Stanley Steamer Ch. 07: Lorna & Kaylee

Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker is fiction. Everyone is over 18 and shuns condoms. Tags: clusterfuck, bisexual, multiracial, fighting sperm. If you object, stop reading. Details may be incorrect. Opinions may not be the author's. Read prior chapters first. Enjoy!

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Stanley Steamer 07: Lorna & Kaylee

Stanley steams the ladies to safety

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LORNA

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"Good work. Now go home."

My boss waved the print of my layouts for botanist Barbara Kim's new field guide the tribal publications office would issue under our museum imprint. HOLY FUCK: Sexual Ritual Sites of the Desert and Mountains should outsell her first book for us, NATURAL HIGH: Hallucinogenic Plants of the Desert and Mountains. She was sketching out future projects. PICK YOUR POISON: Toxic Nature and then SUPER-SEX: Aphrodisiac Plants, et cetera. We need one on herb magic, too.

She said, "Go home, I said. You've been at this all yesterday, all night, and now all morning. Take a very long lunch break. The rest of today and then two more days. I'll see you Friday morning. Now get out. NOW!"

She waved her hands at me like brushing away a swarm of flies.

"Yes boss," I said.

Well, I sure WAS beat to shit. But Babs's material was just so great! I loved editing and reshaping it, keeping it true but making it vivid. I was obsessed. I tried not to think of licking pregnant Babs's bulging boobs. She was due any day now. Would her hormones stop driving her crazy, post-partum?

And did Mari's notion of "fighting sperm" apply to her, and Babs, and Sharli, and me? All of us on The Pill, and all knocked up after fuckfests involving Stan and others. She thought that if Stan's super-sperms encounter other DNA, like in a multi-fuck session, his go into hyperdrive and shoot past all contraception. I do not think she understands contraception.

Anyway, I followed orders. I did not even gather papers or data discs to fuss over. Clear my mind - that is the goal. Serenity. Think of other good things. Not Babs' boobs. Stan's cock, sure. I could visualize. But I ate a slice of pizza at the casino staff lounge before driving to Stan. The surprise I had for him would go better if I wasn't starving on the hour-long drive.

Just being there today would be a surprise. In my off-hours from Friday evening to Monday morning, I was Stan's "weekend wife," as my roommate Mari said. She said I loved him but she only used him. I think she was fooling herself.

Past the Cabazon dinosaurs. Over deep Whitewater Pass. Up steep Morongo Grade. Past the twisty Pioneertown road. Around Yucca Valley. Up to Flamingo Heights (beware desert flamingos!) and slowly out the rough track to giant-boulder-sheltered Rancho Relaxo.

Noon's sun beat down on the rock-palisaded compound. The door was rolled down on the big steel barn housing Stan's steam buggies, sweet Heidi and spidery Tilly. The horseless water tank, often containing nude dunkers, was uninhabited. I parked next to a BMW in front of Stan's stony 'cabin'. It looked like Tina's, our star writer and a scion of tribal power. Hmm, their last assignment ended awhile ago. I thought Tina and her photographer partner/lover Frieda were working south this week, way up Palm Canyon. I wondered what had come up.

The ironwood door opened on silent hinges. I left my sandals just inside. The 'cabin' had fieldstone exterior walls and red-brick interior walls, lined inside with bookshelves and hangings. I heard murmurings from Stan's bedroom, its corner door open to the greatroom. I peered around the doorway and saw what had come up. Stan's thick cock - that is what came up.

That cock seemed to be well up inside striking, rangy Cahuilla princess Tina except when she rose to drop on him again to get deeper. Stan's tongue seemed to be well up inside artificially blondish Frieda. I guess they had not gone total lesbian after all.

The partners leaned over Stan's prone body to kiss and fondle. And to whisper.

They whispered. Tina leaned back, her hands beyond Stan's knees, her thighs spread, her boobs wobbling. Still riding Stan's tongue, Frieda bent forward as if to steal his cock into her mouth. Instead, she licked at where Stan and Tina joined, tonguing Stan's slippery shaft and Tina's insistent clit. Stan's strong hands stroked the strawberry bottle-blonde's thighs and butt. Her hands pulled at Tina's hips to keep her centered on that cock. The cock I had dreamt of while driving here.

I leaned on the doorpost to watch. Nobody noticed me.

Tina wiggled and emitted sounds of satisfaction but said "I can't stay like this. How about..."

