What Lana Taught Me Ch. 07-09

(The Story So Far: Virgin Ricky lost his cherry in bed with his upstairs neighbor, curvy BBW Lana, and her Army husband Bart. But he was striking out with his shy girlfriend Cindy-- until they passed a peepshow and she performed a show just for him. What's up with that?)

*

SEVEN

"Cindy, we need to talk," I said.

"What about?" she said, smiling sweetly.

I stopped by the library where I knew she had a study group that afternoon, and once they were all gone and we had some privacy, we sat down, facing each other very seriously and grownup-like. "About last night," I said.

"What about it?" she said.

Um, the rubbing your pussy for total strangers for money part? "You know, after we said we were going home for the night, and I went to the peephole place, and... uh, you did too."

"That wasn't me," she said.

Now, you have to admit that was kind of a weird thing to say. If she really hadn't been there, she would have said "What are you talking about?" But saying "That wasn't me" meant she knew what I was talking about, which meant-- what, multiple personalities? "I don't get it," I said, cautiously.

"It wasn't really me," she said. "It was me playing a part. That's the only way I can do things like that for you, Ricky. If I put on an act, then I can make you very, very happy." And looking into her eyes, the frankly horny look in her eyes, I didn't doubt she meant it.

"Well, why don't we come back to my place right now and we'll both make both of us very happy."

"I can't do that," she said, sitting back in her chair and taking her hands off my knees, where they'd been resting. "If I'm going to put on an act-- it needs to be for an audience."

My head was swimming now. This was exciting, and scary, and deeply fucked up. It sounded like we could do whatever I wanted to do-- but only on her terms, which were, apparently, on stage at Radio City Music Hall. "What kind of an audience?"

"Who's that woman you said you didn't love, but had sex with?"

* * *

"I've got the popcorn and the Jujubes," Bart said as we entered the peep show.

"C'mon, don't make fun, she might back out," Lana said.

"I don't think so," I said.

It was 6:30 on the nose-- early for traffic in the peep show, I was sure. Lana and I went into one of the booths together. It was against the rules and there sure wasn't much extra room, but we'd given the guy a $20 tip as we went in which he knew meant, Listen pal, just keep reading the sports section. Bart took the booth next to us. The music ("You Can Leave Your Hat On") started, and the bead curtains parted as Cindy stepped out in a feathery blue nightie and G-string panties.

"Wooo-hooo! If the booth is a-rockin', don't bother knockin'!" we heard Bart shout from next door. Cindy seemed to be another plane of existence entirely, however, as she moved calmly, serenely, toward the pole in the middle of the stage and began to perform for us, wiggling her skinny little ass while I was pressed up against Lana's bountiful tummy.

Lana squeezed around behind me and pushed me up against the glass, then she unbuckled my belt and pulled my cock out. Cindy watched as Lana rubbed it to full hardness while squeezing one of her own tits with her other hand, right beside my head. Cindy began to do the same, rubbing her hands up and down her breasts, each time pulling her nightie down a little lower until one little nipple pointed out, then the other. It was like titty stereo, watching Cindy show off her tiny, girlish tits while Lana's plump bazooms rubbed against me. I leaned over and licked at her nipple and I saw Cindy's eyes roll back in her head. Then she turned around and started wiggling her ass at us again, pulling on her G-string and giving us little flashes of the petals of her pussy. I heard a door open on the other side-- new customer, a stranger-- but Cindy didn't seem to care.

Now Lana turned around and pulled her shorts down, pressing my cock into the crack of her big round ass. Cindy watched as Lana began pumping her ass against my cock, big fat hips working up and down like fat cams. Cindy got on her knees on the little stage and pulled her G-string down, showing us not only her soft purple pussy and the fine downy fur around it but her petite twinkling asshole as well.

She rubbed her pussy for a few moments and I saw her juices glisten on her finger. I grabbed onto Lana's fat hips and let my cock drop down to find its natural place in her juicy cunt as well. Thrusting into her as well as the tiny booth would allow, I watched as Cindy took her wet finger and pressed it against her asshole, sliding it in to the knuckle and then back out again, moaning as she fucked her own ass.

"Sweet mother of Christ, I'm coming!" Bart yelled from the other booth and I heard the splat of one of his spurts on the glass. It didn't take long for the same to happen to me as I came inside Lana.

