(VI)
A hand stroked my face, a liquid voice from somewhere said “it’s okay, I’ll take GOOD care of you”, and my cock was surrounded again, only this time in a heavier slippery sensation, caressed and squeezed in a building demanding rhythm.
My eyes opened; Florencia was riding my cock, working me up with full balls, and my head was too foggy to wonder why. I just watched her breasts sway side to side, tick-tock, tick-tock as her muscles gripped and flexed, making my vision blur.
“Good boy, good boy, give Mama Florencia all your attention.” Her accented voice lulled me into a near-trance, the rocking of her breasts in time with the ripples rolling from the base of my cock up to the sensitive head. I couldn’t summon the energy to do anything but flex my hips to meet her rhythm, hearing the sound of her voice as I came hard repeatedly and sank into a foggy haze.
When I regained consciousness, I was dressed and sitting on a bedroom chair, while Florencia was putting socks and shoes on me, her words coming into focus. “The coffee you like is ready, and you must not be late to work; I will lock up after I finish cleaning the house and doing your laundry.” She pressed my keyring into my hand, and as I stood up, she slid her hand across my bottom in a very intimate and disturbing way.
At the office, I put the toad in the back of a file cabinet and struggled to get through my emails and figure out what I had to do for the day. Sandra dropped in unexpectedly, looked at me with a disturbed expression, and asked if I was coming down with something. I reassured her that I was perfectly well, and she reminded me we had a meeting coming on Friday.
I was starting to feel – I’m not sure if schizophrenic is the right term. There was the me who had been a quiet, unassuming professional in the art field for years, and now there was also the me who was a magnet for women who became sex-obsessed with me. I couldn’t reconcile the two, and I was still concerned about the third me who took advantage of the coffee shop girl the previous day.
Plus, I was starting to have softly distracting erections throughout the day. They didn’t come from any recognizable cause, such as a woman bending over or a piece of erotic art. No, that would at least make a little sense. Instead, I could be working through a spreadsheet of next year’s budget, or critiquing an analysis by one of the interns, and suddenly I’d be aware of my cock firming up inside my briefs.
When I got home, everything was cleaned and arranged, and Florencia was thankfully gone. I had a spring salad and a glass of juice, and went to bed early. If there were dreams this time, I did not recall them.
I woke up the next morning with a mild headache and more frequent unproductive erections. This was not going to make for a good day. When I got to the office, I called my medical group and arranged for an afternoon visit. They’d get me to my internist, and it gave me a half day to decide how to describe my problems.
I arrived at the clinic on the dot of 3:30, and found that my usual internist was out for the day; instead, I’d be seeing a Doctor Shirani, and they ushered me directly into an exam room. Nice, he didn’t waste any of my time. A young brown nurse popped in to get my height and weight, check my temperature and blood pressure, and get the data entered into the computer. “Now, Mister Fairchild, what seems to be the problem?”
I did a double-take, then looked more closely at DOCTOR Shirani. With the events of the past week, I really did not want to discuss this with a woman, but there was no getting around it.
“Well, I woke up this morning with a low-level throbbing headache, not the kind I’ve had sometimes with allergies. And starting this morning, um, I’ve been having – sporadic unprompted erections.
She turned in her chair to more directly face me. “And have you been more or less sexually active recently?” I started to just say yes, but clamped down on that impulse and told her it was definitely more. Then I wound up exercising my memory to satisfy her curiosity about how much sex this bland-looking old man was currently getting.
“And you say you’re not normally given to random erections? I see that you work at the museum; are these obtrusive enough that you need to tend to them while at work?
Can you imagine a more embarrassing question? Gee, Mister, do you have to go whack off in the john a lot at work? I’d have said the hell with it and walked out, except that these new unexpected erections had shaken me. Not being able to get to orgasm with them by myself was worse. So I admitted that I’d tried and failed.
Without much warning, I wound up bent over the end of the exam table, briefs down past my knees. She palpated my testicles and slid a lubricated nitrile glove finger up my ass, far enough that – oh no she wasn’t – Fuck! I made a great big spurting mess all over the exam table.
“Well, Mister Fairchild, that much seems to be working properly. I’m going to take some blood and check a few things. You’re not exhibiting priapism, which you should be glad about. I’m sure you are worried about disappointing your girlfriends, so I’ll have some blood drawn for tests and look to get word to you before the weekend.” She handed me tissues to clean myself, and sat down to enter her notes in the computer, continuing, “And of course, sometimes things just resolve themselves with rest and sleep. You should consider that as well.”
