Screwdriver

Later that session she was pedaling slowly, cooling off. Sweat was running down her sides in dark streaks: she was increasing her workouts, subtly trying to keep up with MG. Stretching, she put both her hands behind her head, spreading her arms wide to the world, relaxing. She saw him goggle at her, and then imitate her pose. She got the message: he was fascinated by her pits! Not her tits this time, but the pits. Most odd, and very interesting. She'd never have guessed.

He caught her eye, made a little licking motion that twisted her belly. Okay, she thought, why not? She stared hard at him, ran her right forefinger gently through her left pit, waggling, then deliberately brought it up to her nose and sniffed. Pure showmanship: no odor, she was clean, for heaven's sake, but MG's eyes were a study!

Gently the finger went into her mouth, full length, her lips closed, she pulled it slowly out. MG made groaning faces, clutched his bulge at her briefly. She giggled at his discomfiture. That night, she spent an extra ten minutes pleasuring herself in the shower.

The next gym-time, Pam was twenty minutes late: heavy traffic. She felt as if she were a junkie headed desperately towards her fix... she was addicted to her evening entertainments, to MG's intoxicating, caressing gaze, to the excitement, to her showers. Screaming through the streets towards the gym, she hoped against hope that he would be there, that her bike might be available. Downstairs, quickly changed, her linerless shorts again, then upstairs, hurry hurry hurry. Her heart sank: even from outside the door, the noise made it obvious that the bikes were unusually busy tonight. DAMN the traffic!

She scanned, caught MG's tiny wave (hooray!), looked where he gestured. His signature bright green towel, draped over the seat of her bike, his bag on the floor beside it... how wonderful of him! He'd kept it reserved for her. Her face told him of her delight: she waved to him, strode to the machine. The towel was lumpy on the seat. She lifted it, intending to carry it over to him, maybe even to break their perfect silence by saying thank you.

The lump was a package. Plain white, almost but not quite a candy-box. She picked it up gingerly, towel in the other hand, and looked over at MG. He made opening motions as he kept on running. He was studying her with an unusual intensity, she thought. Somehow, box in hand, she knew: their flirting was about to take a quantum jump, if she let it. She could, in theory, turn down the gift. Couldn't she? In cold fact, she most probably should do so. But she didn't WANT to: quite the contrary.

Her instincts were usually good, and she wanted intensely to open it.

Quandary.

She eyed MG again, he eyed her back, a balance achieved. She opened the box, heart thumping wildly. Black velvet, two shiny white plastic eggs nestled below a small squarish plastic box with two knobs. A slender white wire connected each egg to the box, the knobs were dials with numbers from one through twelve. No label, but very high-quality stuff.

The penny didn't drop until she looked inside the lid. She blanched, then went crimson from hairline to navel as she read:

"Vibrating Eggs, the modern Ben-Wa balls. For the ultimate erotic experience! One for you, one for your partner. Or both for you, if you're alone. Absolutely guaranteed to please. How adventurous are YOU (and your partner)?"

Beside the equipment nestled a little tube labeled "Love-Lube, the Ultimate in Slippery".

The delightful, delicious presumption of the man! She didn't know what to do, standing there alone in the crowd. She certainly couldn't look up at MG, not yet! She unfolded the tiny slip of paper tucked into the belt clip on the box. But.... a BELT-clip? Did people walk around in the open wearing such things? She giggled: climaxing in a crosswalk? Ye gods, the very idea! The handwriting was nice, formal, very legible, the message short:

Happy "two-month-iversary"! Dare you! New batteries. Go put it on (?? in??) and come back for your ride. DOUBLE dare you!

Oh, yes, a new level indeed! Finally, she looked up at MG. He raised one eyebrow at her. Very James Bond.

She studied him, thinking. She'd never been able to turn down a non-fatal, do-able dare. She smiled, shut the box, dropped his towel back on the seat and strode towards the door with box in hand, passing him without a glance.

Downstairs, in the toilet for privacy, looking at the box. Fine print: the application, so it said, was either both in her pussy or one each for rectum and pussy, the two-hole arrangement was "For maximum erotic effect." Oh? Plus the nice statement, "Don't worry, the wires will NOT pull out and leave the eggs behind!" Good plan, that!

