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Constant, Part Two
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
CONSTANT.STY
By Friar Dave
(Copyright, 1994)
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What follows is fiction. Hopefully, entertaining and not too heavy-
handed. This work contains heterosexual activity between adult men and
women, and between adults and legal minors. A little same-sex
exploring between some minors. There is absolutely no domination,
submission, violence, piercing or bathroom sports. There's a little
nausea, but not related to the sex. The only drugs are some brew and
some scotch. There's a bit of coercion, but not what you're probably
thinking. If the presence or absence of any of the foregoing is
disturbing to you, don't read this. And please don't inflict it on
those who don't knowingly ask for it. --fd, 10/1/94
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Part Two
CONSTAN2.STY
* * *
"Sure, honey. Want me to keep something warm for you?"
There'd been a time when they'd both chuckled at the double entendre.
Now she just listened to his predictable reply: "No, I'll just order
takeout or something. See you later."
"Later," she echoed.
She looked at the dead phone and hung it up. They were up to twice a
week now -- "working late." Soon there'd be a couple of "business
trips." And then it would taper off pretty quickly. At least he was
discreet.
"But that's the fucking key to it!" she exploded and immediately
calmed herself. Easy, girl. She took the orange juice from the
refrigerator, pouring a big glass.
Her husband had the opportunity to be discreet. He commuted into
Manhattan for work. Once he stepped out of his office, no one knew
him, no one would wonder about him being with a woman, especially --
she was sure -- a younger and prettier one.
Constance didn't have that opportunity. She worked in the town, whose
resident population probably wouldn't fill a single Manhattan block of
office buildings. She was known. She was a school supervisor. She was
not reticent at town meetings. She'd even been interviewed by the
Bergen Record.
She took a long, slow pull on the orange juice.
Plus, she was visible because she was -- face it, kiddo -- sexy as
hell. With her bright red hair and luscious little figure, she was
noticed wherever she went. And if she went wandering off to the
Holiday Inn with some young stud or -- more brazen -- have some
goodlooking fellow come to her house when she was alone, why -- the
horror! She'd heard the rumors about the mousiest and least attractive
of local wives who'd so much as had Larry, the portly, aging mailman
with the sour breath, come in for a cup of coffee. Someone as
attractive as herself dare not even linger at the door for long with
anyone over the age of --
She froze, the glass halfway to the counter.
Why not? she wondered.
* * *
"Sid."
He looked up from the newspaper. His wife was wearing a pair of baggy
short, a baggy top, and still nothing concealed the extra padding. At
37, she looked 10 years older than his own 40. When they'd met, Rose
was a long-legged beauty, a curvy size six with the most luscious tits
and ass he'd ever touched. And from the moment they'd returned from an
admittedly terrific honeymoon cruise, she'd never done a damn thing to
maintain her appearance.
"Sid, you've gotta talk to Ronnie."
She held a laundry sack in one hand.
"Again?"
"Even more. Sid, that kid is going to hurt himself. He must be doing
it every hour on the hour. I can't even get some of the stains out."
He sighed. On one hand, he knew she was right. Not that he would hurt
himself -- that was unlikely -- but he was going to develop a fixation
till the only way he could get off was with his hand.
"I'll talk to him in a little while. Can I help you with the wash?"
"No, that's okay." She turned, then stopped. "Oh, yeah. Constance --
Mrs. McEvoy next door?"
"Mmm -- yeah. What about her?"
"She wants to clean some stuff out of her attic and thought maybe the
kids would like to make a few bucks helping her. I thought that was
pretty sweet of her. She's willing to pay them twenty bucks each for
three hours' work."
"That's nice of her. Nancy has her summer class, though." And he
wondered how Constance the school teacher and school board member had
forgotten Nancy was taking an advanced algebra class at Farleigh-
Dickenson with some other bright overachievers. "I'll talk to Ronnie,"
"You can call her afterward. I'm going to take a nice soak in the
hottub. Maybe you'd like to join me..." She winked. He tried not to
imagine her bulk, naked and bobbing in the hot tub. Constance, on the
other hand...
"I doubt it, dear. I want to finish the plans for the new project."