Lana pulled off me and shoved me back toward the back, pressing herself against the glass. She pulled both her tits out and began licking her nipples while rubbing her clit. Cindy turned over on her back, legs spread wide, and began rubbing her pussy. Lana began moaning wildly, muttering "Show me that pussy, baby, show me your juicy pussy for mama to lick," until she let loose a wild cry of orgasmic delight and, a moment later, so did Cindy. On the far side a $10 bill slid into the slot and Cindy turned around, spreading her petals wide, licking her finger and then shoving it deep inside for the benefit of the stranger on that side. Then she took the $10 and ran through the curtain.

"Let's all go get something to eat," Lana said.

* * *

EIGHT

After that night's show I figured Cindy's virgin act was just that, an act, but as we all talked about it after dinner it seemed like it was for real, or else she was just really, really good at putting on the act. There were two personalities, Cindy on stage and Cindy off, although Lana was starting to make a dent in the latter by coming on to her shamelessly, which Cindy seemed to be responding to, in her shy way. Great, Lana was going to fuck my girlfriend before I ever got to. I hoped at least I would get a front row seat.

I thought maybe she'd come home with us, but she wanted me to take her home, and I got only some brief, timid kisses as she said goodbye. So it was a bit of a surprise when Lana told me that the four of us were going on Friday night to a platoon party. Oh, and she and Cindy were going to perform.

"No fucking way!" I shouted at Bart. "I don't want my girlfriend performing for a bunch of horny Army guys. Especially a big lesbo show-- is that what you meant about 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' not mattering? They leave you alone as long as your wife eats pussy in front of them? So what am I supposed to do during all this? How many dicks am I supposed to suck, and am I supposed to salute them first--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't get your panties in a twist," Bart said. "There is so much more to this than you even comprehend, so just slow down a minute. One, my unit has a well-deserved reputation for openness in sexual matters--"

"Yeah, I'll bet your unit does," I grumbled.

"--not all of which I am at liberty to share with you at this time. Second, Cindy is a free adult, and she seems to be particularly excited about putting on this lesbo show with my wife, so as you've been sampling the forbidden fruit pretty heavily over the last couple of months, maybe you could drop the jealous boyfriend act when you're not even dipping your wick yet, and go with the flow."

* * *

Well, I wasn't happy about it, but I had to admit it would be pretty hypocritical of me to object to anything at this point. So there we found ourselves at the rec center on Friday night, surrounded by about two dozen lean and muscular Army guys and gals, cheering and whooping as Cindy and Lana came out on stage in flimsy negligees to the tune of "Baby's Got Back."

Lana sat down in a chair, her legs spread, her ample bosom thrust up and out. Cindy started doing a dance around her, putting her heel up on the chair and letting Lana (but not the audience) gaze right into her crotch, then coming up behind her and grabbing two meaty handfuls of tit as she shimmied down Lana's back.

Then she stood up on the chair, her pussy right in Lana's face. She slid down, interlocking her slender legs around Lana's broad hips, and the two of them kissed, slowly and passionately, while rocking up and down, to the whoops and hollers of the crowd. I noticed that the female soldiers seemed to be just as worked up as the men.

Now Lana stood up and Cindy sat in the chair. Lana pulled her fat, floppy tits out of her top and put one on either side of Cindy's head, squeezing her between them. Cindy turned to take one of Lana's thick nipples in her mouth and sucked on it, grabbing Lana's broad ass as she did. Lana led her by hand out of the chair and onto her knees on the floor. Then she sat down again and spread her legs open. Cindy began kissing her way up her legs and, oh goddamit, she was going to do it. She was going to eat her pussy. Well, that settled it. I had to adjust to the idea that the reason she didn't want to have sex with me was because she liked girls, and more than I liked sucking the occasional cock. Lana spread her lips open with her fingers and Cindy moved in to touch her tongue to them--

Suddenly the music stopped and the fluorescent lights started coming on in sequence, one bank after another, each one clanking and buzzing as it sputtered to life. The whole room seemed to go on alert-- shit, was it a raid? A nuclear attack? Terrorism? A captain strode to the stage and picked up a microphone and immediately began giving orders. "First TSMC, report to barracks and prepare for immediate deployment, re-peat, prepare for immediate deployment." The whole audience, except for Bart and myself, stood up and within seconds had cleared the hall. The captain looked at Lana and Cindy, then out at me. "If our guests and Sergeant Parsons could come with me to my office" were his words, but it wasn't a request, it was an order.

