Separatrix Pt. 01 Ch. 05

He was marching behind her, determined not to fall behind the rapid and steady pace she set, which didn't seem to vary when the path became steep, even though she wore sandals. It didn't hurt his motivation to be watching, beneath the pouch, her delectable derrière wiggling in the fashionable rips of her jeans. She'd removed the blouse she'd worn in the hotel, revealing a tight bikini top, so only a thin string crossed her otherwise bare back.

Still, the trail was tough going, mostly uphill from the trailhead, winding around through small stands of forest alternating with grassy slopes where the sun beat down on them. She stopped at a promontory to take another reading, which she'd been doing along the way, giving him a chance to take a drink from his pack. "How's it going?" He handed her his bottle to share.

"Not quite yet."

The cylinder she studied at these times was a new one, a bit thicker and longer than the others. She just stared at it resting on her palm. It didn't even light up like the other one.

"Maybe if you explained something about what you're looking for," he tried. Again.

"I wish I could. I really do."

They trekked on. It was mid-week, early afternoon, warm and sunny, on one of the longest trails in the park. There'd been some cars in the lot, but they'd encountered no one for at least half an hour.

At a big, flat rock at the center of an outcropping near the peak she said, "Ah, that looks good. Olivine. That's good enough."

He didn't know why that rock, or any rock, would be especially suitable, but when she climbed up onto it he followed, happy to sit on the hard, warm stone and get his pack off. He lay back and relaxed, staring up at the sky. He'd been working nonstop for months. Yes, Manitoba was as green as anyone could ask for, but the observatory, as they called it, was still a construction site. So mostly mud and noise. This spot was blue and green and quiet, except for some crows.

And scratching sounds. Nearby. He lifted his head up to see her squatting and staring down as if she'd found an interesting bug or wildflower. She scratched across the rock with a stone. He lay back down. He had no idea what she could be doing, but knew his questions would only meet with short, unsatisfying answers. His phone beeped. Herk had sent him a meeting invitation for tomorrow morning. Probably wanted an update. Fine. He accepted. The cost reductions he'd been forced to make on his concentrator could also benefit the LASSO detector, which Herk would like. He spent some time mentally listing them. Maybe he dozed.

A shadow darkened the light above his closed eyes. He opened them to see her squatting over him, smiling down on him. "Come on, let's go."

"Great!" He reached one hand to her breast and the other up a thigh to her crotch. He'd been wanting to touch her the whole time he'd been following her.

"Yeah, I'm horny too," she said, "but we need to keep going." But instead of standing, she sat on him, rubbing herself on his crotch through her jeans. "Okay, just for a minute." She scooted down his body a bit and opened the zipper of his jeans. "I have to say, zippers are a pretty cool invention. That sound they make." She fished out his still soft cock and took it between her lips.

He tensed immediately. His hips rose on their own to get more of himself into her. Her tongue seemed to be all over his shrunken penis as her suction pulled blood into it and made him swell even before his brain told it to grow. He groaned and ahhed out loud. He seemed to get an especially detailed picture of the inside of her mouth, maybe because she was squishing his temporarily soft flesh into her in a new way. Always previously he'd been hard, or almost hard, before she took him between her lips. Just being around her made him hard. His soft cock now learned how rough her palate could be, how strong her tongue muscles were when they flexed against him, and how her tongue's texture made her licks extra delicious. She was not the first woman to fellate him from completely soft. He'd been awakened more than once by a girlfriend in the morning, or even in the dark, with some affectionate attention. Or a surprise blow job while cuddling on a sofa after a movie. Yet once again there was something special about her, some way in which she stimulated and pleasured him in ways that no other woman had ever discovered.

His cock felt electric. She had to lift her head to keep doing whatever she was doing to his cockhead as he swelled and lengthened. She sucked him enthusiastically, as if she were starving for him. He felt succulent. He was ready right now to give up his cream for her.

But she stopped. "I really want to sit on this thing," she said, "but I know where that will lead and I need to get this done." She stood. "Sorry." He sat up on his elbows, his cock still pointing straight up into the blue sky. "Awake now?"

He closed his eyes. "Not quite." He yawned, not totally a fake. "Maybe a bit more."

A whack on his cock startled his eyes open. She poked his ribs. "That help?" But she didn't wait for an answer. She gave him a few more sucks. His body involuntarily jerked with each one. "That will have to do for now."

He stood up awkwardly, having to keep himself straight in a way that didn't make his jeans stress his erection in what was now a tight hole.

