ONE

Tom Wingate sat by the pool and sipped on his mother's homemade lemonade. Despite the retinue of hired help at the estate, Mother provided all the lemonade served during the hot Missouri summer, and seldom forgot to remind anyone of that fact. She hand squeezed the lemons, added the generous amounts of sugar, and diluted the mixture with spring water from the Ozarks. Whenever possible, the woman insisted on serving it herself, making a great show of it in afternoon meetings of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

This was not such an afternoon, however, and Tom had to fetch his own damn lemonade. Which was fine with him. DAR meetings interfered with his preferred form of afternoon entertainment.

"Sandra, you look absolutely fantastic in that thing," he said under his breath.

"Hi, Tom," Sandra said with her Alabama twang. Sandra did indeed look fine. The tall, tan blonde walked around the pool in the most minimal of bikinis, black straps with postage-stamp sized bits of blue lycra that just covered her nipples and a bit of her love mound. She wore sandals with heels that flattened her calves and pushed out her buttocks, completely bare but for the black strap that ran along the crack of her ass.

Sandra smiled at Tom as she approached. Pearly white teeth between lips painted bubble gum pink dazzled in the midday sun. She had seen him mumble something when he saw her, but she didn't worry about what it was. She knew better than to pay him too much attention. They all knew how things worked.

"Fantastic," Tom said again. He set down the lemonade. At that moment the sun felt very hot indeed, and he rolled back his shoulders and spread out his arms to soak in it. He felt his cock move a bit in his pants. Maybe it was time for his afternoon T.

That's what he called it. Tom had never settled on what the T stood for: teasing, titillation. He liked "transgression" quite a bit. His mother used S words, like scandalous, sinful, and sickening. "You're a healthy, wealthy, young man," she would say. "Why defile yourself in that manner?" D words were good, too. Degrade. Disgrace. Debauchery.

Tom peeled off his shirt, and grabbed a tube of sun screen. He squeezed some of the greasy white liquid and spread it around his upper body. Sandra could have helped spread it on. Tom didn't ask. He never asked.

Tom finished coating himself in lotion, and his skin felt hot and sticky. Sandra stood in front of his deck chair, and shook out her long blonde hair. "Can I have some of this, Tom?" She pointed to the lemonade.

"Go ahead," Tom said.

Sandra took a sip, then used her fingers to fish out an ice cube. She ran the wet crystal over her throat and then down between her breasts.

"That looks good," a voice said behind Tom. His head jerked to the right just in time to see Gina -- dark eyed, sultry, Italian Gina -- walk by in a leopard print bikini. There was a lot more material than Sandra's suit, but the thong back did little to cover the olive skin of Gina's tush. He watched her haunches as she walked to Sandra.

"Let me have one of those," Gina said to Sandra. Sandra offered her the glass and Gina removed an ice cube. The two women faced each other and slid the ice over each other's chest. Their nipples hardened and poked through the stretchy material of their swimsuits.

Tom's cock hardened, too. He shimmied out of his shorts, and kicked them off the deck chair. Tom reclined on the green padding of the chair, and his dick flopped back against his abdomen. He squeezed a strip of sun tan lotion along his shaft and worked it along the skin with his fist.

"Ooh," Sandra giggled. A rivulet of ice water had run down between her breasts.

"T time?" Caitlin asked rhetorically, as she stepped to the chair. The auburn haired hardbody saw Tom stroking himself, and knew that it was. All the girls knew the term, but they were as unsure of its meaning as Tom was. Most took it to mean "Tom time".

Caitlin wore a two piece bikini: halter top and string bottom. The dull color was set off markedly by her pink skin, red hair, and green eyes. Tiny freckles covered her arms and shoulders. When she turned, Tom took an eyeful of her bottom. Just like a peach: round, cleft, with a fine veneer of light colored hair. He knew if he spanked it, it would even take on the red blush of a peach where his hand struck. But Tom was busy spanking his member.

