Stanley Steamer Ch. 10: Anathea Tells

"I know you don't trust me," she said.

"Abso-fucking-lutely, Ms Director. You're still using the same WiFi security? Sure you are. Talk about patterns..."

The silver Vaio mini-notebook he pulled from his attaché case booted quickly. Stan keyed for a minute. He neither scowled not smiled when he looked up.

"Well, guess what, Anny? Cecelia actually did it. Transfer confirmed. Now you can afford new welding gear and I can replace the horse tank with a hot-tub. Now we must soil ourselves with field work. Remember, Cici - consequences. And I'll keep Haley's credit card for now. Only for official expenses, of course."

From Ms Director to Cecelia to Cici. Yes, she and Stan had a history. Had he fucked the boss much? Was her pussy as familiar to him as mine?

"Analyzing my keystrokes from your spycams and sniffers will do you no good. I use one-time codes, of course. That's my pattern too."

The Vaio returned to his attaché case. Stan stood. So did I. She did not.

"It's been real, Cici," Stan said. "Email me the orgy-resort details and the address of your antidote doctor. Then do not call on me again or I'll break your budget even more. Good-bye."

He pressed a mirrored pane. A door opened to a small room of bare walls and a wooden door to outside. We were just around the barn's corner from the parking lot. The grey man in overalls did not wave as we drove off silently.

Stan made no sound until we reached the highway leading over the Coast Range. He looked at me sadly.

"I'm sorry to get you into this, Anny, but it's a calculated risk. Despite the Agency bullshit, this might actually be an important op. Cici couldn't devote her resources to something trivial. She didn't squabble over the money. She won't risk her own future by hurting us and now you, especially. And she did threaten me - I can't say how, but she can't do it again. This op will defuse that. She loses a weapon, I gain one, and the money won't hurt."

I sat away from Stan when we left the Freedom farm. I felt he needed space. Now I slid over and snuggled against him.

"Stan, I trust you. I have never seen you do anything to hurt anyone close to you. You are scarily protective. You seem to always try to work for the best."

I took his right hand off the steering wheel (his left hand gripped tighter) and put it on my bare knee. I held it there.

"I'm not as crazy in love with you as Lorna, and hopefully not quite so crazy as Mari either, but I do love you as my best friend and fuck-buddy. You are my alpha male. You wouldn't have me along if you seriously thought I'd be hurt."

He squeezed my knee and put his hand back on the wheel. His voice was firm.

"Like I said, it's a calculated risk. I've thought long and hard about my reaction if The Agency came calling again. They can hurt me and everyone around me. I can hurt them too, but that is not a fair trade. And they'll be defanged after this op." He glanced at me, then back at the highway.

"But I won't force you into anything. Say the word and I'll drop you at home or anywhere. The Agency will likely be nasty about getting their ten million back but you can have my million from the op, now or anytime. You're a free woman, not my slave, not obliged."

I put his hand back on my knee. Higher, really. I pressed his palm to my thigh.

"What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas," I said. "It makes a calm departure, never looking back. Let's go to Vegas. But let's eat first."

Burritos were almost as good as Stan's and the sweet milky horchata was fresh at the taco wagon at a freeway junction. Stan leeched off the nearby McFood outlet's free WiFi to check email. Back in Heidi, he keyed numbers into her GPS.

"Okay, Heidi knows where to go now, and the antidote doctor is a dentist in fucking Twentynine Palms, just off the Marine Corps base. Imagine that."

We talked some on that long drive. We listened to good music. We left the Central Valley and climbed over the Tehachapi Mountains to the Mohave Desert and Las Vegas.

"I've never been to a Club Malta but here's what I know," Stan said. "It's an orgy resort. Very exclusive and expensive. Guests are screened. Fat or flabby, violent past, ill-groomed, known extreme kinks - you don't get to book a stay, no matter your money. Everyone there is between twenty and sixty, and fit. No ugly fuckers. Guests are assigned to 'villages' of a dozen groups - couples, trios, whatever. No clothes are allowed, weather permitting.

"The twenty-five to forty guests in a village are there to fuck and suck. Guests stay in their village and don't visit others because Club Malta screens for compatibility, too. We might not like what we find elsewhere. Anyone can ask to fuck. Anyone can refuse. Those refusing a lot have wasted their or their partner's money. Unless they're only there to watch. Costly voyeurism, but some folks are like that.

