Deus ex Machina Pt. 06

In the end, I found a cheap hotel room, plugged my notebook into the phone jack, and looked up all the information I could find out about Powerball and the Indiana lottery that I could find. As I had guessed, the headquarters for the Indiana lottery was right there in Indianapolis, and that was where I needed to go to claim my prize. While I was at it, I also confirmed that indeed I had the winning numbers.

I called up my supervisor's voice mail and told her that I had urgent business and had to be out of town for a few days, and that I wouldn't be in on Monday. I tried calling the number Katie had given me, but discovered it was just the number for her apartment. I didn't want to leave a message, not knowing who would hear it.

Frankly, I didn't want to go back to Chicago, either. I knew my apartment was being watched, and that Ruth saw me as a source of income: I really wanted to avoid being grabbed by a mob - even a mob of eager coeds.

I'll "fast forward" a bit here. Now that I was away from the university, nobody knew of my hidden talent, and I felt like taking a break from exercising my anatomy so intensively. Besides, nothing happens in Indianapolis anyway. Suffice it to say that I collected my lump sum payout, transferred it into a number of accounts I'd set up, and flew out to San Diego. There, I checked into a decent hotel near the beach and went about scoping out the place. I had only been to San Diego once before, and it had made a good impression on me, but I realized I knew next to nothing about it. In particular, I wanted to figure out where the good places to live were, where I could buy a house that would have a decent amount of privacy, but without being too isolated. For that matter, I wanted to see if San Diego was really the best place to land, or if there was somewhere else even better. I emailed Katie a few times, but didn't get a response.

After a month or so in San Diego, I was ready to move on. I headed north a bit to the Los Angeles area, and checked into a hotel in Huntington Beach. HB is sort of on the edge of LA, close enough to drive into LA and the surrounding regions, while still giving me a place to "escape" to. And, it was close to the beach. Had to buy a car, so I got a Porsche: not practical, but I wanted something fairly flashy without being too expensive. Insurance on the Porsche was bad enough. Then, of course, I discovered that half of LA drives Porsches (the other half drives BMWs), so instead of standing out I blended right in. Daytime I spent with real estate agents: night times I spent checking out the bars and clubs.

This was my theory: Los Angeles is like one of the plastic surgery capitals of the universe - everyone here is obsessed with image and appearance. There is also a distinctly seamy side to the culture. I figured that there had to be at least one club or bar where most of the clients were "extra-large" guys or women looking for extra size. I wanted to find a woman who would really enjoy my cock at a larger size: so far, nearly all the women I'd gotten that far with had balked at anything more than 9" long, and anything longer sent them right out the door (sometimes before putting on their clothes). Over the months I had developed a strategy. I would check out several bars and clubs a night, several nights a week, walking around at 12" (but flaccid) to see who I could attract. I quickly learned how to recognize a gay bar, before even going inside. Every now and then, I would try the same routine but at minimum extension. Even at 8" I still had some women balk, but at least I got laid fairly regularly.

Then one night, I wandered into a bar (number 3 on my list for the night), and ordered a beer. After a few minutes, I noticed that the crowd was distributed sort of strangely. The bar was full of women, more women than men. Most of the men were relatively ignored: they were standing around looking puzzled, or trying unsuccessfully to chat up the women. A few of the men, however, were either famous or were private legends: there were dense knots of women around them, vying for their attention. On a hunch, I ran out to 15" and walked up to a woman standing at the periphery who had given up on the knot. She was medium tall, with long, wavy dark hair. Down to her lower back. Dark eyes, high cheekbones. Nice chest in a slinky dress.

"Is that somebody famous? I can't recognize him from here."

"Him? Johnny Onze. And that's Bill Zayn, and in the middle of that is Eric Katorze. Nobody you would know, I'm sure." I barely caught her quick glace south. She was about to turn away, dismissing me, but stopped suddenly. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Well, I haven't been in here before. Just moved here recently."

"Are you meeting someone here?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind" I said with a smile. "I'm Dennis" I said, holding out my hand.

"I'm Lisa."

"So, what's the difference between those guys" I indicated the knots "and them?" indicating the clueless herd.

She led me toward the bar while she answered. "Well, this is sort of an 'athletic' club. The popular guys are stars, while the other guys are just unknowns."

"A popular sport? I don't recognize any of the stars."

"Oh, it's a very popular sport. There just aren't that many who are... equipped like them." She nearly sighed. At this point, we had reached the bar.

"You look like you could be a star too."

"If you're one of the fans, I'd be happy to audition."

"I was hoping you would say that." She turned to the bartender, a large blond woman taller than me.

"Hilda, Dennis here is interested in joining. You'll see if he measures up?"

Hilda looked me in the face, and replied simply "Yup." To me, Lisa said "It only takes a few minutes, and I'll be right here. Go on, you'll enjoy it."

Hilda came out from behind the bar, and led me through a "no admittance" door into a back room. She had to be at least 6'4", and I wouldn't be surprised if she was a professional weight lifter. She wasn't fat, and wasn't overtly muscular, but she exuded solidity. I didn't doubt that she could lift me over her head, and guessed that she probably served as bouncer when necessary.