Next to show was Jyotsana. The girl was a fusion of Western model and Indian goddess, a Devi for the early 21st century. Her thick dark hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore a mango colored one piece that rose high on her hips, and narrowed to a tank top fit over her shoulders. A gold necklace adorned her throat, gold braces snaked around her upper arms, and tiny golden hoops ran through both earlobes and one nostril. The yellow metal and orange fabric contrasted her brown skin. Jyotsana glanced at Tom beating himself off, and her thin dark lips curled into a wry smile.

"Nice suit, Jay," Gina said.

"Thanks, Gina," she purred.

Tom saw what the brunette meant when Jyotsana turned. For as much as the one piece covered the front of her torso, it was almost nonexistent in the back. A thong back met suspenders at the sides that rose straight up to form the tank top shoulder straps in the front. Her entire back was open to view.

Two black girls, Desiree and Lawanna, arrived in high heels and almost nothing else. Noriko dove in on the far side of the pool, and emerged a dripping wet vision in a now see-through swimsuit. The girls flocked around him, like pigeons flapping about a park bench. Tom was stroking himself in ecstasy. T time. Tanned tushies and tight tummies. Thongs and t-backs. Total immersion. Everywhere he looked round buns swayed and flesh jiggled, in blush pinks, cocoa butter brown, and rich ebony.

Sometimes they bent over, and Tom could see the rise of their mounds under the stretch fabric of their suits. Noriko's wet suit revealed her dark pubic hair. Gina's leopard print bottom fit so tight he could make out the inner seam of her twat. When Sandra leaned over though, she grabbed her cheeks. The g-string did nothing to cover her sex, and Tom came when he saw the black strip nestled between her pussy lips, then stretching across the tight pucker of her anus.

"Oh, yes," Tom said, as streams of watery semen splashed against his torso.

"Oh, yeah," the women echoed.

His strokes diminished to small tugs, but the head of his cock continued to throw milky goop onto his chest.

The girls in their bikinis wound down their gyrations, and slowly took leave of him. Lawanna ran her long nails through Tom's hair and scratched behind his ears as she left. Jyotsana kissed him on the forehead, and he smelled the shampoo in her long, full hair. Desiree ran a dark finger along his shrinking, cum covered dick, and it sent a chill along his shoulders.

Noriko found a towel and wet it for Tom to clean himself. Gina partly cleaned him with it, then left the towel for Tom to finish. "Good one, Tom," she said, before dropping into the seat next to him to sunbathe. Caitlin took a spot on Tom's other side. Sandra, who had started the whole thing and never let go of the lemonade, finally handed the glass back to Tom.

"Thanks," he said. "I needed that."

TWO

Tom napped. When he woke, Gina was there, but Caitlin was gone. Desiree had taken her place. Tom took a couple laps in the pool. One end of the pool was in the shade, and from there he could see a couple women working out in the exercise room. No sign of that new one, Iris, however.

Refreshed, Tom climbed out of the pool and dried off. Gina had turned over on her stomach, and Tom admired her ass in that leopard print thong a little more as he towel dried his hair. The ladies bid him goodbye and he left for the house.

Inside, Tom spotted his mother, Amanda Wingate. She was in the kitchen, making lemonade.

"I've noticed, Tom, that you don't even talk to those women," she said as she sliced a bright yellow lemon in half.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mother," Tom said bitterly.

"Playing sensitive today, are we?"

"You know," Tom said, "as big as this house is, it never feels big enough."

"You could move in the guest building with those trollops if you could bring yourself to talk to them," Amanda said.

"I notice that you don't talk to them very much either."

"That is because I view them as unwelcome guests. Lewd, lascivious women. A veritable ass menagerie you have there. A stable of immoral creatures. Your father would never have allowed such women in the house."

Tom grinded his teeth. "Correct you are, Mother. That's because he kept his stable of immoral women in the secretary pool at the firm."