"The staff, men and women, wear zebra thongs and nothing else, weather permitting. They are off-limits and are busy cleaning-up after sexual messes and otherwise keeping the place tidy, fetching food and drinks, being useful. They'll initiate nothing and they'll refuse all offers, even for cash. We'll be told all this when we get there and check our clothes. But all guests are there for sex. You can expect invitations into many spit-roasts and daisychains."

I absorbed this. "But I don't have to do anything?"

"You can refuse any and all. You can watch or not. You can lounge by a pool and suck endless margaritas, hashish, and spanikopita all day and night if you wish. You can suck and/or fuck any who appeal to you, or not."

I absorbed this, too. "You don't mind that I'll be fucking other people?"

"You are not my slave unless you want to be. You are being paid ten million dollars to be there. How you earn that is up to you. I expect The Agency has informants and like I said, they might not like seeing ten million bucks spent on you not infecting people. I will be fucking and infecting people. I would love it if you join me. I will not stop you from going on your own. This is a serious operation. I do not treat it lightly, but it's still a game."

I hugged him as best I could at eighty-six miles per hour in first gear.

"You're my best friend, and my rock. I'd love to fuck anyone you're fucking. Anything else, I don't know. How many people must I suck and fuck for ten million dollars? I still haven't wrapped my mind around that. It's a fantasy. I don't know if I can see myself as an ultra-expensive whore."

"It's a deadly reality, and The Agency is serious. To them, you and I are only weapons, disease vectors. One or more of our village's guests or partners can't be got any other way. I'll guess an inconspicuous political or financial player who has to leave their security goons outside but likely owns a piece of Club Malta and relies on their screenings - and our STDs would pass anyway."

He paused. "There's also the possibility that The Agency thinks Mari is right about my supersperm, and I'm expected to impregnate every female guest."

"Are we going to get out of this alive?" He had me scared.

"Nobody gets out alive. Life is a fatal illness. But Cici knows I've laid traps so it's in her and The Agency's interest for us to survive. Especially since she's sure to try to snare me again. I'm already planning for that."

We listened to austere Bach violin partitas. Heidi's GPS took us up an obscure road outside Las Vegas. A post by the locked gate in the impressive fence held a keypad and speaker box. Stan entered something. The speaker beeped.

"Osgood, group of two, Zabbar Village," Stan said.

The speaker beeped again. The gate briefly opened. Heidi passed through.

"Osgood? Zabbar?" I just had to ask.

"Club villages are named after towns on Malta. Be glad we're not in Zebbug or Sliema. And here, we're Sam and Fran Osgood. Ignore names. They're all lies."

The road easily crossed a desert landscape dotted with green bushes and bright blossoms. The spring rains had been good. We were welcomed by a beachwear-clad woman at the WELCOME arch. She pointed to a parking area filled with upscale cars. Pearly luminescent Heidi looked racy enough to fit in.

A woman in modest swimwear and sunblock loaded us, our duffels, and Stan's mandola into an electric surrey and drove a narrow path around low clusters of buildings. She gave us the informative lecture Stan had summarized earlier.

"There's Sliema Village," she waved. "Gozo Village. Zeebug Village, Mosta Village. And here we are, Zabbar Village, with you in Saflieni Cottage."

She stopped by a plain door in a windowless stone block wall. A keycode opened the door. The woman toted our minimal luggage inside.

"Remember, no clothes in the village. You won't need any; radiant heaters and coolers keep village air temperate. Any questions, just ask someone in a thong. And remember, you're here to have fun. Bye now."

Our 'cottage' was a luxury hotel suite, Southwestern style. Good thing - real Maltese style would have been darker, Gothic. A big bed in a bedroom with only a few large mirrors. A big entertaining space with a few mirrors. A big shower and fancy bath fixtures, and mirrors. No windows, only mirrors.

And two doors. The door we had entered from the outer world bore a sign with clothed male and female stick figures. The other door, leading into the village, was signed with naked stick figures. A not-so-subtle reminder.

We undressed except for zorries and entered the village.

A semicircle of low, separate stone 'cottages' were shaded by a wide Spanish arcade extending to larger buildings - bistros, recreation hall, other common facilities, all forming a U shape. A sculpted trio of pools with signs COLD - WARM - HOT centered the semicircle. A vista of open desert lay beyond the pools. A wide margin of marble walks and soft lawn areas formed a donut plaza around the pools. The plaza was scattered with a dozen small covered patios shading soft furniture of varied shapes and sizes, and tables and stools.

