when I started, and I was at half-mast. I transferred my attentions to her delectable tits, straining to see how much I could fit in my mouth. I teased first one and then the other nipple until both had hardened between my lips and teeth, and Susan was moaning softly.

"My turn," she husked as she pushed me away. Susan poured out a little more of her brandy, this time directly on my erect penis, and then drained her glass. She tossed her hair back and it was my turn to moan as she bent and took the tip of my organ in her mouth.

My hips rotated of their own accord, trying to drive my cock deeper into Susan's mouth. I'd gone perhaps an inch more when she shrieked -- muffled by my flesh -- and sat up to look at me. I was concerned I'd offended her or gone further than she'd intended, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"What did you do to me?" she asked, looking me in the face with wild eyes before dropping her gaze to my crotch. I had no answer, but apparently it wasn't needed; she hunched over and engulfed me again, this time sucking me in so deep I heard her start to gag. Susan backed off, but only so she could go down on my full length again.

The feeling was incredible. I'd had a girl take me in her mouth before, but it had been nothing like this, and with nowhere near the same enthusiasm. I started bucking back, and we settled into a fast rhythm. I could barely believe this gorgeous girl was servicing me this way; I tangled my fingers in her hair, but I could hardly drive her faster or harder than she was going on her own.

When her rhythm broke down and I realized Susan was climaxing, I couldn't help blowing my load down her throat. She sat up, coughing, and we both tried to catch our breath.

"Oh, my," Susan choked. She coughed once more, and then fastidiously wiped an errant drop of semen from her lip and examined me. "I never knew -- is it like that for everybody?"

"I don't think so," I admitted sheepishly. "You seemed to enjoy it a lot."

"It was almost as good as getting fucked," she told me with a gleam in her eye. "The feel of you going into me, it was -- well, orgasmic. I want more."

We both looked down at my deflating penis. I'd already cum three times that evening, which was normally about my limit.

"Please fuck me again, Lloyd."

I proceeded to make perhaps the stupidest decision of my life, before or after. Whether it was the lure of a beautiful vixen, hormones, the liquor, my own hubris, or more likely a combination of all of them, I closed my eyes and focused inward.

Forgetting that I'd admitted to myself that I had nearly no control or understanding of my ability, and glossing over any distinction between mental desire and physical aptitude, I sank into the glow of my own mind. I thought about my hard organ, the way it felt sinking into Susan, desire for her and Alexandra, and every girl that had ever prompted an erection, and tried to find that peculiar twist that could propel those thoughts.

The next thing I remember was lying flat on the floor with Susan leaning over me asking, "Lloyd! Are you all right?"

I looked down the length of her fire-lit body from her hanging jugs to the hidden juncture of her thighs, above my jutting tool. "Oh yeah," I said, ignoring the return of my headache, and grabbed for her.

"Oh no you don't!" she giggled, eluding me. "I left my condoms upstairs!"

We raced back to my room, laughing, and if Susan let herself be caught just short of the bed, I recovered enough to wait for her to cover my throbbing meat with a condom before throwing her backwards onto the bed and covering her. There was no finesse, but she was so wet that none was needed; I sank into her like a hot knife in butter.

We rutted like animals. Susan moaned and shrieked her way through another wracking orgasm, but like a machine my cock remained stubbornly rigid; there just wasn't enough sensation through the condom. I wanted to be inside her, flesh to flesh. All the same, the point of the condoms hadn't completely escaped me.

Abruptly, I pulled out of Susan and stripped off the condom.

"What are you doing?" Susan panted.

"Something different," I told her. "I need more sensation." I grabbed the tube of Brylcreem from my nightstand and squeezed a generous amount into my hand, then began coating my cock with it.

"I don't want to get pregnant," Susan protested half-heartedly. I probably could have just fucked her and she would have let me, but my mind was on a different path by that point.

"You can't get knocked up this way," I assured her, kneeling on the bed. "Have you ever had anything up your ass before?" I rolled her. She started kicking and screaming, but I had the advantages of surprise, size, and position. My cock was harder than a tire iron as I pressed it between her cheeks and began forcing myself into her tight anus.

It was the sensation I was looking for. I pressed harder, burying myself deeper inside her. Susan was lying quietly now, crying, but I didn't need her active participation. I pulled nearly all the way free and then reversed my stroke.

"You bastard," she sobbed, but her butt rose to meet me as I skewered her again. I smiled and picked up the pace. A few minutes later I'd hauled her to her hands and knees, making it easier to fondle her tits, and we were both pounding away with abandon. I finally climaxed, but not before Susan had shuddered and nearly collapsed beneath me from the force of her own orgasm.

"Don't ever force me again," Susan told me flatly after I pulled out and she could roll onto her side to look at me.

I ducked my head guiltily. "I'm sorry, honestly. I think I screwed us both up a little bit." She was looking at my cock, which was still hard, and seemed to force herself to look up.

"I can't pretend I didn't like it, by the end. Just remember I'm not your toy." She took a deep breath and blew it out. "Can you fix things?"

"I'm not sure," I shrugged. "You want to get cleaned up first? This is sort of..." My voice trailed off.

Susan gave me a small smile. "I'd like that. I feel unclean."

I led her to the bathroom and dug an extra set of towels out of the linen cupboard. "Do you want to go first?"

She considered. "How's the hot water supply?"

"You won't have a problem," I answered. The least I could do was avoid mentioning that the second shower might be problematic if I wasn't quick. My self-induced lust, or whatever it was, was fading and I felt increasingly bad about raping Susan -- there really was no other way to describe what had happened.

"Come in with me," she decided, "you're already naked." I hesitated, and she reached out and hauled me to the tub. "Don't be an idiot. I forgive you."

What followed was a lot of soaping and fondling, followed by a stand-up ass-fuck when Susan lowered herself gingerly onto my revived tool. We both orgasmed again, Susan more colorfully than I, and we just had time to clean ourselves before the fading water temperature chased us back to my bed.

We snuggled together under the blankets and quilt, this time face-to-face. "I just wanted us to both enjoy sex," I explained to Susan. "I'm not sure if I can reverse it or not."

She gently kissed me. "I trust you, Lloyd. Still. Just do your best -- if nothing happens, well, I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world."

I closed my eyes and focused on the glow of her mind. I watched it swirl and pulse, resistant to my cautious attempts, but kept trying. At some point, I fell asleep.

Alexandra swayed before me, her hair swirling gracefully in a breeze I couldn't feel, her body barely concealed beneath a filmy negligee. I moved towards her, naked and rampantly erect, and her ruby red lips formed an "O" of awe as she admired my manhood.

Neither of us shifted position, but somehow she was lying on a bed or large couch and I hovered over her. I drifted closer, the tip of my organ pushing white fabric before it into her sex. She pulled at her nightgown, the sodden material forcing me out, but I pressed it back in again. We embraced, locking our bodies together, and she breathed, "Lloyd," in my ear as our hips thrust against each other.

I woke as my balls clenched and I jetted into Susan. She had her face buried in a pillow, which served to muffle her shrieks of ecstasy so only I could hear them.

"Good morning," she greeted me with a wide smile after dropping the pillow.

"Good morning," I replied, followed a moment later by, "oh, God," as my mind stumbled into action. I didn't know what to be panicked about first. It was light out, the Wagners surely must be awake, the bedsprings weren't muffled, I'd just cum inside Susan, and I hadn't succeeded in changing us back.

"No, just Susan," she quipped, disengaging herself from my cock. She relieved one of my anxieties by removing a condom from my erection and discarding it out the side of the bed.

"I wasn't able to do anything last night," I confessed.

Susan's hand tightened about me. "I gathered as much; we'll both live." She flashed a grin and disappeared beneath the covers; a moment later I felt her mouth sucking on my heated flesh.

The mental picture of her servicing me this way reignited my carnal desires. My dick felt a bit raw, but jabbing it into Susan until her nose nestled near my balls felt even better. I felt for her body and started fingering her sopping pussy, not that she really needed it, and suddenly it seemed we were in a quiet race to see who could make the other climax first.