She took his cock in her hand and kissed him, Frenching wetly. "I know this all seems crazy. I really appreciate your help." She squeezed him hard.

He was about to suggest she just bend over and let him do her, but he was distracted by the scratch marks she'd made. While he'd been napping, she'd scrawled geometric shapes over the rock in several clusters, connecting the clusters with lines. Some kind of diagram that reminded him of petroglyphs.

He had to undo his pants to pull his cock back into his underwear. She rubbed him through his jeans when he'd put himself back together. "I was taking notes," she non-explained. Then she turned and climbed off the rock.

"Wait. Should I take a photo?" He pointed at the diagram.

"Huh? Oh." She tried and mostly succeeded in keeping the condescension out of her voice. "Thanks. I've got it." She pointed at her head.

He picked up the pack and followed her. He expected to have to keep going up to the summit but she headed back down the path.

At the parking lot, she said, "Can I see your phone?" She went to the map app and scrolled around in it. "There. That's our next stop."

"Um." It was a big green patch by a northern lake. "That's a bird sanctuary."

"Birds won't bother the readings."

"Good to know." He wasn't sure she'd picked up on his sarcasm. "Let's see. Open today. Long drive, though."

"Then let's get started."

# # #

They drove down the park road to the highway.

Earlier, as they'd left the hotel, he'd seen her transfer the contents of the small bag the agent had given her— more gray cylinders— to her pouch and then press one to her forearm. It looked to him as if she was injecting something, although the cylinder was blunt-ended and didn't leave a mark.

"I'm going to take a little nap," she said and tried to make herself comfortable in the seat. He showed her how to put the back down, a feature that pleasantly surprised her. She'd gone to sleep soon, and stayed asleep on the highway and the winding road up to the park until they pulled into the park's parking lot.

Now, awake and watching the drive down the winding road, she grew tense. "Is something bothering you?" He put a hand on her shoulder.

"No! Keep your hands on that thing!"

"The steering wheel? It's okay, we're perfectly safe."

She waved her hands around. "You could go over the cliff any second!"

It wasn't much of a drop-off and there was a guardrail. At the bottom of the mountain the road became straighter and level, which helped, and soon they were on the freeway. She looked all around desperately, as if trying to find a way to jump out of the car.

"Don't worry."

"But— but— all these people." She waved at the cars in the other lanes. "They could just—" She waved toward the lane they were in.

"Crash into us? They won't. And I'm watching." He laughed at her, doing his best to imitate the condescending attitude she liked to display at some of his questions.

She side-eyed him as she continued to monitor the traffic, which wasn't bad yet.

He put a hand on her leg to reassure her. Which gave him an idea. He ran his fingers over her stomach, playing with her navel. She didn't protest and seemed to relax a little. He worked his hand into her jeans, entirely by feel as he kept his eyes on the road, and soon could feel her clit through the cloth of her panties. She slouched a bit, which gave him better access. He glanced at her and saw she hadn't panicked, so he kept going. Soon her hips were matching the rhythm of his rubbing and hands moved from the armrest to her crotch, over his hand. Her eyes closed.

He had to take his hand out a few times to change lanes, but she let him back in each time. Her underwear moistened. She made small sounds of pleasure. He thought perhaps he could make her come, but he didn't want to. It was better to just help her enjoy the ride.

When he pulled up to the entrance booth, he patted her leg as a signal. She opened her eyes and looked around. He paid their admission and handed her the brochure. She studied the included map while he found a parking space.

"I'm so fucking horny," she said, "I'm ready to jump you right here." She put a hand between his legs and rubbed him. He spread his legs as much as he could in the driver's seat and turned toward her, but she'd already pulled her hand back. "Sorry, no, need to get this done." She got out of the car.

They walked down a wide path to an observation point where a group of people were observing distant birds in a marsh. "What?" she asked, pointing at the birds.

"Herons."

"Amazing. Do you think anyone has sequenced their DNA?"

"I imagine so. Why?"

She watched them for a minute, not answering him, then kept on, up a slope into trees and through to a grassy area, then went on a side path, through more trees, into a meadow with a large outcropping. She took out the new device; he sat on a flat rock nearby. Soon she was drawing more petroglyphs with a stick in a muddy patch.

She came back to him sooner than he'd expected. "Finished already?"

"More data," she said, as if that answered his question. "Phone?"

He took it out of his pocket and gave it to her. She put her other hand on his crotch and fondled him through his jeans while she worked the phone one-handed. "Here," she said, after a minute or two of fondling and gesturing.

He looked. "A beach?"

"I need a reading at sea level."

