The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HELLO AGAIN

So here I am, the Egg, Master of all—or at least a dozen and a couple civilized apes—I’ve changed them all—for the better, I think—I’ve wound them up and am now enjoying watching as they have their little adventures and pave the way for me to make my mark on the world. Sometimes I put roadblocks up, sometimes I help, and sometimes I give them little chores. Yes really. And once again my future twin, clone or whatever you are reading this, I will sometimes be speaking of myself in the third person. Suck it up.

SUNDAY—IN THE PARK

The four cycled deeper into the city park, leaving the road for the dirt trail through the woods, and after a turn down a narrow path they came to an even wilder trail. They had to dismount and walk, but at the end was at a small sunny clearing filled with wild flowers and one lone wooden picnic table, deposited there years ago in a burst of civic ambition to develop this corner of the woods, but rarely used due to the distance from the road. The same lack of access had kept it from becoming a make-out destination; there were a many easier spots nearby in the same park. At one point a farmhouse had stood here, its stone foundation was all that remained, keeping the scrub oak at bay.

There was a slight chance they’d run in to a bird-watcher or other set of picnickers, but by turning on a transistor radio to the local FM rock station they staked their claim. Generally in this neck of the woods people were pretty polite about intruding uninvited, the music would keep the bird watchers away, and anyone this deep in the park was probably looking for privacy themselves.

Andy was a bit winded, keeping up with the three young women had been more exercise than he’d had in a while, but it was worth it. All the way he had never led, following Rose at first, she knows where they are going and has the fastest bike. It’s not designed to carry much, the small rat-trap has a bundle tied down with a couple of bungee cords, and so she has most of her stuff in a backpack high on her shoulders. When she leans on the curved 10-speed handle bars, her T-shirt’s open neckline gives on-comers a view of her boobs as they swing side to side with each pedal. She likes to ride fast and often lifts off the seat, and Andy keeps up behind her just to watch her bum rise and fall, but he’s not in it for the long haul.

He drops back to ride beside Vicky, who’s borrowed one of Annette’s old bikes, old fashioned, practical and sturdy, Annette hated it, but Sam was fussy about maintaining it, and it has a big front basket, where they’ve put most of the lunch. No speed demon like Rose, Vicky kept a good pace and even slowed down to talk to Andy. He thought she looked extremely cute with a blue sun bonnet tied around her chin to keep it blowing off. Her slight overbite and the wind-blown hair, not as strictly held in place by sprays and potions as usual was a look on her he hadn’t seen before, and he liked it a lot.

When they turned off the road, Andy took last place in a single file procession. Least sure of herself on the dirt trail, Stella was glad that Andy was behind her in case she got in trouble and needed help. Andy was just glad of Stella’s behind, which he had a glorious view of—he kept reminding himself to look out for roots and dips in the path, and so far had done ok at the slower pace she set, but he knew he’d replay the view in front of him later, as he shifted a little uncomfortably on the saddle.

This was Vicky’s party, so she unpacked the bikes and bags and organized the tableau. Andy was limited to carrying only his large sketch pad, charcoal sticks and several different types of pencils and pens, and a case designed to protect finished drawings. He had tried to take more, but Vicky insisted that as he was to do all the work, it was up to him to make sure of all his tools and their results first and foremost.

Andy had asked her why Rose and Stella had agreed. Her reply was, “Well, Stella is basically doing it because she’s too scared to pose for a camera—that it’ll come back to haunt her. But she totally wants to be seen and lusted after. Rose is doing it because I told her that it’ll help me win an argument with Annette, which it will, but also because it’s something sexy to do that doesn’t focus on her tits. And I’m doing it because I think it’s a good idea, and that you are talented and should get down and be creative outside your store and get some exercise and fresh air every once in a while.”

Soon after Vicky moved in with Andy she found a stash of underground comic books and started looking through them. They were all different titles, some were funny, some were political, some had dope humor, and some had quite graphic sex. But all of them had at least one page by the same anonymous artist, signed with a small drawing of a bellowing gorilla.