I lost, exhaling explosively but silently as yet more sperm jetted into Susan. I didn't lose by much, though, as a fingernail against her clit set off Susan so explosively I thought she might bite through my cock. Luckily, I and the covers muffled her quite effectively.

Her head reappeared a moment later. "Good morning again," she whispered, and pushed her tousled hair out of her face.

"Yes it is," I grinned, and kissed her. She tasted of sperm, but I knew it was mine, and that she'd take me again if I wanted. My cock pulsed slightly, no longer eager to perform, but able to if called upon. Then reality set in again. "The Wagners! How are we going to get you out of here?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Susan giggled.

"Oh, thanks," I muttered, climbing out of the bed and realizing the floor around it was littered with torn-open wrappers and used condoms.

I pulled on some briefs to hide my distracting cock and started picking up the debris. The bedroom door opened and closed behind me, nearly giving me a heart attack, but I realized Susan had gone to the bathroom. That probably would be safe; usually Mr. Wagner would be reading the paper and Mrs. Wagner would be puttering in the kitchen. It was unsettling to realize I couldn't remember if we'd left the door open or closed the previous night, but I pushed the thought from my mind.

Susan was back a minute later, her hair brushed and still as naked as the day she was born. She was distracting as Hell, and the look on her face told me she knew it. My cock throbbed again but I resolutely ignored it and hurriedly pulled on some clothes.

"Okay," I said, as much praying for luck as thinking, "you remember where the coat closet is, right?" She nodded. "I'll go down first and distract them. When you hear me start talking about leaving, just get your coat as fast as you can and get into it like you're putting it on over your clothing."

"You're the boss," Susan told me, but it wasn't the confidence builder I might have hoped for.

I took a deep breath and started downstairs. Everybody was where I expected them, which was a comfort. I walked into the kitchen, where I could keep Mr. Wagner looking away from the hall and Mrs. Wagner completely out of the sightline. "Good morning!"

"Oh, Good morning, Lloyd," Mrs. Wagner greeted me. She really did treat me as if she were my own grandmother. "I wondered if you two were ever going to get up!"

"I just lost track of time. The snow seemed bad last night and we thought it was better not to try driving. I hope you don't mind Susan staying over; I was just going to drive her home now."

"Not at all, dear," she smiled. "I know you wouldn't do anything improper."

The comment was so off-base I had to pause and file it for later consideration. I didn't think sharing a bed for the night with an unattached woman would count as "proper," at least for the Wagners' generation.

"Except get into the liquor, perhaps," Mr. Wagner said.

I didn't take the comment too seriously, but I could hear him getting up, which would mean trouble if he turned around to go back to his chair. "I'm sorry about that," I said, moving to the kitchen doorway and engaging him. "We were a little chilled and sat in front of the fire. I realize we forgot to put the glasses away."

"Don't worry about it," he waved, "what's the point in having it if nobody ever drinks?" He winked at me. "I've been known to have a nightcap with a girl from time to time, too."

I saw Susan's head crossing behind Mr. Wagner, but nearly died when Mrs. Wagner spoke up from right behind me.

"Good morning, dear! Are you sure you won't stay for breakfast?"

"Good morning," Susan called back. She just made it out of sight before Mr. Wagner turned around to look for her. I waited for an explosion from Mrs. Wagner, but it didn't come; apparently I'd blocked her view sufficiently she hadn't seen anything.

Susan reappeared a moment later, with only a single button fastened on her coat. She worked on doing up the others, driving up my blood pressure but revealing nothing, as she walked over to join us. "It's a pleasure to meet both of you; Lloyd has said such nice things."

She exchanged handshakes with both of the Wagners, after which Mrs. Wagner asked again, "Would you like breakfast?"

Susan cocked her head, as if considering it. We both knew she couldn't keep the coat on if she stayed, and that she wore nothing beneath it. I didn't think the Wagners had noticed she was barefooted.

"We really can't," I apologized. "She already has an appointment for brunch, and we'll be pushing it if we leave any later."

"Maybe next time?" Susan suggested. I started nudging her in the direction of the door.

"You're always welcome," Mrs. Wagner assured her. Mr. Wagner chimed in with, "don't catch cold," which was a little out of character for him but I was happy to make any escape at this point.

We stomped into our boots and I hustled Susan out to the car. Somebody, probably Mr. Wagner, had already brushed all of the windows clear of snow. "You are an evil person," I told a laughing Susan as I opened the door for her. I had to chuckle, myself; it was a pretty funny story, even if there was nobody I'd dare tell it.

The car took most of the drive to warm up, and I could see Susan was a little cold by the time we got to the apartment. After letting her out of the car, I stopped her for a quick kiss. "I enjoyed the night; I'm looking forward to seeing you Monday."

"I'm looking forward to more than that," she giggled, and hurried up the steps and in the front door.

I spent the afternoon reflecting on what I'd learned from her visit, and the lengthening list of mistakes I needed to try not to repeat. "She's a nice girl, but would you take her home to your parents?" Mr. Wagner asked me out of the blue, mid-afternoon, and that was the last he said on the subject.

Alexandra was the girl I wanted to take home to my parents, and if Susan wasn't that kind of girl, I was pretty sure it was my fault -- but I wasn't going to tell him any of that.

That night I undressed for bed and looked down at my hardening cock. I fancied I could still smell Susan, and it hardened a bit more. Thinking about her prompted me to fist myself, but it didn't feel right. After the previous night, I wasn't in the mood for substitutes. I settled under the covers, still hard, and hoped for pleasant dreams.

November 2010

I didn't remember drifting off, but I realized the office was quiet except for soft breathing. The familiar tangle of glistening spun silk hovered above me in my mind's eye, and I opened my eyes to find Angel crouched over me, looking intently into my face from mere inches away.

She was completely naked, covered with sweat and feminine nectar, and exuded a musk that completely overwhelmed her usual perfume. Her hair hung in disarray around our faces like a curtain, shielding us from the rest of the world. We kissed without saying a word, the sort of deep lip lock that stole your breath away without being aggressive.

"I missed you," I told her when I could speak again, and watched the smile spread across her face. "How were the girls?"

"Needy," she replied a touch unevenly. "You know, women can cum a lot more often than men." I reflected on what that meant to somebody who climaxed every time her partner did. "I swear two of them were multi-orgasmic," Angel continued, "but it wasn't -- satisfying. I missed you, too." Her hand drifted to my fly. "I missed having you inside me."

My cock was obligingly erect by the time her fingers clasped it. Somehow we managed to work my trousers down my legs without dislodging Angel or pulling a muscle. Sighing happily, she settled herself on my man-root until I was completely encased in her slick satin folds, and began massaging me with her cunt.

It was a virtuoso demonstration of muscular control, but largely wasted on her audience. I gazed up at her toned body and reached out first to cup and caress her breasts, and then to pull her down against me. Angel was breathing heavily, mirroring my own arousal.

"Do I excite you?" she breathed in my ear.

I smiled into the fall of her hair. "You know you do." A roll of my hips emphasized the degree of my excitement. "I spent too much of today dreaming of tapping this tight little body."

"I'm always wet for you," Angel admitted. "Cum in me, please -- I need you now!"

Not for the first time, the bittersweet thought that she told no less than the truth, and that the most beautiful creature in the world belonged to me, absolutely, got my rocks off. Angel bit her lip and convulsed atop me as she achieved her own release.

After a moment, Angel tensed to slide down and clean me, but I held her in place. "Leave me inside, tonight," I told her. "Just stay; we need to talk."

She looked closely at me, absently sweeping her hair over one shoulder, and untensed. "Is everything okay, Boss?"

The feel of her still clutching my organ, the weight of her breasts again my chest, and the soft breath in my ear were far better than just okay. There was something to be said for being old enough to step off the physical rut treadmill once in a while; I hadn't let myself wallow in intimate contact like this for over seven years, not since...