"Another drive, but at least we'll be headed back to town. I don't see any rocks." He had no idea why she needed to be near rocks, but he'd noticed the pattern.

"There's a cliff nearby. It'll do." She was still massaging his genitals through his jeans. "I wouldn't mind a quickie."

"I'd love a quickie. But that beach closes at five. Ton of traffic on the way."

She continued handling him. He lengthened. "Traffic," she sneered, as if it were a disease that caused flatulence and acne.

He had an idea. He was about to say it, but remembered that she didn't know what doggy style was. Or commando. He took her hand off his crotch and stood up. "Traffic doesn't have to be all bad." He was 99% sure he already knew the answer, but he had to ask, "Have you ever had sex in public? I mean, where other people might see you?"

"Of course." Said as if Sex in Public 101 was part of the basic curriculum in every high school, scheduled between Biology and 2nd year algebra.

"But I bet you've never enjoyed road head."

# # #

They were crawling up the on-ramp in a line of vehicles. The nav system warned him that the traffic would be thick up ahead, but that was fine. She was leaning against him, her hand in his crotch and holding his balls as if they would save her in a crash.

"Open my pants." It was a pleasant change to be leading her in sex.

In a few seconds she was going up and down his cock, already stiff. Girls had blown him in high school in his car, but parked at night behind the school or in front of their house. He'd received more than his fair share of coed head in college, but not in any vehicle because he couldn't afford one then. Once or twice since then. This one was going to be a new and unique experience. He would not expect anything less with this woman.

He squeezed the car into a lane, then crossed into the next lane. From then on it was stop and go, and the lanes narrowed down into the unmanned toll plaza of a bridge. She wasn't trying any of her tricks on him, just sucking, almost like a normal woman, which was fine. He put a hand on her bare back.

He kept behind a van at a comfortable distance, his eyes scanning the road. She seemed to get more comfortable also, sliding a bit more of him into her. He didn't change lanes or try anything fancy. The fancy stuff was happening in his lap. He could feel how hungry she was for him. Maybe some residual fear also helped. Her mouth was pure heaven, the softest, warmest, slickest passage any cock could ever want to be enveloped in. He grasped her head by a handful of hair and pulled her gently off. "Don't let me come," he said, "might be dangerous." Then lowered her back down. He was able to survive by concentrating on driving, keeping his mind on safely controlling the car, paying attention to every other vehicle around them, staying alert for turn signals and brake lights, everything but the fellatio being performed on him.

The tension in his lower body was a stimulant that kept him in a high state of acuity. Remarkably, no one in the cars and trucks around them noticed what was going on. A woman in the passenger seat of a big SUV could have looked right down into his seat and seen everything, but she stared straight ahead, talking on her cellphone. A guy in an open convertible in another lane glanced their way, but his angle must have been too low to see anything interesting. It was really quite surprising how alone they were in the middle of hundreds of automobiles. This was definitely the best way to be stuck in traffic, to be stuck between her lips.

His hand stroked her back. He pulled loose the tie that held her bikini top across her back so he could really enjoy her smooth skin along with her smooth tongue. He was pleased with himself that he'd got her to do this for him and how he was managing the car. There was still a string tied at the back of her neck, so he released that also to enjoy holding her neck as she bobbed up and down on him.

He eventually had to pull her off so he could change lanes to get to the off-ramp to the coast. She sat up, bare-chested, smiling, as they turned onto a winding road. She didn't grab anything, instead keeping her hand on his stiff erection. Maybe that helped.

"You seemed less scared," he remarked.

"I was thinking, well, if I have to finally— what's the saying? Kick the bucket? What does bucket kicking have to do with death?— anyway, if I have to kick it, what better way to go?"

"I couldn't agree more."

She was so comfortable topless that he had to point to her top to remind her to put it back on when they pulled up to the beach ticket booth. She helped him get his cock back in his pants. "We're closing in twenty minutes," the ranger warned them.

"She just wants to take a quick look," he responded. The ranger's eyes stayed on her as she adjusted her top. He wanted more than a quick look.

They parked and took a path between some dunes to the beach, then along it to— he should have guessed— another pile of rocks.

"Why rocks?" he asked.

"They anchor the readings." She was already studying that cylinder and walking off, but stopped. She came back to him and hugged him, then went up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks. I needed that." She rubbed his crotch once and went off to study whatever she was studying in that cylinder.

