Superf***er Vol. 04

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The Foundation.
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DrSqueaky
DrSqueaky
535 Followers

#4: The Foundation

They walked into the room in a line, parading past us. Seventeen women, all young (or at least young-ish) and dressed to impress, doing their best to stand out among her peers to one of the eight of us men. Each of us sat by ourselves at a small bistro table, each carefully not looking at one another as we surveyed the lovely ladies walking past. The parade ended at the front of the ballroom where

they stood in a line and stepped forward to and introduce themselves one by one.

"Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm 22, 5-7 and 113 pounds, 38-23-36, and I love to travel."

"Hi, my name is Sasha..." each girl, as instructed, announced her name (first names only at this event), age, vital statistics, and one fast fact about her herself. Of course we knew all their names already, as they were neatly pre-printed on the selection sheet left at our tables. For now, all we needed to do was check which girls (up to three) that we definitely wanted to meet and up to one we absolutely didn't want to meet in the speed dating round that was to follow. In the next two hours each of us would meet 12 girls for eight minutes each, with two minutes to change stations in-between. But this was not your ordinary meet-and-greet. No, this was a meeting for women interested in becoming mistresses to meet prospective sponsors, each of which had to prove they had liquid assets of at least one million dollars to take part. Only in New York.

No sooner had the last one introduced herself that the girls waved as one and headed back to the adjoining room while our hostesses collected our preference sheets. They were quickly scanned into a computer set off to the side. I chose three; Jennifer, and the two redheads in the group. Since red hair is unknown on my own planet, I consider redheads a definite treat when I can get my, uh, hands on one. One was kind of short and a little pixie-ish, very cute, name of Maura. The other was average height, slender, and stunningly beautiful. Her name was Amy.

I had to hand it to them, the people staging this event were organized. Within ten minutes, we were having our first "date." Just my bad luck—Amy was first up. She was even more gorgeous up close. Her hair was dark red, straight, falling about three inches past the shoulder. She wore a green jewel-tone cocktail dress that brought out the color in her hair and pumps to match. The skirt was short; she crossed her legs as she sat at the table, and they were lovely and shapely in ultra-sheer hose. But what I couldn't take my eyes off were the fine, delicate freckles that ran down her neck. Her dress had spaghetti straps and a low neckline; the freckles continued down as far as I could see. I kept imagining how much further the freckles went, which made me even more tongue-tied when it was my time to talk.

I had never done anything like this before and wasn't sure what to expect, and so I bumbled through my first attempt with the girl I most wanted to impress. We each got to ask a question in turn; I stumbled out of the blocks by asking about her family, which she really didn't want to tell me much about. Then she asked me what I did for a living. "I...have a family fortune," I answered. I'd not thought about what kind of questions I would be asked...I sounded like a leech, living off my family and doing nothing productive. Worse, it meant I might be cut off--if I had no secure cash flow of my own, she had no secure sponsor. I bumbled through my eight minutes with her. Her polite tone when she shook hands at the first bell to change told me that she'd written me off. I was dejected that I'd blown my chance with the girl I most wanted to meet.

To compound things, they sent me Maura and Jennifer right after, bang bang. It wasn't until the second hour, when I was getting randomly drawn girls, that I started to get the hang of it. I realized I should be asking about what their requirements and expectations were, not about their personal lives. And when they asked what I did for a living, I just said "I'm independently wealthy." By the time I shook hands with the last girl, I was coming across as suave and in charge, like usually I do if I may say so myself.

"Now, since there are eight of you here tonight, please rank the top eight girls that you would like to meet again in the private session, from one to eight. The girls have been asked to do the same. We will then match you with your most compatible match. For instance, if you rank a girl first and she ranks you last, that probably won't be a good match in the long run. If you rank a girl second and she ranks you first, on the other hand, that would be a better match. Now, if you gentlemen would like to move to the private dating room, your personally matched partner will be with you shortly."

We were shown to a dimly lit room. There were eight love seats, arranged in four pairs back-to-back looking out from the center of the room. Privacy screens were placed between the backs of each pair and on either side of each sofa, creating semi private areas that, being three sided, seemed more like stalls than anything else. Each of us was shown to our own sofa; on each sofa was a rose we were to give our match when she appeared. As long as you remained seated, the desired effect of not being able to see the other men was achieved.

