A Woman with Mongrel Ch. 02

"Bronwyn will be hunting around looking for signs that you have been corrupted by the city," Carson smirked, needlessly increasing Sara's panic but feeling not at all repentant.

When they were alone Carson said to Harry, "Will you miss plumbing my depths this evening, my curly headed boy?" Carson enjoyed using her new sense of being able to heartlessly play the part of a sexual provocateur but this teasing foreplay was negated by Harry sighing in relief and saying, "Thank God, no demands on me this evening."

At 11:00, staring at awe at the webpage, Sara and Carson found it difficult to comprehend -- the number of recorded 'hits' stood at 923,333, but alas the incoming hits appeared to have slowed markedly.

Carson used her experience to produce the analysis and solution as one: 'We're wilting; we have to rev up slack potential respondents who are not bothering to lift off their butts."

"Simulate artificially with promo drive."

"Good girl," Sara. "Bring up the web-page and let me at it."

Once the page came up Sara moved to allow Carson to take control.

Hullo world.

This news release is presented on behalf of Harry Truscott. He has a mangled arm in a brace resulting from the crazed woman who rolled his car with her SUV in Tauranga City in New Zealand, which most of you think is somewhere off South Africa.

"Carson, you know you mean Australia."

"The idea is to allow the fans to feel superior if they know where New Zealand is."

"Oh, sorry."

"That's fine, Sara. Promotions and PR is all about positioning, sometimes known as 'spin', rather than reality. You must think where you want to be, even if that is unobtainable, rather than where you would expect to be, given performance, history, current trends and latest information."

"So you lie?"

"Er, I prefer the recognized and unpublished term -- 'we manipulate circumstances to our advantage'.

"But Carson, that almost sounds plausible, almost acceptable even to conservative thinkers."

"You're a smart kid, Sara. You'll go far in this business with that instant perception of yours."

Carson continued her new page.

Harry Truscott, author of 'The Bumbling Detective' series is struggling to deliver to his readers in time for Christmas, is being assisted in his rehabilitation by the woman whose drunken driving slammed him into hospital. She visited him in hospital and something flickered between them; through his unkissed, bruised lips he asked her to help him -- he needed a sanctuary, home care and someone to transcribe his dictation to a computer document.

"I must get my manuscript to my publisher in time otherwise I'll ruin my fan's Christmas," he wept in a mix of shoulder pain and frustration,

"Harry wept?" commented Sara, her more refined figure from gym work beginning to show but her incredulous expression identified where her focus was.

"Darling, in PR you must strive to plunge to the heart of your target, in this case readers. Their heart, especially for women, is the centre of their vulnerability. Make them cry, even to the point of an uncontrollable dry sob will suffice, and they become more receptive to the message, but you still have to drive home the stake."

"Yuk, you sound like the peasants dealing with Dracula."

"God, Sara, you are such a natural. It's almost a waste of time you going to university to study, though you do need to learn how to manipulate student loans, recover from lost library cards, acquire computing hacking skills and to widen your experience in sex. But, rather than divert, let's end this new message to fans of Jessie Chicago."

Weakened by the accident, Harry Truscott is heroically attempting to produce the words that will allow the charismatic Jessie Chicago, who has become the darling of women around the world, to express for the first and only time her true feelings towards private eye Diomedes Mantell. If Jessie fails to confront Diomedes now, he'll never know the wondrous love capable of erupting from Jessie's breast. Please, dear fans, tell your friends to click on to this website, read the latest news about Jessie, and then order her book for Christmas. Order copies for all your friends.

This is not a sales pitch. If Harry Truscott knows there is support for him writing the words that will bring Jessie face to face with Diomedes for this moment of truth, he'll continue to write, ignoring the pain and discomfort of his injuries.

"That's awesome, Carson. In terms of sheer emotion, I believe you write better than Harry."

"I think so too, darling. But for God's sake, don't tell Harry that. Men don't like to feel their superiority is threatened."

"Carson, you are simply fucking amazing."

"Thank you darling, but watch you mouth. You are being groomed to become a lady."

Before going to bed after some heavy web surfing, Sara checked the page counter again -- it had advanced only by 31 hits. She went to Carson's bedroom to report, disappointed.