Eggs in hand, she turned up the dials to see the effect. Nothing at all at 1 or 2, a tiny buzz of vibration at 3, and by five and six it was pretty serious. Dead quiet, though: that was nice, the equipment really WAS good stuff, every vibrator she had ever encountered till now had been so goddamned, irritatingly noisy! But now what? Choices, choices! She found her pussy dripping, most definitely ready. Putting one egg in there was a foregone conclusion. The first went in effortlessly, just like a tampon, disappeared, vanished unfelt inside. Unfelt until she turned up the dial. She gasped at the sensations, quickly shut it down. More fine print, they had a good copywriter, it wasn't Japlish:

SPECIALLY MADE TO LOOK LIKE AN EXERCISE RADIO. WEAR IT ANYWHERE. NOBODY CAN TELL. YOUR VERY SPECIAL SECRET. JUST BE SURE TO HAVE A STORY HANDY ABOUT WHY YOU'RE SO HAPPY!

So, the other egg, where? She'd always been a bit of a scaredy-cat about her bottom. It was god's own plenty of sensitive, but she'd never explored that sensitivity. Well, why not? That was, after all, one of the suggested uses. She dared herself this time, and accepted. A dollop of cool Love-Lube on her pucker, and she was amazed at how easily the egg went in. She tugged on the wire, gave a gentle internal squeeze, and out it popped. Wow! Not bad: in fact, very interesting!

Back in, and a tentative "three" on both rheostats. Good GOD! Yes indeedy-do. Yes to the point of almost not going back upstairs. Almost. Off again, up with the linerless shorts, arrange things so the wires disappeared discreetly down her waistband, and it did look for all the world like a radio. She giggled again, blushed at herself in a wall-mirror, asked "Why am I doing this?" but got no answer. She headed back upstairs.

As she hove into MG's view, she saw him scan her. His eyes widened with obvious pleasure when he saw the box at her waist: he clapped silently as she walked past him, solid eye contact all the way. Not the least bit lewd, just admiring and very appreciative. And he never missed a step. They continued to eye one another as she settled on the machine, keyed in her program, began to pedal. The eggs were still off, she couldn't even tell they were there except for a little odd fullness in her butt. MG's eyes caressed her, studied the shaved skin of her crotch with each leg motion. He had to be able to see the whole length of her pussy-slit with each stroke. Maybe he could even see the wires? GOD, but she was hot.

She looked about: couldn't the whole WORLD tell? The world seemed to give a great yawn and ignore her entirely. Except for MG, who slowed his treadmill and stepped off, walked towards her. She shivered at his approach, not at all certain just why. Then he was inside her personal space, very close. She could feel his heat, smell his clean sweat, and her insides flipped steadily. Nobody, nothing, had made her feel this way since high-school! She was truly alive, all of a sudden, in that special woman-in-heat way, and it was delicious! It was also monumentally disconcerting.

Still not a word between them.

Then, eyeing the box with its dials at "off", he shook his head gently, reached towards the box, paused without touching it and said his first two words. The voice was nice, low, well modulated. "May I?"

She nodded, pumping slowly. One click, one number. Two. Buzzing deep inside, very nice, intriguing. She looked down. At four already! She maintained eye contact, he studied her, then five. Then six, and her eyes closed involuntarily. She heard him sigh slightly, then say "Ahh!" Was "Ahh" a word? Were they up to three now?

He clicked both knobs to seven.

Her eyes opened in surprise, pupils widely dilated. He noticed, smiled and nodded, turned to go back to the treadmill, let his fingertips trail delicately over the top of her thigh, just one slow, tiny touch. She nearly died. She had never been so utterly hypersensitive in her entire life. White hot, raw desire flooded through her: she had had no idea until now just how urgently she wanted real contact. How long O Lord? How long could she maintain some sort of outward composure in this crowd? Part of the dare, no doubt!

She pedaled hard, matching MG's pace. Her pussylips were stroking her clit perfectly, her whole inner being was quivering, waves washing through her.

It took her rapidly and suddenly. The first climax lifted her into the air above the seat, held her there suspended on her arms, then after perhaps forty seconds of shaking let her gently down. Phenomenal... maybe the egg in her ass was responsible? She breathed again, looked about to see whom she might have disturbed.... couldn't they ALL feel that?

Not a flicker from anyone, all were deep in their own private exercise-worlds. She looked at MG, the eggs buzzing away, working their unsubtle magic. He mouthed the word "Bravo!", then made "turn it up" motions with his hand. She searched for the controls: why was she following his lead? Did he, perhaps, understand her better than she did herself? No matter... once was surely not enough!

She added a click to each, pedaled furiously. "Sewing-machine my ass!" she thought. When she could think at all.

After ten minutes of nearly constant orgasm, she was exhausted, and deeply puzzled at herself for putting on such an exhibition. What would George say if he knew? Or her Mother? Or ANYONE? On the other hand, who cared? Who had any RIGHT to care? Nobody!

