Stanley Steamer Ch. 10: Anathea Tells

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

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Stanley Steamer 10: Anathea Tells

Steaming pregnantly for The Agency

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ANATHEA

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I had finished cutting, welding, and buffing the last interior decorations for that stock brokerage's walls yesterday morning. I spent the rest of the day foaming and crating the dozen metal semi-abstractions hinting at wealth. Oh well, they were more satisfying than churning out generic scenes of coyotes, full moons, saguaro cacti, et fucking cetera. I could not compete with Mexican artisans on those anyway.

Corporate money was good. And important. I pay my way at Rancho Relaxo. Stan did not have to take me in.

FedEx - we call them DeFex because substitute drivers often cannot find our address -hauled my work to San Diego on this end-of-summer 2002 day, what passes for autumn on the desert. I stripped off my coveralls and sank bare-ass into the galvanized horse-water tank before the truck's dust settled on our rough dirt track.

Rangy, craggy, naked Stan magically appeared with a tray of drinks and snacks, a plastic concert-size 'ukulele, and his thick cock. The tray and 'uke went on the tankside table. His cock went inside me, first into my mouth for stiffening, then with me sliding onto him in the sun-warm water, sitting in his lap, tantric yoga style. Ommm...

He bent to kiss my freckled breast. I leaned to snag a drink. First things first.

I drank and snacked while he kissed his way around my upper torso. I did not quite choke on a crispy when he bit my neck. But I bit his tongue in revenge.

We rinsed our mouths with tequila sunrises and each other. I really like sitting on Stan's cock, my legs and arms wrapped around him, our mouths together, breathing as one, feeling as one. Time loses meaning. Good.

We did not move much when a vehicle crunched up the ragged trail. But Stan pulled his lips off mine.

"That sounds like some government car. Let's give-em a show. Turn around."

His cock had never softened in me. I lifted up, put my back against his chest and my red hair into his face, and slid him inside me again. That was nice. No, better than nice. His hands on my breasts, his teeth nibbling my neck, oh yeah.

An anonymous grey sedan parked in front the fieldstone 'cabin'. A cropped blonde in a black business skirt-suit emerged. She saw us.

"Goddammit Stan, who're you fucking now?" she shouted.

"Ex-wife," Stan murmured in my ear. "Pay her no mind."

The blonde demon stomped closer.

"Stanley Kamehameha Ovshinsky, you are going to-"

"Welcome, Ms Oster or Olivet or whatever you are now, or Haley if you please. You have choices. You can leave papers inside the front door. You can stand there and talk, but we might not pay attention, might listen to music instead. You can join us here. Or you can do something else. You decide."

"I'm O'Daley now. You have got to-"

Stan's hand fingered the remote on the tankside table. The second movement of Rimsky's SCHEHERAZADE swept over the compound. Crows squawked and fled from nearby boulders. Stan turned the sound down.

"So you really like jewelry inscribed to HALEY-O, huh babe? I bet all your 'O' guys have my birthday, too. You're into patterns. Okay, like I said, stay out there and we won't listen. Join us and we can talk. Or just shoot me and be done with it." He turned the music up. Magic carpets swirled around us.

The blonde bitch - Haley, was she? - visibly fumed and then resigned herself to the inevitable. No she did not pull a pistol. She walked to the tank's steps and stripped. Black pumps, thin socklets. Black suit-skirt revealing a red thong. Black suit jacket and dark blue blouse, revealing a red lace bra. Off with the bra. Off with the thong, and yes, she was natural, her blonde thatch trimmed to a diamond. She did not wiggle her hips when she climbed in.

Stan turned the sound level back down.

"Nice of you to join us. Come say hello."

"You goddam... I will not-"

Stan turned the music back up. He fingered my above-water nipple and bit my neck again. I slowly moved up and down on his cock.

Haley's face turned red. Redder than she had been. Still visibly fuming, she moved to us, pushed Stan's hands off my tits, and slurped each briefly.

Stan turned the music down.

"You call that a 'hello'? That's barely 'I see you'. No, a real greeting, please."

Haley's frown remained as she sucked me harder and longer.

"Your turn now. Give us some boobage."

Haley twisted and rose enough from the water for Stan and I to each suckle a breast. Stan sucked lethargically so I did too. I felt Stan's hand move between her thighs. I felt her shiver in my mouth. She did not pull back.

"Goddam you, Stan..." her voice quavered unconvincingly. We continued sucking. Stan continued finger-fucking. She continued shivering.