Vicky asked Andy about them, and he admitted he was the artist formerly known as The Yellin’ Ape. Vicky thought the drawings better than most of the others, simple but with a level of implied detail in the character’s figures that most of the other artists sacrificed to crude speed. Andy explained back when he was living in Dogpatch, San Francisco in the late 60’s down the street was the office of Right-Off Press, and if he needed a few bucks for rent or to go to the bar or whatever he could always sell a page to them for 20 bucks, which would take him a morning. They were better paying than most of the other publishers, but he let them keep the original art and never got anything for reprints, but that was cool, that was the deal, to always come up with the money up front and not bitch about the content. They did give him lots of copies of everything that had his work in it, which he sold long ago except for these single issues.

While Vicky had become fairly acquiescent in some areas of her life, she remained quiet demanding in others, and she saw a way to solve a problem that had come up recently. And perhaps give Andy another thing to do than just looking after the store, smoking herb, and boffing her, though the boffing wasn’t the activity she wanted him to cut down on.

She also was aware that she hadn’t yet totally shed her reputation for jealousy. Just the occasional sideways looks, but she felt them. As intelligent beings they all knew that fucking each others like bunnies at a mansion was an imperative imposed from that odd floating creature that is my magnificence, and were basically OK with that. OK also imposed. But Vicky wanted to show them all, in particular Andy that she was also OK with him getting to better know the intimate parts of what she would previously have seen as her deadly rivals. Hence organizing today’s project. And today’s picnic.

“I wanna get naked now,” Stella says when Vicky suggests they eat first.

“No one’s stopping you,” Rose replies, doffing her duds, but keeping the sun hat.

Soon all three women are mostly nude and lying on big beach towels laid on the soft ground.

It’s been a dry year, so the insects aren’t bad, and it’s the end of the summer, so the girl’s base tans are set. A mosquito candle is lit and sun-tan lotion is applied all ’round while Andy wonders yet again, “How did I get so fuckin’ lucky?” He knows that it was just by chance he was dropping keys off at the Bullmans when the shit went down, and the after-effects were nothing but great, here he was with a girl who adored him but encouraged him to spread the love around. “Make love not war” was real to him, and he’d had more than one chuckle thinking about how the suburban white-bread folks also caught up had been turned onto complication-free frequent sex. Reminded him of this commune he visited at the foot of the Himalayas, have Eastern fertility cult, half Westerners, seekers after mystical experience with a tantric bent. He left there a couple of months later happy but very tired.

Normally he was against messing with other peoples heads without their OK, but it sure had made Vicky groovier without the jealousy that clouded over her sweet and sexy natural self. And here she was not just tolerating but encouraging her stunning friends to get naked and roll on the grass with his hairy old hippie self. Though he noticed he had become better toned and lost his beer gut, or at least was in the process of losing it. In his opinion the changes had made them all better folk, less uptight. Looking admiringly at Stella’s naked behind he thought, “Thanks egg-guy. What a life.”

Andy finishes unpacking the lunch, and pours a plastic glass of chilled white wine from the thermos for each of the nymphs and brings it to them. He’s lit a joint, which he brings to share as well.

“Hey, you need to get naked too,” Stella says. “It’s only fair.”

He’s bare-assed in no time at all, but to the girls it’s obvious that he’s not been out in the sun all summer. Soon all three of them are smearing sun block all over his pasty hide, though Vicky stops them from putting it on his dick. “I’ll get mine from the source,” she says when he offers her the dube, and takes him in her mouth. Rose thinks it’s funny to start describing the events as though she was Frank Gifford or whoever that is on Monday Night Football. “And she’s going down the field, the way is blocked by a tight defensive end, can she penetrate the plane?, she’s looking all the way down field at the dangling goal posts, she’s going deep, deep, deep, all the way in the end-zone! Touchdown!”

“Hey, no fair! I want some too,” Stella complains. Vicky opens her mouth to show that there is still a fair amount of his magic stoner cum on her tongue. Stella leans over to take her share as they enjoy a long relaxed summer kiss, getting a happy tingling contact high.