Her shorts were thoroughly soaked, and all she could really think about was MG and his strikingly erect cock over there, so close yet so far, tantalizingly inaccessible. She thought "Jeez, but I could use some of that!" Crude, corny, but very true.

She turned the toy down to zero, then to 'off', stopped pedaling. She was totally soaked in sweat. Eyes closed, she sat and basked in her glow. Then a gentle touch startled her: there at her side was MG, equally sweaty, looking very pleased. He watched her for a second as if to read something deep within her: it was disquieting, but friendly. Knowing. He gestured silently for her to follow him, paused for her to think, obviously certain she would do so. "Why...." she thought, ".... do I feel like I'm inside the story of the Pied Piper?"

Against every sensible instinct, she stood up to follow him, he picked up his bag, she carried his towel, walked with him. Where was he leading her? Out towards the front desk, not just over to some quiet corner where they might finally introduce themselves. Towards the main door. OUTSIDE? With him? Why? A thin hot knife-edge of fear leavened her neediness. He might strangle her for all she knew. Oh, godalmighty no, she just couldn't....what would they do? Kiss? Neck? Pet? Introduce themselves, shake hands, exchange pleasantries? Fuck in the bushes? Not a bad idea, given her state of horniness. DAMN and double-damn, she wanted to go, ached to do so. Spice back in life again?

As the desk approached, a major decision point, an inspiration flooded her. The girl knew her, the girl at the desk, the gate-keeper. Quick as lightening, she reached over to MG's waist, unclipped his badge, clipped it to her own without looking at it, handed the pair to the girl, made sure she got eye contact, said "Hold these for us, please. We'll be back pretty soon." The girl nodded to her, said "Sure! See you in a while" and dropped them into the box marked "Gone Out Running".

There! Now he couldn't dare hurt her, not without being found out immediately, he wasn't stupid for sure, now she was safe to indulge herself, him too. Belly-roilings again, hairs up on the back of her neck. Her knees were purest Jell-O: could he tell? He nodded to her approvingly, gave her a little thumbs-up which showed he understood. His delight reassured her, dulled the knife. Then he opened the door, pointed them into the parking-lot darkness.

Her heart was thundering, her palms adrip as they moved out into the gloom. The girl at the desk notwithstanding, all her childhood training flowed through her, the ingrained fear of the dark, carefully-nurtured fear of strange men. ("Never, never ever accept a ride from a stranger, dear. Never!" "Okay, mommy, I promise!") All the horror stories of serial murderers, of women raped and beaten, killed, dismembered, gone missing and never found. Ugh! Intellectually, she knew this was incredibly stupid. Emotionally, she was scared silly. Biologically, she was entranced. Biology won the argument, the force of her ancestral DNA seeking inexorably to replicate itself. Won hands down. This man was a walking pheromone!

His hand was cool, firm, knowing, it lay on her hip like it belonged there, guiding her effortlessly towards the far side of the lot, guided her as perfectly as if they were dancing. She followed his lead, her whole being a-tingle with fear and anticipation. Part of her mind wondered how well they might partner in a ballroom, the other half, swamped by his nearby maleness, watched the approaching van.

A yellow, older, quite used van. No side windows. Double door in back, big slider on the side. Parked near a light stanchion at the edge of the lot. Plainly lit: another notch down on the internal panic meter. They approached the van from the rear. She read the license, personalized, "MYVAN", easy to remember. Near the rear doors he stopped their walk, turned her to face him, tilted her head up. His eyes asked permission.

She gave it.

They launched themselves together, an initial gentleness flaring into a grinding, deep-tonguing immediacy, incredible urgency. Between them was his erection, hard, full, matched by the solid pebbles of her nipples. Erection, the non-gender-specific treat!

Great God but they could kiss, she thought through a reddish haze. Yes, yes, oh yes!

Much, much later they broke. Still not another word between them, the silence was perhaps the single most erotic thing going. Or maybe the kiss. Or his cock. Or whatever, she was almost dizzy-sick with desire. But exactly what next? Clearly they were going to fuck- in her mind, that was a foregone conclusion (zero-gee whoop-dee-doos in her guts), hopefully they could make love at the same time, but how would they, how would HE, craft the encounter?

Wordlessly he retrieved the van key from his shorts pocket, handed it to her. The gentleman again, her choice, she could refuse, delay, escape.

Well?