Her nipple felt electric during her orgasm.

"Goddam you, Stan..." She pulled back. "You fucking freak..." Her head fell against his. He kissed her. I think his fingers remained inside her.

"Okay, Special Agent Haley O'Daley, now that you've met Anathea, what brings you out to Rancho Relaxo?"

"You shithead. And I'm not Special Agent anybody. I only-"

"Du bist only following orders, jawohl. Yes, only another apparatchik, a cog in the machine. Pardon my mixed metaphors. So what does the machine want to tell me me that can't come by email?"

She twitched. Were his fingers stroking her vaginal walls?

"It's sensitive. Face to face. I can't talk with her here-"

One of Stan's hands made her twitch more. The other made the music louder. Only a little louder. Not enough to drown speech.

"So pretend she's not here. Or pretend you're here for something else. Something personal."

"Goddam you Stan, you're going to fuck me now, aren't you?"

"Where do you want it? In bed? On your back seat? Right here?"

She rose from the water and bent over the tank's rim.

"Right here! Right now! Get it over with, you fucker!"

"That's what I'm here for. You want a full load, right?"

Stan stood behind her, water dripping off him. He sniffed around her ass.

"I felt it and now I smelled it. You're freshly fucked, aren't you?"

"My husband Rich and I made love just before I drove up here. So what? You don't want sloppy seconds?"

"So your hubby Dickie O'Daley's little dickie spurted in you not long ago? That's interesting. Especially if Mariana's fighting-sperm theory is right. Call me in a month. Or better yet, don't."

He held her hips and slid his cock straight into her, and not too slowly. She gasped. He leaned, took her rather nice boobs as handholds, and fucked away. He looked serious. She looked... distracted. I stood and spooned behind Stan, rubbed his body, and pinched his nipples. That is when he grunted and blew a gallon of steaming hot cum deep into her bureaucratic womb.

If Mari was right about Stan's sperm going into ultradrive when they meet semen of other men's DNA then Dickie will be a proud father in nine months.

Stan released her and sat back in the pool. I sat in his lap but only as a friend, not impaled. Haley slid into the water as limp as a gimp. Her eyes did not focus directly on us.

"You're always like that, aren't you? That's why I left. That, and your attitude."

"My attitude toward our employer, you mean. And yes, I yam what I yam and that's all what I yam. That's why you married me and why you divorced me."

"And why we stay divorced, you pig. But goddam you, I got sent here with a simple message, and this is what happens."

"It's not all that happens. Come on, we're going inside."

I did not think I wanted to know their history but I was caught in this present. I guess the 'ukulele would go unused now.

Stan rose dripping, pulled us drizzling women upright, and tugged us to the steps. I went easy. Haley went harder. Stan nearly dragged her. He donned sandals at the bottom of the steps, threw Haley over his shoulder, and carried her away. We were all barefoot inside the kitchen door. We were mostly dry when I crawled to the head of Stan's big bed and Stan threw Haley in below me. I had a strong hunch where this was going.

"Now you're going to finish saying 'hello' to Anathea," Stan said. "Like this."

Stan hugged his ex-wife - his ex fucking wife! - and rolled them together between my thighs. He pushed her face and his together to lick at my pussy.

"Like this," he said, lapping at me. "You've done this before, and probably not too long ago, either. Maybe with the Director?"

He did something to her. Her tongue emerged and joined his. His hands stroked me. She stroked, too. Yes, they and she had done this before.

I knew the next moves, too. His tongue moved off me while hers stayed there, circling, probing, writing mystic symbols on my clit. I think he was aroused once more. I am sure he slid down and kissed her breasts. I know he moved around, picked up her butt, and fucked into her again while her tongue was embedded in my pussy.

Haley's eyes were closed. Stan and mine were open. We knew who was making love. Haley was only the go-between, the pipeline of secretions, and lust, and human feelings. Feelings she once had. Feelings Stan and I had.

And damn, she played her part. I came on her active tongue before Stan came into her again with a message to me, a message of togetherness, yes, of love.

After my clenching knees pinched Haley's head off, Stan pulled what was left of her away and asked, "Okay, so what's you simple message?"

"You bastard," she said, using a pillowcase to wipe my pussy juice off her wet face, "nobody else is supposed to know. But here it is: The Director wants to see you in person. I am authorized to escort you, by secure transport, to the Agency's ad-hoc headquarters. Only you." Her eyes shot daggers at me.

