New Girl At Club Naw-Tee Ch. 05

I'd never had visitors before, but I was sure this was not the way to the visitation area. The footsteps of my escorts along with my shackled shuffles echoed in the long hall, a long stumbling walk from the block I'd known for the past six years. I didn't like this at all; the whole thing was starting to seem like a great way to get offed.

Lizard Brain was rapidly running through possible self-defense scenarios, none of which seemed likely to succeed, as Forebrain tried to calculate who I'd pissed off lately. Nobody I could think of; the money that appeared every month in my commissary account almost all went towards keeping various gang leaders off my back, and I thought I'd been pretty scrupulous about avoiding schemes and drama. Prison was tough enough without the hassles.

I brought my cuffed hands to my face and scratched nervously. "Hey boss, where we headed?" I'd long gotten over the bile in my throat from having to call these dickheads 'boss,' another tool employed to keep my head down in here.

"Shut up," Richardson barked. I was fairly certain that if you looked up 'Napoleon Complex' in the encyclopedia you'd find his picture; the kind of asshole that seemed to enjoy trashing my cell in contraband searches. Not that joy seemed an emotion he was capable of at all. He never found anything I wasn't supposed to have - drama avoidance - but the short little fuck liked reminding prisoners that he was the one in control. The way the gangs ran their business, I knew he was fooling himself, but I wasn't gonna be the one to tell him.

The hall ended with a door on the left, labeled with stencil: CONJUGAL. What the fuck? Lizard Brain was loud in my head now, yelling about assassination, murder, imminent death. Forebrain just tried to will my body to stop shaking as a guard I didn't know (another bad sign, Lizard Brain screamed) unlocked the door, waving me through. My eyes darted between the guards' faces, looking for signs of satisfaction, deception, anything; but all registered the same bored tension as always.

I sighed; if this was the end, it would probably be quick, if painful. I'd had a decent life, certainly not starved of pussy until I'd gotten here. Resigned to my fate, I shuffled on until they stopped me at the door labeled #2. As Richardson unlocked the door, the others removed my leg and wrist shackles. I tried to remain still and tense, waiting for the knife.

"Two hours, convict," Richardson muttered, gesturing me into the room beyond. "Have fun." He had a perverted leer on his face as he gave an exaggerated wink in response to my confused stare. I knew better than to hesitate too long with these inbreds, so with halting steps I walked in. The door slammed shut, the lock re-engaged with a loud clack, and again I wondered what the hell was going on.

The room was like a small hotel suite, if an industrial one. Two bolted-down steel chairs at a small table, near a queen-size bed covered by a once-white sheet, four plastic pillows at the head; a toilet, steel sink and faux-mirror in a far corner. The smell of mold and cheap cleaning agents wasn't overwhelming, but strong. Unlike every other portal in this goddamn place, there was no window in the door. I looked about for the ever-present security camera, but saw none, which made sense; just about every place here was well covered by security, best to murder me somewhere private.

I sat on the edge of the bed facing the door, closed my eyes, and tried to meditate. I'd gotten pretty good at it - beat the shit out of boredom, and probably helpful for my drug-damaged ticker - but now inner peace escaped me. My confusion as to the current situation was turning into certainty that these were my final minutes on Earth, and I was out of ideas, other than wondering if the plastic pillows were hard enough to hurt an attacker.

Minutes passed at a glacial pace as I tried to regulate my breathing and relax. After several eternities I heard the lock click, my eyes snapping open. I grit my teeth, clenched my fists, and braced myself for death. But I was unprepared for what walked in.

"Hello, Zack," she said softly, a guard pushing the door shut behind her. She was dressed in a manner I couldn't have imagined her in before: her auburn hair in a tight bun, curvaceous form encased in a tan blazer and matching knee-length skirt over a crisp white button-down shirt, holding a dark brown briefcase. Despite their being mostly obscured by her professional garb, my sex-starved mind had had plenty of time to remember those curves.