Andy tries to pass the joint to Rose, who instead gets up and brings the second thermos, containing what has become known as Betty’s Revival Tonic, and pours a splash into the plastic cup that screws to its top and hands it to Andy. “You’ll be needing this.” He drinks it down and lets her lead him back to sit at the picnic table as the other women settle back to bask in the comfortable warmth of the northern sun. Rose pads her knees with some discarded clothing, pours a good glop of sun screen on her chest and wraps her tits around Andy’s recovering staff and starts to rub up and down.

“This is the best way to put on lotion,” Rose observes. She’s come to love the feeling of a cock gliding between her boobies, a warm yummy feeling slowly and surely heats her from fiery snatch to freckled neck, and moisture has begun to form on her cunt lips. When Andy cums again she makes sure to catch some of it in her mouth. He quickly stands her up, bends her forward facing out and spreads her legs, and sitting back down on the bench licks her wet slit from behind until she finishes cumming.

“Food’s up” he calls, wiping his face with a napkin, and they all sit around the table, naked save sun hats and running shoes and open the cold fried-chicken, potato salad, coleslaw and other Tupperware packed staples. “I am so very very fuckin’ lucky,” he thinks pondering Vicky and Stella’s nude chests across the table, while Rose sits close at his side with their thighs touching. Vicky slips off her sandal and raises her leg to caress his cock and balls with her bare toes under the table.

After lunch Vicky sobers herself up and gets Andy organized.

The food and containers are repacked and one of the beach towels is laid across the table. “This is OK?” Vicky asks?

“Yeah, I’m use to drawing on the kitchen table.” Andy walks around, the sun is no longer directly overhead, and he settles in at one end with the light over his shoulder. “Who’s first?”

Stella climbs up on the table and sits directly in front of him. Vicky leans her back so she’s resting on her straightened arms, and spreads her legs so that she is wide open right in front of him. He spreads her even wider and turns her slightly so he can rest his drawing pad flat on the table, and gets out the charcoal sticks.

“You have a very pretty pussy,” he tells her, “I want to rub it a little to see if I can make it even more beautiful, is that ok?”

Stella’s managed to stay relaxed and not think too hard, so has the buzz from earlier still revving her motor. “That’d be nice.”

Andy goes to work with his fingers, gently rubbing and masturbating her until her nether lips swell, her honey pot moistens and her clit pokes up. “Now stay like that. Think some dirty thoughts. Rub yourself when you have to, to stay excited.”

He works quickly; in less than five minutes he has a sketch of Stella’s genitals to the thigh muscles that is both accurate and stylized. He manages to capture their moist plumpness in a way that is both erotic and flattering. “All done,” he says to her, and she looks over at the sketch and asks if she can have it.

“Not this one,” Vicky says. “I need it. Andy is going to do a drawing for each of us later.”

“Yep,” he says. “Rose next?”

“What, I don’t get fucked?” Stella complains.

“I need to get this in while the light is right, babe.”

Before Rose gets up on the table she goes to her purse and pulls out a vibrator that has her name etched on it. She never travels without it these days in case she has to reset herself. “Use this for now.”

Stella stomps away to sulk and masturbate. The sulking lasts as long as the first hum of the dildo’s motor, when she thinks back on how great she looks from every angle.

Andy repeats the process with Rose, carefully fixing and storing each drawing so it won’t smudge before he got home to fix it in a light frame.

He’s just starting on the drawing of Vicky’s fun parts when he ruins the drawing with a stroke through it. “Stella,” Rose yells at the girl who has crawled under the table to suddenly take Andy’s stiff pecker in her hand, on its way to her lips.

“It’s groovy,” he calmly tells her, “be slow and gentle. Don’t jerk my legs.” She nods and carefully pops the head between her lips, sucking slowly. Andy finishes his new drawing before he cums, and a disappointed Stella emerges from under the table.

“Since you got it all pumped up,” he says to her and bends her forward over the end of the bench onto the towel, then pushes himself all the way into her ass from behind. He holds out for the required one minute, and then uses the “Cilantro” and “Ripple” commands on her, and she spasms with her chest flat on the table top.