"I will not let you speak of your father that way, Tom!" Amanda said, crushing a lemon against the juice squeezer. "Your father was finer than any man in Blue Mountain and I.... "

"Won't countenance an insult to his memory," Tom joined her as she finished her words. "We're quite aware what you won't countenance, Mother. You've said it often enough. But you know it's true. When Laura started at the firm, she was the only woman under the age of thirty that Father wasn't--"

"Enough!" Amanda interrupted. "Your sister Laura has just finished her Masters at business school and is poised to excel with the firm. She has direction. I'd like to know what it is you're waiting for. What you expect to come along?"

"A bus perhaps," Tom said.

"A bus to where?"

"Doesn't matter as long as it hits me," Tom said.

"Oh that is awful, Tom. Peggy Masters from the DAR had a nephew who took his own life. Poor woman was crushed. Couldn't even come to meetings for a good long time."

"Well, I would hate to inconvenience you," Tom said.

Amanda changed tactics. She sweetened her voice with the same ease that she added sugar to the lemonade. "Tom, you need to find yourself a nice girl."

"Oh, no, not this again," Tom said.

"Could you just try to overcome your shyness, Tom. Even one of those women would be a start."

"You just called them lewd and immoral!"

"Yes," Amanda admitted. "But you at least seem comfortable around them. Comfortable enough to sit in front of them and--"

"Please, Mother!"

"Well, I can't help it. I'm concerned for your future. I want you to find that something that comes along and changes you. What about that nice Italian girl from the Hill?"

"Gina Rossi?" Tom asked.

"That's the one. She actually cooks in here, Tom. Makes the house smell so good with those spices."

"Basil and garlic, Mother. It's not like Jyotsana was in here with all the flavors of the orient."

"Which one is that?"

"Never mind."

"How do you recruit these women if you don't talk to them, Tom?"

"Mother, must we always have the same conversation? I don't 'recruit' them. They just show up."

"Well, this...collection...had to start somewhere."

"One houseguest, Mother. Somehow a friend found out. You're the one who always taught us about Southern hospitality."

"This is not what I had in mind, Tom! You pay them money!"

"It's a small allowance," Tom said. "It's my money. I spend it as I please." Tom would be spending it in clubs anyway, and he got a lot more for his money this way.

Amanda clanged a spoon inside the pitcher, stirring the lemonade. "These girls, dancing in those East St. Louis pits for money. They never dreamed they could take up residence in a Clayton address."

"They don't have residence here, Mother." Tom had rules, after all. One of them was no mail and no packages. "And not all of them are dancers. Some are simply aspiring actresses."

"Looking for handouts and free food. That food money doesn't come out of your pocket."

"They want to be models, Mother. They eat brown rice and lentils."

"Gina has a healthy appetite," Amanda rebuffed him.

"But I thought you liked that one," Tom said.

Amanda harrumphed. "I can't say I like any of them. Especially not the new one."

Tom agreed with her on that point, but he was damned if he would admit it. It did serve as a helpful reminder, though. "As much as I've enjoyed this conversation, I just remembered I have a note to write. If you'll excuse me."

"Does it matter if I say 'No'?"

"Not really," Tom answered. "But you have taught Laura and me not to be rude."

THREE

"What kind of rude shit is this?" Iris asked. She was in the guest house. She had been there all day, asleep in her bed, failing to make an appearance at the pool. The laughter of the other girls in the common room had woken her. On the way out of her room, she had found the note addressed to her.

"What's that, sweety?" Sandra asked.

"This note. 'Please pack your things and depart this evening. Regrets, Tom' Regrets? If he had regrets he wouldn't be kicking me out!"

"If you bothered to get out of bed," Gina said, "maybe he wouldn't have felt that way." Iris had taken the other bed in Gina's room of the guest house. Gina knew exactly how Iris spent her time.

Iris glared at Gina. "Are you still upset about that guy? Is that it?"

"Guy?" Lawanna asked. Her eyes widened. "Did you have a man in here? Gina, is this true?"

"Hey, I'm not a rat!" Gina said. "I warned her. I told her the rules."