The years since she'd given me the greatest lapdance mortal man had ever known, had changed her face only a little. She wouldn't be mistaken for eighteen again; my guess was twenty-nine or thirty. Still a beauty though, perhaps the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. Certainly one of the last I'd ever seen. She blinked at me from behind wireframed lenses as I gaped at her.

My mouth opened and closed itself repeatedly as words failed to come. On her lips flashed an almost-sad, almost-pitying half-smile that started to make me angry; she must have sensed that, allowing her face to go slack. We stared at each other for another few moments, before she walked to the table, placing her briefcase there before turning to me once more. We continued to say nothing for a long time.

Thoughts of her had long plagued me during my imprisonment. The last thing I remembered about our hours together was one last drink of my excellent whiskey before leaving the club; the first intact memory after, a hell of a lot of DEA goons sticking guns in my hungover face. Sometimes in dreams or meditation little flashes of those forgotten hours would leap out like glitches in the system: stumbling out of the car, opening my safe, being guided to bed, her hand stroking my hair as I tried to compose poetry about her mind and body.

My lawyer said it sounded like midazolam, rohypnol, or maybe scopolamine, some kind of heavy amnesic. But, he implored, the amount of uncut cocaine in my wide-open safe rendered that incredibly irrelevant. I should consider myself lucky, he'd told me. Supposedly there were inklings of a two-year investigation into not only felony trafficking but first-degree murder, RICO, multiple rapes - which was absolute bullshit, sex by force being not my jam in any way. Irrelevant, he'd repeated; though the investigation had been "botched at the end somehow" as he put it, my options were quite limited. Especially considering my frozen accounts, and his working off the last of my retainer. If I didn't want to die in prison, I needed to plead guilty and turn in all associates.

I agreed to the former, but not the latter, which given the nature of said associates would've been a death sentence itself. That refusal plus all the coke - which is all they ended up being able to pin on me -- added up to, according to the jerkface judge, thirty years without parole. Pushing sixty now, I would indeed probably die behind these walls. Now I was staring at the woman instrumental in putting me here, with no idea what to say.

"You look good, Zack," she said finally. "In a lot better shape."

"Prison food and calisthenics'll do that," I muttered back, though it was true: I was in the best shape of my life, due to boredom and desire for self-preservation.

"I bet," she nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

Finally words came to me. "There a reason for, this?" I gestured at the suite. "You couldn't visit like a normal person?"

"No, I couldn't," she replied evenly. "Visitation has cameras. Recording devices. Our conversation can't be recorded." She paused, then added, "This was incredibly expensive and difficult to arrange, yes. But hopefully worth it. To both of us." She turned toward the briefcase again, opening it and removing a legal pad, which she dropped paper-down on the table before turning back to me, hands on her wide, flaring hips. Even dressed professionally she was still the sexiest woman I'd ever met. Not that I had anything to compare to, these days.

"You know my name now, huh. What's your real name, anyway? Not 'Candy,' or 'Jennifer,' surely."

She seemed to consider for a moment. "Mariah, Mariah Moore," she answered.

"Show me I. D."

Her face fell. "I. D.'s fake. I don't want my real name on your visitation list. The one I have is for Candace Theresa Nought."

"Ha!" I couldn't help laughing at her inside joke, but my sour mood didn't dissipate. "Mariah, huh. As in, Mariah is a lie-ah," I spat.

She nodded once more. "I deserve that, okay," she said quietly. "We worked for a long time to bring you down. The stories they told about you made breaking you seem important. Some of those stories, I'm pretty sure they were true. Other ones, I'm not so sure. But," she said with a sad sigh, "None of that matters anymore."

My brow furrowed. "So explain to me why a DEA agent -"

"Former," she interrupted. "Former DEA agent."

"Former?"

"Yeah," she grumbled bitterly. "Funny how the DEA isn't so fond of their agents getting posted to tube sites giving titjobs and snorting yay."

The light was starting to dawn; I'd had suspicions, but this made sense. "Botched investigation," my mouth said, my brain reeling.