I’m pretty sure she thought that I was just bragging about all the sex I’d been having. But it wasn’t like I could explain the toad thing. I wondered if something embedded in the thing’s ragged surface had thrown off my hormones and those of all those women? That made more sense than my recollection of seeing the toad zap people with its tongue.
Anyway, it was a relief to be alone in a room with a woman and NOT have her clawing my clothes off. I mean, there was her finger up my ass, but that was impersonal and professional. I assume. So I thanked her, stopped by the nursing station to have my blood drawn, and went back to finish my work day.
(VII)
I picked up a pizza on the way home and paired it with a Merlot I was fond of. I even brought the toad out of hiding and put it on my dining table, as if to show off my self-reliance. It made the pizza and wine taste better. I was actually humming a tune as I cleaned up the pizza box and poured another glass of Merlot.
The sound of my doorbell at this point of the evening was unwanted, even bizarre.
I looked at the camera screen; it was a woman in the nurse’s uniform of the clinic. I clicked the intercom button. “Is there a problem, nurse?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mister Fairchild, but there was an anomaly in your blood draw. I’m sure you don’t want to have to break up your Friday by coming back to the clinic.”
Well, she was right about that; I had an important meeting with Sandra about both the state conference and our plans for Peru and some other South American countries. My interactions with Sandra this week had been normal – well, normalish. Skipping the big Friday meeting would definitely upset Sandra, so I buzzed the lock open to let the nurse come in with her professional bag.
“I’ll just set up right in here, if you give me your arm I’ll be in and out in no time.” She had the sample tubes with my information already printed on their labels, and waved me over to the dining table. Her name tag said “Beckie”, so I knew who I’d be calling the clinic about to commend her enterprise and consideration. Of course, I’d be raising a holy stink about the clinic having screwed up my blood draw in the first place.
She finished wrapping my arm to emphasize the vein, warning me, “Now this may sting a little,” and pulled the two sample tubes. I had to admit, it was as clean and slick a blood draw as I’ve had. She pushed a wad of cotton over the puncture and told me to hold it, then wrapped a self-stick bandage around my elbow. “Now don’t you go lifting anything heavy tonight with that arm, Mister – OW”
Beckie was clutching the inside of her right elbow, the same place on her arm where she’d drawn blood from mine. And the damned toad was sitting in the middle of the table with its stone tongue hanging out. The nurse self-bandaged her bloody spot and stared at me with a dangerously focused gaze.
“It’s Gordon, right? You’re the old guy who says all these women think you’re hot in bed. Well, Gordon, I’m thinking whatever this ugly thing is that stung me, you’re going to want to make my complaint go away.” She licked her lips and sashayed (that’s the only accurate word) up to me, swinging her hand to grab my crotch and wake up my cock. “I bet I can make that thing productive without needing to stick a finger up your ass!”
I was totally incensed now. Obviously, that stand-in doctor had spread my private information around, probably to the whole clinic. “Now, Nurse—Beckie—I’m sure we can find a way to make things right and still be p-professional about it!”
Her idea about “professional” was different from mine, as she backed me against the bookcase, then shoved my slacks and underpants way down. My traitorous cock was already stiff and thickened. “Don’t try sweet-talking me, Gordie! I’m not interested in your mouth – well, not yet at least.” She curled one hand around my balls and the other fist around the sensitive head of my cock, and went to town until my groin spasmed and my head snapped back hard against the edge of the bookshelf.
My legs gave out, and the nurse arranged me on the floor, used my own sperm as lube around my still-hard cock, then stroked it between her rear cheeks. I tried to say something but lost the power of speech when I felt her bottom flare and grip around me, then wriggle its way down like a hungry snake swallowing a rat.
“My guy, he won’t do my ass proper or at all – but you seem to know your way around!”
Her ass sucked me in before I could tell her I’d never done this – then I was thrashing, arched backward against the carpet, humping and gushing inside her like I’d been doing this all my life. Which might have been ending soon as my skull hammered the floor and the room shimmered in red and black spots. My heart pounded fiercely, and the sounds around me got more and more distorted until…
I was leaning back against a warm pair of breasts, sipping from a glass of Gatorade pressed against my lips. I didn’t know quite where I was; I didn’t have the energy to think about it anyway. There was a voice making noises that finally congealed into recognizable words.
“Thought I’d lost you there – you need to get that blood pressure checked out. I’ll tell you what, Gordie, even though I didn’t get everything I wanted, we’ll call this a rain check. I’ve got all your samples now, and I’ll come back for round two later, maybe tomorrow night, maybe Saturday, hmmm?” She slid out from behind me, leaving me dazed and confused, my legs splayed out and my cock dangling empty and useless. The nurse collected her things and let herself out of the house. I couldn’t even get up to make sure the front door was locked before I sank into an exhausted slumber.