"Don't worry darling," comforted Carson. "Our new story will come on-line via the webmaster in a few hours, in time to catch Northern Hemisphere web surfers and Jessie Chicago fans before bedtime. There will be a flash response."

"Pigs can fly, Carson."

"Oh you young person of little faith. We have shafted women to the heart, Sara; news that the new story is up will flash round the globe, just you wait."

At 5:30 Lydia woke up Sara. Sara took Lydia to Carson then she checked the webpage counter and then her scream woke Harry and half the neighborhood.

"We've scored 2.389 million hits," she yelled. "The world is reacting."

"That's only the English speaking world," called Carson. "Imagine the response had news about had Harry's twelve volumes been printed in other languages.

* * *

Words were falling from Harry's lips in vibrant fluency, with few breaks in dictation to correct mistakes or orphan thoughts with his dictation. There still were breaks for fine tuning, just as he would back-track his own typing for editing.

"We're hitting the rhythm at near maximum speed -- congratulations for bearing with me."

"Yes, you are in your stride. Talking about hitting the rhythm, Carson said. "When are we going to get together again? I didn't expect we'd be going at it like a married couple but we've only had the one session."

"Oh, I thought we'd had more?" teased Harry, drinking his coffee.

"There will be no more if you can't remember what you've had, you ungrateful detective writer," Carson said primly, unaware until too late that the pot was being stirred.

"Tell me, Carson. Just how much do you really like being pounded?"

"Pounded is not how I would describe sex as I like it. But hadn't we better resume?"

"You mean sex or the book?

The severe look he received throttled back Harry. "Okay, okay; just joking. You are a magnificent help Carson, and we're now actually ahead of schedule. I think I should take you out for dinner tonight."

"And stay at a hotel?"

That popped out without Carson really meaning it. But at least she'd avoided uttering the addendum, "I'll pay"

"What a splendid idea -- what we would do alone in a hotel room I have no idea."

Carson just stared at him, shaking her head as if dealing with a naughty child.

The next session it was all on, with Jessie preparing to propose to Diomedes.

Carson's fingers danced over the keys and joy spread throughout her; this was Harry at his best and she adored it:

Jessie hitched up the minuscule cotton top that barely covered her new front-fastening blue French lace bra with its straps embroidered in tiny pink roses, each individually personalized with hand sewing. This creative garment of frivolity with its laid-back sexiness cost Jessie the equivalent price -- a guesstimate of course -- of what two couples in uptown New York or Paris, each with two teenage mouths, would spend on food for home-cooked meals for a month.

Her new black skirt made in Dublin of all places was patted smooth over curvaceous flanks, and she checked alignment of the seamed patterned stockings from Madrid and the long bright matching red ear-rings manufactured by her shoe-maker in Milan. Then, tapping her nipples to stand proud, Jessie entered the study and in a sultry voice invited Diomedes to the table.

The Bumbling Detective about to re-assemble the parts of his .38 he'd just cleaned and oiled thought about calling for a delay, but Jessie's straining breasts under that cute little top were signaling she was hot, ready to go -- dinner was ready, and hotly so.

Diomedes was aware a body like Jessie Chicago's was one-of-a-kind -- an exclusive limited edition conceived only once per century throughout the entire Planet. Therefore he was being enticed to the dinning room to savor that body, to plaster it with slices of roast beef and gravy, decorate it with leek and cabbage leave, position roast potatoes at strategic places meriting extra attention and he'd be ready to eat his fill lasciviously but with the manners of a perfect gentleman. That was rubbish thinking of course. Both knew that continuing the tradition, Jessie would eat in the kitchen later when doing the dishes and clearing away.

"Well?"

"This is making me horny,"

"Carson, that is the sweetest thing you could say to me; doing that to you in bed is one thing, but to achieve that level of sexual stimulation simply through prose is the writer's ultimate accolade."

"Oh Harry, Harry," Carson cried staggering over and collapsing against him, with the distinct feeling that an orgasm was not far off.

With a passionate two-handed yank Carson sent buttons flying around her like missiles as she ripped the shirt off mouth-opened Harry.

He'd wanted Carson to get mongrel; well here it was, rising from the depths and now evident in her behavior, in the intensity in her eyes the way her body jutted forward, her jaw rigid. "Are you sure this is what you want -- in perhaps another four to five hours we'll be at the hotel or we could even call into the hotel before going to dinner?"