He sat on the sand, stared out into the waves, and basked in the satisfying memory of being thanked for allowing a smoking hot chick to blow him for forty minutes in public. Life was good, even if he still had no idea who this woman was or what she was doing or why he was helping her. It wasn't just the sex. He knew her somehow, even if he didn't know her address or history or name or how a person like her could come into existence.

She was drawing another diagram in the wet sand with a piece of driftwood. That was a good sign that this wouldn't take long either. "Okay, all done," she said when she came back to him. "I'm starving and I'm horny. Not sure which to take care of first. What do you think?"

# # #

They drove back into the city and went to a bistro around the corner from his apartment. When they sat next to each other at the bar and ordered drinks the waiter carded her. He saw that she had a driver's license, yet another mystery given that she was so afraid of automobiles. The name on it was Jordan Jones. They ordered their dinner, sharing steak and fries.

He tried some small talk: "So there are no herons where you're from?" But she seemed preoccupied. He'd spent the day driving her to distant spots to do mysterious things, and now she was staring at her lap, no doubt at one of the little devices in her pouch. He thought he deserved an explanation. "And what were we doing today? Some kind of measurement? A survey?" He didn't even know what to call whatever she'd been doing.

She finally looked up. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. It was only the tiniest smile, but it was affectionate, with no trace of condescension. "I'm trying to locate the barycenter."

"The—" he knew the word from astronomy— "the center of mass?"

"You could look at it that way."

"Of what?"

Now her expression changed. He thought maybe he was starting to be able to read her. Her mind was working. She seemed to be struggling to find a reply, an unprecedented difficulty in his experience. "I have a hypothesis. And I think it's working out."

"That's great. I'm very happy for you." He had no idea what she could be talking about. "Historical?"

"You could say that. And my organization— they sent a representative. That was surprising. And gratifying."

"You mean the secret agent?"

She laughed. "Yes. The secret agent. You have no idea of the immense expense and effort it takes to send someone here. To send a second person to the same . . . territory. I'm not sure that's ever happened before."

"He certainly didn't seem happy to be here. At least at first. And he gave you those . . ." He motioned toward her pouch.

"Yes." Her face brightened as she said that word. He would have asked her more but their food arrived and they were both starving. They sat close together, touching, as they ate from the same plate in silence.

While they contemplated the dessert menu he tried, "So that's your real name, Jordan?"

"What?"

"Your license. Jordan Jones."

"Oh, of course you would think that."

"You mean that's a fake license?"

"Certainly not. You saw it."

"Then you have a real license— that by the way you can't have got legitimately because you're afraid of cars— but it doesn't have your real name? I don't get it."

"You're being sloppy with your use of the word 'real'. Look, you have a real number, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You people get these social security numbers. Is that your number?"

"Well, I've got one."

"Right. Or is your phone number your real number? Or . . . you have an employee number? Or your address? Which one is your real number?"

"Okay, sure, I see your point. But those are numbers, not names, and back wherever you come from, there must be the same thing, something equivalent to a social that the government needs to keep track of you. You know, your health data, education, speeding tickets, whatever, right? And it's got your name connected to it."

"We don't have anything that you would recognize as a government."

He had no response to that.

"There are entities you might think of as a government, though that would be simplistic. I suppose they keep track of people's names. Some cultures give permanent names." She studied the dessert menu. "What's a cream broolee," she asked, mispronouncing crème brûlée. "Is it good?"

"Sometimes, Ms. Jones, I feel like I'm talking to someone from another planet."

She put down the menu. "Your feelings are correct. The planet is Venus. And guess what? Jordan Jones from Venus wants you to satisfy her needs too. Ms. Horn let her know how great you are."

Maybe she was trying to distract him again, but he couldn't resist. "And eat Ms. Jones's pussy, I presume?"

As an answer, she called the bartender over and ordered dessert, the crème brûlée, plus ice cream, plus more drinks. Her appetite for food, it seemed, was nearly as great as her appetite for sex. Yet she never gained an ounce. And never stopped being horny. She got off her stool, stood back a step, and said to the seat she'd shifted from, "So Jordan, you should know that this guy eats pussy like it's made of candy coated with cocaine."

She moved back to her seat and faced the spot where she'd been standing. She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, Allegra, that's exactly what my pussy is made of, plus chocolate fudge and melted ice cream." She pitched Jordan's voice a bit higher, with a bit more tension in it.

Back away from the bar as Ms. Horn, in a slightly deeper voice, she replied, "Then Jordan, you should totally get him to eat your snatch." To him she said, "'Snatch'— that's legit slang, right?"

"It's okay, but a bit out of date."