"You can't have a man in here," Caitlin said.

"Why the hell not?" Iris asked.

"It'll make Tom upset," Noriko said.

"Fuck him!" Iris said. "I don't owe him shit."

"Then do as he says, and get out," Jyotsana said with a hint of British accent to her speech. "We shall all be the happier for it."

"What do you care?" Iris asked.

Lawanna held a palm up, and waved it around while addressing Iris. "Listen, Isis, Iris, whatever the fuck your name is, you're not gonna fuck this up for the rest of us."

"Please, Lawanna, the vulgarities," Sandra said. "But I agree, we can't let one bad apple spoil the bunch. This little girl has got to go."

"What is wrong with you people? Prancing around while he jerks off like this is his own private peep show. What is that?"

"It's easy work," Noriko said. "I dance eight hours to earn 400 dollars a night, and then I perform a couple hours here during the day to get room and board for free."

"In a mansion," Jyotsana said.

"With almost a whole friggin' health club inside," Gina added.

"If he wants to have women all over, fine," Iris said. "Here I am. But I'm not hanging around him while he masturbates."

"Then you ain't hangin' around period," Desiree said.

Iris folded her arms in front of her chest. "His mother lives here. It's disgusting. I heard her call us 'the ass menagerie' today."

"Why, Iris! I'm surprised you even know what that word means!" Gina said.

"I don't care what it means, or what she calls us, as long as good old Tom boy keeps this fine roof over my head," Lawanna added. "She could call us the Cunt All-Stars for all I care."

"Lawanna!" Sandra scolded her with a Southern twang. "The language, please!"

"She deserves it," Caitlin said. "If Tom found out a guy was here, he might kick us all out."

"I can't have that," Desiree replied, throwing her head back so her beaded hair flipped over her shoulder.

"None of us can," Sandra said. "Which is why she's going."

"You're all fucking crazy!" Iris declared. "No men!

"Tom has simple rules," Gina said. "No U.S. mail, no visiting males, no outside sales, and no covered tails."

"He never actually told you that," Iris said. "You said so yourself."

"Correct," Jyotsana said. "Those rules have been discerned by the girls here rather than declared by Tom. Nevertheless, those who violate them find themselves invited to leave."

"I admit," Sandra said, "I would prefer it if gentlemen friends could call on us. But I don't mind a lack of junk mail."

"And I don't mind a bare bum," Jyotsana added.

"So you must go," Noriko said. "As it is, we will have to act to save face. We don't want Tom to remove us all because of your mistake."

"Save face?" Iris asked. "How are you gonna do that?"

Gina answered her. "Tomorrow's T time will be a little different. But that doesn't matter, does it? You won't be here to see it."

"You should concern yourself more with what happens tonight," Jyotsana said.

"We'll be packing your bags for you, to start with," Caitlin said.

Nervousness replaced Iris's outrage. Crazy or not, these women sounded serious. And they literally had Iris surrounded.

"I'll get the camera," Noriko said.

"What's going on?" Iris asked. A girl, maybe two girls, grabbed her from behind. "Let go of me you, fucking bitches!"

"Sorry, sugar," Sandra drawled. "We just can't risk it."

Lawanna and Desiree held Iris's hands behind her back.

"Relax," Gina whispered to her. "It won't last long, and it won't hurt much." Gina then pushed Iris's sweat pants off her hips and down her sides.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Iris kicked her legs.

"Don't fight it," Jyotsana said. "This will be over in a flash."

Iris struggled to stop Gina and Sandra from pulling down her cotton panties, but after Lawanna gave her arm a slight twist, she thought better of it. The girls let the cotton underwear fall below her knees. The garment stretched between her calves like a trampoline. Her sweat pants pooled around her ankles.

Lawanna and Desiree moved to either side of Iris, exposing her bare ass. Jyotsana stepped between the two black girls. The caramel skinned beauty ran a hand around Iris's cheeks before landing an appraising slap on her right buttock.

"Does Tom want you to do this, too?" Iris asked.