"On the floor buster, watch your injured arm."

Harry shot a look at the floor, then a pensive look at the door.

"The d-d-door," he wavered. "It's not locked."

"Lydia's asleep and Sara is beside the pool sunning herself. For heaven's sake, Harry where's your mongrel -- grab it when it's on offer, if that's what you want."

That tipped Harry. He began grabbing anything he could get his hands on.

"That's better Harry, cooed Carson, attempting to slow down, as mongrel-pumped or not she had no desire for Harry to recall this encounter as being forced sex. "Help unbutton something, darling -- I like being naked when I have sex."

Harry started dribbling, his breathing rate rising.

"Good boy," she purred, knowing she had become Jessie Chicago

"My, haven't your grown since last time we played together. Oh my, Harry -- that's even more impressive," hissed Carson, only her top half bared, falling on to his legs, her tongue reaching out to wet him. The rest of her clothes could come off after she was done with this entrée.

Harry's good hand dug into her hair and gripped hard.

"We're ready, are we?" she muttered, plunging on to his erection with a deep-throated animalistic cry that Carson, wide-eyed, knew that wasn't her -- she'd never uttered a depraved sound like that in all her life...um...her sexual life.

Harry had become hot. Hot hot, that is, so within a minute he was bucking and jerking and Carson was yelling in pain as her hair was being yanked.

"How was that darling?" Carson smirked, wiping her mouth.

"Bea-utiful," smiled Harry languorously, which was the wrong thing to say if he'd fancied a brief rest.

Carson flew on to him, sliding off her skirt and panties with a hand and a hooking foot as she went. Being a multi-tasker she had no problem avoiding colliding with the brace while landing in the right place for docking.

Harry went almost cross-eyed watching the heavy breasts flying towards his face but acting on their own accord his hand and mouth took on the left-hand one, the best choice in fact because Carson landed tilted away from his shoulder immobilizer. He was blinded by breast but as Carson took care of docking her body moved down, allowing Harry to see something other than blue-veined flesh that was beginning to suffocate him.

'Man suffocated by big boob babe during sex.' Harry filed away that mental note; it would turn up sooner or later as the method of murder by a female being hunted by private detective Diomedes Mantell. The thought of poor Diomedes under threat of that creepy woman reacted on Harry.

"Gosh Harry, you've grown even bigger -- what have I been feeding you? But come on, let's have some action from you; you're resting back like a suburban housewife."

Carson shrugged. She knew nice Carson never thought like that let alone talked like that. She'd wanted to be possessed -- well obviously she had. She'd just have to get used to it and be her new self.

"That's right Harry, oh that's g-r-e-a-t. Oh Harry. Oh H-a-r-reeeeeeeeeee!"

Crimsoned face, red-chested and blowing like a beached porpoise, Carson gasped: "Clever boy, Harry -- that contribution was almost perfectly timed. We must practice more frequently. Achieving my purpose in life is my constant goal."

Harry's complexion looked an awful mottle of pink, blue and white and he wasn't the handsome new man she tried to dream about, but Carson kissed those lips with enthusiasm. She eased off to take in more air and kissed him again, gently this time and he ran his tongue under her bottom lip. He wasn't young, rich and handsome with a tremendous personality she sometimes dreamed of, but he was here! Carson moaned, opening her lips, and their tongues met.

Carson settled in for some serious kissing, aware they'd not cleaned up the study carpet. Their breathing rate slowed and if anything the kissing became softer. Carson kissed his nose and eyes, and licked both his cheeks, knowing she wasn't kissing his like one of the sexy sirens he wrote about. She was kissing him as if she loved him.

Carson, now in passion depletion, was very aware of that thought that had just crept into her mind. She smiled: her mother and sister were going to have a fit and her dad would rub his chin and wait to be told what to think by his wife. It didn't occur that Harry might not want her to love him.

They cleaned up and she helped Harry into a new shirt.

Carson was in the kitchen when Sara came in with a stupid grin on her face, obviously not a grin from reading a book. If she says one word about hearing my screams I'll thump her, thought the woman always too kind to thump anyone or even berate an errant dog in her days on the farm.

"If he continues working on you like that he'll be good for you," Sara grinned, and was gone.

