Radio Activity

Copyright LB_2006

*

I've always been a tinkerer. Not an inventor, per se, because inventors make money. Tinkerers... well, we tinker. We fix things, and when we can't fix things we make existing things better. Want a garage door opener that works from a half mile away, merely by flashing your high-beams? I'm your man. Need a way around the filters on your cable box? If it were legal, I could hook you up. But it's not.

About a year ago I started working on a new project, also illegal as hell. Still, it was for the betterment of mankind, so who worries about a few stupid federal regulations? Anyway, I had the concept of building a hand-held cell phone jammer. Press a button, point it in the right direction and whammo, broken cell phone call. I originally thought of a version that emitted a threshold-of-pain screech, but I was trying to teach people some common courtesy, not kill them. Yeah, I know the concept is illegal, immoral and a tad too big-brotherish for most folks. I was just tired of the inconsiderate assnozzles who drive 55 in the fast lane talking to their girlfriends about the latest episode of "Big Brother", or the look-at-me hordes who think it's cool to discuss their impending hemorrhoid surgery while you try to suck down a plate of veal marsala. Anyway, my jammer failed miserably, but succeeded in a way I never imagined.

The prototype was built with a standard garage door opener, which was big enough to hold the required electronics but small enough to conceal in a pocket. Best of all, if I DID get stopped or questioned (for what, exactly, I wasn't sure) I was carrying a garage door transmitter. Not a thing illegal about it.

With modest expectations, I headed down to a sidewalk café in the lower part of the city. I grabbed a table outside to ensure myself a target-rich environment, ordered a beer and a grilled steak sandwich, and sat back to conduct my research. To avoid suspicion, I left the transmitter in the pocket of my sportcoat, but pulled a notepad and pen out to take notes. I didn't have to wait long before my first test subject arrived. You know the type -- overpaid and determined to let everyone around him know of his success. The guy was a walking billboard for conspicuous consumption, and I waited until he was comfortably engaged in conversation with his broker.

"What the fuck do you mean Intertech tanked? You were the dickhead who told me to buy it!" Mr. Type A barked into his phone, loud enough so that everyone could hear. I pressed the button and watched his response. It was underwhelming.

"Hold on Tony, this piece of shit phone is acting up. Fucking made in Korea worthless piece of crap!" His face reddened, and I watched the veins on his forehead begin to stand out. This guy was clearly a stroke looking for a place to happen. I hit the button again, and held it down longer this time.

"Yeah, yeah, you'd better fucking make it up to me. Your fucking mistake just cost me a hunnert grand! I'll call you later, reception is for shit here." Mr. Veiny Forehead folded his phone and slammed it on the table, muttering "piece of shit" under his breath just in case someone was looking for his opinion on the latest cell phone.

I took some notes, but came to no conclusion. The jammer may have worked, but on the other hand it may have been interference from the downtown buildings, poor reception on that model phone or even some kind of atmospheric disturbance. I waited for my next subject, and was pleased to see an attractive blonde woman sit at a nearby table. She was already deep in conversation.

"No Karen, I'm not saying you should break up with Tim. I'm just saying that I wouldn't trust him. He doesn't exactly look like the monogamous type." The blonde woman was early thirties, fashionably dressed in slacks and a contrasting blouse and sporting a big rock on her left ring finger. Someone had paid dearly for the privilege of her company, and it was clear that she enjoyed a very comfortable lifestyle. Her D&G sunglasses hid her eyes and probably cost more than every piece of clothing I was currently wearing.

My hand found the button of the transmitter. Turning to the blonde, I pressed transmit for a few seconds and waited.

The result was startling. The blonde woman jumped like she'd been hit by lightening, but quickly settled back into her seat. I watched as her thighs twitched slightly, and she began to rock her hips back and forth. The hand not holding the cell phone found its way down between her legs, and I watched her rub herself through her slacks. Her hips continued their movements, picking up speed. I tried to listen to her conversation, but it had become slow and drawn out.

"Yeah, um yeah.." Pause. "Um, right... That's what I was... Gonna have to call you back... Nothing's wrong."

I hit transmit a second time and held the button down. The effect was immediate and readily apparent to anyone who may have been watching. The phone hit the table, her head shot back with her eyes closed, and she came, hard, seated at the table of an outdoor café. Her free hand moved in a blur, up and down the front of her slacks, like she was violently humping some unseen cock.

"Um um um! Fuuuuuuck Um fuckumfuck!!" Her face flushed, her head rolled side to side and her whole body spasmed. "Ungh, unghh fuckohofuck I'm gonna cum again!!!" The climax lasted until I released the button; as suddenly as it started, her orgasm was over. The voice from her cell phone was shouting now, and I gathered that the women slumped in the café chair was named Grace.