She pulled her cunt off of Stan's cunt-splitter and scooted back on the bed. Her legs were open. "Still hungry?" she asked Frieda. The sorta-blonde crawled off Stan's mouth and sprawled where she could fully feast on Tina's dark delta. Stan got the idea. He knelt behind Frieda, lifted her hips, spread her knees, and slid that long, thick cock into her for a good doggy fuck, woof, while she dined at the Y, yummy.

Stan held Frieda's hips to steady his strokes. Tina held Frieda's head to steady her tongue.

Stan stroked faster. Frieda's swinging boobs swung further. Tina's legs flailed the air. Faster, and faster yet. Tina howled. Frieda raised her wet face and moaned, then dove in between those smooth redskin thighs again. Tina howled more. Stan drove faster, almost roared, and came violently into Frieda, bashing her buns, his scrotum swinging almost to her belly, it seemed.

Stan sat back and found a washcloth to clean his messy manhood. Frieda crawled forward and embraced Tina. Stan kissed their clenched bodies, their intertwined legs, down to their feet. He kissed their crinkling toes. He tickled their wriggling feet. They laughed into their tongue-tag but remained lip-locked. Stan kissed up their bodies till his head was with theirs. They held him. Three mouths moulded together. I guess they were friends.

They fell apart, gasping, connecting, hands on nearby flesh. I stopped fingering my tits and twat and applauded from the doorway.

"That looked like fun. Is this a follow-up job interview?"

This was a tricky situation business-wise. Frieda and Tina both took orders from my boss. I had setup their assignments with Stan, hired by the tribe, and I knew his "job interviews" required naked dunks with him in his big galvanized tub outside.

In a sense, they all worked for me, and we were all sexually linked. Frieda knew about Stan and me; I knew about her and Stan, and her and Tina, and I guessed that Stan would attract Tina. But now we were all together for the first time and with the stink of sex in the air. What to do?

I stripped off my clothes and asked, "Got any left for me?"

Tina and Frieda thought it was a good idea to spread their boss (me) on the bed and play around her (my) vagina with two tongues while Stan stiffened his cock inside her (my) mouth. I cannot say that I complained. Then Stan puppy-fucked me and the girls lay below and slurped my boobs. No, no complaints.

I howled. Did coyotes howl in response? No, it is too early for that. I blame echoes.

"Don't forget this on my job appraisal, okay boss?" Frieda snarked.

"Do we get that big pay raise now?" Tina asked.

"I won't bill for this time," Stan said.

"Very funny, guys," I said. "Everybody come here and kiss me. Then explain yourselves."

They followed orders. It is GOOD to be boss!

We debriefed in the galvanized tank's warm water. We all dunked ourselves, and rose with water dripping from nipples, and dunked again, then stabilized with water at neck level. Tina's head bobbed near Frieda's. I was not far from Stan, hands on thighs, smiling.

"We had dawn and dusk shoots but nothing midday and it's not that far up here. None of their heritage sites would photograph well under a high sun," Frieda explained.

The necessary photography for their documentation of sensitive cultural sites was best done in the "magic hour" of dawn and dusk, a half-hour before and after sunrise and sunset. Direct sun washed-out details. Frieda's shoots were scheduled by the almanac.

"So here we are," Tina said, "and on paid time, ain't it great? Most of the day off!"

"I sure did not expect to see you, but I'll ruin your day anyway. Packets marked 'urgent' arrived for both of you earlier. I was going to call or leave voicemail just before the evening shoot, when I knew you'd be awake. But I think you'd better head for the rez now and handle the urgencies. I hate urgencies. They bite."

The partners exchanged looks.

"Oh fuck," Tina said, rising and dripping.

"It was fun while it lasted," said wet Frieda.

The contrasting mermaids of the desert kissed me and Stan and climbed out and down the stumpy steps along the horse-tank. Sandals on, quickly air-drying, they walked hand in hand to the house, hips wiggling, buns jiggling. They were fun to watch. After a few indoor minutes they emerged in the mandatory shorts and tees, waved, and drove away.

Stan stroked my thigh underwater. I raised myself enough so my nipples surfaced. Let him enjoy the show.

"You were surprised to see them here." He stroked me gently, nonintrusively.

"I was surprised. But I have a surprise for you, too." I stroked him, too.

"Animal, vegetable, mineral, or digital?"

"Animal, I think. A friend of some manager passed me a rare invite to a party tonight. You know that old rockstar with the very private ranch up above Pioneertown? He throws wild ones, I hear, but only during the week. Keeps away the working riff-raff. Mari is off tonight and tomorrow, and I'm off till Friday. I thought maybe we could pick up Mari later, change into our costumes, and spin up there in Heidi around sunset."

"Costumes. Mardi Gras and Hallowe'en are far off. What costumes?"