"You have any projects in the works, Anny?" Stan asked.

"Amahl says he'll have that bank commission soon, but nothing now."

"So you're free for a couple of weeks? Cecelia's jobs always take that long."

"Only you," Haley said. "This bitch is going nowhere."

"This marvel," Stan said, "is artsier than you and a better fuck. If I go, she goes. If she don't go, I don't go. And I have no special reason to go. Motivate me."

"You think you're safe out here in the desert? The Agency can-"

"Can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. My clients outrank yours."

"The Agency can do this," she said, and whispered in his ear.

He tensed. I thought he was going to hit her. But he did not. He scowled.

"That was a goodbye fuck, Haley. Goodbye. Take your ass out of here now. Do not return. Never. Leave your Agency credit card. Anny and I will ride Heidi to Santa Cruz and your fucking Agency's fucking secret lair that everyone in the cryptosphere knows about."

Haley did not move. Stan did. He stood beside the bed, picked her up in that fireman's carry again, hauled her to the kitchen door, and deposited her gently but firmly outside - a dip, not a drop. Stan was not cruel.

"Bye-bye, Haley. Give my regards to little Dickie and any little Dicklets."

He closed the door. A minute later, a motor started, and a car crunched away.

Stan sighed. "It's a six-hour drive. We'd better leave now. We'll get a room around Seaside and be fresh in the morning for Freedom, California."

"Freedom?" I asked. Was this a trick?

"Some fucking Agency idiots thought nobody would notice them setting up in a farm town with a funny name. They're even on No-Name Street. Morons."

A couple of weeks, huh? Packing for that depends on how many laundromats or at least motel showers will be available. I had learned the winemaking style of laundering. Put dirty clothes on shower floor. Shampoo your head and drip suds on the wash. Stomp on them like stomping grapes. Then rinse, and hang to dry, and be nice and fresh the next day, pretty much.

So I packed undies for a week and outers for three days in my travel duffel. Stan had a clothes duffel and a tenor mandola case. He was ready. And no, he did not leave the 'uke outside.

Road food on our route was unreliable. Stan microwaved some of his burritos. Munch a couple now, with caffeinated sodas, and take more for survival,

The live-ins, Stan's sister Pam and their cousin Jeri, were both down and out from their long and often erratic work shifts. It was midweek so Lorna and Mari were not around. We had none to kiss goodbye. Notes on the kitchen table must do.

Stan rolled Heidi from the barn. Our minimal luggage went in Heidi's front trunk. In case you forgot, Heidi is a pearl-grey sculpted Volkswagen Karmann Ghia body on a Porsche racing chassis with a near-silent steam ZEE (Zero Emissions Engine) pushing her to at least 140 mph with her Kevlar ragtop roof closed on a concert-quality sound system. An impressive girl, yes.

Stan told me the details but I saw the reality. Heidi is comfy and deadly.

Even with Heidi setting a fast pace, the six hours were long and fairly hard. GPS routed us via dreary freeways to Monterey Bay. I nestled against Stan on Heidi's plush front bench seat the whole way. That helped. So did Heidi's lavish music, or near-total silence when desired.

Stan and I talked in between bouts of orchestral music sweeping over us. I saw his worries behind a front of casual normality. His only mention of Haley was that they had worked for The Agency and he had left. His reason? "Incompatible goals." That's like "irreconcilable differences" in a divorce, meaning someone is kinky or cheating or frigid or greedy or worse.

He did not talk of how The Agency had his balls in a vice-grip. I did not ask.

Seafood and local wine at the diner next to our Seaside motel were not bad. Stan was still obviously distracted. His lovemaking felt phoned-in.

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Stan refilled Heidi at a farm-fuel station and dropped something in a corner mailbox. Then he drove us to Freedom.

Thin barbed-wire fences and mixed trees lined the rural two-lane asphalt leading to a generic log gate fronting a farmhouse with barns behind. The parking area fielded a few grey sedans and a too-new pickup.

"Cute and quaint, right," Stan said. "The airstrip out back is supposedly agricultural but the planes and choppers here sure aren't cropdusters. Nobody is fooled much. Well, let's go see the dungeon master."

Stan parked and locked Heidi near the farmhouse. A grey man in coveralls lounging in an oak rocker on the covered porch stood as we approached.

"Nothing for sale here today. See our booth at the Aptos farmer's market."

"Shut up, Kenny. You know me, and Cecelia expects me. Don't be a dork."

Kenny glared but opened the door. "You'll get yours."

