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Gen is rescued from a pair of gangsters by a sexy cop.

Good - they would keep each other busy during off-hours. I would book them a room at the nearest motel.

We agreed on times and terms. Dov's "sonic van" sound truck would arrive Saturday morning. And I would burn a copy of the candid CD to drop off at his place to give him a preview. Stan would not let me post online - too easy to hack. The year might as well be 1992, not 2002. Gag me with a time machine.

I hung up. We went over the papers again, initialed in places, and signed. We decided on separate contracts for each. Recording deals would come later.

"Now, about Saturday. Do you have a set list? What do you want to record?"

"We haven't tried that," Nikki said. She jiggled nicely when she went to refresh our mochas. She settled into the kitchen chair beside Stan. Kaylee sat at his other side. "We just do something and it happens."

"Do you need much rehearsal time? And how long have you been doing this?"

"We only met Stan a few weeks ago," Kaylee said, rubbing a bare breast against his upper arm. "And we're telepathic so we don't rehearse."

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. Nikki pulled him away and kissed him. The girls looked at each other, nodded, and turned to me.
"It's a miracle," they chorused.

Stan rubbed nearby shoulders. "I have no better explanation."

"I'd like to hear more miracles before I go," I said.

Instead of the nook, we took our bare butts and sweet mochas out the kitchen door to the water tank, already sun-warmed. Stan sang a spare baritone line. The girls' voices swirled around it. And I felt like I was ovulating. Holy fuck, what is this?

Somehow I ended up in Stan's lap, facing away from him, his thick cock deep inside me, my hands at my clit, his hands at my breasts, his voice patterning past my ear, a calm demon supporting soaring angels.

I stood in the water. I dripped. My pussy would have dripped anyway. I cried. "No more, no more." I bent over the tank's rim. My ass was in Stan's face. "Go ahead, you MUST!" And he did. A slow fuck; a faster fuck; the girls' hands on Stan, not on me. And then an eruption inside me. I felt filled - with cock, with cum, with celestial glory. Not only filled. I felt fulfilled.

I stood again, turned and kissed Stan, then made for the steps.

"I've gotta go now. I fucking well MUST! I'll see you Saturday. Oh god, oh god."

I dressed fast and drove away even faster. Midday traffic was light and I was in a hurry. Arno was home when I got there. I took him to bed and fucked him to death. Then I blew him back to life and fucked him to death again. He did not complain.


I got up early the next Saturday. It was a long drive and I wanted to be there early. I fucked Arno to death, ate a quick microwaved omelet and drank coffee, fucked Arno to death again, dressed (without wiping off) as lightly as before or maybe lighter, hopped in my Audi, and sped east into sunrise with a towel under me and the CD on repeat. I knew what it would do to me. That is what I wanted, why I left early, to beat Dov and Vlad by at least an hour.

Flow of traffic was good but seemed endless until I saw the rusty roadrunner silhouette marking the turn to Rancho Relaxo. I did not drive slow and quiet on the rough track. I did not care if I was heard. I needed Stan awake.

I left my sandals and sundress at the front door, taking only my bare-ass self into Stan's bedroom. His door was not quite closed. His bed was not quite empty. Not when occupied by Stan and three women I had not seen before.

A very freckled, very red-haired woman nestled between tan legs, going down on a curvy Latina. Beside them, Stan was locked in a throbbing 69 with a woman even blonder than me. Too bad.

"Stanley," I called. "Stanley Kamehameha Ovshinsky." (Yes, I had looked him up.) "Stop what you are doing, Stan. I need you. Right now."

The red woman looked over her shoulder. The Latina's eyes slitted for a moment; she pulled red's head back into her pussy. "Don't stop. Oh yeah..."

The blonde rolled off Stan.

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