"Anachronism is my middle name. I mean if I had a middle name." She went back to Jordan's place, hands on hips again: "Oh Allegra, I definitely want that. But how do I get him to do it to me?"

Back as Ms. Horn, she leaned against him, reminding him of that initial meeting at the Hive: "Simple. Return the oral favor. He loves it."

As Jordan: "Oh, okay. Sure." To him, as Jordan: "Would you like me to suck your dick?"

Ms. Horn: "No, don't ask. He's too much of a gentleman. Just tell him what you want and what's going to happen. Use his name."

"He has a name? Why?"

"That's just how they do it here. Don't try to make sense of it. Just call him Rod."

Jordan to him: "Hi, Rod. I want my pussy eaten. You're going to do it. And I want to suck on your penis. Probably some other stuff."

He shrugged. He liked where this little bit of playacting was going.

Jordan: "Was that a yes? Or a maybe?"

Ms. Horn: "That was a negotiating position. Remember, men here think they have to barter for sex."

Jordan: "Weird. But maybe a fun perversion." To him: "Allegra says you like blow jobs. How many do you want in exchange for a good pussy-licking?"

"Depends," he answered, getting into the scene. "How do your blow jobs compare to Ms. Horn's?"

"Allegra's great, but I'm better."

Ms. Horn: "You wish, Jordan. Here." The drinks had arrived. Allegra/Jordan had ordered three shots. He was already a bit sloshed from the earlier drinks, although she again didn't seem affected. Her capacity for alcohol was as great as that for food and sex. She picked up two of the glasses and gave him one. "To fucking." He had to drink to that. She put down her shot glass and picked up the third one, still full. She took the Jordan spot. "To sucking," and downed that one.

The bartender, who'd been nearby, just stared at her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her anyway and had been coming by frequently, ostensibly to see if they needed anything.

"Let's both fuck him," she said, ignoring the barkeep and looking right at Jake. He couldn't tell which of her personas said that. It didn't matter. "Yes, both, and have him eat our pussies. Yes. Let's go."

# # #

She continued the imaginary dialogue as they walked to his place, taking his arm. "So, Allegra, what kind of cocksucking does he like? I want to make a good impression on him."

She switched to his other side, taking his other arm. "Don't worry, Jordan, I'll show you his faves." Then back. "Oh, Allegra, you're such a good friend!" And in reply, "Hey, we're in this together." And on and on like this, not paying attention to him. Maybe she was making fun of him, but he didn't care. He knew he was in for another amazing sexual adventure

"Jordan, pro tip," she said when they arrived at his place, "the fastest way to get him to eat you is to just get naked." They were in his front hallway. The door had just latched behind them. He'd never imagined, when he'd rented this place, that he'd have so much sex in this hallway. Of course, how could he have imagined the woman unbuttoning her blouse in front of him?

She proceeded to undress fully, and there she was again for him, her perfect petite killer-tan form. He looked her up and down. "Jordan, you are so hot."

She put her hands on her hips and looked to one side of him with an assertive glare. "Allegra, I think he likes me, but he's not eating my pussy and I'm getting super horny the way he's staring at me. What should I do? Oh, just tell him? Okay. Roddy, eat my pussy. Right now." She widened her stance.

He laughed. When he knelt down in front of her he was grinning so wide he had to force himself to calm down so he could put his lips onto her perfectly smooth labia and get his tongue in between them and find her clit. Of course she was already wet.

She was soon backed against the wall with her hands in his hair, crooning and sighing. "Oh Allegra, you were so right! Eat me, Roddy-rod, just do it to me, yes. Yes!"

She came within seconds, with just the tip of his tongue on her little bean. He sucked and diddled and licked and her orgasms continued. He had no choice anyway, because her surprisingly strong hands— he was constantly amazed at how physically strong she was— held him firmly against her pudenda, which she rubbed up and down on him, basically masturbating on his mouth.

At a momentary pause after a particularly body-wracking orgasm he was able to work a finger up into her and press on her G-spot. That set off another series of climaxes, which he amplified by going back on her, mashing her clit hard between his lips and matching his finger, lips, and tongue to her rhythmic screams— screams of joy, yes, but also screams of what might be terror, that the joy was going to tear her in half.

"Oh yes, no, no, please, fuck, yes," she babbled, alternately pushing him harder into her pussy and trying to pull him off. He kept going. This woman seemed to have an infinite capacity for sexual ecstasy. He wondered if she might black out while standing up against the wall. Her legs began to weaken, her hands fluttered in his hair. He did his best to keep her upright and keep forcing her to come, but at last she slipped down to the floor.