* * *

NINE

"My apologies for the interruption to tonight's entertainment," Captain Marcato said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for his rec center to be hosting a pussy eat-off. Cindy looked at me nervously and even held my hand. Bart and Lana seemed less concerned, which reassured me, slightly.

The captain folded his hands and looked at us. "Sergeant Parsons has recommended the two of you for a non-military role in a mission my platoon has been called on to execute. Frankly we expected to have more time and opportunity to win you over to working with us, but events in the threat zone seem to have raced ahead of us here."

He took out some papers. "What I am asking of you requires not only your consent but your agreement to an oath of strict confidentiality. I cannot tell you in advance what the mission is, but I can tell you that it involves extremely dangerous enemies of our country. Your part in it is expected to not be dangerous, and may even be pleasurable; however, there is always an element of risk in any form of military service. It is a service, however, which will be of great value to our country. Are you willing to agree to all of these terms?"

Cindy and I looked at each other, nervously, and then at Bart, who gave me a look of cocky assurance. What the hell, I thought, and said "Sure."

"Miss?" said the captain, looking at Cindy.

"As long as it involves an audience," Cindy finally said.

"Yes it does," he said, "yes it does." He reached behind himself for a folder and opened it to reveal a grainy photo of a familiar face from the news. "Holy shit," I said.

"That phrase may be more appropriate than you know," the captain said. "I take it you recognize this individual?"

* * *

In less than an hour we were on a C-130. It was kind of bizarre that the same soldiers who'd been whooping at our ladies' raunchy sex show now sat around us so grimly professional. At least, looking at them, you felt protected.

I looked at Cindy and took her hand in mind. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked back at me and for the first time I felt that there was love in her eyes. "Yes, Ricky, I want to do it for you, and for our country," she said. "It will be a beautiful way of... doing it for the first time."

"I think I love you, Cindy," I said to her. "Our relationship isn't exactly the most conventional, but-- I wouldn't change a thing."

"Hate to interrupt," Bart said, "but remember, Cindy isn't the only one who's going to be doing something for the first time, partner."

"I know," I said, reaching across the aisle to touch Bart and Lana's hands, too. "I love all of you."

"Prepare for landing," the captain said.

* * *

We landed at Crowley Air Force Base in Nevada and were greeted by a Colonel Reich; it was 0100 hours but we were too energized with the enormity of what we were about to do to be tired. We were hustled off the field quickly and a few moments later a blue and white 747 landed on the runway behind us.

From the air the base seemed to consist of only a few nondescript buildings. But once we were inside a glass elevator took us to a vast subterranean chamber carved out of the basalt rock. A glassed-in viewing stand stood, four stories high, along one cavern wall. Massive steel doors were carved into the opposite side, each marked with the Great Seal of the United States-- the pyramid with a glowing eye. The floor, big enough to play Major League Baseball on, was mostly bare cement-- save for one area covered with red shag carpet and a wide variety of pink and purple throw pillows.

We-- the two dozen or so of Bart's platoon, plus Lana, Cindy and me-- huddled at the edge of the carpeted area, waiting nervously. Suddenly there was hubbub in our group and Lana nudged me and pointed toward the viewing stand. I could make out three or four burly men in suits-- and then, in the middle, there was no mistaking him. It was the President.

We watched him shake hands with generals and an assortment of other guests as they filled the room. We heard another airplane landing above us and a couple of the soldiers grinned at each other. That was the "high value target" they'd been expecting. It was almost showtime.

The elevator started to descend from the top and we saw a large contingent of guards with automatic weapons surrounding some sort of large platform or table draped in black and tilted almost upright. At the bottom four of them moved out, forming an advance guard, while others began to wheel the platform toward the center of the floor, about 15 yards from the carpeted area. They chained it to a five-sided indentation in the cement of the floor, and then they stood at attention. I could see the figure under the black drape stirring; it sounded as if there was some sort of muttering going on under it.