Fear versus desire, the nervous cat torn about charging a bird, chattering. Her world was going to rotate on the axle of that key, wasn't it? She turned from him and, trembling, inserted the key, opened the rear doors. Empty inside. Dark, but not even close to black. No rear seat, just a flat expanse. Carpeted. He tossed his bag inside, behind the passenger seat. A toolbox lay behind the driver's seat, the big engine compartment nestled box-like between the seats, almost a small table.

He motioned her to wait, jumped in (another chance to flee gone by), unlocked both front doors and the side door as if to say "No problem, lots of escape routes my dear, not a trap, not to be afraid." It helped. He bowed her inside, pulled the double door closed behind her. The solid thunk-thunk-click took her by surprise, made her jump. She dropped his towel, surprised to find that she still had it in hand. She was conscious of their breathing, of the tiny squeals from the suspension as it adjusted to the shifting load they formed.

Streaming light from the nearby street-lamp made things visible, then he was behind her, his hands smoothly up her sides, cupping her breasts, her hands behind her, investigating his hardon. It was all so ridiculously natural! Nipples burning into his palms, his lips on her nape, then on her earlobes, her exercise bra expertly slipped up and gone, her freed, aching breasts hard as apples, gravity-slung into his hands, her own hands down the front of his suit, the shock of a clean-shaven crotch (he matched her!) against her fingertips, such a lovely, curved, manipulatable hardness, fingernails across the cock-eye, under the rim, feel him twitch, balls hard in her palm, oh yes indeed things were going well thank you very much.

So, where had the fear gone? Drowned in the juice from her pussy, buried in the sensations from her nipples and earlobes? Behind her she felt him drop to his knees, her belly shook at his thumbs pulling her shorts down, down, over her hips and thighs. She helped as best she could, tried to turn, she wanted full frontal contact, more kissing, but no, his hands were firm on her hips, she wasn't to turn around, not yet. He moved her forward to the back of the engine box, levering, guiding her, folding her forward from the waist until her tits flattened on the top of the engine lid and the compartment accepted her weight, then he took her hands, helped her spread her cheeks wide, wider, open to his gaze.

The spread made her realize the two eggs were still inside her, and for some reason that idea truly embarrassed her, not the pose, rather the thought of him seeing those two white wires trailing out of her openings. Too, nobody had ever looked right up her ass this way before. It tingled wildly. She felt him tug gently, felt her pussy open deliciously as it reluctantly disgorged the egg. Then, with more sphincter persuasion, she aided his second tug, shot the other egg suddenly into his hand. She heard the eggs follow the control box to the carpet, and felt suddenly empty.

His breath on her crotch and buttocks made her gasp, she hoped she knew what was coming, it involved his lips and tongue, yes, yes please, closer yet. Oh god, together his breath and tongue oozed lazily down the back of her neck, better than good, counting down her vertebra like ants walking so lightly, down, down, over her tailbone, slowly down the crack pressing delicately then harder, harder, deep up inside her ass, whoever thought of tongues really inside assholes anyhow, such a delicate sensation but scaring her with the intensity of her response, the completely unexpected pleasure, then on down her midline pussy-split, round and round inside the salty, dripping opening to her cunt, dipping inside (YES!), still no clit, lots of incredible finger-tipping and nails, especially in her underarms, knee-backs, his fingernails were everywhere all at once. He was a tease, he clearly understood just exactly what he was doing, what its effects were, loved it.

Then finally, finally, FINALLY! -- his tongue on her clit, from the back, heaven-sent, exactly the right angle, again nobody ever did this before (why not!?), his nose almost up her very ass, how exquisitely carefully he approached her, like a supplicant at the chalice, lovingly, exploring, sensing her needs and wants, tongue up over the top then back almost inside her pee-hole (nobody did that, nobody, or the tongue-in-ass thing, not to her, she wondered why it'd taken a whole lifetime to encounter these marvels, hurrahed that at least she hadn't missed them forever).

He was now her pleasure-machine, this silent, highly-trained tonguer, face buried in the crack of her ass, out of sight behind her, almost a disembodied spirit, all hers. Her fingertips played gently in his beard, that kept him real, concrete. She was soaring now: if he wanted to just work on her, well, she was perfectly willing, doing him later (anything he might want!) was a fine idea. Soaring up, up, up, her body began to shake as he sucked her clit deep into his mouth and rolled it, GOD but he had figured out exactly when to go from butterfly kisses to real pressure. She began to shudder hard, felt his big thumb press solidly against her anus, probing smoothly, deeply into this near-virgin territory. The sensations exploded from his penetration to mingle with her clit vibes as she bucked hard back against him, climaxing nonstop, over and over and over, unable to breathe.