“You go last on the final set then,” Vicky sniffs as Andy lights up a celebratory spliff, and Bob Marley’s Lively Up Yourself comes on the radio.

“Right on!” he smiles. Best day in the park ever, and that includes the free concert in Golden Gate with the Airplane, the Dead and Moby Grape. Just in case it’s watching he thinks, “Hey Egg Man, all is deeply copacetic here. Outtasite. Humble gratitude, dude.”

They change order for the next set of drawings. First Stella sits at the end of the table with legs dangling off the end, and Rose brings her face in close, spreading the pussy in front of her with two fingers of the hand closest to Andy, who has set up a folding stool. He rests the drawing pad on his knees and grips with one hand, and has Vicky pass him a fresh charcoal stick from the box. He tells Rose to stick out her tongue and lean in, then hold it, and he quickly sketches the scene in front of him. It’s not as detailed as the earlier sketches, and save for the long strands of hair falling across the sides of her face, Rose is unrecognizable, though the action portrayed is unmistakable. Vicky looks at it and nods her approval. “One more?” she asks.

They pick up the table, Andy at one end and the women at the other and rotate it a bit to follow the sun. Then Rose hops up on the end and Stella takes her place. Andy asks Stella to stimulate Rose until her good size clit is standing out, and then touch the tip of her tongue to it and close her eyes. “Feel her there, don’t move,” he instructs as he races though another drawing. Stella is much more recognizable in this one than Rose was in the previous.

“I’m not sure, we really don’t want to see exactly who this is,” Vicky comments.

Andy thinks she’s being too uptight. After safely putting away the latest sketch, he lies on one of the sun-tanners towels and says to her, “Your turn to ride the bull.” She gets the hint and slides down his pizzle and starts galloping. “Way to go Cowgirl,” he encourages. Rose and Stella pour themselves another glass of wine and watch.

Rose poses first in the final set of drawings; Andy switches to black ball-point pens and draws her full figure coming naked through the wild flowers. He has her stand still as though walking, and then gets her to repeatedly walk the same path so as to capture the sway of her large breasts and the flow of her long red hair as she approaches him. He shows her and packs it away with the other drawings, promising to give it to her once they are safely back at home.

“Can I have a fuck now?” she shyly asks?

“Certainly, how do you want to do it?” Andy asks, thankful for Betty’s tonic and yet again thinking, “Lucky lucky lucky dude. I’m such a lucky fuckin’ dude.”

When they are done—a straight ahead missionary position fuck, kind of boring Andy thinks, but she seems to like it—he starts Vicky’s drawing. She’s seated on the bench, leaning forward, breasts dangling, and her face has a broad beam of love and affection, Andy’s tried to put all of her feelings for him and all of his for her into it. It’s the best picture of the day, they all agree.

Vicky has an idea for the drawing of Stella, which she dismisses, but then changes her mind. She’ll agree if Andy will make her a copy of the first drawing of her pussy as well. He agrees.

So Stella, still naked as they all are, gets up on the pedals of the much taller Rose’s bike while Vicky and Rose hold it steady. She leans forward to almost vertical and grips the handlebars, and by balancing half-way can lift her ass off the seat by a few inches, her pussy hanging directly above the saddle. Andy positions himself so she is heading away but with her dangling boobs still both visible and her head turned to look back as though searching for a follower. Though a little unsteady, she agrees to give a big toothy smile. This places her magnificent purple-orange patterned ass dead center of the picture, her winkie slightly agape, her legs straight underneath. Andy rubs some tanning lotion on the seat and on her pussy lips to give them a shine, as though she’s been riding with them rubbing together. Then he sits down to draw.

It’s the most cartoony of the day’s work, almost like a tourist caricature done at a resort, but it’s as hot as hell. He’s reluctant to give it up, but a promise is a promise.