"Uh huh," she agreed, nodding. "I knew it was toast when I saw all those phones aimed at me after 'Night Prowler'" - gods, what a memory that was, even tainted by betrayal - "and well, I tried to salvage it the best I could. You were our prime target, but they were hoping to round up your supplier and your partner. Instead I had to act fast, get you doped, get your stash open, and --"

"That's truly fucking fascinating," I snarled. "But let me start over. Explain to me why a former DEA agent would arrange a 'conjugal,'" the word twisted as I said it, "with her prime target." My words were quick and angry. "I could kill you in here, you know that, right?" I lied.

"But you won't," she frowned. "You wanna know why I'm here." She turned back to the briefcase and reached inside to its bottom; with a click a hidden compartment sprang open. Then a flask was in her hand, from which she quickly took two quick gulps before setting it on the table. "I took a big risk coming in here with this, but I wanted you to know I was serious. I have a proposal." She turned back to me and extended her left hand, which held a thumb drive with a large letter Z.

"That's... my log," I croaked.

"That's what you told me," she agreed. "The 'key to everything,' you said." She dropped the drive on the table. "I have a proposal," she repeated, "and a peace offering." She extended her right hand and opened her fist, revealing what sure looked like a baggie containing about two grams of white powder.

Instantly my mouth watered. I had always passed on any of the trash that passed for drugs in this hole - again, drama avoidance - and despite my one-time insistence that I could give it up whenever I wanted, my body was vibrating just looking at it. But I forced myself to shake my head. "That's fentanyl," I retorted, "or heroin, or more of whatever it was you gave me that night." I was half-sure I was wrong with those words, but there's no way. "Fuck you."

She said nothing, rounding the table to sit in the chair facing me. Reaching into the case again, she withdrew a business card and two straws, then proceeded to dump some of - a lot of - the powder onto the back of the legal pad. "I don't indulge all that often anymore," she said conversationally, carding the pile into four lines. "But it's a special occasion, and like I said, peace offering." With practiced ease she leaned in and quickly sniffed up a line. "Whew!" she exclaimed, pinching her nose. "It's not as good as yours was for sure, but it's cocaine. Fuck you," she added with a grin, holding the other straw out to me.

Jesus fuck, the surprises of this day were just not going to end. I got up slowly and deliberately, fighting the urge to sprint the three steps to the table, and sat in the other steel chair. "You know, I always told myself I would say this to you, if I ever saw you again." Taking the straw and pulling the pad toward me, I snorted one of the long lines, the familiar wonderful rush of flake flooding my brain all at once. I closed my eyes and savored for a moment.

"That night, you said I was gonna fuck you." I switched nostrils and snuffed another rail. "But you were the one that fucked me." I had repeated that line to myself so many times; but hearing the words, not nearly as badass as they sounded in my head, made me cringe internally. Disguising my embarrassment I tilted my head back, squeezed my nose tight and let the drip ooze into my throat, before grabbing the flask and helping myself. Bourbon: Wild Turkey, I guessed.

"It was my job," she answered, the C making her babble speedily. "I trained hard for it. I thought I was doing something, I dunno, important. And I fucked up, got kicked out. Then all those things that seemed important... weren't, anymore." She pulled the pad back toward her and quickly horked her second line of blow.

"Nothing you told me that night was the truth, I'm assuming."

She chortled. "Of course not. I was no virgin, but I wasn't the suck-slut queen of Nebraska either. Just naturally talented." There was that sexy smile again, and there's my heart going bye-bye again. Lizard Brain grabbed it and nailed it back in place, for which I thanked him. "I mean, my daddy was a sexist pig, that part was true. But that's about it. Here's the true story."

She was jabbering and oversharing in the freshly-gakked manner I used to know well, but I didn't mind. Being in her presence, hearing the maybe-true details of her life, was almost as intoxicating as the blow. "I graduated early from high school, scored a scholarship to USC, studied my ass off -"

"Your ass was bigger before? Jesus Christ, lady."

"Ha-ha," she sneered before continuing. "Masters in crim-justice at twenty, state trooper for three years, then the DEA recruited me. Especially for you. They'd already been tracking you a few months by then, and thought I'd have a great chance at getting to you."