"Of course; I forgot." She turned again, and again stopped. "And Nancy
is staying over at Lisa's tonight."
"Sure, dear."
She left him to his newspaper and images of Constance, with her lush,
big, pale titties floating in the jets of bubbling water...
* * *
Nervously, Constance twisted at the towel in her pale fingers. Was she
out of her mind? She was planning the seduction of a 12-year-old boy.
She could be ruined if --
But she knew she was safe. The kid would be thrilled and he'd never
tell anyone who'd believe him. And all she'd have to do is look
troubled and deny it like crazy.
Still, what was she --
The jangling of the phone was a shock. "H-hello?"
"Constance, this is Sid -- next door."
"Hi, Sid. How are you?"
"Just fine, thank you. Constance, Ronnie would be thrilled to help you
tomorrow, but Nancy has her summer class in algebra, so she couldn't
come."
Yes, but I could, she thought.
"Of course; how could I be so forgetful? I certainly would appreciate
Ronnie's help, though, if you're sure he wants to come."
She couldn't believe she'd said that."
"He's tickled at the chance to make come money. What time do you want
him?"
Right now, she thought.
"Say, one o'clock?"
"He'll be there. And if you run into anything too heavy, give a ring,
and I'll come by."
"Thanks, Sid, but I'm sure we can manage it."
"Good night."
She hung up the phone, fingers trembling.
Was she out of her mind?
She looked down at the front of her white blouse, saw the nubbins of
her nipples swollen against the fabric. She realized her thighs were
clenched together and rubbing.
What the hell is the matter with me? With all the things I'm involed
in, suddenly I'm thinking about sex all the time.
And then she thought of the boy shaking and shuddering in pleasure.
Ronnie, she told herself, I am going to teach you what that sweet
little-boy dick was designed for.
* * *
"You *saw* him do it? Euuuuwww!" Lisa closed her eyes and shivered for
effect. The two girls then collapsed in giggles.
"It's hard not to see him do it," Nancy said, brushing out her light
brown hair. "I mean, he's doing it all the time. He does it in his
room, in the bathroom, in the hottub -- "
"How do you know?"
"Well, for one thing, you can hear it. For another, sometimes he
doesn't clean up all his stuff. When he did it in the hottub -- "
"Yeah?"
"There was this white stuff still floating in the water." Nancy
switched the brush and began doing the other side. "It was kind of
cute, really."
"That's where you saw him do it?"
"Nahhh." She watched Lisa uncurl from the bed and retrieve a magazine
-- Sassy -- from the dresser. "He was in the rec room watching one of
Dad's tapes."
Lisa stopped and stared. She was standing in front of one of the lamps
and the lightweight summer nightgown -- almost a baby-doll -- was
quite sheer. Nancy could admire her girlfriend's lush figure without
feeling jealous; she had nothing to be ashamed of, herself, especially
since she only 13. Still, Lisa's breasts were awfully pretty.
"You mean -- porno?" Lisa whispered.
"Softcore -- a Playmate video. But he had the old johnson out and was
flogging away. Had no idea I was even in the house." She put the brush
down.
Lisa sat facing her, indian-style. "And it was all hard and
everything?"
"And big -- I mean really big." Nancy held her hand about a foot
apart, the reconsidered and narrowed the space. "And thick. He could
just about get his hand around it."
"Wow."
"My little brother definitely has a magic johnson."
They giggled.
"And he kept grunting and everything until this stuff just came, like,
flying out of it. I mean, it was like a bunch of eruptions. It seemed
to go on for a long time."
"Geez, I wish I had a brother. I'd like to see that, too, but I'm
afraid. You know. Maybe next time I stay over at your house I'll get
to see it."
"All you have to do is flash those boobies of yours at him and he'll
be flagging the bone in no time. He's always staring at them. Of
course, he's always staring at mine, too. Heck, he gets a hard-on
looking at pears in the supermarket!"
More giggles.
"I wonder what it feels like," Lisa mused.
"It feels hard and hot and kind of soft, too -- and it throbs."
Lisa's mouth fell open. "You don't mean you and -- your brother -- you
-- "
"Not my brother," Nancy said.