He stood up. "Ms. Horn," he said, looking to a spot where she might have been, "how did I do?"

Jordan was still panting, her eyes squeezed shut. Small grunts escaped her heaving lungs. "Jord," she said in her deeper voice, "you need to suck his dick now." Her eyes cracked opened. She looked up at him. "I'm totally wasted. You do it." She opened her eyes fully and aimed a wide smile at him. "Allegra loves to suck your dick. She told me secretly that it's almost better than fucking for her, and you know how much she loves your fucking. Go on, Allie, you know you want it. I'll do him later."

She dragged herself up onto her knees and opened his pants. His cock, hard already because pussy-licking did that to him— especially with his head between this goddess's legs while she came over and over on him— sprang out and pointed right at her lips. She wrapped them around his meat and kept her eyes on him as she began sucking on him. Now it was his turn to gasp and groan and struggle with his balance. "You see, Jordan," she said when she'd taken him quickly up to the edge and he thought maybe he was going to get a quickie, "this is what he loves, just to be eaten by someone who loves to eat him."

She stood. "Come on." She grabbed him by his very stiff erection. "Jordan and I are ready for some serious dick sucking."

There followed one of the strangest— and one of the most amazing— blow jobs he'd ever experienced, beyond anything he'd ever dreamt. She led him by his cock to his bedroom, where she pulled off his clothes, laid him down on his bed, urged him to the middle, propped him up on pillows, and resumed sucking from one side. He was back in oral heaven within seconds.

"Here," she said, not to him, holding his cock as if offering it to someone on his other side, "time to suck some dick." That would have been a nonsensical comment— she was already doing just that— but he understood, especially when she hopped to his other side and bent down to take his cock between her lips from that position.

She brushed her own hair back behind her ears. "See, Jordan, he likes to look at your sweet face while you blow him. Let him see your tongue licking." Jordan did that, tilting her head so she could watch him watching her. When she opened her mouth wide he could look right down into her throat and watch and feel her tongue dance on him.

"Allegra," he said, "Jordan is such a unique and spectacular little cocksucker." She smiled at that compliment and rewarded him by gnawing on his cockhead. He was then witness, both verbally and tactilely, to a unique sexual debate.

She moved back to Allegra's side. "You're not giving him enough tongue. He loves tongue." She proceeded to demonstrate, giving him the most luxurious sucks, sliding him along her tongue and between her lips way down, over and over, making him grunt and curl up around her head. He fell back after she released him.

She hopped to the other side. "Of course the tongue." As Jordan. She licked his erection with her tongue out and lapped him like an ice cream cone, all the time with her eyes on him. "The tongue is the base of all fellatio." She demonstrated, making her tongue a water slide for his cock, teasing him with hints of her throat.

Ms. Horn: "Totally wrong. The tongue is much more versatile." Allegra took over. "The tongue can be a feather, or a flute, or a trumpet, or a deep organ tone." He got a full rendition of concerto for tongue and erect penis, an overture in which she went up and down him and all over, a series of fast sucks he could barely take that might have been a scherzo, followed a delicious andante.

But she never got to the finale. Jordan pulled his cock out of her mouth: "Ridiculous. A man's cock is a banquet. You get to savor his meat in a hundred ways while you prepare his male body to yield up its creamy dessert." He really thought he was going to come then, from her speech and from the slurpy gourmandizing sausage tenderizing that followed.

He couldn't follow them after that. Even in English he would have had a difficult time, but they bounced in and out of at least three languages, one of them being Spanish, which he'd never heard her speak a word of before. And anyway, he was writhing and grunting and jerking too much. With his eyes squeezed shut from the extreme sensations he could easily believe that he was getting a doubleheader. It did seem that the two personae sucked his cock in different ways. He could tell. And they teamed up against him, even though they continued to compete in ways to drive him ever more insane with their oral skills, to toss him between the paradises they'd built, so that he couldn't ever hope to escape the torrent of physical pleasure they drowned him in.

After an endless period in which the only intellectual question he could formulate was once again whether this one might be the best blow job ever, she— or they, it didn't matter anymore— paused her onslaught and let him unwind his cramped muscles. It was as if his whole body had been fully erect. "Ms. Horn wants you to fuck her," he heard, not in either Ms. Horn's or Jordan's voice.

He looked up at her. "How many different women are you?"

She shrugged. "How many do you want? How many are there? Your culture's fear of change runs deeper than just names, doesn't it?"