I refused to let myself get sidetracked now by memories of someone, something, who was dead and gone past all hope of recovery. I'd just push through it like I always did. "Sorry, a stray thought. I wanted to talk with you about Rose Cunningham."

"Rose," Angel breathed, and it was her turn to take on a distracted expression.

If trying to describe my ability was difficult, this was nightmarish. Angel was a creature of the night and my creation, and had no direct memories of a person she'd never "met." She had intellectual knowledge of Angela's memories from before she'd been "born," but nothing more recent. Somehow, she had the ability to pick through Angela's mind -- sort of like asking a friend a question, without the friend remembering the conversation -- but I was always skittish about asking her to exercise it. I didn't know what might happen if something "leaked," and I couldn't bear the thought of risking either of the two women in the body riding mine.

"Good-looking redhead, almost as hot as me, short hair?" she asked me.

"Hair's grown out some, and almost as hot," I confirmed. We exchanged looks of shared amusement. "That's her. She lives near Angela, and seems to have figured out Angela isn't really going to the University when she claims she is. What do I need to know? Start with the old stuff first."

"They met at high school; BFF." Angel laughed at my quizzical expression and spelled it out: "Best Friends Forever. Don't tell me you haven't heard that one before." She shrugged. "They fell out of contact after graduating; Angela went into the service and Rose went through college. She got a job with a big firm in Saint Louis. There's an older brother who lives in California, and her parents relocated to North Carolina a few years back."

After a pause, Angel added, "I think she's kind of kinky."

That surprised me on several levels. "You think, or Angela thinks? And why?"

Her response was a short sultry laugh. "I strongly suspect; Angela wasn't sure. The mean girls called her 'Rose Cunnilingus' and 'Rose Cummingham', but high school girls will hang a slur on somebody at the drop of a hat. I'm pretty sure she hit on Angela once, in senior year." We both felt my cock twitch, which prompted another smile from Angel. "Not exactly academic interest, Boss!"

"Anyway, Angela was too clueless to recognize it at the time, and Rose never pushed it. For the rest, there's nothing to point at, but she just threw off vibes that suggested she was more, um, curious than her classmates."

It all sounded in line with what Rose had told me, and helped clarify her interest. Still, understanding the recent past would be critical in avoiding any mistakes. "I left Rose's card on the desk; take a look before you go any further, okay?"

Angel lithely uncoiled herself and walked across the office, showcasing her perfect ass. I watched a rivulet of my spend start down her inner thigh, only to be absentmindedly intercepted by a finger and transferred to her mouth.

"Rose Cunningham, Interior Designs," she read. "Well, she's still using her maiden name, and that was what she got her degree in." Angel looked briefly at the back of the card. "Collecting phone numbers from attractive women, at your age. Should I be jealous?"

"Absolutely not. As long as I can draw breath, you'll be mine." The conviction in my voice was driven equally by desire and a sense of responsibility.

"That sounded almost romantic," she teased gently while walking back to the couch.

I thought she was going to clean me and put up a hand to stop her, but Angel surprised me again by taking my hand and climbing carefully back onto the couch so she could stretch out against me. "It feels good," she explained when she saw my quizzical expression. One delicate hand wrapped possessively around my flaccid penis.

"Okay, Angela, what have you been doing?" she murmured to herself.

I waited patiently. Hell, like this, I could wait all night and be content.

She roused a few minutes later and smiled. "I think Rose needs to get laid."

"That's the most important thing you learned?" I protested.

"Maybe not," admitted Angel. "But she broke up with her latest boyfriend when she moved back, has some clothes in the closet that startled Angela, and seems to be deathly afraid of anybody getting near the drawer of her nightstand."

"What else?" I wondered.

"Rose moved back about six months ago. She was fed up with the corporate rat race and wanted to have more control over what she was doing, even if it meant taking risks. She's done the bar scene once or twice, but hasn't found anybody worth pursuing -- except maybe Angela." Angel squeezed my cock. "They do girl things together, and get spa treatments once a month." She leered at me, her expression wicked. "You should have seen the look on her face the first time she saw Angela naked!"

"What do you mean?" I knew there was nothing wrong with my Angel; I looked at her constantly.

Angel laughed in my face. "You're too close to the trees to see the forest, Boss! Angela still acts like she's a 27-year-old virgin, but she's waxed as clean as a billiard ball -- everywhere -- and has no tan lines -- anywhere! She only wears boots and athletic shoes, but the once Rose made her try on a pair of fuck-me pumps, she could walk in them like a runway model. If she's really tired or distracted, Angela can put on hose in less than minute, with no runs and straight seams; if she concentrates, she can ruin three pairs in a row. I think it's driving Rose crazy; she wants to make a move but can't read Angela and is scared to queer things if she makes a mistake." Her humor bubbled up again. "I bet with all the 'Lloyd this' and 'Lloyd that', she thought Angela had a boyfriend -- how did she react when she found out you were 48 years older?"

"Almost 48," I absently corrected her. I hadn't been looking at Rose's face, but I remembered her initial hesitation. "Why," I asked, looking up at her, "didn't I hear any of this?" I was confused, and a little hurt. "They're doing all this, she's sharing things about me, and I don't even hear Rose's name until she introduces herself to me tonight? It's like she's living some sort of secret life!"

"That's the pot calling the kettle black." Angel chuckled, but her eyes were sympathetic. She looked inward for a moment, and looked pensive. "I think you shut her out, Boss. It was different, before, but then you stopped talking to her about personal things; stopped asking about how her classes were going or what she'd done on her time off. You didn't go out for drinks after work anymore. She just figured you wanted to keep things on a strictly professional level."

Damn; hoist by my own petard. It made perfect sense, once somebody had pointed it out. I already knew exactly what Angela -- Angel -- did most of the time, so I had no reason to ask; and fearful the fabricated separation between the two personalities might fracture, excellent reasons not to poke at memories that might not stand up to introspection.

If my questions about Rose seemed to be answered, I still felt like I'd taken one step forward and two back.

"Thanks for the insight, and candor," I told Angel, before kissing her again.

"I'm yours," she declared simply after we broke.

"Yeah, well, I'm Danny's," I groused. "I suppose I'd better get off my keister before he comes looking for me." I very reluctantly helped Angel to her feet before standing myself up and inspecting my clothing. It would be easier to just send it all to the cleaners and start over; it was why Danny gave me a closet and a clothing allowance.

"The handsomest man I know," Angel complemented me as she finished adjusting my tie and brushed imaginary wrinkles away from the shoulders of the suit jacket.

"Coming from you, I'll take that," I smiled, and pulled her so tight to me she squeaked. I took a last look at the beautiful vision standing naked beside my desk, and left to find out what unenviable task Danny had waiting for me.

January 1962

I wasn't graced by any dreams that night, but Alexandra appeared at the door to my cave about mid-morning. That was even better, as far as I was concerned.

"How was your weekend?" I inquired, beckoning her in.

"Okay," she smiled. "The wedding seems to be on track, and we have Jonathan and Danny measured. The waistcoats they settled on aren't too tacky."

I thought Jonathan was an idiot. While Alexandra was preoccupied with her coat, I closed my eyes long enough to locate her, and wafted that thought ever so gently in her direction. The rigid erection in my pants was more than enough of a reminder that it was perilously easy to go overboard without meaning to do so.

"Well, what brings you down, besides the heat?"

She settled primly in my guest chair and flashed a brief smile. "There is that." The humor was switched off just as quickly as it had appeared. "I wanted to hear what you learned from Susan on Friday. She had an appointment this morning, so I haven't been able to ask her."

I quickly related the censored version. "If you try something like that again, I think she might hit you," I concluded.

"But it worked!" Alexandra emphasized, clearly excited. "It's just fascinating, Lloyd!" She turned her gaze on me, but it was clear she was looking at the interesting research problem and not the man.

