Stanley Steamer Ch. 16: Anny & Megan

We fucking ROCKED! And the next tune that came to me, and the next that Stan started, and then me again, oh fuck, we were GREAT!

The audience thought so too. They roared after each number. All except the last. I felt something... so I blew a slow, sad, renaissance elegy. The singers rode it wordlessly. The audience was crying.

Kaylee and Nikki bowed. We all left the stage. The audience roared. And more.

Stan asked, "Any idea for an encore?"

I said, "Let's go do one."

We hugged and went back onstage, the singers to the lights, San and I to the dark. The audience still roared.

Stan had given strict orders that he and I were NOT to be lit by the stage crew. A spotlight moved toward us. Stan pulled a pellet pistol and shot it out. The audience gasped but shut up when the light exploded.

What came to me was a fast, non-trivial ragtime piece, one of my great challenges. But I felt perfect tonight. Stan's chop-chord cadence was perfect. Nikki and Kaylee's scat-singing was perfect. We cooked. We stomped that ballroom flat.

Wait, it is True Confessions time. I was NOT perfect. I missed a few notes - too many, I thought. That piece is even hard on a full piano with a trained player. But Kaylee and Nikki and Stan caught my goofs and made them part of the tune, like they were intended, like Charles Ives' Variations on My Country 'Tis of Thee. How did they do that? The singers say telepathy. I cannot argue.

So we finished. The singers bowed and we walked off. We let the security cordon get us and Lazy out to the elevator and back to our room alive. And that is when I broke down.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh what happened oh what did I do what did I do?"

Kaylee held me. "You drove the whole fucking show."

Nikki kissed me. "You picked most music. You made us happen."

Stan squeezed me. "Do you think desert plants will get you higher than this?"

His cellphone beeped. "Oh shit." He flipped it open. "What? WHAT? Don't shit me. WHAT? Up its ass, that's where. A red-hot poker. Yeah, yeah. Fuck off."

His face was gray. "Ladies. Lazy. This is critical. Like, real world critical. The Agency... No, belay that. You heard nothing. Everything is fine. But I must run."

Three security goons stood in the hall guarding our door.

"I need your secure commo room," Stan said urgently. "NOW!"

He flashed an I.D. card. The oldest guard blanched and said, "This way, sir."

"Woah," Lazlo said to Stan's vanishing back. He flipped open his own phone and punched numbers.

"Anny, listen. Something's happened and Stan is dealing with it... no, not here, but... yeah, we won't be back tonight. I'll be in Vegas till I hear otherwise. Oh, the show was miraculous, the best ever. Security is even keeping the Sony guys away. They're animals. Everything you said would happen WILL happen. Yeah. I'll call as soon as I know anything. Love you, cuz. Bye."

He looked at us. "Hey ladies, I'm going--"

"You are going nowhere," Nikki said.

She and Kaylee tugged his arms. I pushed his butt into the bedroom suite and shut the door.

Kaylee hugged and kissed him. "You brought Stan here - and his being here ignited Megan's magic. You are responsible. You will not leave here tonight."

Nikki brought iced champagne in from the outer room. She set the bucket on a table and started undoing Lazlo's trouser belt.

"We are not going to fuck you," Nikki said. She pushed his pants around his ankles. "We fucked Stan not long ago and we have pledged. But we ARE going to suck you to death. And you ARE going to lick us to death. No complaints."

I pulled his light jacket and shirt off and shoved him on the king bed. Kaylee pulled his shoes and bunched pants off. She rolled naked Lazy to the center.

"Stay!" she ordered. She stripped off her gown, fell on him, and sucked.

I liked what he could do with his tongue. "Stay," I said. I shed my ninja garb and sat on his face. I think he enjoyed my crotch sweat and other flavors.

Nikki's gown hit the floor and her mouth joined Kaylee's on his cock. They worked slowly, painstakingly, teasingly, sucking and licking, up and down and around. He almost lacked the focus to slurp me to orgasm. But he managed.

I moved off his face and slapped Nikki's ass. She took my old position. He squeezed her boobs. I sucked his scrotum, trading that and cock-licking tasks with Kaylee. We tortured him.

When Nikki squealed and fell off Lazy's mouth, Kaylee took over, moving into a 69 on top of him. I knew well how that felt. Not bad, not bad.

Nikki held me. "We were not wrong to marry you," she whispered between kisses. "You are so special, so magical. You are us. We are you. We are one." We clenched, and kissed, and rubbed pussies, and 69'd. I loved her taste and she seemed to appreciate mine. We slurped and fingered happily.

We all usually made love after a performance. Tonight felt wondrous. Tonight, I knew I belonged. I WAS K-Y Jam.

But I also belonged with Lazy Lazlo Feher, fuck-cousin and new groom of the Rancho's housemother Anathea. Kaylee groaned an orgasm but did not suck him harder. I pushed her ass off his head and her mouth off his cock and took her place.

"Help me," I said, and licked his shaft. The singers lay between his spread legs. My mouth, Nikki's mouth, and Kaylee's mouth, triple-licking his lucky dick while his tongue did nice things to my pussy. Very nice. I oozed all over him.

He came. I got the first spurt, Kaylee the second, Nikki the third, and then our mouths were together on his dickhead and we shared his semen. He was bleachier than Stan but not too terrible.

I rolled off him. We all kissed his shrinking dick. He sat up.

"Can I have some champagne now?"

Poor baby!