He pulled her to him, rolled on top of her, pushed her legs apart with his, and got himself inside her. She was liquid paradise. Whatever she'd done to him with her multidimensional cocksucking had turned him into some kind of sexual superhero. Doctor Lightning Rod. Super Erectron. Magic Meat Man. He knew how this woman wanted and needed to be fucked. He knew how to satisfy that need. He knew he could turn her into a blob of used up female protoplasm. She had, after all, spent the day being played with and playing with him.

So he fucked her. He got his cock inside her and made sure every part of it was as deep as it could possibly go and pumped her as hard as he could, harder than she could take, hard enough to start her on a series of orgasms that he thought he could continue all night. He was fucking what he knew in reality was physically the same pussy he'd eaten to exhaustion not long before, but this woman seemed to have unlimited capacity and the cunnilingual orgasms seemed to have only made her hornier.

She didn't last nearly that long. He was ready and willing and able and had barely begun to fuck her all night and all the next day, whatever it took, but every part of himself he touched her with, not just his cock, and every part of her he touched, not just her pussy, made her come. She couldn't take it and he couldn't stop doing it to her, and soon she went limp— her muscles lost all tension and her skin turned velvety, and she sagged into the mattress as if her joints had opened up— and he reluctantly pulled out of her so she could recover.

After several minutes she rolled over onto her stomach, breathing hard. "Jake, Jordan wants to tell you something."

"Does she need more cunnilingus?"

"Later, definitely. Now, she needs—" up rose her cute butt— "she needs you to fuck her ass."

He was still as hard as ever. "Really?" He ran his hand over her cheeks, tight and smooth. "Jordan, you naughty girl!"

"Hurry! Before she loses her nerve and Ms. Horn talks her out of it."

He retrieved a bottle of lube from the nightstand, a souvenir of a long-departed girlfriend, put a generous amount on his finger, worked it into her very tight crack, and rubbed it on her hole, which felt way too tiny. He wondered if he could even get a pinky in. Just the rubbing, however, made her jump and yell. She was unbelievably sensitive. He got more lube and pushed a finger in.

"Ah! Ah!"

Her sphincter was pulsing on his finger so hard he thought she might cut off its circulation. She was almost coming already. He reached underneath and found her clit, and while he worked his finger in and out of her anus he also tap-tapped on her clit.

"Oh fuck! Oh Allie! He's, he's—"

He could have made her start coming right then, but the torture he was inflicting on her was too delicious and that perfect little ass needed something more than just a finger. He pulled it out of her. "What did you want, Jordan?" he asked as he spread lube on his cock, totally stiff, of course, in anticipation.

She struggled to find words. At last he heard, "Just give it to her, Jake."

"Allegra— I know that you want me up Jordan's ass." He moved behind her and pushed his cock between her cheeks. "But I want to hear it from Jordan."

"Jordan can't speak. You've got her way too turned on." She arched her back again and pressed the top of her head against his sternum. She was amazingly limber. She made little circles with her ass, centered around his cock. "Can't you feel her begging for it with her ass?"

He pressed his cock against her asshole. "Begging for what, this cock? What should I do with it, Jordan? Or Ms. Horn, I think you want it as much as Jordan."

She wagged her head back and forth. Not a no, an inner conflict. "It doesn't matter."

He rubbed and poked the tip at her tiny, tight sphincter. He really wasn't sure she would be able to take it. She was so small and tight. Another name appeared in his mind from before an on impulse he tried it. "Or Tahsin, do you want it?"

"Oh, yes, yes! I want it, more than anything!"

He plunged in, forcing that tiny sphincter wide. She cried out. He'd intended to just push his cockhead in and let her get used to him, the way he'd done for other women, but she pushed back on him suddenly and forced his cock all the way up into her. He was about to pull out but her long groan, rising almost to soprano, was pure pleasure and she lifted herself up and faced the ceiling, trying to say something, but the words, if they were words, were in yet another language that sounded like her Akkadian with some kind of strong accent. He pumped her in small strokes, just enough to wiggle and stretch her sphincter muscles, let them know and get used to being stretched around a cock, but not causing any pain. She whimpered and squealed.

He pushed her head down into the mattress, pulled out of her ass briefly, squeezed another good amount of lube into her, and put his cock back in. Her ass was so tight, but it was all about her now.

He reached his clean hand around and put his fingers in her pussy and on her clit. She came immediately, hard, screaming. He kept going. He could feel his rock-hard cock with his finger through the wall between her vagina and rectum and rubbed that hard. She came and came, as she did when he fucked her pussy, but her screams were sharper and lower, seeming to come from deep in her lungs, and the orgasmic peaks came more rapidly, one right after another until she was in a seizure-like paralysis of continuous orgasm and finally, as usual, she blacked out and went limp.