"The invitation called the theme Western Slutty. We're to wear Wild West clothes, but not too many. All attendees will be given domino masks at the gate for some sort of anonymity. We check valuables and phones at the door. Mari and I only need small purses. A little stash pouch should do for your wallet, keys, and flipfone."

"Very little Wild West attire, huh? I suppose you had something in mind?"

"Mari and I have just the right outfits. We'll be the cutest little cowgirls you ever saw. You could come as a wild Indian in moccasins and a loincloth, or Billy the Kid in low boots and leather shorts and maybe a rawhide vest. You better wear more than only a buckskin jockstrap - that sends its own invitation."

"I believe you are right. Maybe I'll come as Deputy Dawg with a tail on the jockstrap and a badge on a tight collar."

"That's the spirit! I'll help you pick something. Now, what can we do with the rest of the day?" I fluttered my eyelashes at him. Sometimes that works.

"Well, you scared off Tina and Frieda, so you'll just have to blow me for a few hours."

"Can we get out of the water first? I can't hold my breath real long."

"Listen to you! Always whining! Next you'll want slave tattoos on us."

"You've got to stop reading my mind!" I really did want those.

He scooped me up. His strong legs lifted us from the water. His strong arms let me drop back in with a sloppy splash. I floundered, surfaced, and sputtered.

"You sonovabitch! Just for that, I'll bite!"

"Your bark is worse than your overbite. C'mon inside."

He lifted me nicely this time, kissed my ass, and carried me to the tank's edge. I climbed out. He watched. I slipped sandals on and stood near. He climbed out. I watched. He was still far enough up on the steps. I stuffed his cock in my mouth. And I bit. Not hard, but enough.

"I warned you," I snarled. "Be nice to me or you'll be a dickless wonder."

"That would ruin you weekends, wouldn't it?" He slid his feet into sandals.

I had no snappy comeback so he spanked me all the way into the house. And he gave me hickeys! Big ones! Right when he was on top, balls-deep into me, and I could not escape!

"Now you're damaged property. Almost as good as a slave tattoo, right?"

So I marked him too. Fair is fair.

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Stan the coward chose to be a fairly modest Billy the Kid. What Mari and I put on in our condo on the rez was better. Different shades of moccasins, and rawhide-looking bikini tops, and branded and beaded leather microskirts that would just cover our thongs if we wore them. Did Annie Oakley shoot any porn flicks? She would have looked like us.

"You girls are hot," Stan admitted. "Hey, I have an idea. Something to take the edge off before we drive for an hour. C'mere."

He bent us over the back of our sofa, tightly side by side, thighs parted, and raised our little skirts so we were totally exposed. He knelt and licked our pussies from behind. Oooh! A few licks for me, and a few for Mari, and me again. Then he stood and easily poked his stiff cock into me. Oh fuck! A dozen strokes and then he was gone, right over to Mari, a dozen strokes, and back to me.

Mari and I kissed while he alternated on us. The stroke count rose as he sped up. Twenty, faster. Then thirty, faster yet. Then more, and harder.

He was inside me when he clenched, growled and spurted... and pulled out! And fucked into Mari, slamming her! Then back to me for more spurts, and then to Mari! Back and forth until he could not poke into a wet, wide, willing pussy any longer.

Mari and I were still lip-locked. He touched our cheeks.

"Now it's cleanup time for me."

He gestured. We got the hint. Down on our knees, our mouths in his groin, licking his cock and balls clean, sucking his pubic hair dry, while his cum oozed from us.

I started to stand. Stan held my shoulder down.

"One thing. No cleanup for you two. You'll wear my jiz inside you, or dripping down your legs, whatever. Just a reminder of who brung ya." Stan was not always a nice guy.

We threw a towel across Heidi's bench front seat. In case you forgot, Heidi is a beautiful and stealthy pearl-gray Karmann Ghia convertible on a Porsche racing chassis, steam-powered by a Volkswagen ZEE (Zero Emissions Engine) that is clean, efficient, and almost silent. Tire and wind noise, and other traffic, and birds, are the only sounds. And Heidi's high-end music system. The music is magic when Heidi's high-tech ragtop is up.

Mari and I leaked on the towel while Stan spun us up to Pioneertown and beyond. We have had worse rides, I know. But we did not smell fresh. Was that bad?

A guarded gate in a long wall blocked Mojave Trail. Stan held out the invitation. The guard scanned it with a blacklight and kept it. He gave us three bandit-type domino masks.