Well, I liked her looking at me, and vice versa. I used my lightest featherweight touch to loft that thought at her, too. Gently, Lloyd, I told myself before resuming the conversation. "So, another test?"

"Absolutely," she responded. "It's pretty clear you have a genuine ability, but we have no idea how it works. Why did the ketchup work, but the word fail? What limitations does it have?" Alexandra cocked her head. "Have you figured out anything more?"

I decided a little confession wouldn't be out of line. "I think it's pretty short range. If I concentrate, I can see sort of a glow where people's heads are, if they aren't very far away. It's hard to describe, but I think it's all related."

Her bug-under-the-magnifying-glass stare was back. "Really! Can you see me now?"

I already knew I could, but I went through the motions of closing my eyes and finding her in front of me. Alexandra's glow started moving toward the doorway; keeping my eyes closed, I told her, "You're walking away from me now." She kept moving until she was so faint I wouldn't have found her if I hadn't been watching, and then the glow moved sideways and abruptly disappeared. "Lost you," I reported, and opened my eyes again.

Alexandra looked around the door jam. "Interesting. Was it when I went through the door, or when I stepped down the hall?"

"I think it was the wall. I could still see you, but you disappeared when you moved sideways."

"I wish Susan was here," Alexandra sighed, walking back into the room. "This isn't rigorous enough; we need an observer, at least."

The lack of an observer wasn't bothering me, but I was having difficulties resisting the temptation to meddle. "Couldn't we rough things out, so we'd have a better idea of where to spend time with the careful experiments?"

"How would you propose doing that?" Alexandra asked cautiously, but she didn't dismiss the idea out of hand.

It was a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, so I didn't have a plan in mind. "Well..." I thought furiously. "Let's go out in the hall where there's more room. You'll walk slowly toward me until I tell you to stop, and then we can count tiles to get an estimate of the distance."

"How will you decide when I should stop?" Alexandra wanted to know.

"It's kind of hard to describe," I demurred. "We're just trying to get a distance we can refine later on, okay? I only have a few more minutes before I need to head to class."

"Okay," she decided, clearly humoring me.

We walked into the hallway and proceeded to opposite ends before facing each other, rather like modern-day duelists. The difference was that we were unarmed, at least visibly, and only Alexandra began pacing slowly forward. I closed my eyes and began casting my vision outwards, mouthing her name silently on my lips and concentrating on the warmth I felt.

Her slow footsteps echoed down the hallway as I kept concentrating. Eventually a faint sense of her presence appeared in my mind and I redoubled my effort, ignoring a burgeoning headache. As soon as saw a faint ripple, I shouted, "stop!" and opened my eyes.

"How far, Alex?" I asked, rubbing my forehead.

She quickly paced off the remaining distance between us. "About 15 feet. How confident are you about the distance?"

"Pretty sure, I guess. Like you said, Alex, we'd need to set up a more formal experiment to be sure." Her neutral expression, hinting of calculation, was the only confirmation I needed -- my use of "Alex" hadn't set her off at all. Maybe I'd let her come closer than was necessary, but that was what the follow-up would determine.

I heaved a sigh. "Well, we can discuss it this afternoon. I have to go suffer at the hands of undergrads now. Susan should be there by then, right?"

Alexandra -- no, it was "Alex" for me, now -- nodded. We collected our coats and headed our separate ways, the spring in my step at odds with my fading headache.

I was looking forward to our afternoon meeting, but not for any reasons that had to do with Alex's research. This late in the day, the temperature in their office was almost normal, and I shrugged off my coat without hesitation. "Hi, Susan! Hi, Alex! What have you thought up for us now?"

The girls smiled welcomes at me, although Susan quietly mouthed, "Alex?!" when her officemate wasn't looking. I winked at her in return; she was dressed more attractively than her usual practice, if less daringly than the end of the previous week.

"Okay, let's get started," Susan decided as soon as I'd sat down, and produced a half-eaten basket of French fries slathered with ketchup.

"Weren't there more of those when you brought them back from lunch?" asked Alex. Susan nodded sheepishly and Alex resumed her usual direction of our activities. "We discussed this earlier, and I think it's important to see how easy it is to undo a change you've made. For one thing, "flipping" something back and forth will be much more efficient for some tests than what we've done so far."

"You want me to make Susan hate ketchup-covered fries again, then?" Both girls nodded, and I could see the point, too. Not about the fries specifically, but I did have some flashes of regret over a few of my impulsive decisions on the weekend.

"Now?" There were more nods. "Okay, then," I said a little more confidently. I found Susan's mind almost instantly, and then opened my eyes again so I could stare at the red-spattered fries. This time I focused on the feelings of nausea I'd had once after finding particularly bad "lost" leftovers in the back of the refrigerator, and imagined those leftovers were the fries in front of us. After a suitable period of time, I relaxed. "Well?"

Susan popped a dripping piece of fried potato into her mouth. "It was better hot, but they're still good."

"Hmm, let me try again." I closed my eyes, found Susan's glow, and kept concentrating on that while I thought hard about tomatoey horror. Her glow never wavered and I felt the beginnings of a headache, so I stopped. "I don't think it's going to work," I told them.

Alex thought out loud while Susan ate another fry. "Maybe Susan would always have liked ketchup on fries and just was afraid to try them?"

Susan shook her head. "I don't think so. That supposes that Friday's experiment was a failure too, just like today -- but you rigged it so I couldn't have faked it. Besides, I know Lloyd can do these things!" She clamped her mouth closed, but Alex already was looking suspiciously at the two of us.

"You know ?" Alex asked carefully. "How did you obtain this knowledge?"

I cringed, seeing no good way for the conversation to end. "Look, Alex, --"

"Just a minute," she snapped. "I'm talking to Susan right now."

Susan had a quick mind -- quicker than mine, anyway -- and proved it again. "Look, Alex," she echoed, and paused for the inevitable response.

"Don't call me Alex!" the blonde hissed, and then stopped herself so abruptly I thought I heard her teeth click. Suddenly, her attention was focused entirely on me. "Say it again," she demanded.

"Alex." I drew it out, letting the syllables roll gently off my tongue and looking her straight in the eyes. "I like calling you 'Alex'." Her eyes widened and I thought I detected a hint of color in her face.

Susan cut in, talking fast but without sounding jittery. She had to be improvising, but she did a great job. "Lloyd and I discussed this Friday night while he was taking me home. We felt that, as principal researcher, it was important for you to understand the change in perception, and I didn't feel I could do it justice with a verbal description. I know you didn't plan it this way, but we thought first-hand impressions would be extremely valuable. And," she pointed a fry at Alex for emphasis, "it's payback for that ketchup trick!"

"When did you do this?" Alex asked me. If she didn't look happy, at least she wasn't looking upset either.

"This morning. It was just fortuitous coincidence I was able to combine it with your suggestion for a distance test."

"Well, don't do it again."

I nodded, thinking I was fortunate to escape with no worse repercussions.

"So tell me," Alex continued, "how were you able to determine the distance? What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Not for the first time, I had the impression that although I was the most educated person in the office, both women were smarter than me. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about mind glows, visualizations, and hypotheses about interpreting them.

Susan caught up to me halfway across the quad after we'd called it quits for the day. "I need to talk to you, privately," she announced.

I was already mostly hard thinking about what she might want. "Sure -- you might as well see my cave, anyway."

She surprised me again. "I really like Alexandra," Susan told me while we unfastened our coats. "I really like this, too," she continued, gripping my rigid shaft through my trousers. "But if you hurt Alexandra or take advantage of her, I'm going to tear it off and feed it to you, understand?"

"Perfectly," I gasped, painfully aware of Susan's surprisingly strong grip.

"Good." A moment later we were tearing at each other's clothes; I fumbled a condom onto myself while Susan pulled down her pantyhose, and then we were both enjoying a fast stand-up fuck. Neither of us lasted long, and I could feel Susan screaming into my mouth as I kissed her.