Grace took a few seconds to compose herself then quickly rose to walk away from the café. She had just enjoyed a violent and explosive orgasm, in plain view of dozens of strangers, fully clothed, in broad daylight. Grace giggled as she walked by my table, and I heard her say into the phone "Oh my God Karen, I have no idea what just happened, but it felt like I got fucked by God himself."

I snorted with a mouthful of beer, and shot foam from my nose (which, in case you're wondering, isn't all that pleasant). Pen in hand, I took copious notes even with the raging erection that begged for some relief. I thought about heading to the men's room to take care of business, but wanted to write down as much information as I could. We scientists are thorough, sometimes at the expense of our own comfort.

I thought about conducting another experiment at the café, but Grace's episode had caused quite a stir. I opted to try further research on a cross town bus, so I grabbed one heading uptown

It wasn't long before a kid with a baseball cap at the requisite 45 degree angle boarded. Dressed like trouble waiting to happen, it was evident that he was deep in conversation about world politics.

"Yo, I told that bitch she'd better learn to suck cock. Ain't no free rides off the master."

Not knowing what to expect (but hoping it was a repeat of the first performance, not the last) I pressed transmit.

"Werd, my brotha, werd. Ain't that shit sumptin?"

My finger was mashed on the transmit button, but nothing was happening. My eyes wandered out the window and I looked down into a cab that was alongside the bus. A woman was lying stretched across the backseat, skirt hiked up over her hips. Three fingers from her right hand were pumping furiously into her pussy, and she was bucking her hips hard enough to make the taxi bounce on it's springs. A clamshell phone, opened, was lying on the floor of the cab. I released the transmit button, and her climax stopped.

I glanced over at Mr. Rap Star-To-Be, whose conversation continued without interruption.

"Aight. I see you later." He closed the phone and pocketed it.

My eyes went out the window and looked into the cab, where the brunette was quickly pulling up her panties. In the interest of science, I hit the transmit button another time, holding it down. It caused the expected result -- the woman's head went back and rolled from side to side, her hips started shaking (bouncing the cab noticeably again) and her hands found her nipples. I watched, fascinated, as wave after orgasmic wave of pleasure shot through her body. Oblivious to her surroundings, she was tearing off her blouse so her fingers could tug at her nipples directly, and not through fabric. Her blouse fell open and I watched her pull her bra up, exposing a magnificent pair of breasts topped with thick, dark nipples. The woman tugged and pinched at her nipples, stretching and twisting them with fervor. I couldn't hear her over the diesel engine of the bus, but she was definitely drawing the attention of people on the sidewalk. Her skirt, which had been tan, was now a mottled pattern of tan and light brown. Apparently, Mrs. Anonymous was a squirter, and my cock grew even harder as I watched her spray a stream of clear liquid against the brown vinyl of the cab's seat.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, her climax stopped. I checked, and the transmitter light was still glowing a bright red. No problems with the battery, so I assumed the cell phone call must have ended. Pulling out my notepad, I recorded as much data as I could remember. The cab pulled away and made a left down a side street, as my bus headed uptown. I got out at the park, grateful for the windbreaker to hide the growing spot of pre-cum on my jeans. I needed to get relief, but wasn't about to get caught beating off in a park bathroom. Nothing like a potential record as a sex offender to focus your mind on the issue at hand, which was collecting empirical data.

I wanted to test one more subject before calling it a day. The last two episodes had been embarrassingly public, and I began to feel bad for the test subjects. By all appearance they had cum hard, probably as hard as they were capable of cumming. Still, neither seemed like the exhibitionistic type and I wondered what kinds of explanations would be required to friends and lovers.

Taking the path past the pond, I wandered back to a secluded bench near a field of boulders. A blonde woman in her late forties sat reading at an adjoining bench. She was pretty in a next-door neighbor kind of way, and definitely not fragile. I looked at her hands and saw no wedding ring. Divorced? Widowed? Not into commitment? I wondered if she even owned a cell phone, but guessed that if she didn't, someone else would be along soon enough. I pulled my notes out and began to review the observations of my first few experiments, when I heard an all-too-familiar sound.

I watched the blond pull a phone from her purse and thumb the answer key.

"Hi Joan!" she exclaimed.

"No, I'm in the park reading. It seemed like such a nice day, I just figured I'd take a long lunch. You know I'll be in the office late tonight."

I waited while the conversation continued. Joan was obviously her assistant, and the blonde woman filled her in on what would be required for tonight's casework. The blonde was, evidently, a lawyer.

"Yes, and don't forget to pull the Johnson file, too. I'll be in in a few hours."

The conversation was rapidly approaching its conclusion, so I fumbled in my pocket and grabbed the transmitter. With sweaty fingers, I mashed the transmit button and watched the blonde begin her ride.

First, her legs jerked and her ass rose off the bench. I looked around, and was happy to see that we were still alone. Looking back in her direction, I heard her say "Hold on for a minute, will you?"