He stayed inside her exquisite ass for a while, not moving, just enjoying being inside this perfect beauty, but eventually and regrettably he had to pull out, still hard. The urge was strong to come in her ass, but he knew she would want to be conscious for that. He didn't want to disappoint her. And he knew he would get another chance. Probably soon.

He showered to clean himself for her, knowing she wasn't done with him.

# # #

"Ah!"

Jake awoke suddenly in the dark. Someone had jumped on him. Someone naked and female, his hands told him.

"You need to show me," she said.

"Wha-what?"

"Where's your phone?" She reached down into his pants, still crumpled on the floor, and pulled it out. "Unlock it."

"People in this culture are taught to say please."

"Do I look like I'm from this fucking culture? Come on." When he unlocked it, she took it from him and got into his maps app. "What's going on here? I think you know."

She'd put a locator pin on a spot in the docklands. He stared at it.

"Talk to me. It's important. You have no idea how important." She did her face-wiping gesture and stared into his eyes. "Please."

It was impossible that she could know about the concentrator. Absolutely impossible. He hadn't breathed a word to anyone, not in the collaboration, even Allison, not to any friend or family member, no one, not a soul. He didn't keep a diary or a blog. The only information on it was on his laptop, which he always kept with him and always off the Internet, with an encrypted partition to hold the design. He'd never brought anyone to the pier. He didn't even have things delivered there. It just wasn't possible.

Yet there was the map pin smack on it. "How— why did you . . .?" All he could do was weakly point at that pin. "Wait." He realized something that made no sense at all. But also made perfect sense. "That's your barycenter?"

"I proved it. I fucking did it and now they have to listen." She straddled him and pressed her hands firmly down on his shoulders, pushing him into the mattress. It wasn't sexy, more like a wrestling move. "I just saw a piece of paper over there with this address." She waved back toward his kitchen. "You know. Just show me. Please?"

She'd actually said please. Twice. Anyway, he was bursting to tell someone. It was almost there. It was working. Incredibly, it was working. "Sure," he answered.

"Okay, let's go." She started to get off him.

He held her. "Tomorrow." Before she could protest, he went on, "It's almost dawn. Herk wants to see me first thing. Then we can go."

She hugged him. He felt suddenly lighter, as if a giant weight had been on his chest, one he'd carried long enough that he had stopped being aware of it, and that weight had suddenly floated away. He nuzzled her. He found her small tits and bit on them the way she couldn't resist. She giggled and weakly struggled to get away, but it was all in play and soon he'd rolled her over and spread her wonderful legs apart and put his mouth on her pussy, which tasted exceptionally juicy, and began to eat her.

"No, no, I'm not— I'm not—"

It didn't matter what she wasn't. He'd serviced her pussy, then serviced her ass, and now he was servicing her pussy again. He never wanted to stop servicing her. She gave up her protests and squeezed his head between her thighs. Her pussy was perfect. She was still ultra-sensitive from the multiple orgasms he'd forced her to endure from his cock, but was not yet close to coming again. He tortured her, just the way she loved to be tortured. He couldn't hear the sounds she had to be making because her strong thighs were squeezing his ears shut, but he could feel the growls that her lungs emitted from deep in her abdomen. He kept going. He could just focus on making her come, confident that it was going to take a long time and that the spikes of pleasure he was shooting up her spine with his tongue were hitting home, right at the bull's eye of her super-responsive pleasure center, disabling her own considerable intellect, the way she'd done to his. And every nerve cell in her clitoris— all the way through it from his tongue on top of it to his finger underneath in her hole rubbing from below, which seemed a hundred times more sensitive than any other clit he'd ever eaten, and which he imagined as glowing between his lips with sexual energy— every nerve cell was a tiny laser of ecstasy that shot pulse after pulse into her brain, not just her pleasure center, paralyzing her. She was perfect.

Her legs opened, her hips shuddered, and her pussy gushed in his mouth. She had only one orgasm this time, but it went on and on while she squealed and spasmed and writhed. He hung on, keeping his mouth on her, not letting her escape the tiniest lick or rub, until all that was left inside her were weak whimpers and twitches and he knew she was gone again to her blackout heaven, exactly where he wanted to send her and where she deserved to be.

He crawled up to pull her close, drawing the covers over them, and just held her, content to wait for her to come back to him.

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My thanks to my beta readers, @AlexFourways, @MormonJack, and @shelleycat1.