A few dozen people were visible. Staff in zebra thongs bustled about. All others were bare-ass naked. Some were in the pools. Some were sexually active on those soft patio platforms and sofas. A striking Italian-looking woman approached us, hips and boobs wiggling.

"Hi, I'm..." (she gave a phony name) "and I see you're new here. I'd like to say hello." She snared Stan in her tan arms and kissed him. She knelt and sucked his cock into her mouth. "Ooh, a good one!" She sucked again and then stood and faced me. "You're so pretty!"

Her kiss was sweet. Her mouth excited my nipples. A hand stroked my pussy lips. Her other hand took Stan's cock.

"Nothing says 'hello' like some good oral sex and then a hot fuck or three. Do you two want me to go down on you? Of course you do! There's a good spot right over here." She waved at a thonged girl. "Girl! Bubbly for my friends!"

She led Stan by his thick cock and me by my red thatch to a patio. A just-popped bottle and three glasses appeared at its wine table. Phony Name poured. We toasted and gulped. She pushed Stan back on a platform bed of soft leather.

She kissed me again. "You're next."

She crawled between Stan's legs, "First things first." She blew him to massive size. "I'm saving you for later."

She eased me onto the bed. "You're so pretty!" She sucked my boobs tenderly. "And you're a couple months along, three or four maybe? It only gets better!" She moved to my pussy and got a good taste.

She looked over her shoulder at Stan. Her long black hair fell beside her face.

"You want to put that mighty piece of manhood into me?" She lifted her butt.

"Not right now," Stan said. "First I get to taste you. It's only polite."

He scooted on his back under her raised pelvis. I could tell he was slurping her quite well - she gasped and then dove into me.

Oh, her mouth was so sweet! And her hands, stroking me, gentle yet certain. And growing excitement as Stan's tongue and hands worked her. Both of us had long, fierce orgasms.

Phony Name twitched as Stan moved from underneath to behind. I think her tongue penetrated me as slowly as Stan impaled her, rooted her. She and Stan did not stay slow. He moved faster. But then he stopped. And pulled out.

"I know the best sort of greeting for us," he said. "Say hello 69 ways."

She and I got the idea fast. I twisted and pulled her on top of me, her mouth at my pussy, mine at hers, and Stan right behind her. I watched his cut dickhead slide into her steaming snatch. He fucked deep, and faster, while I slurped her clit and she slurped mine - more, and more, oh fuck.

His scrotum stopped swinging when he launched a Vesuvian mega-eruption of volcanic live sperm into her Roman womb. He did not pull out and I kept clit-licking. So did she. Oh fuck.

A German-looking man with silver hair and hard muscles left another patio and came to us.

"That looks exciting. May I join?" Nobody said no. Our greeter's cunt was still filled with Stan's decreasing cock so the man positioned himself behind her head and pushed his Teutonic totem-pole into my Celtic cunt. The woman and I kept licking clits. I could take this for about forever.

But not Stan. He pulled out of the woman. I only licked a few drops of semen from her. I knew Stan's plan.

I was right. Stan said to the man, "You want a well-lubed one? At a better angle and height? Come around here and poke her good." He slapped her ass.

The man pulled from my pussy - that was an awkward angle, anyway - and took Stan's place at the Roman rocket socket. He pumped faster and ruder than Stan had. My tongue on his shaft as he slid in and out may have hastened his nut-busting. His whitewash was lower and thinner than Stan's I could tell. But if his sperm were fighting it out with Stan's, I could guess the winner.

A Spanish-looking couple came from another patio. "Hello. May we be with you?"

The Italianate woman rolled into her hands and knees. She took the Germanic man's cock in her mouth and the Spanish man's cock in her pussy. The Spanish woman sucked Stan to hardness and then climbed onto my panting body to 69. She tasted sharp. Stan pushed easily into her.

"That is very pleasant," she told Stan. "You can fuck me forever."

Our tongues and Stan's cock went active. He stayed stiff for a long, long time. The señora's mouth was magical. I did my best on her. Stan delivered again, but less this time. I could tell he was feeling drained.

Stan sat on a padded stool and sipped champagne. Other men and women came to our patio. I and other women were double-ended several times, often while we 69'd. It became a ritual. Lick and get fucked. Switch around and do it again. And again. I did not count how many I infected - a lot, is all I knew.

The sun was just setting. That was our first afternoon at Club Malta.