The room was small, furnished with a desk and a bed. The door shut out most of the noise from the bar. It needed air. Hilda sat down at the desk and took out a bound book, like a ledger, motioning for me to sit down on the bed.

"Ok now, your name please?" I would swear she had a Scandinavian accent.

"Dennis"

"Just Dennis? well, that's OK until you are accepted." She asked several more questions regarding my height and weight, my medical history, my current marital status, where I lived, and how I'd found the bar. Then she asked "Now OK, how long are you?"

For some reason, I was surprised. So far, the encounter had been much like a job interview, or filling out a loan application. "Excuse me?"

"Now you and I both know why we're here. No reason to be embarrassed here."

"Well, how long would you like it to be?"

She thought I was trying to be cute, and got a little irritated.

"We are going to measure you, in any case. If you do not measure up, you can leave through the back door. No need to worry about being embarrassed, most men are not up to our standards."

"I mean, what is the minimum length to qualify?"

"You must be at least nine inches long, unless you are exceptionally thick, in which case we will sometimes make an allowance."

"What is the largest you've measured?"

"That we do not tell you. It is in your interest to get as big as you can: this is what we value here. Now please, I must be getting back to the bar soon. If you would stand up and remove your trousers?"

Suddenly, I wished I had hit this bar first, instead of third that night: now I had to decide whether to "play it safe" with something long but not enormous, or to really go for it and show her maximum extension. On impulse, I decided that if there was any place to use "maximum", this would be it. I ran out to 24", but left it flaccid. One look at Hilda's face convinced me I hadn't made the wrong choice.

"Ah, this looks very promising."

She quickly placed a finger against my leg, even with the end of my cock, and with her other hand ran a tape measure up my leg to the root. "I measure along the leg, because the penis does not stay the same length" she explained.

"OK, now we have a soft reading. You are already above the minimum requirement, but we also need a hard reading. No use to us if it doesn't get hard." She wrapped both hands around my shaft at the root, and began stroking with one hand while keeping the other stationary. When I was half erect and she could no longer get her fingers all the way around, she stopped. "You are going to be too big for me to finish here. I will get Lisa."

Shit! I had overshot. If their "official measuring woman" couldn't handle me, I figured I was bound to be just a freak here. I was just about to downsize a bit, maybe salvage something here, when Lisa came in.

Her eyes lit up, and she stopped in the middle of the doorway in shock. Recovering, she almost closed the door on Hilda, who was right behind her.

"Well, what have we here?"

"See, I did not exaggerate."

"Hello again." I was still unsure where to go, but this seemed like a pretty positive response.

"I handle all the particularly big guns around here" explained Lisa "and it looks like you'll take lots of handling." She smiled greedily. "May I?" she asked, reaching for my half-erect cock.

"Go right ahead" I said, happily.

I sat down on the end of the bed, while Hilda tossed one of the pillows to Lisa. She knelt on the pillow on the floor between my feet, and began to stroke and caress my shaft with her hands. As I straightened out, pointing toward the ceiling, she began to kiss and lick the shaft. Fully erect, the head was too high for her to reach with her mouth while kneeling, so she asked if I wouldn't mind standing.

Hilda stood behind me, with her arms wrapped around my chest, as if to catch me should I begin to faint. Lisa stood before me, bending over slightly to apply lips and tongue to the purpling head of my cock. Her hair swung forward, blocking my view, but it felt like she was stuffing the entire head into her mouth, along with several inches of the shaft. The sensation was exquisite, with her tongue stroking across the broad expanse of cock head, circling down to the sensitive ganglion underneath, both her hands pumping the shaft up and down, joined after a few minutes by Hilda's hands as well. I relaxed back into Hilda's firm embrace, as I felt the veins standing out along my shaft, swelled to absolute maximum.

Hilda said "now" quietly. The sensation on my glans stopped briefly as the tape measure was stretched the length of my organ. "OK, finish" she said after a few seconds.

The sensation resumed. After another minute or two, Hilda mentioned "you do not need to hold back. Please feel free, so that you can put your pants back on." I nodded, and a minute later released a flood into Lisa's throat.

"Mmm, I hope we'll be seeing a lot of you" said Lisa, wiping her mouth.

"There is certainly a lot of him to see" joked Hilda. "I must return. Please follow as soon as you are ready."

I thought that perhaps the bed there might be used some more, but Lisa indicated that the room was strictly limited to "new member applications", mentioning that there would be plenty of time later.

As soon as I had my pants zipped back up, leaving the monster at 24" (although flaccid), Lisa led me back into the bar, holding my arm as if she thought I would try to escape. We entered the bar, and she motioned to Hilda. While Hilda was making her way over, Lisa's wet lips and tongue found my ear: "I would love to make your 'initiation' a memorable one" she said, pressing herself against my arm. Her slinky dress felt a bit more taught, and I thought it could be quite memorable for both of us.