We spent a few anxious minutes while the pairings were set. Then all of the lights were turned out, turning the room pitch black, pierced only by the floor-pointed flashlights of the staff as they guided the selected to the stall where their match was waiting. I sat there, crossing my fingers that somehow, in spite of my awkwardness, I'd be paired with my first choice, Amy. I wasn't.

When the lights were turned back on and we saw our match, I had drawn Shelly, who I think had been my fifth choice. When the lights came on, a momentary look on her face told me that I hadn't been too high on her sheet either. But she quickly regained her composure; she had been selected, and more than half of the girls had not. Somehow, the earthling adage "beggars can't be choosers" seemed especially apropos given the context of this meeting.

"It's so nice to get to meet you again," Shelly smiled broadly yet unconvincingly as she stepped forward and I handed her the rose. Don't get me wrong, she was very attractive, with long curly brown hair and a great body, but she had put me off by being so...calculating. I knew she was trying to put her best foot forward, after all a mistress is a big cash investment, but she came across as disingenuous. I didn't trust anything she said.

Just then a deep bass beat kicked in out of nowhere. "Ladies, now's your chance to show your man just how SPECIAL and UNIQUE you really are! GO TO IT." Without further ado, Shelly started to dance for me. Turning around, she buffed by crotch with her miniskirt. Then she spun slowly, showing off her shapely legs, kicking off to the side in time to the music. Then she bent over me, letting her breasts hang down to display massive cleavage in her halter top.

"You'll have to tell me more about what you like..." she breathed into my ear as she rubbed her chest upward across mine. Then she leaned back and parted the two halves of her halter further while covering herself with her bent arms. Then she sensually lowered her arms, rubbing her nipples on the way down so that they were sure to be erect when she showed them to me. I wondered whether she was or had been a stripper. Maybe she'd just taken a strip-for-your-lover class; I seemed to remember her telling me she had had a sponsor until recently, when he lost all his money in the stock market. Or maybe that was just a line, too.

I'd been having sex with humans for eight months now, interbreeding with your kind to produce hybrid offspring that might inherit some of my superhuman abilities. The hope was together we could do what I alone could not--save the planet from total annihilation in a collision with a dark matter comet 20 years from now. At my one-a-day clip, I was over two hundred human lovers now--and this was the first time I thought seriously about sexually transmitted diseases. VD is unknown on my planet; I had been going under the assumption that we were immune, just as I seem to be immune to most of your earth viruses. But now I wondered if maybe STDs just hadn't evolved on our planet. Could there be a more disgraceful fate than to be the first member of your entire species to get VD? Oh well--if I didn't keep knocking up humans we'd all be vaporized in 20 years; STDs were a chance I was going to have to take. Staying clean was priority one for a mistress, so hopefully she would be clean--but as I say, I didn't really trust her.

That didn't mean I wasn't enjoying my lap dance, however. This was much better than a strip club--when she thrust her breasts in my face, not onlycould I touch them, shewanted me to. They were impressive: soft yet firm, cantaloupe-sized, tan with no visible white lines. She smiled as she let me fondle them, reaching behind herself to untie her top and lifting it off over her head. This was the whole reason I was here; I'd heard that in their efforts to impress a sponsor, meet-a-mistress parties often ended in orgies. This wasn't quite what I'd pictured--it was better. I had imagined a group cluster-fuck; individualized sex booths meant I didn't have to deal with the jealousies of the other guys when they saw the size of my dick.

Shelly how started bending down lower, lower, until she was kneeling in front of me. With purpose, she reached for my pants and started to undo my belt. She gave me the sexy eye as she pulled my wiener free of my shorts. Then she gave a start when she saw the size of the monster in her hands. "Oh my," she said, slightly flustered, "youare a big boy, aren't you?" I saw her gulp, and then wrap her lips around my dick and thrust it as far into her throat as it would go. Usually girls are pleasantly surprised by my size, and on more than one occasion it has been the clincher that landed a girl in bed with me. Shelly wasn't excited, though; if anything, she seemed concerned. As I watched her gallantly but ultimately futilely attempt to deep-throat my entirety; I guessed that she'd counted on her deep-throating ability to impress me, only I was just too big to swallow.