That encounter pretty much set the tone of the next few weeks. The three of us did our class work and continued studying and evaluating my ability. Whenever Susan and I were alone, we fucked like rabbits. Both of us were insatiable, and it got easier after Susan revealed she was on the pill and we could dispense with the condoms.

She still came like a banshee every time I pumped her, and after I found sticky deposits in her panties, I began to suspect I wasn't the only guy Susan was fucking. I couldn't complain since I thought about Alex all the time, although I hadn't done anything more "off the record."

I sure wanted to, but knew I shouldn't, and wasn't sure it was needed. The three of us necessarily spent a lot of time together, and Alex had been getting increasingly frustrated about the wedding preparations. It sounded like Jonathan didn't take the planning, or Alex's aspirations, seriously; either it was getting to her more than it had, or she was just less inhibited about voicing her annoyance.

Sometimes we'd be talking about the project or reviewing a draft of her thesis, and I'd catch a hint of an expression on Alex's face that had me instantly rock-hard in my pants. There was no way I could have restrained myself if Susan hadn't been available to serve as a willing, wanton receptacle for my physical urges. Nobody had actually said anything, but I was pretty sure Alex knew something was going on between Susan and myself even before the morning she returned unexpectedly early from a class and caught Susan giving me a blowjob in the office.

The minx had bet me that she could get me off without orgasming herself, which was saying a lot for a girl that pretty much came if my cock moved inside her. I didn't think she could do it, which was the only reason I'd taken the bet; joining Susan for a three-way with another guy wasn't on my list of erotic fantasies. Unfortunately for me, her technique had improved and she was using a combination of suction and tongue action that had to be felt to be believed. The finger tickling my prostate was borderline cheating.

I heard the key rattling in the lock, but I was right on the verge of exploding in Susan's mouth; Susan was so focused on me I don't think she head the door at all.

"Where's Susan?" Alex asked. She'd deposited her books on her desk before she noticed my expression and looked down to see Susan's head buried in my crotch. "Oh gosh, you two! Get a hotel room!"

It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a trace of something other than shock and disgust in her expression. Real or not, it -- and Susan's finger -- pushed me over the edge and a huge load boiled out of my balls and up my shaft.

Susan immediately pulled away, unwilling to risk losing her bet due to some involuntary muscular contraction on my part; that left my jerking tool in plain view while Susan managed to catch most of my spraying semen in her mouth.

Alex finally regained her voice. "Susan, don't you have any shame?"

"Not as much as I did," Susan quipped. She rose slowly to her feet, wiping her cheek clean with a finger.

I hurriedly tucked myself away before Alex's accusing stare returned to me. "Don't look at me -- it was her idea!"

"You seriously expect me to believe that?" Alex's laugh didn't sound too humorous. "I saw what you got out of it." She looked over at Susan, who now appeared a model of decorum. "Lloyd didn't pressure you into this, did he?"

"No," Susan laughed. "We made a bet -- which I won! Do you want to hear about it?"

Alex eyed her officemate's cat-who-ate-the-canary expression, and responded with a doubtful, "I don't think so." She looked intrigued but, true to form, tried to focus on the job at hand -- after getting in the last word. "Just remember, Susan, you're the equal of any man. Don't let them push you around, even Lloyd, okay? You can always talk to me."

We spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing and organizing data that suggested my changes seemed to be permanent. After the session broke up and we were preparing to leave, Susan told me, "pick me up tonight at 7."

"What?" I tried to restrain my surprise and avoid attracting Alex's attention. "You already set it up?"

Susan gave me a Mona Lisa smile. "You're a pushover, Lloyd. I knew I could do it."

I smiled thinly in return and left. It was beginning to feel like I'd created a monster. However, I'd given my word, and I'd feel better if I was there to watch out for her. And, I admitted to myself, I was looking forward to fucking Susan -- even in the presence of another guy.

Thus I found myself pulling up in front of Susan's apartment right at the top of the hour. I could see Susan talking to Yelena in the lobby; the girls noticed me and Yelena waved as Susan walked out to the car. I jumped out to get the door for her, although Susan had enough practice to handle it herself.

"To the Madison, James," she drawled in a mock British accent, once I'd rejoined her in the car.

"Certainly, Madame," I replied in the same tone, and put the car into gear. It was a nice hotel, once very nice, that wasn't too far off campus. Its declining fortunes owed more to the subsequent construction of newer properties closer to the city center than to decay, and it was still the place well-heeled parents and alumni wanted to stay when they visited the campus. "That must have cost you a pretty penny," I told Susan in my usual voice.

She laughed. "Not a cent! I won it on a bet."

"What bet?" I asked, laughing too. "With who?"

"You'll see," Susan smiled mysteriously.

I couldn't get anything more out of her on the drive over. Turning over the car to the hotel valet was a little nerve-wracking, but most of my mind was focused on Susan and the question of who the other guy would be. Apparently she already had a key, so we walked through the hotel lobby to the elevators.

"Looking forward to this evening?" Susan asked, brushing my pants to feel for my penis. She found me half-hard.

"Half of it, anyway," I admitted. I reached for a breast but Susan adroitly steered my hand aside. I settled for a steamy kiss instead.

We found the room and Susan let us in. I don't really know what or who I was expecting, but I wasn't prepared to find Danny Sullivan sitting in the armchair, nursing a glass of champagne.

He rose and came forward to shake my hand. "Lloyd Parker, I really didn't expect to see you here," he told me with a grin. Turning to Susan, he added, "You're an expensive date."

"I'm just learning to get what I want," Susan rejoined, throwing her coat across the chair. "I'll just freshen up while you gentlemen prepare yourselves." She disappeared into the bathroom.

"Oh, I'm prepared!" Danny told the closed door. "I have to say," he continued, "I didn't have you figured for this kind of scene, Lloyd. But I guess Susan's a hot enough number to have both of us wrapped around her little finger, eh?" He leaned closer. "I've been with a lot of girls, and I never met one who got off on sex the way she does. What a firecracker!"

"Yeah," I tersely agreed. I couldn't decide if it was better or worse to be stuck in this with somebody I knew, much less Alex's brother. I couldn't resist asking, "How'd she get you here, anyway?"

Danny laughed. "Not much to it, Lloyd! She just asked if I wanted to help give her a night to remember. I'm always ready to help out a lady that way!" He made some thrusting motions with his hips to reinforce the message, and then sighed. "I just thought she'd end up paying for the room when she bet me you'd be the other guy. What about you?"

I had to smile, thinking of how Susan had played both of us. "She bet me she could blow me without getting off herself; I lost."

"Really?" Danny blinked. "I would have taken that bet, too -- talk about a hair trigger. Damn, I wish I'd seen it!"

Some perverse notion made me tell him, "Your sister did."

"Alexandra?!" He gaped, genuinely off-balance for once. "How did that happen?"

I shrugged, obscurely pleased by his reaction. "We were doing it in the office at school, and she walked in on us."

"I bet that went over like a lead balloon," Danny laughed. "Now I really wish I'd been there."

After a chuckle, I admitted, "she seems pretty uptight about that kind of thing, I but I think she was too surprised to say much."

Danny poured me a glass of champagne. "Lloyd, before 10 minutes ago, I would have said you were too uptight for this." He toasted the closed bathroom door and then me.

"I guess first impressions can be deceiving." I hesitated, but he seemed to be in a good mood, so I observed, "I wouldn't have thought Alexandra and Jonathan would make a couple -- how did they meet?"

"Cotillion, I think." Danny took a sip and paused before continuing. "When we were kids, anyway. Mom liked to pretend we were rich; Jonathan's parents actually were rich." He snorted. "Alexandra was looking for Prince Charming, and I think Jonathan was looking for arm candy, a nice corporate wife. I've seen worse couples."

It wasn't a stirring endorsement, and I thought about drawing him out a little more, but the bathroom door opened and Susan rejoined us.

She was wearing a lacy black baby doll negligee with matching panties, and that was it. Her hair was down and teased out, and her lips were a suspiciously familiar deep red. "How do I look?" she asked, twirling so we could see all of her.