"They weren't wrong, huh." I let my eyes travel her lovely form again; the blazer and dress shirt did nothing to disguise her bulky rack, though she didn't look the part of sexpot at all. She watched me ogle, the grin never leaving her face. The woman knew her business, for sure. "But I'm guessing on the fast-track they left out a few things about proper etiquette around your mark."

"I guess so," she agreed, regret in her voice. "Went to shit, quick. And definitely my fault. I didn't contest my dismissal at all. But, eh," she shrugged as she retrieved the flask, "life goes on. There are law schools that don't give a fuck who fired you, if you can pay tuition." Another couple gulps, before she capped the flask again and shoved it towards me.

"None of 'em cheap, though," I countered. "How'd you pay for it?"

She grinned. "Three guesses. First two don't count."

I boggled for a moment before the answer hit me like a brick. "Stripping?"

"Give the man a prize." She raised up, lifted her arms straight above her head, and twisted a bit. She knows what her body does to you, be careful, said Forebrain. I didn't have the energy to tell it to shut the fuck up, as all my blood was moving elsewhere.

"I got the taste for it, I'm good at it. Didn't indulge too much in," and she lowered her arms, gesturing at the baggie. I waggled my eyebrows a bit, darting my eyes between her and the powder; she took the hint, and dumped out a bit more before pushing the pad towards me. I scraped it into lines as she continued. "Even after a couple years in corporate law, I do tours now and then, just to keep my hand in. My tits in," she giggled, then turned serious again. "Plus I, uh... Since I'm being completely honest, fuck it. I had a few sugar daddies."

I looked up from the white to stare at her again. "That's a pretty big leap from agent to quasi-prostitute," I marveled, before zipping a healthy line, then pushing the pad back toward her. "Risky for the state bar, too."

She winced at being called a whore. I felt a little bad, but tried not to let it show. "Yeah, well, none of them knew my real name. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I do know how to be discreet. It kept me in law school, and besides that, smart guy," she picked up her straw, "I don't hear you complaining about the money in your commissary."

The words 'taken aback' can't convey my shock as she sniffed up the toot. "That was you?" When the money had first made its debut almost four years ago, I'd assumed it was my former partner De'von or perhaps my southern associates throwing me a bone for keeping quiet. But this revelation was a mindblower. My coke-speedy mind tried the math. "That's like... Thirty thousand dollars."

"Thirty-three," she corrected me with a sly smirk. "Consider it an investment. I knew I was gonna see you again, with," she tapped her finger on the thumb drive, "a proposal."

I was starting to see where this was going. "Couldn't break the encryption."

"Didn't try," she replied steadily. "Too risky, nobody I trusted enough. I've never plugged it in to any machine, anywhere." She leaned toward me, her gaze level. "I know you know what I'm gonna say. I can read it all over your face." Dammit, this woman was too smart for her own good. For my own good.

I shook my head. "They'd kill you, just for contacting them."

"Not if you vouch for me."

My eyes narrowed. "I have zero reason to do that. Generous commissary donations or no, I'm in prison."

Leaning back, she cocked her head to the side. "What if you weren't?"

I threw my hands up in frustration. "What if butterflies flew out of my ass? What if a meteor the size of Texas is due to hit us tomorrow? What if Fuckin' Todd hadn't've played that song?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "Ah, Fuckin' Todd, that greaseball. I had a feeling you'd wanna know: he's dead."

"No shit. How'd he go?"

"He got rapey with one of the girls. She stabbed him."

"Good for her." I grabbed the flask and took a big sip, rolling it around my tongue before swallowing. "My point stands: we can sit here and say 'what if' until the cows come home. I don't see me getting out of here."

"There are a lot of issues with your case," she countered. "Improper search and seizure's just the beginning. The money we'd make would go for a new attorney who could test that out. Or, since we already know the warden's willing to take a bribe," she reasoned as a smile crept in, "we could work towards getting you released early. I've seen the news, this place is overcrowded already, and our 'tough-on-crime' governor will probably make that even worse. First offense, non-violent... I like the odds."