"You have no idea," Stan said, waving his small red attaché case. "Have a nice wax job."

Beyond the plain door was a small room with a small desk and a big, armed, uniformed Asian man. He looked at Stan.

"You're late."

"Right. Send us in."

"I'm supposed to-"

"Right," Stan said, turning himself and me around. "Do what's required, Ian. Cecelia wanted me here. I'm here. Now I'm gone. Sayonara, motherfucker."

"Hey Stanley, don't do this--"

The small room's other door opened. A tall, slender black woman in a soft, creamy white skirt-suit held the knob.

"Welcome home, Stanley. Come sit by the fire."

An enclosed corridor led from the 'farmhouse' to a barn's high space lined with offices. The woman opened a door into a mirrored room and sat in a Plexiglas chair behind a rolled-edge glass desk bearing only a white laptop computer. Our images flew to infinity on all surfaces but the obsidian floor.

Other rounded transparent chairs occupied the infinity room's corners and the desk's sides. Stan and I were not invited to sit.

"So, Stanley, you're probably wondering why you're here."

"No, Ms Director, I have a pretty good idea. I'll know for sure real soon. This is the part where you strip down," (she was already opening her top) "and you come to kiss Anny and unbutton her blouse to suck her nipples, and then I raise your skirt because you're commando, and Anny reclines on the desk with her cargo shorts off so you can muff-dive while I fuck you, right?"

The woman smiled. "Let's skip the suckling part and go straight to sex, okay?"

It was weird. Her transparent chair now held Stan's red case, her white suit, and my blue shorts. I was on my back; the clear desk top was warm. The naked woman (Cecelia? The Director?) tongued me nicely if erratically as standing Stan slammed into her from behind. I saw her black boobs swinging, reflected in the mirrored walls and ceiling. I saw this whole show as well as the spy cameras that certainly recorded us.

I was in a good glow. Cecelia's mouth was well-practiced. Stan grunted and came. He kept stroking in and out of his old boss. If she squeezed her cunt muscles just a bit, he would regain vigor and fuck her again. And they did. Her tongue stayed in and on me. I held her head in place, and glowed past Stan's last grunt and cum.

Stan wiped himself and me with the soft white fabric of Cecelia's suit-skirt.

"Okay, that part's over," Stan said. He tossed her the smeared skirt. "Now you tell us about the STD pathogen Haley and you were so anxious to infect me with, the bug you're both immunized against but Anny and I won't get the cure till I fuck someone to infect them. That's what it's about, right? Field work. All your honeyguys' covers have been blown."

Stan and I dressed. Cecelia smiled as she re-arranged herself in the messy skirt. She left her top bare. Puffy midnight nipples adorned her firm boobs. Stan pulled Plexiglas chairs before her desk. We sat.

"You're still right on the chart, Stanley."

"I know how you work. It's why I quit. I knew where this was going as soon as Haley told me to fuck her. But I'm bored and you are going to pay a fuck of a lot more than even music [see prior chapter] makes. You think you own me with a virus. Do you feel lucky, Ms Director? Do your clients outrank mine?"

Her smile seemed strained. "I have command authority to-"

"To do shit," Stan interrupted. "You want to test that? Go ahead. Or let's just finish this move and play out the game. Who am I supposed to infect?"

Her smile brightened. "Oh Stanley, it will be fun. You are booked into the Club Malta resort outside Las Vegas. Leave your clothes at the door, fuck everyone for a few days, then go home and get your shots."

"Vegas, huh? That's a long drive. Is Anny here to seal the deal? Especially being pregnant?"

"She, or any other knocked-up girlfriend, fit right into our calculations. You live in patterns, Stanley. And if you knew she would be infected too, why did you go ahead and fuck Haley?"

"Because my clients outrank yours, and your life will personally become very, very unpleasant if anything happens to her or the fetus. And your payment will leave her rather well-off. My fee for this is a million. Hers is ten million. Laundered. Right now. Here are our Panamanian account numbers."

He handed her a slip of paper from his attaché case. She opened her mouth to speak. He held up a hand.

"No negotiations. The next sounds we hear are either you tapping at your keyboard to transfer funds, or us walking through your hidden outside door. Or us gurgling with poison darts in our throats. I know how you work. Think fast, Ms Director."

Her smile froze. She slipped into her suit top and buttoned up halfway. She looked into the mirrored ceiling and then down at her white computer. The screen's glow bounced to mirrored infinity. So did her tapping fingers.