Andy wants to do one more before the trees start casting long shadows. There was a statue of the three Graces he saw in a park in Southern France once, three young women, two facing forward, one between them turned the other way, with one arm draped around the far shoulder of the grace to her left, the other arm out across the waist of the grace on her right. All three stand with one leg slightly raised. Naturally Stella is the one showing a full moon. Vicky is to her left so Stella’s arm isn’t reaching up high, and Rose is to the right. It’s a more difficult pose to hold, as Andy twists their torso’s slightly so all the faces are seen and positions Stella and Rose’s heads so they are looking directly in each other’s eyes, he can’t quite remember the details, but he’s seen enough classical statues to get the general idea. “Smile just a bit. Like you know a secret,” he asks. He works fast with Pencil, then overlays it with ink, and finally uses charcoal to get the shading. It has taken longest of all the drawings to do, but looking at it afterwards, all agree it was worth the effort.

They all dress again after finishing the wine and bike off to Andy and Vicky’s where the drawings are distributed. Vicky likes hers so much she clips it up right away, covering a poster in their bedroom, “We’ll get it framed tomorrow,” she tells him. It’s just after four o’clock and the sun and sex has left them all ready for a shower and a nap. Andy goes first while Vicky says she’ll say goodbye to the girls; lying naked on the sheets he barely hears the shower as he dozes off, but soon Vicky’s comforting smell and smooth skin against his chest feels fine as he drifts away. The shower seems to still be running, ah, there it stops and he drifts off again. No, it certainly is running now, is it the apartment next door? He opens an eye to find Vicky, naked lying to his right and Rose on his left. Stella is coming out of the bathroom toweling her hair. Vicky sleepy-eyed grins at him and says their guests were too tired to go home right away, so she said that they could all have a nap first.

As he drifts off again amid a mountain of slightly-damp sun-sleepy freshly-scrubbed female flesh and soft moist hair, Andy sings to himself, “I’m Mr. Lucky, lucky guy am I, I’m so lucky I’m never going to die...”

MONDAY — WHO SAYS ACCOUNTING IS DULL?

Sheila was putting away the lunch dishes when the note came through the front door mail slot. Carl didn’t go in until afternoon on Mondays as he stayed late and did last week’s books at Wild Carl’s House of Good Enough Appliances while watching Monday Night Football in his office. They stayed open until he was done, and kept a staffer out front to handle any inquiries about the large TV in the window, 40 inches, a cathode ray monster that took two men to safely carry, that always caught the eye of a passerby or two curious. Monday night was usually dead, but he had to sit down and do the weekend receipts and there was enough interest in the window beast when the game is on to make it worth staying open.

Sheila didn’t notice the hastily scrawled letter until almost three o’clock. It was on a single sheet of paper folded in half, in a hasty printed scrawl, and it read, “I WANT YOU TO KNOW THS FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. YOUR HUSBAND IS CHEETING ON YOU WITH A YOUNG GIRL WHO COMES AND SEES HIM MONDAY NIGHTS. THEY LOCK IN HIS OFFICE AND PERTEND TO BE DOING BOOKS, BUT YOU CAN HEAR THERE MONES OF PASSION. SHE SCREAMS ‘OH YES OH YES OH YOU ARE SO BIG HARDER HARDER FASTER FASTER OHHH THERE THERE THERE.’ HE LETS OUT A BIG GRONE AND SO DOES SHE AND THEN TEN MINUTES LATER THEY COME OUT ALL A MESS. HE KISSES HER ON THE CHEEK AND SHE LEAVES AND HE CLOSES THE STORE. SIGNED A FRIEND.”

She smiles when reading this. It has to be from Chuck, that new kid Carl hired, he’ll never get anywhere unless he learns to spell. Or is that bad writing deliberate to throw her off? What to do about it?

The phone rings, “Hi, have you got ten minutes?” Troy asks.

“Sure.”

She goes into the washroom to fix her makeup and hair, unbutton the top of her blouse, remove her panties and apply a layer of the magic cream across her pussy lips and around her sphincter. It’s time for a quickie.