Forebrain wanted to pipe in with 'don't give me hope,' but I clamped down and didn't reply as my gaze shifted to my old thumb drive. I'd no idea what I told her that night, but she wasn't wrong about it being the key to unlock everything about my old operation. It held contacts, drop email addresses, smuggling routes, alternate identities, financials for accounts I couldn't reach in here, even some blackmail on influential law enforcement.

"Why'd you steal it, anyway? That's evidence that might've kept you from getting shitcanned."

"I... wish I had a real answer for you," she breathed, her eyes downcast. "I knew I'd fucked the whole thing by then. I dunno, maybe I thought I could turn it in later. Maybe I was thinking ahead and already planning this moment, here with you."

I'm no computer nerd, but I did know it would take a team of supercomputers several million or billion years to crack the drive's encryption, if they managed to bypass the self-destruct. There were two codes for it: one would access the data, the other would scramble the encryption before starting a secure wipe. There was a lot of temptation to give her the latter and be done with this, an idea Lizard Brain was pushing hard. She watched me think for a minute, then continued her argument.

"I'm the kind of partner you need," she oozed, her voice low and husky. She ticked off points on well-manicured fingers. "Trained by two flavors of L-E, one of which taught me what they're looking for and what to avoid. I don't scare easy and my bullet grouping is tight, like my pussy." Quick grin and she poked her tongue out at me, before going serious again. "Nobody suspects women half as much. And I know you know I'm no dummy. Besides," she bit her lip. "I'm... really ready to stop being a whore. I'm eager to be a one-man girl. Your girl."

My eyes jerked back to hers. Mariah the Lie-ah, Lizard brain whispered on repeat, despite my attempts to silence it. "What..." Between the coke and the woman before me, my brain was having trouble. Stripperitis, came the scream from Lizard brain in between the sing-song of Lie-ah, Lie-ah... I shut my eyes hard and shook him quiet. "What makes you think I'd want that?"

She stood up. "Now who's the liar," she whispered, and I was looking before I could stop. She shrugged off the blazer. "All I could get was two hours. We don't have a lot of time left." She bent forward, her hands on the table; her heavy breasts hung against the dress shirt. I gulped. "I'm a better dancer now," she smirked, and I was pretty goddamn sure that much was true. "I really want to show you how far I've come..."

My heart was beating loud in my ears. "Unfair," I rasped, "to do this to a man locked up for the rest of his days."

She scowled. "Weren't you listening? I want you out of here. I'm persistent. I'll make it happen." She rose up and put her hands on those curvy hips again. "Look, time's a-wasting. Get on the bed. Watch me get naked. Get some stroke material for the few long nights left before I get you free."

She's got a great point there, muttered Forebrain, and it was right. I stood and backed into the bed without thinking, plopping down as the smirk widened into that full-on million-dollar job she did, before she pulled her phone from the blazer.

"Answer me this, honey," she oozed as she paged through her phone a bit. "Are you hard yet?"

"... A little." My abuse of erection pills, and their stoppage, hadn't done good things for pecker or ticker. I could still get a hard-on when I really tried, but in here? Not that often was I trying.

"Can I watch you get hard, baby?" She'd dropped the phone on the table, and was batting her eyelashes my way quite shamelessly. "I just wanna watch it happen. I get to feel it happening plenty, but to watch it, that's what I've been hoping for,, from you." She sighed prettily. "How about it, hmm?" She unpinned her bun, and her hair fell around her face like soft rain on a summer day.

I just stared. It really felt like she was overselling a con, twisting just a little too hard. On the other hand, the cheap jumpsuit pants were on the ground already. How about that.

"Thank you, dear," the saccharine dripped off her words, but I didn't care. With an exaggerated slow motion dip, she pressed play on her phone, and began sauntering over, her fingers expertly disengaging button after button of her shirt. The bass thumped slow and low, as I realized the lyrics matched Hot Chocolate's "You Sexy Thing," but the singer, high and whispery, took them incredibly seriously.