Aside from the fact that she fell short of her goal, though, her blowjob was first-rate. Her mouth, lips, and tongue worked together in fine synchronicity to provide my penis with exquisite sensations. This too concerned me a little, though, because clearly this girl had spent a lot of time sucking dick. Nevertheless, I put my hands in her curly hair and encouraged her as she sucked me. Up and down she bobbed like clockwork. Her blowjob was too perfect in some ways--like the rest of her, it came across as being practiced, an act. Of course, maybe that made her a perfect mistress--she would act like she was hot for you on demand. I had wanted to get to know at least a little about her, but maybe that, too, was violating some unwritten rule of mistress-sponsor relations.

I decided I would try to get a more natural response from her. As her head bobbed up and down pleasuring my knob, I reached for her breasts and gently pinched her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. As always, this allowed a tiny, pleasurable electric current to flow from my negatively charged thumbs to my positive charged fingers. She noticed--she looked up, opened her eyes for a minute, and raised her eyebrows--but then she closed them again and kept sucking. I could tell her nipples were straining with delight, but she was so busy trying to make a positive impression on me that even the intense sensation couldn't increase her arousal as it had with every other human I'd been with. I sighed; she was gonna get me off, but she wasn't going to be engaged in the process herself.

"I'd like you to sit on my lap," I whispered. Her blowjob may have been all technique and no feeling, but her technique was first rate and I was close to blowing my wad. I wasn't gonna knock her up by wasting it in her mouth.

She stood, expressionless. I think she was hoping that she would sell me on herself with just her tits and a great blowjob, but she wasn't about to say no to anything else I wanted. She made a big show of lifting her short skirt, pulling aside her thong, and showing me her shaved snatch. Putting one leg up on the sofa next to me, she pulled her labia apart, rubbing her clitoris to quickly get herself wet. She was watching me looking at her sex, and I have admit I kind of liked the way she showed me her stuff.

Steadying herself with one hand on the back of the couch, she swung her other stiletto heel over to my other side. Straddling me, she slowly crouched lower, guiding my penis into her with her left hand. I felt myself perforating her folds lightly before meeting resistance. She lifted herself and crouched again, and I slipped a bit further into her depths. She repeated this action several times, and I felt her tissues moisten and grow soft. All at once, I went from just barely being inside to her being able to grind her hips all the way down to mine. She then closed her eyes and began to fuck my dick with her pussy at a nice, steady rhythm. Her breasts bobbed up and down violently as she went; more than once she grasped them with her left arm to get them to settle down when they started to get uncomfortable.

The arrangement was somewhat visually private, but sound was another matter. From the other side of the divider behind me, we started hearing the telltale sounds of fucking. They got louder and louder even as Shelly picked up the pace with me. Then the voice practically shouted "Oh yes! Fuck my ass!" Shelly's eyes snapped open with a look of great concern. I could almost hear her thinking"Oh god, please don't get any ideas..." Don't worry, I thought, I plan on dumping my load right where I am. But it made me think--this guy was test-driving his potential mistress by fucking her ass. If he was totally into that, I guess it made sense to find out right off the bat if she would go for it, but it also made me think that in their anxiety to earn a meal ticket, these girls would do pretty much anything that we wanted. A savvy man could easily take advantage of that; I wondered how many of the others in attendance were like me and had no intention of really taking on a mistress tonight.

I smiled knowingly at Shelly and leaned forward to take her nipple in my mouth. She relaxed when she realized I wouldn't be trying to stuff my monster dick up her tiny asshole. But then she did something really amazing. Her pussy kept pumping up and down on my dick, but somehow she steadied her torso at the same time, so that there was little movement in her breasts and I was able to keep sucking the nipple even as her hips continued to pump. Not only that, but she picked up the pace, accurately sensing that my orgasm might be imminent. The combination of nipple in mouth and pussy on dick was exquisite; in a matter of minutes, I grasped her hips and held her down on my lap while I ejaculated at length into her vagina.