"He's never said so," Caitlin replied. "But he's never kicked any of us out for it."

Noriko returned with the instant camera. "The film is in, and we're ready to go."

"Now try to relax," Jyotsana said as she hauled back her arm, "and smile for the camera." Her open palm landed a solid spank against Iris's ass.

They took turns like that, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh in sharp slaps countered by the dull whirr of the instant camera spitting out snapshots. They took turns with bare-handed spanking. In no time, the camera was out of film, Iris's bags were packed, and her ass glowed pink.

FOUR

"Tom!" Amanda hollered outside his bedroom door. "Are you coming to breakfast or not? I can't say grace without all present at the table."

Tom rolled over. The house was definitely not big enough. "Don't you have lemonade to make or something, Mother?"

She was already leaving, however, and missed the remark. "And get the paper before you come to the table!" Amanda added with a yell that echoed through the hallway.

Tom scratched himself: balls, scalp, chin, in no particular order. That little episode happened all the time, and it was his mother's way of saying "Beautiful day! Why not join me for breakfast?". He often used the same lemonade comment. It was such a routine that the staff knew not to bring in the paper on sunny mornings.

With a sniffle or two to go along with his scratching, Tom donned a robe and left his room. He stepped outside the house, made a miserable attempt to stifle a yawn, and walked out to grab the newspaper. Tom rubbed his eyes to prepare them for the news of the world in 9 point font. When he reached the newspaper, though, he found something besides the usual headlines and bylines. A padded yellow envelope sat atop the bundle of newsprint.

Instantly, Tom woke from his semi-slumber and realized what was in the envelope. He should have been expecting it, really. A quick glance at the envelope's contents was all he needed for confirmation. He stuffed the envelope in his robe and gathered the paper in his arms. He stared at the words on the way to the kitchen, but read nothing.

"There you are!" Amanda greeted him. "Here I thought you might have left the house to seek your fame and fortune."

Tom had no desire for the former, and no need for the latter. But he chose not to comment. "Here's the paper, Mother," Tom said as he dropped it on the table with a rude thump. He left and headed back to his room.

"Tom!" Amanda called. "Your oatmeal is getting cold!"

"Fine," Tom said without looking back. "It's usually too damn hot, anyway."

Tom returned to his room and closed the door behind him. He opened the envelope and dumped its contents on the bed. Tens of pictures from an instant camera fluttered onto the sheets, pictures of a woman's bare ass being spanked. A couple showed close-ups of her grimacing face, others were full length shots showing how she was held and bent over. Most were full frame photos of her ass, however, going from milky white to highlight marker pink. Some of them showed bare hands making contact. In one he recognized Jyotsana's dark skin and her elaborate gold finger rings.

The girls did this to curry favor when he asked one of them to leave. Tom should have told them it wasn't necessary the first time he found an envelope stuffed with pictures like this. But he had found the pictures so shocking and explicit that he could not craft a suitable response. A day went by, two days, and before he knew it, he had asked another girl to leave for some reason. The remaining girls repeated the act, and a tradition solidified in the culture of the ass menagerie.

Tom looked at the photos again. He took a box from his nightstand, and opened the lid. There were dozens of photos just like these, in envelopes of different sizes. Sometimes he spread them out to look at them all. He admired the imagery of the tribe's sacrifice, and the form of the sacrifice the girls chose.

"They know what I like," he said out loud.

They were the only photos he had of the girls. Ironically, the pictures detailed the women who had crossed the line of what Tom thought was an agreeable arrangement, not those that brought him so much contentment. Still, there were snippets of the other girls in the photos. It chronicled who stayed, and for how long, but never fully captured their images.

Sometimes Tom did more than look at the photos passively, but not today. From past experience, he knew the sacrifice wasn't over yet. T time would be different today, and he wanted to be at full strength for it.