She swayed and tossed her hair. With expert ease she flicked the last buttons on the shirt quickly, smoothly, rolling her head in a slow circle, her body gently swaying. She lolled forward a bit and looked at my cock, which was somehow beginning to show signs of life. Somehow? Don't be stupid, muttered Forebrain. I had the most beautiful woman taking her clothes off in front of me, slowly, one who lazily brought her eyes to mine, and beamed at me for a beat before turning away. Gosh she was pretty.

Pushing her ass toward me, she drew the shirt down her back, sliding her arms from the sleeves one by one. The back of her bra looked like a series of simple ribbons around her shoulders and torso, but I knew it had to be well engineered for her prodigious gifts.

The shirt off and dropped to the floor, she reached back quick to slap her asscheeks through the skirt, loud enough to hear outside, with a pout at me over her shoulder. "Unzip that for me, wouldja mister?"

I groaned. I'm pretty sure I was done for at this point, it was all just perfunctory now, just hand her my balls and be done. I gulped and reached to the zipper holding the skirt. It slid down her body easily.

"Shit, I knew I forgot something today," she whispered, pushing her naked ass back into my face. "No wonder I felt chilly..." Her hands once again slapped her now-naked cheeks, bright red marks appearing quickly. "I've been so bad, mister..." She grabbed and spread her bodacious booty, pushing her sex against my face with a graceful urgency, making me gasp.

"Now we're getting somewhere," she moaned, gazing at my dick. "He's waking up. Guess he remembers me, huh?"

Gently pulling away she rose to her full height, stepping out of the skirt and kicking it to the side. The over-the-shoulder pout returned as she twisted before me. The look of the bra, thick black ribbons, continued in the front with fabric looped around her mountainous mamm's in exquisite spirals. It pushed the flesh up and together deliciously, and she knew it, said the look on her face as her hands roamed up and down her torso.

Despite getting dances from women throughout the last few decades of my life, I felt incredibly... bizarre, out of my element, lacking control in any shape or form. A sense of doom that just wouldn't go away. My heartbeat in my cock was loud, clanging.

The garter around her waist, snapped to her thigh-highs with that same sexy ribbon look, accentuated the flare of her hips as it drew beautiful lines down her long legs. She squatted and rose in front of me, letting physics do a lot of work, her bosom bouncing and rolling like the sea, before slowing to a more languid flow. "I remember telling you I was having the greatest night of my life," she groaned, lifting a leg and standing. I remember how graceful she could be. "That part, that wasn't a lie."

"You... you're just shitting... shitting me," I wheezed. Bloodflow to brain not so great, all in cock.

"Fuck, no I'm not," the pout returned. "Discovering I really like getting naked, for money? Discovering coke? From you, this sexy mysterious older rich guy, that I thought I was about to arrest in a bust that would make my career? At that moment, that was the greatest fucking night of my life, mister, no shit." She spun and leaned back against me, pushing out her chest in front of us like a painting, a rolling twisting panting ah god it's hot in here.

"Maybe I kept the drive because I wanted to make it up to you," she whisper-moaned, her hands moving to stroke her nipples through the material. "Maybe I realized I wanted to be your girl. Your slut. Your whore. Your partner. Yours," she whimpered, pinching hard.

The song changed with a thump, and then I heard the soft guitar I instantly knew from the last song on Lizzo's masterpiece. She stood and turned fast, and looked me right in the eye as recognition hit; we shared a smile. I let that fishhook get nice and set in my mouth, was the image Lizard Brain lit up.

As Lizzo wondered when her lover would come by, my succubus reached behind and flicked at the science holding her bra in place. Turning toward me slow, she leaned forward, and allowed it to slip and fall off, as she winked lewdly. "Touch me," she mouthed, and my hands were on her fast but gently, stroking and caressing in worship. She smiled and cooed as I pawed at her, before she took my hands in hers. Leaning forward, she batted her heavy hanging flesh against my hard cock as I gasped and groaned.