"Oh my god, that was awesome," she lied, gently grinding as I still lay inside her. I flashed my eyebrows at her now, and lay my thumbs alongside her clit while rubbing it with my index finger. Every human I'd been with had experienced major orgasm when the current was running directly through her clitoris, usually within 60 seconds. Her guard was down anyway, since she figured she'd done her part. "Oh my," she said with sudden surprise at the sensation. She ground her hips into me for real now, her pussy itchy from the intense stimulation of the clit. "Oh my god," she murmured, eyes wide, astounded by the intense pleasure. I don't know if it was under a minute, but soon even she came, as my deflating penis felt her shudder. For once, she didn't know what to do--she was supposed to be making me cum (and had) but hadn't even considered that she might too. Was that OK? Now what she supposed to do? I broke the tension by kissing her. Unfortunately, that, too, felt practiced and insincere.

-------------

Saturday morning I cancelled the phone whose number I had given Shelly at the end of the party the night before and got a new one. No, I'm not above being a low-down dirty snake as part of my mission to save the world, one pussy at a time. Frankly, I'm not sure she would have called me anyway. A girl that can suck dick like that can probably find someone to sponsor her just hanging around the banking district at lunch.

I headed towards an office I had rented in Midtown. It had once been part of an investment bank that had spectacularly imploded; I was able to rent a single office on a long-term lease for far below market price. Beginning at noon, I would be holding interviews for an Executive Director for the foundation I was setting up. Four months ago, I had hired a private investigative firm to follow up with my multitude of partners to see which ones became pregnant, when they gave birth, and any other information they could find about the results of our union. They told me then that the first of my half-human children was due to be born in less than five months--in other words, any day now. I wasn't going to be around to father those children, since I was busy fathering new ones, but I was setting up a foundation to provide providing financial support to the mothers of my children. I would finance it by withdrawing money from one of my sizeable Swiss bank accounts, but I needed a public face to represent the organization sending the monthly checks, keeping my role in the dark--hence the need for a director. I decided to do interviews on a Saturday, so that interested parties might apply without having to take time off their current jobs to do it.

"Hello, and thank you all for coming. My name is William Starr" I began, introducing myself to the room of prospective applicants using my newest pseudonym. "In a short while, I will begin interviewing to fill the position of Director of the Starr Child foundation. But before I do, I want to explain the nature of the Foundation and its work, for it is unusual and may be unsettling to some. After I have finished, there will be 20-minute break before I begin interviewing. If, once I've explained our work and the specific role that the Director will play, you feel uncomfortable and no longer with so apply, please do us both a favor, grab some free coffee and snacks and excuse yourself at the break. This job will not be for everyone, which is why I'm taking the time to explain the nature of your employer first." I paused as the dozen or so attendees became increasingly anxious.

"The Starr-Child Foundation is interested in saving the human race," I continued. Yeah, I know it's kind of a lame name, I just thought it might make for some cute irony when and if the true nature of my plot ever came to light. "I represent a secret organization of scientists and scholars united by the belief that the human race is evolving backward...de-volving, you might say. In particular, we are losing our greatness. With each generation, fewer and fewer truly great men are born, men who lead and change and better their world for centuries. For the past five years, scientists associated with the Foundation have secretly analyzed hundreds of genetic samples of the greatest minds of our generation. From this research, we have located a number of genetic sequences that seem to be related with greatness."

"This is a wonderful thing...we may be able to tell, at an early age, children that carry the genes of greatness. By fostering these children, we hope to increase the incidence of greatness in the gene pool for future generations. Ah, but this is where things become sticky when you're talking about human beings. If this were cows we were talking about, we could selectively breed carriers of greatness and in short order produce a race of greatness. But we cannot selectively breed humans. Indeed, the very thought would be seen by many as eugenics, including perhaps some of yourselves... which is why I will be giving you the opportunity to withdraw your interest in this position, no questions asked."

DrSqueaky
DrSqueaky
535 Followers