"Then who, girl?" Lisa demanded, grabbing Nancy's shoulders.
"Well, there's this guy at Farleigh, an older guy, like about 16. And,
well, sometimes on break we go out by the stadium and, you know, fool
around."
"And? And?"
"Well, a couple of times we've gotten kind of hot and heavy into it,
like, and -- well, I could always feel this hard *thing* pushing
against me. So one time he put my hand on it through his pants. And I
asked him if i could take it out. I thought he was going to worship
me!"
"Is he cute?"
"He's okay, maybe a little geeky, but he's really smart and really
nice." She reached for the Sassy.
"So?"
"Oh, well, he unzipped and brought this nice hard thingy out. It
looked like my brother's, but not nearly as big and scary looking, So
I put my hand on it and he put his hand on mind and showed me how to
do it."
"And -- his stuff came out."
"In about thirty seconds. And it was all over the place. I thought I
cleaned it all off with some tissue, but on the way to class I saw
some on my sleeve and licked it off."
"Euuwwwwww! That's gross!"
Nancy shook her head. "No, not really. It was kinda salty, and a
little gamy -- but not bad at all."
Lisa looked unsure. "Well, did you let him, uh, do anything for you?"
"Sometimes we have enough time and he'll kiss and suck my nipples, and
every now and then he gets his hand in my panties, but he doesn't
really know what to do or where to touch. If we get the chance, I'll
show him."
"You liked it?"
Nancy closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. "When he's sucking my
nipples, sometimes I almost get off..."
Lisa's prolonged silence prompted Nancy's eyelids up. She found her
friend looking morose.
"What?"
"I, uh..." Mummble-mumble-mumble.
"Huh?
"I wish I -- nothing."
However, Nancy was, as noted, very bright.
"Lisa?"
"Mmm?"
"I can show you what it feels like."
Lisa shifted uncomfortably, nervously, when she realized what her best
friend was saying. "That'd be like dykes..."
"Crap."
"But -- "
"But nothing. Wouldn't you rather have a guy doing it?"
Lisa shrugged, her tits jiggling perkily inside the nightgown. "Well,
sure, but -- "
"And didn't we tongue kiss like two years ago to see what it was
like?"
"It was sloppy was what it was like," Lisa said, but then,
thoughtfully, added: "And kinda nice."
Nancy chuckled. "Well, this might be the same thing."
Lisa raised her gaze to meet her pretty friend's. "You -- you really
don't mind?"
Nancy moved slowly forward onto all fours, a small smile forming on
her small mouth as she noted Lisa's nipples swollen inside the night
gown. Like a stalking cat, she oozed forward and pushed her friend
slowly and not unwillingly onto her back and began raising the hem of
Lisa's baby-doll top.
"Mind?" Nancy echoed. "Actually, I'm kind of curious to find out what
it's like to be the sucker instead of the suckee..." She pulled the
top off Lisa, then ducked her head, licking her girlfriend's throat
and then bringing her tongue down to the rounded, pear-like orbs of
14-year-old breasts. She moved her mouth slowly, gently, around and
around, enjoying the softness and warmth, the gentle curves and rich
firmness. And when her lips finally found and fastened to Lisa's
nipple, Nancy sighed happily; this was *nice*...
Lisa moaned and began running her hands over Nancy's recently brushed
hair as she let the pleasures and security of being with her best
friend take her to new places...
* * *
Ten minutes. Constance was quite sure the clock had stopped. It had
read ten to one for about four hours, it seemed. Maybe she should pour
herself another OJ with just a little spritz of gin.
Ponderously, the minute hand ticked slowly forward. Nine minutes.
Outside the kitchen window, the thermometer was already somewhere
around 95, and still not a cloud in sight. A water alert was being
declared. Hot, inside and out, she thought.
This is the weather that makes people do crazy things, she thought.
No, it isn't, she replied. You know exactly what you're doing.
She stopped her pacing, strode quickly to the bathroom. She checked
herself in the full length mirror inside the door.
Do I look like I mean business?
Depends on the business, she told herself.