We continued to wait for a few more minutes. Then a spotlight hit a microphone and a famous Italian tenor--you'd recognize him in an instant-- was standing there waiting to sing. A voice boomed over the loudspeakers, "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem," and the fat, bearded tenor began to sing, his strong clear voice echoing throughout the vast cavern. I tell you, I've been to a lot of ball games but this version of the national anthem was really moving.

When the tenor was finished he was escorted into the viewing stand. Now the guards advanced toward the platform. Touching their radio headsets to their ears, they waited for a signal; it came, they whisked the cloth away and-- a hush went through the crowd. We had seen his face so many times, in the newspaper, in grainy videos, the monster who had killed so many in the name of his religion. You could see why so many in the Middle East followed him-- even upside-down, chained to an inverted pentagram, his piercing eyes, his tall, slender form, and his gray-white beard made him an imposing, magnetic figure. It was also clear, looking at him now, his dark eyes burning into us with utter hatred, that he was mad, a twisted religious maniac.

There was a bleat of feedback from the loudspeakers, and then the President began to speak, his Texas twang echoing around the rocky walls of the cavern. "The day of your capture is one that Americans have looked forward to for a long time," he said to the figure chained far below him. The prisoner tried to talk back at him but the vast cavern seemed to swallow his voice up. "The murders you committed in the name of your perversion of religion could not go unpunished for long. No doubt you imagined that when we caught you, we would allow you to spew your hatred on our 24-hour news channels through the months and even years of a public trial. Well, sorry, that's not how it's gonna be. We have something much more interesting to do with you."

The muttering from the figure spread-eagled on the pentagram stopped, and he seemed confused. "I'd like to introduce you to the fine men and women of an elite and top secret unit of our military, the 1st Tactical Sex Magick Command. Through the practice of arcane rites going back to the very founding of our Republic, they will punish you in ways you cannot even begin to imagine. Colonel, you and your company may proceed. Do what thou wilt."

Suddenly the strains of Rod Stewart's "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" replaced the president's voice, and flashing disco lights began to fill the room. At Colonel Reich's signal, the soldiers around us began to strip their uniforms off, and excitedly, Cindy and Lana and I did too. Once clothes our were off, we ran to the carpeted area and began frolicking on the pillows as the monster chained before us watched in horror and disgust.

What followed was such a blur of orgiastic ecstasy that I remember only flashes of it-- ramrod-stiff privates ramming their stiff privates into each others' asses, their sweaty haunches slapping together as they plumbed the depths of each others' holes... muscular women giving spit shines to each others' pussies till they gleamed for inspection... Lana's huge tits and belly jiggling as she was being fucked by a white soldier (I'd mention his rank except no one was wearing any) while she and I swabbed spit all up and down a black soldier's cock and Cindy let him lick her tits with his long, pointed tongue... a smooth-skinned, hardbodied Latino standing jauntily splashing his piss all over a man and a woman as they licked it off each others' bodies and fucked in the wet, salty mess it made... Bart eating a woman's ass while another man pounded his ass from behind and a third sucked his balls from underneath.

So it went on and on for several minutes. But as the extended dance mix ended, the lights went red and the bombastic opening of "Carmina Burana" replaced Rod Stewart. That was our cue, and Colonel Reich barked at Captain Marcato, "Prepare to initiate insertion protocol." Cindy arranged herself on a cushion, head pointed toward the figure strapped to the pentagram, legs spread open as her pussy glistened with readiness. I climbed atop her and my cock nestled at the opening of her virgin tunnel of delight. Bart climbed atop me and his cock nestled at the opening of my virgin ass. The others stopped their fucking and sucking and arranged themselves at the points of the pentagram around the prisoner.

Over the P.A. system a famous actor, well known for voiceovers in car commercials, began to recite words in Latin. At the precise moment that the music came to its climax, Captain Marcato said "Commence insertion procedure now" and Bart forced his way into my virgin ass, in turn pushing my cock into Cindy's hymen and ripping it. She cried at the pain but also with joy at the knowledge of what we were doing; I too grimaced at the pain of Bart's cock sliding up my ass, but barely had time to react when above us there was a tremendous flashing of light and, indistinct at first but growing more clear with every moment, the spectral image of a goat-headed man, legs crossed, flame coming from his head.