"Why don't you come over here and ask?" returned Danny, who set his drink on the side table without taking his eyes off of her.

Susan looked hot, but it still felt funny having Danny there too, and I didn't say anything. I think she sensed that, because she sauntered over and embraced me. I could feel Susan's body as clearly as her questing hand could my erection, and we kissed hungrily.

Danny was kind enough to remove the glass from my hand before I spilled it, and then he was embracing Susan from behind and running his hands down her body. I tried to ignore his nearness and concentrate on her. "I hope this wasn't too expensive," he murmured in Susan's ear.

"Why?" she mumbled into my mouth, undulating sensuously between the two of us.

"Because I'm going to be paying for it too," he replied, and then literally tore the panties off her body. Susan squealed with surprise, and then jumped again as Danny inserted a few fingers into her from behind. She moaned, making my cock even harder.

"C'mon, Lloyd," Danny chided, breaking our embrace and steering Susan toward the bed, "we aren't here to hit singles and make out; the lady wants us to get to home plate. Am I right?"

Susan lay back atop the covers, breathing heavily, and spread her knees in clear invitation. It was surprisingly easy to focus on her glistening sex and ignore Danny, who was shedding his clothes beside me. I fumbled with my own fly.

Naked at last, I nearly threw myself at Susan and sheathed myself to the hilt in her molten cunt. I leaned forward to kiss her, but Danny was beside us and Susan turned aside to take his rampant organ in her mouth. The three of us bucked together without any rhythm, but the feel of Susan convulsing between us was unbelievable.

I jetted into her depths almost immediately, and I saw overflow from Danny's load trickling from her mouth not much later. There was no way to be sure, but I suspected Susan had already orgasmed at least once. My cock was still ready for more, but she rolled away from me, trying to follow Danny's reddened tool.

"Ride me, you slut," he teased her, flopping on his back and holding her head away from his throbbing manhood. I thought his attitude was coarse, but Susan wasted no time in clambering forward and impaling herself on him.

It didn't fit my mental image of Susan, and I didn't like watching her fuck another guy, but I had to admit she was looking and acting a lot like a slut. "Oh fuck me, fuck me harder, pound me!" Susan slurred, her tits swaying as she bounced up and down on Danny and I watched my scum leaking onto their thighs.

I think my pride was a little wounded that she seemingly could forget me so quickly. If Susan was going to act like a slut craving faceless cock, I decided, maybe I should just treat her that way. I moved up behind them, focusing on her tiny rosebud, and pressed against her.

It wasn't like I was forcing her. "Oh, God, yes!" Susan moaned, and pressed backwards so I slid into her. When she reversed course and moved back against Danny, I followed. I could feel his cock pressing against mine inside her, one of the most erotic sensations I'd encountered.

I began a slow pistoning motion, because I knew that really got her off. "Fucking slut," I grunted. Danny said something, but I couldn't hear him over Susan's moaning and gasping. I reached around her head and muzzled her with one hand.

"Roll over," he repeated; I realized most of our weight was on top of him. Keeping a firm grip on Susan, I leaned sideways and fell to the bed. He rolled with us, leaving us all on our sides with Susan the meat in our sandwich. "Thanks," he grinned, then refocused on Susan. "Take this, bitch!"

We started slamming ourselves into her, working into a synchronized rhythm. I could go deepest when we were alternating strokes, but it was when we were both thrusting into her simultaneously that Susan just went nuts.

"That's the ticket!" Danny grunted. "Give it to her!" I came again, unloading in Susan's tight ass, but kept going, maintaining pace with Danny. I also kept my hand over Susan's mouth, keeping the volume to a manageable level. Susan's body was thrashing as if she were experiencing continuous orgasms, and her head suddenly snapped backwards and cracked me in the face so hard I saw stars.

When I could focus again, the first thing I heard was Susan crying. My initial alarm faded after I realized she was saying, "Oh my God, I can't believe I came like that!"

"You're an E-ticket ride, baby," agreed Danny, leaning over me to look at my forehead. "I think you're gonna have a bump there, Lloyd."

"I'm so sorry!" gasped Susan, rolling over to look at me, eyes wide with concern. Her face looked like a mess with lipstick smeared all over it, but she was glowing.

"Don't apologize," I magnanimously told her, "it was worth it."

"You're so sweet," she smiled, and kissed me. A moment later, she sat up. "I want to do it again!"

Danny laughed; I just stared at the ceiling. "I'm glad you appreciate our prowess," he told Susan, "but, as you see, we take a little longer to recuperate." He made no attempt to hide his flaccid organ, which was still shiny with her juices. "We do have fingers and tongues, however."

"I want more cock. I want to feel it inside me. Can't I help you along?"

I sat up, too; my penis needed to be washed. "You know it doesn't work that way," I reminded Susan. "It's just a physical limitation we need to live with." Danny nodded his agreement.

"Can't you, you know, do something about it?" She gave me a meaningful look. Danny picked up on it, although I prayed he didn't understand what she was really asking.

"I'm sorry," I said shortly, heading for the bathroom, "you'll just have to wait. As soon as I get hard, you'll be the first person to know."

"Drat," Susan sulked. "I wanted to fuck all night!"

"Didn't you take any physiology?" asked Danny, half-humorously. "You'd need a lot more than two guys for that."

"How many more?" Susan asked, in a tone that made me drop the washcloth and leave the bathroom.

"Seriously?" It was clear Danny didn't know if she was joking or not. "I don't know; maybe a half-dozen or so."

"You don't need to do this," I pleaded, but Susan was fixated on the idea.

"I've heard about your reputation," she addressed Danny, absently fingering herself. "You have friends; could you talk some of them into coming over here?"

I had to give Danny credit; he looked in my direction, where I was shaking my head "no."

"Don't pay attention to him," Susan chided, walking up to Danny. "Pay attention to me." She undulated against his body and whispered huskily in his ear. "It's my party, and I can fuck who I want to." Danny's cock lengthened slightly, and I knew I'd lost the point.

While he made a few phone calls, I seriously considered just getting dressed and leaving; I hadn't signed up for an orgy and wasn't interested in participating in one. I finally decided to stay; I'd brought Susan, I was the one who'd made her want to do this, and I thought it was good to have somebody present who saw Susan as more than a fleshy tube meant to house cocks. I knew Danny's reputation too, and I didn't trust any of the gentleman callers expected to appear.

The first disbelieving frat boys arrived sooner than I'd expected. They looked young to me, and the reality of the sexy woman who answered their knock clearly surpassed whatever Danny had promised them. Susan still wore her baby doll, but the panties were gone and it was obvious she'd already been fucked.

"What's the score?" one of them asked Danny after taking in an eyeful and then scanning the room. "Is this for real?"

"Totally real," Susan assured him, unfastening his pants. "Do you think you're man enough for me?"

"We needed reinforcements," amplified Danny, unashamed of his cock, which had made it back to half-mast. I'd pulled on my shirt and slacks, feeling uncomfortable with that level of nudity.

The new guys didn't need much encouragement, and had Susan screaming with pleasure in no time. Danny was fixated on the show, stroking himself slowly, so it was left to me to answer the knock at the door. I was scared it would be somebody from the hotel, but it turned out to be another trio from school.

One of them palmed some cash into my hand as they pushed by; from the way their attention was focused on the action atop the bed, I didn't even bother asking them about it. A few more singletons arrived a bit later, also cash in hand, to join the swarm.

It was like watching ants at a picnic. The men were double- and triple-teaming Susan, who was gleaming with perspiration and leaking semen from every orifice. Danny was keeping an eye on her too, but it seemed mostly to ensure her mouth was plugged as much as possible. I stopped worrying about her after a while, when it became clear she was enjoying herself even more than her worshippers.

The first guys left after about an hour, laughing and joking with Danny, who escorted them to the door. I couldn't help noticing he was limp again and glistening with fresh saliva.

"What's with the money, Danny?" I asked after the door was closed.