Move stuff out of the attic. That's what she'd said she needed the
help with. Which meant crawling and crouching in a dusty space with a
low ceiling. Dirty work. So why wasn't she wearing jeans, to protect
her knees, instead of the old, tight cutoffs? Why braless in one of
Jack's old shirts with the tails tied high around her midriff? Why a
ponytail instead of a scarf?
It'll never occur to him to ask, she assured herself.
She returned to the kitchen. Seven minutes. Still time to call it off.
No!
Maybe, she thought, she should confront Jack -- and then suggest that
they make it a threesome. He'd hinted at it often enough, and she
wondered now if it might not be just the right thing for them. After
all, she wasn't repulsed by the idea. In fact, sometimes she
fantasized about it, recalling Amy, her roommate on the group tour
through France and Italy during her junior summer. Yes, that was
wonderful...
She found herself almost unconsciously rubbing her mound through the
old, tight jeans, felt the pressure and warmth and need growing.
The doorbell sounded like Big Ben.
Constance froze. This was it. Now or never. Do and die...no, no, no --
do *or* die.
She thawed from her cunt outward. She was just beginning to move when
the bell rang again. "Coming!" she yelled and almost burst into
nervous laughter. Well, not quite, she thought.
He was right there when she opened the door. Maybe two or three inches
taller than she, all bursting with youth and vigor and vitality and
guileless impulses...
...and boyish semen...
...and whatever fine 12-year-old fantasies he had masked behind
his easy smile and friendly, respectful charm.
"Hi, Mrs. McEvoy -- is everything okay? I mean I can come back another
time."
She shook her head, reached for the door, noted his long=sleeved
shirt, the bandana around his forehead, the work gloves in his hand,
the old jeans...so well-filled.
"No, no -- this is fine."
"Are you sure? You look a little red."
The red grew more than a little. "Come on in, and we'll get to work."
"Okay!" He followed her to the dropdown ladder to the attic. She
tugged the cord and the trapdoor opened, the steps unfolded. The heat
welled down onto her face and neck.
She could feel his eyes on her ass, on the bare flesh of her back
above it, on the place where the buttons were undone on the blouse.
She could feel his youth and vitality throbbing behind her.
"Gee, Mrs. McEvoy, maybe you should get something else to wear since
the attic will be dusty."
"Uh...I actually didn't think -- "
"That's why my dad told me to wear this hot stuff."
"I see." She made a show of thinking it over. "Well, I figured it's
going to be hot up there. I mean, I can always take a shower to wash
off dirt."
He bobbed his head. "Yeah!"
She swallowed. "Well, up we go -- follow me." She grasped the wooden
steps and started climbing. She knew he was looking up. She could feel
his gaze. Or maybe it was just the crotch seam of the tight cutoffs.
* * *
Jack McEvoy frowned listening to his voicemail. Mei's voice,
trembling. Commack, the CEO, wanted to see him as soon as he'd
returned. Jack deleted the message and headed for the executive suite.
All along the way, he was trying to review his work, to see if he'd
screwed the pooch. Nothing came to mind.
Of course, there was always the other possibility -- that this was not
a chewing out. He had, after all led the top sales team for five
consecutive months and two of the last three years.
He entered the reception room. Mei looked up from her console. She was
wearing that damn burgundy cheong sam, the one that clung to every
lovely inch of her while revealing none of her, the one that set such
a stunning contrast to her raven hair -- especially when her hair was
draped in a loose fall over one shoulder, the one that would tantalize
with a flashing glimpse of one long leg all the way to mid-thigh with
every stride. He suddenly suspected he was going to be working late
again.
Easy, boy, he told himself. Focus on the moment.
And it was too easy to forget how sharp her mind was when she looked
so alluring.
"Mr. Commack wanted to see me."
She nodded. "A moment." She pressed buttons, murmured into her headset
with it's all-but-invisible mike, listened, murmured again. Then she
removed the headset and stood. She was wearing her high heels, making
her all the more lissome and undeniable. "Follow me, please."
"Anywhere," he murmured, enjoying the touch of color in her cheeks.