We dined at the village's bistro-pub. Food and service were great. Tables were clear glass. The floor surface was smooth, soft and bouncy. A few women and men knelt under tables orally pleasuring diners. Stan paused at his seared salmon while a bushy-mustached man blew him and swallowed a cumload. I delayed eating my eggplant parmesan while the man did wonderful things to my pussy. I had pushed my chair back from the table a little to give him room. Stan and a passing woman helped by suckling me until I came. Thong-clad wait staff brought us fresh, warm servings.

For dessert, I crawled under a table and dove into the ruddy muff of a woman with redder hair and deeper freckles than me. She tasted familiar. Had we 69'd earlier? Her tablemate's dark cock did not feel strange, either.

Five days of this. Five days of Stan slurping and fucking every female guest and head-fucking several men. Five days of me taking tongues and cocks into my mouth and pussy, and hands on my body, and mine on theirs. Yes, we also spent time in the pools, and lying under the sun for seamless tans - staff monitored us to avoid sunburn and to apply lotion when and where needed, but no hand jobs, sorry.

One recreation room was a small cinema featuring only the best porn clips. Occupants of soft lounges around the walls were inspired, for sure. The live action often surpassed the big-screen images.

Five full days of voluptuous sybaritic pleasure, of orgies on demand. Five full days of interacting. A cottage's group might be various combinations of two to four men and/or women. I counted forty guests, total. We swapped bodily fluids and infected them all. Five very full days.

=====

After the last breakfast we fucked our most compatible pals goodbye, dressed, and called for the parking shuttle. Stan had not played his mandola once; his keyboarding was rare and brief. He was as quiet as Heidi as we drove away.

Stan talked after we caught the freeway south.

"You didn't notice, but I took a sample of my blood at the Seaside motel. Yes, I keep a kit for that in Heidi. I mailed it to my favorite ultra-lab for analysis. I saw the results in a coded email this morning. They found the pathogen - it's strange, a virus engineered to pass current screenings. They're not sure what it does but they think they have an antiviral. More samples in a week, from both of us, will show whether The Agency's dentist is real. I wonder if she'll evaporate now that her cover is blown? Or maybe she's only a pawn. We shall see what we shall see."

He frowned. "But we'll never know who the target was at Club Malta, or why. It's best that we don't know. Healthier that way,."

I put his hand on my thigh and my hand on his. Cargo shorts are handy.

"Stan, I trust you with my life. We'll get through this. I'll be a happy mother and a happy welder. And now I'm a zillionaire. Well, I'll believe it when I make a withdrawal. You know how to move money from Panama, right? But if I'm rich, please allow me to build an enclosed swimming pool at Rancho Relaxo."

"Mexican tiles. It must be colorful. Maybe a sea-bottom mosaic with squids and whales. And redwood decks around it. But don't fuck the poolboy."

"I'll be too busy mothering, welding, and fucking you and the Rancho gals to bother with a poolboy. Or poolgirl. Well, you could do a three-way with us."

"Aren't there pool robots now? Hmmm, I suppose with teledildonics, pool robot sex is inevitable. Do I dare research that?" He looked serious. Right.

I thought back on this adventure. It really started only a week ago?

We left the interstate a few miles into California to take the byway through the wide Mohave. Debussy's LA MER washed us across waves of desert.

The dentist near the marine base seemed naive. An official package had arrived with ampoules, orders to inject us, and a certified check. She shot us. We were home a half-hour later. Time for lunch. Stan's fabulous burritos!

A pee break. A short office break. A put-our-stuff-away break. And then back into the horseless watering tank. Somehow his cock went inside me, first into my mouth for stiffening, then with me sliding down onto him in the sun-warm water, sitting in his lap, tantric yoga style. Somehow I felt just right.

A vehicle crunched up the ragged trail. It sounded familiar. Jeri!

Her blouse, bra, sneakers, jeans, and thong were quickly discarded. She jumped in and hugged us.

"Hey guys, it's great you're back! I left the studio as soon as your message came it. They'll survive without me this afternoon. Hey Anny, leave some for me!" She stole her cousin's tongue away. I did not mind.

It is good to be home.

=====

Next: Life at Rancho Relaxo devolves into happy domestic chaos with all those new kids around. Angela the steam minivan now smells of diapers.

No, that's not sexy. Let's go with more mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins. And they're all pregnant!

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia Smurf is copyright (c) 2018. I tried to get details right, even what I invented. I hope I caught most typos but more eye surgery awaits. Your constructive comments, suggestions, and bribes are welcome. If you like this tale, join the 1% and VOTE!