"Oh, good," he exclaimed when he saw the bills in my hand. "I was afraid nobody was taking it. It's donations -- you don't think we're going to have to pay extra for cleaning?" We watched one of the guys spray sperm across Susan's back and the bedspread.

We could have bought new linens for less than what I held. "Susan is not a whore, and we are not pimps," I told him sternly.

"Absolutely not," Danny replied defensively, before our conversation was interrupted by a sharp knock.

It was another one of Danny's friends, pale as a sheet, accompanied by the hotel's night manager. "What's going on in this room?" he asked suspiciously, eyes widening at Danny's casual nudity and again at the unmistakable sounds coming from the bed.

"We're just having a little party..." Danny's voice trailed off into a widening circle of silence that spread to encompass the entire room, punctuated by Susan's, "keep going! Why are you stopping?"

The manager -- his nametag said "Ray" -- walked a little further into the room and his eyes literally bugged out at the scene on the bed. Susan was kneeling atop one guy while another stood frozen behind her, slowly rotating her pelvis against both of them. She visibly swallowed and pushed a lock of cum-matted hair out of her face. Several more guys, all stark naked with wilting cocks, surrounded the bed.

"This is completely unacceptable behavior!" Ray choked out after a false start.

"What's the big deal?" Danny asked with commendable bravado. "We're all adults here; we aren't doing anything wrong." After a barely discernable pause, he added, "You should join us."

"I should call the police," Ray huffed.

It was hard to tell if he was threatening us or just thinking out loud, but I don't think anybody, even Danny, saw a happy ending ahead. I cringed thinking of how Susan would come out of it.

I couldn't let it happen. I wasn't the only one in the room to close his eyes, but instead of praying for salvation I found Ray's mind and thought about how good Susan's mouth felt on my cock and how great it was to explode down her throat and feel her suck me dry.

My ears almost popped from the change in air pressure when we heard the sound of Ray's fly unzipping and everybody exhaled at once. "Convince me not to," he told Susan, and stepped in front of her.

The outcome was predictable after that. Susan worked on him like she hadn't been near a man for a year, and carried on like he was Casanova. Luckily for us, everybody else was still too scared to move and Ray hadn't seen enough to know Susan was like that with everybody. When he orgasmed, she didn't lose a drop and left him as clean as a whistle.

"Thank you," she told him, with a sincerity of expression and tone of voice that had more than a few cocks twitching. The sound of his zipper was like a switch that jolted everybody back into motion again.

"Just try to keep it discreet, okay?" Ray told Danny and me as we escorted him back to the door. We feverently promised to do so, and wilted against the walls after the door closed behind him.

"You should be in sales," I told Danny. "I thought we were goners."

"I did, too," he admitted while eying me speculatively. "Do you know why he changed his mind, Lloyd?"

"He just knew a good thing when he saw it," I demurred, looking over at Susan, who was teasing her partners back to full hardness.

"Maybe," he said, and let the conversation slide.

Many of Susan's guests left fairly quickly, no doubt shaken by their close call; however, an uneven stream of replacements continued to arrive. I shot Danny an accusatory look after letting in a party of four, but he shrugged back at me, all helpless innocence, and I had to admit to myself I hadn't seen him go near the phone again. Evidently word was spreading on its own.

"Unbelievable," Danny breathed, as we watched Susan assist two of the new arrivals with their attempt to double-penetrate her vagina. "I should have asked for more." His penis was beginning to rise again.

I was more troubled. Watching those young men, clumsy with their eager desire, penetrate a woman who clearly welcomed all of them, kindled no heat inside me. I knew I'd been there first, and that there was no place they could penetrate that didn't hold my seed. The woman I wanted to share a hotel room with was Alex, and I certainly didn't intend to share her with anybody.

Despite our differing attitudes, Danny and I stepped forward as one to restrain and then evict one of the guys who apparently thought sluts deserved to be slapped around as well as fucked. "We need to shut this down," I told him after we closed the door.

"Who's going to tell her?" We looked at the bed, where Susan quite clearly was still having the time of her life.

"Well, I'm going to stop letting people in," I decided. Danny didn't argue the point. We proceeded to ignore the sporadic knocking that followed, and didn't answer the phone either, the once it rang.

It was well after midnight by the time the last stalwart cocksmen departed, leaving the room to the three of us who'd started the evening together. Susan lay on the bed, oozing cream from everywhere, and singing to herself like she was drunk; Danny obviously was considering whether to have a final go at her himself. I felt tired and grumpy; this wasn't what I wanted, but it reminded me of what I didn't have.

Danny rolled his eyes at another knock on the door, but since I wasn't the one teasing Susan by holding my cock just out of her reach, I recognized the sharp staccato of Ray's knuckles. With some trepidation, I opened the door to find the manager accompanied by Yelena.

"The young lady insisted on being allowed entry," Ray told me, obviously in an uncomfortable position, as Yelena pushed past me and let out a gasp at the sight of Susan.

"I understand," I told him. "We were just wrapping up the party anyway; don't worry about it." It didn't feel quite right, but I offered him some of the money I'd collected.

"Yelena!" slurred Susan. "Did you bring me some more cocks?"

"I'll leave it to you, then," Ray said, taking the cash after a quick peek. I didn't blame him for wanting to distance himself from this situation. I locked the door before joining the others.

"No, of course we didn't do this all by ourselves," Danny told Susan's wide-eyed roommate. Yelena didn't resist when I offered to remove her coat.

"She told me to check on her if I hadn't heard from her by midnight," Yelena explained. She'd obviously just thrown on a sweatshirt and blue jeans before coming over; they didn't highlight her lithe body the way her usual outfits did.

I realized, belatedly, that it was only the amount of semen, and not the nudity, that had thrown Yelena. Well, Susan had hinted in the past that her friend was a little promiscuous.

"Why don't you join the party, now that you're here?" Danny brazenly offered, his penis pointing at her.

Susan climbed off the bed and embraced him from behind, protesting, "I don't want to share!"

The comment, together with the fact that Yelena hadn't immediately refused, sparked a thought in my mind. Susan couldn't go on like this, and we were pretty sure I couldn't undo what I'd done. But perhaps I could give her an alternative outlet, one that wouldn't be so high profile... My cock stirred at the idea; two girls sounded much better than two guys.

I focused first on Yelena, thinking of all the things about women that excited me. The feel of soft lips, the curve of a breast interrupted by the pebble of a nipple, and the way it grew when teased; the smell of her musk and the liquid grip of her channel when she climaxed. Nothing happened for the longest time, and I was beginning to think I'd messed up somehow. Finally I was rewarded with the tell-tale shimmer for which I'd been waiting.

I knew before Danny did that when Yelena stepped up to them, she was going to kiss Susan instead of him. Horn-dog that he was, it just made his erection harder; I wasn't immune, either.

Before Susan could overcome her surprise and resist, I centered on her and repeated the process, with much more immediate results. I wondered, briefly, if it had anything to do with my prior intervention or her natural inclinations, but put the thought aside for future consideration.

All three of us admired Yelena as she stopped to pull off her sweatshirt and jeans; she wore nothing beneath them. She might have been a ballerina, although her breasts and hips were large enough to save her from androgyny; I think she could have held a pencil between her tight buttocks.

"Men, I have tasted before," she told Danny before pushing past him to flop Susan back onto the bed and embrace her.

Danny just shot me a sardonic grin as I finished undressing again, revealing a hard-on that matched his own. We moved closer to the bed where we could see the action clearly.

The girls writhed against each other, their skin well lubricated by the male ejaculate covering Susan's body. Danny was slowly stroking himself, but I held off, knowing I probably had only one more good climax in me that night. First Susan, and then Yelena, jerked and trembled under the influence of delicate fingers probing between their legs.

"What about us?" Danny finally asked. The girls looked up as if they'd forgotten we were there.

"I did not come... prepared for this," Yelena admitted, dropping her eyes.