She and Carl have had an open relationship for the last few years—it’s kept them together. Still, despite sometimes doing it with him in front of the Egg’s gang, she has been discrete in jumping Troy’s bones when Rose is around home. But summer’s here and there’s lots to do out of the house, so it usually isn’t a problem. At one point Sheila did read Troy the riot act, and now he calls first every time. Two or three afternoons a week. On slow weeks.

There is something special about the hit and run nature of most of their fucks, he’s always made sure to get her off, the ass pump and ‘cilantro’ command guarantees it even if the coitus is not working for her that day. And he’d cum in the crack of dawn.

Today’s afternooner is typical, they kiss and feel each other up, Sheila sucks him to a full erection with her long tongue and they fuck, still mostly clothed, standing with her leaning back against a wall, Troy lifting Sheila under her bottom. When he hasn’t finished after a couple of minutes he turns her around and takes her ass as she bends forward with legs spread. When he feels himself about to cum, he also enters her cunt with a couple of fingers says, ‘seelantro’ and they share an orgasm. He cleans himself off in the washroom and tongue kisses her goodbye, with her getting her extended lingual organ deep into his throat. Usually it takes about ten minutes start to finish, he’s no good at small talk and she doesn’t care. Every once and a while they go at a more relaxed pace, but the quickie is their thing, and both go away feeling satisfied.

Today Troy is on his way to meet the kids in Will’s basement, still the usual hang place for those youngsters who started this all. He’ll probably see Rose there. Sheila wonders what it’s like goofing around with a girl when you’ve just been buggering her mother and having her orgasming all over your hand. Probably pretty sexy, she thinks.

But back to the matter of the note. Vicky is the girl, and Sheila is more amused than any else—she was there when the arrangement was made for Carl to tutor her, after all. And Sheila was worried that Carl may have been paying too much attention to the football game to do a thorough job of it, though is seems like he’s been putting all of his mighty manhood into it and into her. Good for him. Good for her too.

It’s too bad the Egg has restricted sex to the group. Again she thinks it’s pretty clear that the note is from the new night clerk at the store, a tall gangling recent high-school graduate named Charles, called Chuck, whose pimples are starting to clear up. She’s caught him staring at her recently. Carl says he’s good with electronics but hopeless with customers. Sheila’s inclination is to confront the sweet goof and convince him that the only way she can get back at Carl, who really could care less, is to have hot passionate revenge sex, and then drag him to a motel and give his priggish ass the ride of his short life. Probably a virgin for the taking. Who needs to learn about the real world. Hit him like a Mack Truck and leave him wearing nothing but a dazed smile. Well, maybe once the Egg releases us I can, she hopes. Damn controlling alien thing! It was cutting into her sex life!

Vicky was up early and out the door for her class by 8:30, while Andy slept in. Looking in on him as he lay on top of the sheets, she thought, “We really took it out of him yesterday.” He still had a broad smile on his face as he dreamed of tits, tits and more tits. Big tits, small tits, tasty tits tits tits. No time for her to deal with his stiffy, she had to get going.

She’d kept her pledge to finish high school, the reason she’d given up her apartment to move in with Andy, and why she cut her hours at the restaurant to one night a week. But having been out of school a full year, going back full time with all those teenagers didn’t appeal, and she wanted to get through with it quickly. She only needed three credits.

Fortunately she’d found herself eligible for summer courses that took in a mix of adult students getting a certificate, those who’d failed a high school subject that year and needed to make up credits, and the general public looking for a way to improve themselves. At one three hour class a week per credit, graduating was doable in the eight week summer term. Monday mornings was the toughest one, Math for Business, focusing on basic double entry accounting, stock keeping, retail trade standards and even a class or two on employee management. She planned to start helping Andy at his store, which he ran as an employee for his brother and another dentist as some kind of tax shelter, or maybe later start their own place together. At the moment that’d be presumptive, but by doing his books, a chore he hated, she’d get a better idea of what was going on. The Egg had done some fiddling with everyone’s ability to concentrate and basic memory, so the math wasn’t as troublesome as it had been when she was last at school, it wasn’t that she felt smarter, but more like it was easier not to get distracted and remembering the connections between various steps in accounting processes snapped into place now with little dredging of memory.