*

After tossing Iris out on her sore behind, Sandra and the girls had only a little bit of time before they were due to leave. The suntans and workouts they enjoyed at Tom's were put to use at strip joints and titty bars around the city. So there was no time that night to discuss what to do next. They saved that important conversation for the next morning.

Tom was one hell of a meal ticket. Normally, all they did to get that ticket punched was to prance around with buns exposed all day, and to make those buns conspicuously noticeable at T time. Whenever Tom asked someone to leave, though, the ladies felt the need to do something extra. The conversation was to determine what they were going to do this time. In some ways, their options were constrained.

Tom had rules. He never told anyone what they were, and the girls never wrote them down. But the same oral tradition that had passed down the rite of excommunication made sure that Tom's commandments were known by the members of his bare-assed flock. Good oral tradition demanded easy to remember rules, and that's what Gina had repeated to Iris the night before.

"No U.S. mail" was easy to understand. Tom did not want anyone claiming they actually lived there, or using the address for any purpose. Telephony was a little trickier. The phones were open for use, but they couldn't give out the number.

"No visiting males" was another easy concept to grasp. If men were on the property at Tom's invitation, or for a legitimate reason, Tom turned a blind eye to any incidental contact. No one fucked a housepainter right in front of him, though. Discretion was key.

Once, a dynamite little blonde dancer, five foot three inches of flexible sexuality, sabotaged a water heater to arrange for a three way pipe laying session with the repair crew. Tom found out when he heard the plumbers joking about it. She was gone the same day. Tom asked the next girl who complained about a leaky faucet to go, as well. For a short while, "no plumbing fails" was added to the list of rules as a joke.

"No outside sales" meant that the girls were not to do any business of any kind out of the Wingate house. For a time, there was a girl who was running an independent phone sex business out of the home. She would talk on the phone constantly as she sat by the pool. "Oh, yeah, give me that big fat cock!" she would say as she lounged in the sun. She would go so far as to masturbate while she chatted up the client.

Tom ate it up. She would play up to him by getting on all fours and rubbing herself through her bikini bottoms while she went on and on over the phone. "Oh, yeah, fuck me with that thing!" For a while, T time stood for telephone.

Then he heard her chew out one guy for giving her a bad credit card number. He sulked away without taking T time that day. The others knew what she was doing from the beginning, and could not believe Tom was so naive as to miss it. Tom left a "regrets" note for her that night. After that, no one even tried to sell Avon to each other.

The easiest rule of all was "no covered tails". Almost every girl that took part in Tom's shelter for hardbodies was in the sex trade. They knew soon enough what customers liked - blondes, fake tits, tattoos, whatever. Tom was as much of an ass man as it was possible to be, and the girls picked up on it straight away.

Which left but one rule that Gina did not mention the night before, "no wedding veils". She left it out because they all did. It was their forbidden fruit, the sure ticket out of Eden, and the thing that tempted them the most.

This might seem a harmless and understandable rule, interpreted as "married girls not allowed." But that's not what it really covered. What the rule meant was that Tom was not going to fall in love and marry any of them. Tom's place was a nice gig, but that's all it was. Tom was a customer. No matter how much you liked the house in Clayton, no matter what you estimated Tom was worth, no matter what you were willing to do for him, that wasn't going to change.

There was no point in trying to seduce Tom, and nothing to gain by treating the other girls as rivals. Tom did not accept advances, did not tolerate infighting, and offered "regrets" letters for attempting either. They did not know what he was waiting for, but clearly they weren't it. They were all attractive. They came in all colors and the loveliest of shapes. But Tom seemed set on something else.

So the girls took what they could get, and did what was needed to keep that much. Last night, they spanked Iris for that reason. Today they were to do something else. They would bring T time to Tom rather than letting it happen on its own, and they would make it special. The question remained, how?

Lawanna threw her hands up. "I say we just suck his dick."

A collective groan emanated from the girls.

"I wish it were that simple," Sandra said. "But y'all know Tom."

"Tom's eccentric," Jyotsana agreed. "That's for sure."

"So let's play on that," Noriko said as she brushed out her dark silky hair. "Let's be eccentric."