She opened the door to the Throne Room. He stepped past her. Commack
sat his desk, immaculate with Armani suit, his manicured hands, his
Calvin Klein tie, his private-barbered steel gray hair combed straight
back to frame a square, tanned, leathered face.
"Please stay, Miss Fong. Close the door."
That gave Jack pause.
"You wanted to see me."
"I'm well aware of that." As if Jack had insulted him. "Mr. McEvoy, we
have a situation on our hands."
"Sir?"
"Miss Fong has given her notice." He paused.
Jack waited. Jack could be a very patient man.
Well, not *that* patient, "And you wanted to see me because -- ?"
"Because she's going back to her family. To have a baby."
Jack felt a rush of coldness through his veins. Too many unknowns were
at work here.
Behind him, Mei sniffled. "Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry. I lied. I was never
on the pill..."
He turned to stare at her for a moment. Pieces were clicking into
place. Who was behind this? Capitano? He was the likeliest. The horny
sonofabitch had never made a secret of envying Jack his position, his
ability as a manager, his lovely wife -- nor had he been discreet in
condemning Jack for his success in philandering.
"...and I know I could never expect you to leave your wife..."
And it might have been Cho, in MIS, who'd been cold and even downright
nasty to Jack since about the second time he and Mei had slipped away
for a nooner.
"...and I wouldn't ask you to and besides, I've met the most wonderful
man, who doesn't care about a baby belonging to someone else..."
Jack wheeled slowly around to face Commack. Who looked smug. Commack
was fond of dropping pointed hints that he never wanted to catch
anyone boffing "his girls."
"You believe this?"
"I got the hotel receipts." He took a pile of slips from a desk drawer
and ceremoniously dropped them in an ominous pile on his compulsively
clear desktop.
"I admire the kind of man who takes the committed approach, Mr. McEvoy
-- the kind of man who keeps his word. The kind of man who learns his
girlfriend has not only been unfaithful, but is carrying another man's
child...and proposes to her. That's the kind of man I want as my vice
president of sales. He may not be the most skilled or successful sales
manager, but at least I can trust Dominick Capitano."
"I see. And you think Mei's carrying my child."
Commack reddened. "I'm sure of it. She's at least honest enough to
admit she lied. Do the right thing -- admit your deed, forgive her,
resign and clean out your desk."
"My deed?"
"Your -- your responsibility for her condition."
"It's not my loaf in her oven."
Commack jerked to his feet. "She's *admitted* she's not -- "
"I had a vasectomy eight years ago."
Commack went gray in the face.
"Right after Constance had the miscarriage. The OB/GYN said any
pregnancy would endanger her -- any. So I opted for a vasectomy rather
than ask her to go on the pill or go through other procedures. It
seemed like I had to take some responsibility." He turned to Mei, who
had never looked paler or less healthy. "So if you're carrying my kid,
you must have broken into the sperm bank."
He turned back to Commack. "And I'm not about to resign, even though
you took the unsubstantiated word of a secretary's without so much as
asking me if it could be true." The numbness was slipping away; Jack
was trembling -- with fury. "No -- you're going to have to fire me and
face the messiest lawsuit you can imagine...or buy me out.
Generously."
"I-- I--"
"Be a great case. We'll do DNA tests on the infant -- and me. And
maybe her loyal fiancee, Mr. Dominick Can't Add Capitano."
And then something else occurred to him.
"Who else might we test, Mr. Commack?"
The man went positively white.
"Well? Do we have an arrangement?"
"Yes, yes...I'll have the papers drawn up and forwarded to you as soon
as possible and -- "
"As soon as possible is right fucking now."
Commack began to pant.
"Jefferson, your pills!" Mei squealed, and ran to Commack's side.
So that's what the "J" in "J.T. Commack" stood for, he thought. "Don't
die before you sign," Jack muttered, going to the phone and dialing
the corporate counsel's office.
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More in a coupla-three days. All comments and criticisms welcomed via
Email or posts (but please post only in .alt.sex.story.DISCUSS).
Sorry, but I can't Email sections. The folks giving me access have to
pay by the pound for their traffic, and they're just a small group,
not some big, well-funded organization.
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... ``We'll decide what's safe for you to read, see, think...''
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
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