Her legs were crossed now, and I watched as her hand went between them, underneath her skirt. Transfixed, I sat watching her slide her hand up and down her slit, concealed by the thin fabric of her yellow skirt. Her nipples became apparent through the sheer fabric of her blouse; the index finger of her free hand traced a nipple as she humped her hand from one climax into the next.

Again, I looked around; to my relief there was no one else in sight. Playing the role of good Samaritan, I wandered over and asked, "Ma'am, is everything alright?"

Her head spun in my direction, and I watched one orgasmic wave crash into the next. Through half-opened eyes, she looked at me like a cat eyes a mouse.

"I need you to fuck me," she said as if she were making polite conversation, "I need your cock in me right the fuck now."

"Where?" I managed to stammer out. I guess I expected it, but I hadn't exactly planned our encounter out.

"Oh fuck," I watched her hips shake off yet another climax, "Sit on the fucking bench and pull out your cock."

I complied, and dropped my jeans and underwear to my ankles. She fell to her knees and took my cock in her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the head of my cock and I felt her tongue flick at the bottom of the head, in the most sensitive spot. Without hesitation, she took the length of my cock all the way down her throat. It was my turn to groan, and this sent her over the edge again as her fingers slowly stroked my balls. Alternating technique, she'd play with the head of my cock using only her lips and tongue, then take me deep in her throat. It felt good, but I wasn't going to cum like this.

Reaching down, my middle finger found her swollen clit and began to paint slow circles across it. I kept it up until I felt her lips contract in violent spasms, then slid my fingers into her sopping wet pussy. With increasing speed, I began to finger fuck her, first with two, then with three and finally with four fingers. My hand was sopping, and I felt the liquid run down my wrist in small rivulets. I counted three more climaxes before she pulled her mouth off my cock. I was about to say "I need to fuck you now" when she stood up, pulled off her sodden panties and bent over with her ass in my face and her skirt pulled over her back. Her pussy was beautiful, and her aroma was intoxicating. Clean shaven, there was not a trace of pubic hair to be seen. As much as I wanted to fuck her, I just had to taste her first. Grabbing her hips, I backed her ass into my face; leaning down, I ran my tongue over her clit and down one side of her lips, then up the other. She shuddered and her legs buckled just a bit.

Reaching down, she grabbed my cock and said "Give me this." She fell backward on top of me, then rose just enough to bury my cock inside of her. She was tighter than I expected, especially given the number of fingers I recently had inside her, and her pussy was hot, almost uncomfortably so, on my cock. I reached down to diddle her clit but she pulled my hand away and said "Finger my ass." Using her arms for leverage on the bench, she rode my cock hard and with increasing speed. Reaching under her ass on an upstroke, I licked my index finger and found her asshole. I was trying to be gentle, but when she came down my finger slid in to the second knuckle. This caused her to cum immediately, and the combination of her pulsing ass and husky voice saying "Oh yeah, fuck my ass too," was too much. I felt my own orgasm building, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

"I'm gonna fucking cum!" I panted. "Do you want me to cum inside you?"

"Um. Fuck. Yes," was her three-sentence reply as she picked up speed on my cock. The cum was rising from my balls as I felt her asshole clench and release in one final series of spasms, and I came hard, deep inside her. I came so hard that I forgot completely about the button, but at this point it didn't really matter any longer. She stopped her motion and sat still in my lap as cock convulsed one, then two more times. She waited a few seconds, then collapsed sideways on the bench next to me.

Still facing away from me, she said, "Oh my God, I am so embarrassed. I don't even know your name." As she sat upright, I could see that she was completely flushed; my guess was that it had more to do with the sex than the embarrassment.

"I'm Larry. And your name is?"

"Susan. I don't know what came over me. I was talking on the phone and the next thing I know I was horny as all hell. Oh shit, Joan!"

Susan scrambled to sort her clothes and find her cell phone. This gave me tine to pull up my own pants.

"Joan? Joan? No, I'm fine. I'm not sure, but everything is fine. I'll see you in a little while."

Susan turned to me and said "Listen, I'm not..."

I completed her sentence with "In the habit of turning total strangers into fuck toys on Wednesday afternoons?"

She looked at me and we both laughed. "I'm so sorry about this," she began, but I held my hand up.

"Don't apologize," I said, "We just had some great sex, and I enjoyed it as much as you did. Nobody got hurt and two consenting adults had an enjoyable afternoon."

"Oh, I doubt very much you enjoyed it like I did. It felt like I came for half an hour. I can barely walk!" She reached in her purse and pulled out a business card. It said, 'Susan Grasso, Public Defender'.

I laughed out loud. "Wow, your skills might have come in handy if we were caught."

She chuckled, grabbed her purse and her phone and said, "I wouldn't mind if you called me, even if you didn't need legal aid."

"Thanks," I said, "thanks for everything." I watched her wander off down the path, then pulled out my pen and notebook. Science, I thought, can be hard work filled with all kinds of potential danger.