I remembered all the condoms in the room and guessed she wasn't on birth control. Of course, Susan and I didn't use condoms and neither of us had any, and it was apparent Danny didn't, either.

"Well, there are other options," suggested Danny, who never seemed to be at a loss in these situations.

"Oh, let them do your ass, Yelena," Susan sighed. "It would be so hot!"

Yelena looked at us. "Lloyd, I will trust," she finally decided. I don't know if it was subconscious prompting on my part, or the matching feral gleam in Danny's and Susan's eyes that made up her mind, but I was glad she chose me. "Be gentle," she urged me, "I will be tight." My cock throbbed in anticipation.

I was thinking about what I could use for lubricant when Yelena surprised me by milking a handful of mixed cum from Susan's gash and slathering it on my erection, which hardened even further.

Susan looked disappointed to see her friend's attention focused away from her. "Can't we do this together?" she asked.

"Oh! I know!" yelped Danny. "Get into a sixty-nine!" Susan and I stared blankly at him, but Yelena grinned lasciviously and reversed herself on the bed. Susan's confusion lasted about two seconds after Yelena pulled her close and began licking; she ducked her head and started reciprocating.

"You first," Danny urged me. "I won't have any trouble getting into Susan."

I clambered onto the bed behind Yelena and wriggled closer to her until my cock nestled between her tight buns. Not wanting to make the same mistake with her I'd made with Susan, I probed gingerly between her legs with one hand. Yelena obligingly raised a knee, granting me unfettered access. My fingers slid easily between her slick folds and emerged dripping; Susan's breath felt warm on them as she continued stimulating her roommate's clit with her tongue.

It was a short distance down to Yelena's puckered anus. I pressed a finger gently against her back door, and it slid in more easily than I expected, but lord was she tight. After reaching the second knuckle, I withdrew it, and tried two fingers together. Yelena jerked slightly as my fingernails penetrated her, but I could feel her making an effort to relax her sphincter.

My preparations seemed inadequate, but I could feel the impatience of Danny and Susan like the hot summer sun on my skin at the beach; I told myself my cock was better lubricated than my fingers, anyway. Repositioning myself, I pressed the tip of my cock against Yelena's asshole. She tensed up, so I used my free hand to caress her flank, like petting a cat, and whispered, "Relax, I won't hurt you," in her ear.

"Oh God, I can see him going into you, Yelena -- this is so hot," Susan moaned.

Evidently, Danny felt he'd waited enough, although I don't think I was more than a third of the way inside Yelena. He bounced onto the bed behind Susan and rolled the girls slightly toward me, unintentionally forcing Yelena further onto my rod. A shock transmitted itself through the bodies before me, and I suspected Danny had just seated himself inside Susan's welcoming ass.

The two of them started banging away with abandon, but I settled for grasping Yelena's hips and pulling her inexorably onto me until I was filling up a place I was pretty sure not too many men had visited before. I switched my grip higher, palming her tits and started a pumping action that, while shallow, caught up to Danny's pace.

Susan was already cumming like a madwoman, but I could hear Yelena moaning and gasping too, and her hips were rocking against mine, encouraging me to lengthen my stroke. I obliged, and the increased stimulation quickly brought her off; when she climaxed, her ass squeezed me so tight it felt like my cock was going to be amputated.

It took me a few minutes more to peak, but finally I felt the beginnings of my own orgasm. At the last moment, I pulled free and squirted my scanty reserves of semen onto Yelena's ass. It was an unconscious decision; I guess it was a reminder to everyone else that I'd been there.

Yelena made an incoherent protest, but subsided when Susan replaced my cock with a few fingers. Looking up, I saw Danny already had spent himself and been similarly replaced. The girls sucked and finger-fucked each other silly for a while longer, until Yelena jerked again in ecstasy, and then rolled free, also satiated.

I could see Susan still looked a little restless, but after six hours of nearly non-stop fucking, she had to be exhausted. "Let's get you cleaned up," I suggested, and hauled her upright. With a little help from Danny, I got Susan into the tub and filled it with warm water. The Madison's class extended to the thoughtfully provided bubble bath Yelena found and dumped in as the tub filled.

"How about a sponge bath?" the irrepressible Danny asked Yelena; both our organs were looking a little ripe.

Yelena turned away from us, displaying my cum drying on her butt, and replied, "I'd love to make you kiss my ass, but I think not tonight." She punctuated the comment by pulling on one of the white terry robes hanging in the bathroom. "I will wait until Susan is finished."

Wordlessly I tossed a washcloth to Danny and found the one I'd used earlier for myself. After we finished, by mutual consent we wandered back toward the bed, leaving the bathroom to the girls.

"I admit, you are a man of surprises," Danny told me as we looked at the wreckage of the bed. "Have you done this before? It didn't look like anything fazed you, even that visit from the manager."

I chuckled. "Appearances deceive. I feel like I've been driving down an icy road all night, and I don't know how I stayed out of the ditch." I looked around and picked up my shirt. "I think one woman at a time is enough for me."

"Yeah, I noticed you seemed a little put off by the crowd." He looked to see we were still alone. "But what a waste! Lloyd, you're a chick magnet! You should be going to town with this." He simpered, roughly imitating Yelena, "Oh Lloyd, I trust you to take my ass."

"Oh, come on. You're the one Connie told me was 'majoring in women'. I'm just a dusty academic."

"The night we met? I'll have to get even with her for that. But listen, Lloyd, I completely struck out with Susan that night -- couldn't even get her phone number." He laughed. "Imagine my surprise when I learn later that stuffy guy at the table is banging her every which way!"

It didn't seem worth trying to correct his distorted impression of what had happened. "Stuffy? Try intimidated! You're all out of my league; you know, I probably wouldn't even know Alex's name if Dr. Reynolds hadn't thrown us together."

"'Alex,' eh? She lets you call her that?"

Oops. "It's sort of a joke," I explained, trying to brush the whole matter aside.

"Chick magnet. The only person she ever let call her 'Alex' was our grandfather." Danny gave me a long look. "You aren't screwing her too, are you?"

"God, no!" I protested, flushing darkly. I zipped up my pants, thankful I was able to protest my innocence truthfully.

"But thinking about it, I'm guessing?" he waved it off. "Don't get upset -- she's an eyeful; I've fantasized about it once or twice, and she's my sister. If you hadn't, I'd think you were queer." Danny's expression turned serious. "But, you know, as Alexandra's brother and Jonathan's friend, if you did try anything, I'd have to hurt you. Bad."

It was a side of Danny I hadn't seen before, and didn't care to see again. "Message received." It wasn't like I didn't already suspect this would be a complication, but I was too tired to deal with it now.

Susan emerged from the bathroom, wearing a robe and looking clean, if half-asleep. "Hi, guys," she mumbled, walking toward the bed. Danny and I looked at each other, and then quickly turned back the bed, letting the stained cover fall on the floor. She toppled onto the bed when she reached it, and lay still where she'd fallen.

I looked closely, but couldn't see Susan's face with her hair in the way; it sounded like she already was asleep. "I guess going home tonight wasn't such a great idea," I mused.

"We've got the room all night, anyway," agreed Danny.

"You don't have to stay; I can drive them home." I dreaded the thought of meeting with Dr. Reynolds in a few hours, and wished Susan had planned this for a weekend.

"Hah!" barked Danny, humor restored. "Just leave you sharing a bed with both Susan and Yelena? Nice try! Besides; I'm paying for the room -- I'll stay, too."

I pulled Susan's legs over so she was stretched out in the center of the bed instead of diagonally across it; she didn't stir. "I don't think we're going to see too much more action, Danny." Sighing, I started removing my clothing once again; this time, in no rush, I hung my shirt and slacks in the closet. I kept my briefs as some sort of sop to modesty or self-restraint.

Danny was a boxer man, but seemed content to follow my sartorial lead. "When do you want the wakeup call?" he asked, reading the directory on the nightstand next to the phone.

"Next week," I groaned while figuring logistics in my head; ...

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