Hilda walked up, and without preamble grabbed me by the hips and hoisted me standing onto the bar while Lisa banged a beer stein with a spoon for attention. Holding onto my thigh so that I couldn't fall, Hilda announced to the bar:

"Attention! everybody, it is my pleasure to introduce to you our newest member, Dennis Vingt-cart."

There was suddenly complete silence, then the sound of a glass hitting the floor. Then there was a lot of noise, with all the women displaying great apparent excitement, the "famous three" looked startled, and the clueless herd looked even more clueless. I was baffled: my last name doesn't sound anything like "vingt-cart". I climbed down off the bar, and was trying to ask Hilda what she'd said, but was immediately caught up in a mob of women, all trying to get my attention. Many of them, failing to get close enough to talk, simply thrust business cards into my shirt pocket, or jacket pocket, or any opening in my clothing that they could reach. I couldn't make out what anybody was saying. After what seemed like 20 or 30 minutes, I heard the spoon on the stein again, and eventually, everyone quieted down enough for Hilda to make another announcement.

"Please, everybody. Dennis will be with us for quite a while, I'm sure, as long as we give him a chance to enjoy his membership."

As she was finishing, Lisa took my arm and managed to lead me out of the crowd and through a back door. "I think you handled that well" she said, ushering me into the passenger seat of her BMW. "Shall we go take care of your orientation and initiation now?"

"Sure" I said, not quite sure what I was agreeing to. This was the answer she wanted, and she smiled broadly at me before ducking into the car herself.

"What was it that Hilda called me? At the introduction?" I asked, as Lisa wove through the heavy evening traffic.

"Do you speak French, Dennis?"

"French? No."

"All of our members are great linguists. Or, at least, they learn to count in a variety of languages."

I just looked at her, baffled.

"She said 'Dennis vingt-quatre.' It's French, for twenty-four," she explained.

OK, suddenly it was clear. I had been introduced by first name, and the length of my erect cock. No wonder everyone had been surprised.

Lisa continued, " 'zehn' means ten in German, and 'onze' is eleven in French, and so on."

We drove up into the hills, where I don't know, making small talk all the way. She worked as a "special assistant" for a talent agent, but didn't have regular hours. Finally, after quite a bit of driving, we pulled into the garage of a house in a very nice neighborhood. The garage door closed behind us, which was good, because by this point she had unzipped my pants, dragged the length of my cock out, and was languidly stroking it to throbbing rigidity.

"Do you ever have trouble keeping it hard?"

"No, none at all."

"Good... very good." She reached into her purse, and pulled out a joint. She lit it on the car's cigarette lighter, took a few puffs, and passed it to me.

"Here: this will help."

I don't normally smoke grass - haven't since I was in college - but I'm no prude either. If she was into this, I had no problem being high with her. I took a hit. It was no kind of grass that I remembered. After a few hits, I was suddenly extremely aware of every sensation on my skin. I could feel my clothing in fine detail. If I wanted to, I could count all the business cards that had been stuffed into my shirt, and were now poking me in the chest and stomach. I wasn't interested in the cards, though: I was far more interested in the intense pleasure caused by Lisa stroking my cock sensuously. "Let's go inside."

"Mmmmm ok"

She got out, walked around the car, opened my door, and guided me out. I was definitely spaced out, too absorbed in the sensations in my middle ear as I stood up, feeling my head change orientation. She put my arm over her shoulder, and her arm around my waist. Her other hand held my cock, keeping it from hitting the car door and other things in the garage as she guided me to the door. We floated into the house.

"That is really... What is... That's good shit, man." I was barely coherent.

"Yeah, this is the best."

We floated through the house, guided by waves of pleasure emanating from my cock. She must have undressed us, because I found myself lying on my back on a bed, naked, with Lisa on top of me, my cock pressed between my chest and her tits. I can't describe how incredibly erotic it felt.

She stopped for a moment to get my attention, and explained that her goal for the night was to make me come as many times as she could, and that for tonight at least, she would appreciate it if I would not hold back. Then she slid down, and begin licking my shaft very thoroughly, starting in the middle, going all the way down to and including my balls, and slowly working her way back up. Finally reaching the top, she thoroughly licked the head, rubbing her entire tongue across and around, while waves of pleasure washed over my entire body.

Then she took the entire head into her mouth, with several inches of shaft. It felt like she had at least a foot of my cock in her mouth. The sensation was so intense, I felt like I was already having an orgasm. I really wanted to see how she managed to stuff my fat shaft and wider cock head into her mouth, but it was too dark, and the sensation too intense to really try. All I could tell was that her head was moving up and down, and I could feel every motion of her lips, and her tongue, and her hands stroking up and down.

And then I came, and the feeling was so intense that I felt like I had never cum before in my life. My toes curled, then I lost all feeling in my legs (or more likely, I no longer cared about feeling anywhere else). My entire universe was centered on intense waves of feeling radiating from my cock.

I slowly came back to myself, finding that Lisa was licking my cock all over again, an instant replay of the blowjob just finished, building me up for another round. It occurred to me that she had already sucked me off twice now, and that I should warn her that her boobs would be swelling quite a bit if she continued, but then the thought escaped me, washed away in a tide of pleasure and whatever that was that we had smoked.