(VIII)
I didn’t want to go to work on Friday. I wanted to lock the doors and windows of my house and put the toad into an arc furnace to destroy it utterly. But that was sheer fantasy—where would I even get access to an arc furnace? Anyway, Sandra and I had a meeting scheduled, and either we’d get a lot of plans finalized, or she’d find new lewd ways to blow my mind away.
But first I had to call the medical clinic and bitch about their messing up the blood draw and their nurse interrupting my evening. The woman I spoke with was polite and conciliatory, so she at least was competent at her job. That done, I could focus on my actual business. It was almost nine, so I headed over to the museum’s administrative suite.
Sandra had scheduled the meeting in her private office, which has a locking door and a protective secretary. Once the lock clicked, Sandra took off her professional opaque top, and her breasts came out to greet me. I struggled to get my slacks off in one piece before she ripped them off my body, then once we were both naked, she clamped her hands around my hips and frog-marched me backward to slam against the wall. She held me there, swallowed my cock, and did something obscene with her throat to make me cum immediately.
That wasn’t enough for Sandra—she cupped my testicles and rolled them till she worked me up into a decent erection, then jerked my feet out so I landed on my back. “Ride ’em, cowgirl,” she smirked as she mounted me and did that thing that the sex books claim about inner muscles milking a man. My brain was fuzzed out, my eyes were glued to her bouncing nipples, and when her orgasm hit, it was like fire in my groin, turning me inside out within her.
The woman was going to be the death of me. I barely realized she had gotten off me before she was next to me and fully dressed, lifting my head and pressing a water bottle to my lips. There was a touch of wonder in her voice when she said, “I don’t know where you get the stamina, Gordon.”
I was just—relieved. Not that I didn’t enjoy the sex with Sandra, but there was my conference trip to arrange and then—Peru. I was starting to get erections just hearing the word Peru. It occurred to me that Sandra was fully dressed, and I was lying naked and limp on her carpet. I’d need to do something about that.
That’s when the locked office door opened.
Sandra’s secretary poked her head in, announced that the ten o’clock meeting had been pushed up a half hour, then closed the door without even a glance toward me.
Sandra petted the top of my head, then got up and went to her desk. “We’ll get your budget and all the travel arrangements dealt with sometime this afternoon, Gordon. Sorry that I have to cut this short, but some of us have real work to do.” She was polite but dismissive, and left me there without a backward glance.
I spent some time just absently following the patterns of the acoustic ceiling tiles until I could pull myself together, get dressed, and find my way back to my office. I’m sure I wasn’t completely coherent, but I didn’t run into anyone important along the way. By the time I went for lunch and came back, I was much more myself.
There were two notes on my desk when I got back. One said, “Beckie says you need to call her this afternoon urgent” with a phone number. The other was just a phone number to return, but I recognized the number as my medical clinic. That one was certainly worth my time. Beckie, whoever she was, could wait.
The clinic put me through to some kind of manager, who was very confused. “I’m sorry, Mister Fairchild, but there wasn’t any problem with your blood draw. In fact, we expect there will be results interpreted by the end of the day for you.” Well, either I hallucinated the previous evening or the clinic was covering its ass and rushing to get the second draws processed. The little Band-Aid over the needle puncture on my arm told me it wasn’t a hallucination. Either way, it was obvious they weren’t going to give me any kind of apology.
I called Sandra’s office, but her secretary said she was tied up in meetings. So I spent some time getting caught up on office paperwork and getting current in reading my professional journals. Around midafternoon, my friend Vaughn from the Surrealism wing dropped in—wanted to know if I’d like to join him for dinner and then see some movie with the Monkees and Annette Funicello. It sounded to me like he was doing weed again, but he was going to pay for dinner, so that was fine with me.
Dinner was great—Vaughn had found a hidden gem of a German restaurant, we had plenty of time to enjoy the food and a surprisingly well-matched Riesling. The wine helped with the movie, which was bizarre. It had been a commercial failure, and no surprise. But I could certainly see why the Surrealist group at the museum liked it – the movie had almost a punk aesthetic. We stopped by a dessert bar afterward, since I didn’t have to go into the office Saturday, and chatted about this and that—mostly professional gossip—until quite late.
There were two messages on my home machine. The first one was from the clinic, letting me know that my bloodwork was all in normal range, but my blood pressure was at…