She liked to get whatever homework there is done quickly while the lesson is still fresh in her mind. She worked on it all afternoon in the library, and then took some time to head to a framer with Andy’s drawing of her. “My boyfriend drew it,” she explained to the woman behind the counter.

“Very nice, he’s very talented. Lucky too,” the framer replied, giving her an appraising look that seemed to strip Vicky as bare as she is in the drawing.

“Thank you,” she says. They discuss frames and mattes and Vicky arranges to pick it up later that week.

Vicky says goodbye and gets, “I hope to see more of you,” in return. This flirting makes Vicky smile as she heads for Wild Carl’s House of Good Enough Appliances. Carl has agreed to look over her homework and let her see how he runs his fairly successful small business.

She stops at Harold Hung’s Fortunate Egg, a Chinese take away on the way, and the irony is too great to ignore, being early for her time with Carl, who is both hairy and hung, and the Egg has given them good fortune, so far, and picks up a selection.

The smell of Sweet and Sour sauce and Foo Yung accompanies her in the door; the store is empty except for Carl who’s reading a catalog behind the counter. “I’m early so I brought dinner. Exam next week and I hope you have some extra time today.”

Chinese food had been banned from home by both his wife and daughter over a year ago, and despite his weight loss, it had never been resurrected. So on seeing Vicky, various parts, not just his dick, react in eager anticipation.

“Ahhh,” he breatheed deeply. “Sure, as long as you need. Let me go get Chuck to watch the front while we eat.”

Carl heads back to the attached repair shop—he finds his employee going through a box of tubes, sorting and testing them. With everything solid state these days, it’s getting harder to service older items, and Carl still has a certain amount of customers with warrantees that need to be taken care of. While off-brand electronics are the bread and butter, Carl also has a sideline in high end stereos and these newfangled Betamax machines coming in from Japan. He knew he’d never compete with Sears, so finding new niche’s all the time was half the game.

“Chuck, take the front.”

Chuck nods and stands up, “Sure boss.” Carl has the odd experience of looking up at the thin young man, he’s got at least three inches on Carl’s goodly height. “Basketball coaches must have salivated to see him,” Carl thinks not for the first time, “until they see him move.” It’s true, Chuck went through a late growth spurt, and a couple of years later hasn’t totally become at ease moving himself around.

“It’s that girl again,” Chuck thinks. “She’s early.”

Carl and the young woman disappear into the office and the door is locked. Chuck doesn’t quite know why he’s angry at her. Probably because she makes him blush, she’s pretty enough and she usually smiles at him and says “Hi” when she passes. She’s a lot smaller than Wild Carl, with a Farrah Fawcett styled hairdo and looks fresh and healthy in her short summer skirt topped by a creamy tan blouse. She’s wearing a backpack and carries a paper bag from a nearby take-out, which fills the store with its aroma.

He tries to tell himself that Mrs. Wild Carl is a nice lady and doesn’t deserve to be cheated on. But in his heart of hearts he knows that’s not it. Mrs. Wild Carl came in the store a few weeks ago in short-shorts and a T-shirt, braless and nipples sticking out, and Chuck just couldn’t get her off his mind. But he didn’t know what to do about it, just thinking about her again has given him a boner. Maybe the note was a mistake—with girls all he ever did was make mistakes, and Mrs. Wild Carl was a woman. Maybe she’d come in here stomping mad and spitting fury. He hoped he didn’t hurt her by telling on them. All he could do for now was monitor the situation. So he popped a single mono earphone in and started listening to what was happening in Wild Carl’s office.

Chuck didn’t have the nerve to appropriate one of the new video cameras and set it in the boss’s room, but he had wired it for sound. Just to make sure that everything was OK. A jack for the flesh colored plastic earpiece was set into the counter near the cash register, and he could pretend it was to a radio if caught.

It started off boring as usual, lots of talk about what she did in school that day-geeze she was just a schoolgirl. Wild Carl grunted and Chuck tried not to focus on the sounds of eating.