"This is what I wanna do, y'know... Lounge around in my lingerie, prepared for you, just in case..." She pushed me to my back with a firm insistence, though I didn't resist at all. Climbing onto the bed, I found myself forcefully straddled. The large globes of her ass had my cock wedged between, and she was twisting and turning against it with that same determination, gazing down at me through half-lidded eyes. Lizzo's chords were changing to that higher pitch, her flute all fluttery and floating like I was.

"I'm sorry I fucked you, mister," her soft moan floated down at me. "Can I fuck you, mister?" Her asscheeks squeezed hard around my dick so hard I saw stars, as her hands came to her nipples. Those expensive nails grasped her nips and lifted a little bit, causing a loud grunt of pleasure.

"Fuck yeah," I called out, "fuck me, fuck you, fuck." I was beyond giving a shit about the guards beyond the door, my murderous associates, or life itself as she leaned forward, twisted her hips, and captured my dick in her cunt with a roll of her pelvis. She liked this a lot, quite a lot it seemed, and let us all know about it as she quickly bounced on me. Unwilling to take it slow for a second longer she collapsed against me, letting her hips go mad. Her weight on me was soft but enveloping, heavy like a weighted blanket, her lovely breasts feeling wonderful on my chest.

"God, Zack, think of it, you and me fucking every goddamn day on as much snow as your sexy nostrils can snort," she was ranting my ear in a hot breathy whisper. "You're the king and I'm the queen, baby, give me the word and it's yours, ours, together," she rasped.

Her voice went up a register as her hips suddenly stopped, my length deep in her hot wet sex. She ground against me and snarled, rolling to press her clit just right against my aged bones. It was amazing.

"The magic word," she keened in scream-whispers, her hips returning to jackhammer mode. She nipped at my earlobe. "I'll come see you every week baby, we don't have to waste any time at all, tell me the magic word and you can just bend me over and jam it in me moment the door closes," she babbled. "And soon enough I'll have you outside, honey, where we'll go to -"

"Honey-do," I rasped, "Honey-do, Honey-do, capital H, o, n, e, y, dash..." I saw huge black spots in my vision as my soul prepared to exit my body through my cock into this crazy chick's soaking hot pussy. "D, o. Fuck! Fuck!" I screamed.

"I do!" she shouted, her scream joining mine as we spasmed into and around each other in Asgard or the Sanctorum Supreme or hell or wherever the fuck we were. My first ejaculation in months was strong, intense, powerful, draining. I was having trouble seeing or thinking correctly at that point, but you try after having sex like that to compose rational thought. Or so I figured.

She flopped onto me with a gleeful giggle I felt everywhere, her naked weighty frame pliant against me. "Oh, Zack, Mister, I can't wait to show you what I can do, baby," she purred happily. "We are going to have a blast, and get you out of here as soon as we can..." Her pussy happily fluttered around my dick in these tight pulsing little squeezes, that felt... Quite nice indeed.

"Yeah," I wheezed happily, but my voice sounded weird. Her big breasts squished against my chest were wonderful, but at the same time, a lot of pressure, and hard to breathe, too. I started taking these quick hard little breaths, and I guess I scared her or something, because suddenly she looked at me really strangely. She pushed up off of me; the pressure, the one on my chest, did not go away at all, nor was it any easier to breathe. I think our eyes went really wide at the same time.

"Oh shit," she whispered. "Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit," her neck twisting as she looked around the room in a panic. She leaped out of bed - there's that dancer's grace I fell for - toward the table, where she grabbed at everything to shove in her briefcase.

"What's... What are you..." What was going on, again? This was a lot of pain, and pressure, in my chest... Oh. I tried to take a deep breath and failed completely.

She slammed the case shut and grabbed at her clothes, yanking on the shirt before leaping at me. "GUARD!" she screamed, wow she was loud, then there's this rhythmic pushing on my chest and a lot of other people in the room. I think.

I wonder what's gonna happen next, I thought as I drifted away. Would love to see the look on her face if she types that code, if she even realized I'd given it to her. Getting the strong feeling that's not gonna be something I get to see. Lizard Brain and Forebrain didn't have anything to say about it; each was completely, uncharacteristically, silent. I wonder what what my honey'll do. Honey-do. Honey, do.