===== [Sunday after Easter]

We drank more champagne overnight, spilled some on skin, had to lick it off, went overboard and licked other places, and managed some three-way and four-way daisychains. Nothing outside disturbed us overnight. We slept in late. Room service threaded past the guards with a not-too-bad breakfast.

We four wore drab clothes and large sunglasses when we elevatored down and strolled the hotel's environs. Newspaper headlines blared of a political mess somewhere. Below the fold were pictures of... Nikki and Kaylee spot-lit in brilliant gowns. We were the talk of Las Vegas. L.A. and N.Y. Times had K-Y Jam on page two. We absorbed some sunshine and returned to our lair.

Lazy called Stan twice but went straight to voicemail. Stan reappeared around noon. He looked like shit.

"You do NOT want to know," he said wearily. "But we done good. Hold me, ladies..." (we clutched and soothed him) "...and then Lazy, take me home. Sony wants you ladies to do another show tonight. They are posting a LOT of cash to your accounts. And to Imani's - she'll soon find she was a star last night, and she'll shine again when you play her stuff from now on. But you don't NEED me here and I have some serious unwinding ahead. Let's go, Lazy."

We hugged and kissed and loved Stan and Lazy, and then they were gone... but not before Stan snarled at some suits, from Sony I guess, "Stay the fuck out of their faces. You have problems, call Ellise. It's her job to deal with you shits, not the ladies'. Fuck with them, we'll jump to Warners and that's a promise."

I looked westward from the suite's big window. The gyroplane sailed to the horizon. A piece of my heart flew with it.

The singers held me.

"You can do it," Nikki said. "You can make magic with us. You ARE us. Stan helps. Talia and Tanya help. But you did everything right last night, and when it wasn't right, it was right anyway. You felt what we felt and you pushed us and we melted together. Last night could not happen without you. Tonight will happen with you."

"Let's do some music,' I said.

I did not pipe my melodica. I sang a boo-dada-boo-dada-boo bit of doo-wop. Their voices filled it in, extrapolated it, carried it to impossible heights, and let it down like a baby on a feather cushion. I finished humming, and held them.

"We can do it," I said. My tears were of joy.

"Let's make love," Kaylee said.

And we did. And again.

We stomped the hotel ballroom into rubble again that night. It was fun.

Ellise to us came afterward. She told us how much money we were making. She MUST have misplaced some decimal points. Were we really worth that much? She said yes. She was glowing, With her percentage, she SHOULD be fucking overjoyed.

We jet-coptered to Rancho Relaxo after the show. Ellise held some vapid suits at bay so we rode in peace, and they continued to L.A. Chopper noise did not wake Stan. Imani and I snuggled with Nikki and Kaylee. We were just right.

===== [Monday]

Breakfast. Pam and Jeri dressed for work; the rest of us ate naked. Stan smiled but looked weary. He put on cargo shorts, poured a tall mug of rum-spiked coffee, went into his office, and closed the door.

"More data to massage," he said.

Lazy's bosses wanted him in the office, probably to blow him for all the K-Y Jam investment money he was funneling into their coffers. He gyroplaned away to San Diego after Anny and Imani double-blew him.

Anny threw scraps of leather on her all-freckled body, strapped Callista in a papoose pack, and went to her barn to weld more vaguely obscene sculptures for well-paying corporate clients.

Lorna and Mari pecked at laptop keyboards on small desks in their shared room. They would have more living and office space when Anny's expansion proceeded. Lorna thought to call her publishing imprint RELAXED INK.

"Ellise says I own total rights to my verses," Imani told Lorna. "You could be my publisher." Imani licked Lorna's swollen nipples.

"We'd have to dig vaults to store all the cash that flows in," Lorna said. She kissed Imani's mouth and stroked her back. "Are you trying to drown me in filthy lucre? Can we hide in caves here?"

Kaylee and Nikki lounged naked in the greatroom's sheet-music alcove, poring over obscure scores, and OOHing and AAHing. They loved his library.

I dragged Imani outside to the dunking tank. We soaked, kissed, and talked.

"I am fucking delirious," Imani said. "I have been here from my Kansas exile for two point five fucking weeks. You and I were unknown distant cousins and now we are like sisters. My first weekend here was royal and group weddings and orgies. My second weekend was a royal wedding in the fucking South Pacific. My third weekend, I watched a video feed..." (thanks to Stan) "...of superstars, my sister-wives, making supermusic with my words - and YOU did it. I've fucked family and friends and goddam fucking royalty, and now some of my family ARE goddam fucking royalty. And I am almost rich already. I can live with my forever best friends and do whatever I want. I can go evil. I can be my evil twin. As Carole says, it's hard to process."

"I got caught in this four months ago, when the singers found we were telepathic like they are with my uncle Stan - and you," I said. Our tongues touched and danced. "They were great already. Then the twins, your forever best friends, showed up, and they were even greater. They reunited their long-lost folks, Stan and Carole. Now you're here and I don't know how we can get any more perfect. Even without a family of royals."

I pulled Imani from the tank.

"Almost everyone is gone or busy. Let's go inside and make love. We'll drag Nikki and Kaylee in with us."

So we did.

=====

Next: Something or other. Lots of babies. Lots of adult sex. Probably incest. I'll figure it out when I can see again.

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia Smurf is copyright (c) 2018. I tried to get details right, even what I invented. I hopefully caught most typos; my next eye surgery .happens right after I submit this. Your constructive comments, suggestions, fantasies, and bribes are welcome, really. I am begging you! If you like this tale, join the 1% and VOTE!