"Put these on. Leave them on until you leave here. You'll be kicked out if you take them off inside, or if you try anything without consent. Be nice and you'll have fun. Go up the hill. You'll be shown where to park. Put the masks on now, please." We did.

The unmasked denim-clad guy up the road aimed us to a nearby parking spot flanked by expensive cars on level gravel. We walked across the wide entry plaza to the arched double door. An unmasked denim-clad woman just inside the door sat behind a desk beside a hanger rack. She squinted at our minimal costumes and nodded.

"Welcome! Valuables here, please. Anything you don't want to carry or lose."

She gave us each a coded hospital-type wristband, sealed our purses and Stan's pouch into heavy bags, and hung them on the rack.

"Show the wristband when you leave to retrieve your belongings. Have fun!"

The door opened onto a courtyard surrounded by arched walkways like an old Spanish mission. In the center, an oversized guitar under colored lights spurted water in a tiled fountain. Just a reminder that this was a rockstar's home. His riffs and rhythms wailed from speakers around us.

Several dozen barely-dressed people clustered in small groups around the courtyard or walked under the arches where open doors revealed dimly-lit rooms.

I looked closer at the guests. Some men wore cowboy boots and chaps, nothing else, their packages and butts exposed to all. Some wore only snakeskin jockstraps. Most women wore microskirts with nothing under, same as us, but some sported only garter belts and hose to frame their targets.

Women were topless or in tiny open vests. I glanced at Mari. We smiled. Our thin faux-buckskin bikini tops went into the handy pocket of each skirt. A masked woman wearing only woven beads around her neck and waist closed on us, kissed our nipples, and draped us with Indian-type beads. We kissed her tits in thanks. She went to adorn others.

Some of those small clustered groups were fondling each other. Some led others through the archways to those dimly-lit rooms. Conversation was difficult over the loud music. Gestures seemed adequate signals for many.

I yelled to Mari, "Let's mingle!"

I yelled at Stan, "Do you mind?"

He brushed us away. We all mingled. After a bit I saw Stan, recognizable and modestly dressed in his leather shorts, in a fairly quiet corner, talking with two women also modest in shorts and thin tops. They seemed to be observing and commenting on the action.

Unmasked topless women in beaded western microskirts circulated with trays of bubbly wine, marked pills, and joints which they lit for tokers. Mari and I drank filled glasses and shared a joint. A man wearing calfskin briefs, who may have been good-looking behind his mask, joined us.

"Ladies," he asked loudly, "may I place my lips where yours have been?"

We passed the joint between us. His vibes seemed pretty good.

"Ladies," he spoke up again, "may I place my lips on your beauties?"

We did not shake NO so he nicely slurped my breasts, and Mari's.

"Ah," he said, and slurped us again.

More bubbly came our way. We drank.

A tall pale man in Indian loincloth and feathered headband passed his joint to a beads-only woman. He kissed her breasts while she inhaled deeply. His lips went to hers; she exhaled smoke into his lungs. The two stepped to us. They gestured. We nodded. Both kissed our boobs. The man with us nuzzled and nibbled my neck. A tanned man in war paint nuzzled Mari from behind and kissed her shoulders and throat. The beaded woman continued on our breasts. Some man kissed my mouth after some woman blew smoke into me. Quite fun!

We drank more bubbly, kissed more mouths and boobs, had various regions of our bodies slurped, and somehow found ourselves in one of those dim rooms, each laid out on soft furniture. A cock slithered into my cunt and another found my lips. I heard male grunts, and Mari groaning around something in her mouth. Other cocks came and went. Most came,

I was fine until I was rolled over on top of a man whose cock rudely cracked my cunt. Then someone was above and behind me and I felt a cock intruding into my anus. No! No!

"NO! NO!" I screamed. I struggled and screamed again, but that ass-fucker held me and forced his way into me. Shit! I kept screaming.

Then the weight was off me, and I was off the man under me. Strong arms lifted me. And Stan appeared! He was awful blurry. Or were my eyes failing?

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KAYLEE

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"Go ahead, be formal. I'm gonna party. See you later, maybe."

Bobby was proud of his loincloth that did not totally contain and conceal him. He thought Nikki and I were way overdressed. He abandoned us as soon as we were wristbanded into the partyland.

"I sure hope we find him later," Nikki said. "It'll be hard to hitch a ride back to San Bernardino. That's if he or anybody will even be in shape to drive."

The party was wild already. Guys and gals were on their knees in front of guys and gals. A woman bent her head under the guitar fountain spray while she was fucked from behind. A guy nearby was being blown and butt-fucked at once. A serving girl with great breasts and a tray of drinks and drugs neared us.