My niece is growing up, her mom is going to be amazed about this, but she'll probably cry because she's losing her little girl.

Hot coffee over-ran the mug on to fingers. Carson said "Fuck" and dunked her fingers into her mouth, double glad -- glad that the coffeemaker was set to low-medium water temperature and glad that she'd said that horrible word. The mongrel cloned from somewhere appeared permanent.

Sara collected her coffee on the way out.

"Have a lovely time this evening and leave your phone on."

"What, so you can hear my screams?"

Sara attempted to ignore that remark but realized it was a joke. She looked at Carson, flushing.

They giggled.

The remainder of the afternoon was terrible for Carson, but she was determined to remain brave. Back on the book, after Diomedes and Jessie had wild sex on the table, they showered and cleaned up the room then went out for desert and coffee.

At the restaurant after being served their brandies, Jessie went around the table and sat on Diomedes' knee. She told him that he was the greatest man she'd ever met and she loved him.

Diomedes attempted to say she loved him for the sex, but Jessie silenced him, an elegant finger over his lips. She then said she wanted to marry him.

Diomedes' response was disappointing. All he said was, "Hmm."

Jessie tried not to cry but the tears came [just as Carson's did and she typed that passage].

The lovers returned to the apartment, Jessie saying she'd sleep that night in the spare room. In the morning Diomedes found she'd gone.

Carson sat hunched over the keyboard and she heard Harry say quietly, "It's good to have emotion, Carson but this is only a story."

"It's not just a story, you fool. Woman desire to see nothing but good happening for Jessie-- oh yes, danger and minor injury so Diomedes can came to her aid and that will bond them closer, but not this Harry."

"The genre compels me to have a happy ending. Just wait for it."

"I know that, but must our hearts be made to bleed like this; how can you men can be so callous?"

"Okay, okay. Should I tell you what happens?"

"No, no," cried Carson. "It must unfold for me otherwise it's not a story."

"The woman's mind is an amazing thing," Harry smiled. "Come on, let's get ready to go out or do you wish to cancel."

"No, it will be lovely going out. But I'll be a bit sad."

"Oh yeah!" leered Harry.

They had a delightful time. Carson knew she was drinking too much alcohol and only with the greatest effort managed to avoid hinting at Harry to propose to her. She'd earlier decided he would not like her going on to her knees, at least not to propose. God, what was she thinking!

* * *

Life was great, thought Harry anticipating a great week, with Carson getting her money on Wednesday, he having his shoulder checked on Friday with removal of the brace coming closer and Carson's excitement about her sister and husband arriving on Friday. He'd thought he could move into the guest unit beside the pool.

He'd bumped into Lisa at the local shops and they had coffee. She'd suggested that her stay with her for the weekend.

That thought appealed until she added that her husband and children would be away sailing for the weekend. Harry thought of the consequences of stroppy Peter Doig finding out that Harry had been a guest in his house while Peter was away, so reluctantly declined the offer. Lisa looked a little taken aback but Harry saw her face brighten when she read the disappointment on his face.

"Yeah, I think Carson might prefer having you sleeping under her eye."

Harry had nodded, was pleased to feel Lisa's knee touch his and she didn't jerk away; obviously she liked him. He felt a great urge to pat that knee in friendship, an urge that was not executed because of possible misinterpretation.

They left the coffee bar and exchanged farewells. Then without warning Lisa kissed him, on the mouth, and in the main street of Carson's shopping area where everyone seemed to know her; Harry slunk away, very embarrassed but he turned to see if people were finger-pointing or had their hands over their mouths in disgust. But no, there was no sign of disruption. Harry looked at the slight sway of Lisa's rounded ass outlined under her tight blue dress and his mouth felt dry, so he licked his lips, just as she turned and looked at him.

Harry your idiot, he censured, waving as Lisa shot him a triumphant smile. In remorse he bought flowers for Carson.

On Wednesday Harry couldn't take his eyes off Carson as they prepared to leave the house. She looked like Businesswoman of the Year, dressed in a black pinstripe jacket and skirt, plain white shirt buttoned to the throat, sheer black stockings and black patent leather shoes with five-inch heels, or at least his idea of what five-inch heels were like.

"You look stunning -- stockings rather than panty hose?"

She nodded, looking pleased, as her lips parted.

"Thigh highs or garter belt?"