Had he set up a camera he’d see Carl at his desk with the cardboard containers in front of him and Vicky sitting on his lap, his legs spread wide, like a secretary in those old cartoons.

When she finishes, he starts explaining in detail how her lesson relates to the real world, and she takes the opportunity to eat. He has one arm around her waist steadying her on his leg. He’s enjoying having her sitting so close, and as they put down the school notebooks, he unbuttons her blouse and then points to his lips. She leans in and gives him a sugary kiss while he reaches into her front and unhooks the bra, feeling each of her boobs in turn. All Chuck hears is some wet slurping sounds which “could be” eating.

Over the weeks they’ve settled into a slow teasing pattern, no sex but lots of rubbing until his work is all done. Vicky gets up and removes her blouse and bra, and helps Carl off with his jacket and shirt. It’s topless accounting next.

Carl gets the receipts, the bank deposit slips, the credit card impressions and new inventory invoices and lays them out on the blotter, pushing the food to the side while Vicky wipes the desk with a dry cloth. She sits back on his lap while he goes through the same routine he’s shown her each and every time. He no longer needs to explain the steps, and her questions on the details have become more perceptive. Last week she actually caught a supplier double charging. Carl had given her an extra special double screwing for that. And he offered her a job too. She declined, but thanked him with some enthusiastic head. Chuck, listening in could only hear the wet slurping and let his imagination run.

Carl wishes that accounting could always be this fun.

Soon they are done, and start to review for her exam. They start by stripping naked and Vicky opens her notes and lays them out. She then straddles Carl, who’s seating again, and puts his huge hard and eager penis into her from behind, so they are both leaning over the desk. She slowly reads aloud the summary for the exam, and Wild Carl listens while slowly stroking in and out of her. Chuck hears the girl, “Liabilities in accounting act in an opposite manner from assets, ugh... yeah, oh there...,” and later, “a single transaction must always consist of at least two parts, a from and a to account. Oh my god, don’t stop...The ‘from’ account is transferring value to the ‘to’ accuunnnt. Faster. Faster,” accompanied by some very masculine grunts and moans, “Deposit Slip, Carl, make a deposit, slip it in now. Deposit. It. Naaaaaw!” and loudly, “Debentures!!!!!”

Chuck is confused by the random combination of Vicky explaining technical accounting and their moans and grunts of passion. What kind of pervert gets off on talking about register receipts and debit entries? That’s just sick.

Wild Carl takes a bit to revive after his first orgasm, and they still have a ways to go. The football game is about to start, but Carl forgets all about it.

Once he’s hard again, Vicky says, “After all, they call it double entry book keeping,” and uses a small jar of the magic cream from her purse to lube his dick and her asshole, and they finish her studying in a similar position, but this time with him firmly implanted up her bum, and soon as they are done her screaming orgasm almost deafens Chuck, who has to rip the earphone out. Chuck is very puzzled by Wild Carl saying “cilantro”. First the getting off doing the books, then hot for cooking herbs. That man is just kinky.

Chuck popped the cassette out of the deck where he’s been recording the whole thing, Maxell Chrome II, not just a cheap type I, and pockets it. Over the next few weeks he’ll listen to it over and over again, trying to unravel the mystery of the words and the actions. He closes his eyes and imagines the action based on the non-verbal sounds he hears, and often finds by the end of the tape there’s a sticky mess in his pants. And years later when Chuck uses Lotus 123 to do his own set of books, he can’t help but remember hearing the two of them going at it as he enters transactions, and gets hard.

The girl comes out of the office and heads to the washroom, and a few seconds Wild Carl comes out as well. “Busy?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“OK, go home, I’ll lock up.”

Chuck gets his jacket and lingers across the street, and watches as Wild Carl and the girl leave, the alarm is set and the door locked. Carl kisses the girl right on the lips, and Chuck snaps some pictures with his wide aperture low-light Nikor lensed Nikon with high speed AGFA black and white film, thinking “Gotcha.” Wait until Mrs. Wild Carl sees these.