"It's so simple," Caitlin said. "Let's just use the 'Haulin' Ass' bike!"

That plan received a worse reception than Lawanna's dick sucking suggestion.

There were always a couple fitness freaks in residence since the start of the ass menagerie, but at one point they made up almost the entire cohort. One of them, a nationally competitive aerobics pro named Shannon, came up with the idea for the Haulin' Ass bike. It looked like a rickshaw, but with extra seats perched on either side of the main carriage. Two bikes coupled together propelled the load of three passengers.

The carriage seat was for Tom, flanked by women on either side. When he leaned back in that rickshaw seat, he had legs on either side of him, and hard working thighs and buttocks pedaling away right in front of him. He called it the tricycle, and for a while, it made up the T in T time.

Shannon and some other hardbody would pilot vehicle around the neighborhood, giving Tom a leisurely ride and a fantastic view. They pedaled and strained, until sweat poured down their back glistened over their asses. Then they would take the tricycle back to the Wingate house and circle the driveway in front of the mansion until Tom tossed off to orgasm, surrounded by gams and hams.

"Caitlin," Jyotsana said. "You're the only one here in good enough shape for that level of exertion."

"I don't even think the tricycle is in good enough shape," Gina added. "Has anyone even seen it lately?"

"I've only heard stories," Noriko said. "Is it true the Clayton police pulled them over once?"

"Yes!" Caitlin said. "Apparently they offered to take one of the officers for a ride. Then they stopped the tricycle in the middle of the road and fucked his brains--"

"Caitlin!" Sandra interrupted. "Can we please get back to the subject at hand."

"I think I want to hear this story," Lawanna said. "We could do with a little more knockin' the boots around here."

Sandra said "We could all do with a visiting gentleman--"

"Or one that's not so gentle," Gina quipped.

Sandra continued "-- but right now we need a plan for today. Can we get back to ideas?"

"How about that coffee table?" Desiree said, pointing to the table in front of them. It was long and narrow, a planar glass surface supported by black arches on all four sides that touched glass at their highest point, and touched one of the other four sides where the ends met the floor.

"What about it?" Caitlin asked.

"We know Tom is an ass freak," Desiree said. "Let's slide him under that table while we dance on top of it."

"Crotch shots galore!" Caitlin expressed her enthusiasm.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Noriko asked. "We could fall through that glass and hurt Tom."

"Slicing our own legs to ribbons in the process," Jyotsana observed.

"Good thought," Gina said. "Except the table is Plexiglas. I've dropped glasses there before, and they just bounce."

So the girls tested it out, using spotters at Caitlin's insistence. After they demonstrated that the table could hold two of them with no problem, they decided to run with the idea. Taking the table out to the pool took some effort, but they had enough hands to manage.

"Now let's get dressed," Noriko said.

"Slingshots," Gina said.

"Agreed," Jyotsana replied.

*

"Now they're redecorating, Tom," Amanda said.

"Beg pardon, Mother," Tom replied. He had showered, shaved, and was finishing his second cup of coffee while reading the paper.

"The girls are moving furniture out by the pool."

"Really?" Tom asked. He was wondering what they might do today. If they were moving furniture out of the house, maybe they planned to do the couch dancing again.

Normally, Tom kept the relationship with the girls at arm's length. But once in a while, on birthdays and such, they treated him to a grind out lap dance. The last time they dragged furniture out to the pool, Tom sat down and two of the women held his arms out to the side with leather straps, their own belts most likely. They stripped him down and drizzled tanning oil on his crotch and torso. One by one they slid their g-string covered bottoms across his lap. His cock had gone hard in no time, and it glided between his own abs and their ass cheeks like it was on a slip-and-slide.

Lisa was still around for that. Her ass belonged in a museum. It exploded out from her tiny waist like a muffin top. Just looking at it, Tom wanted to burst. When she slid that glorious gluteus maximus up and down his turgid prick, he almost forgot to breathe. He positively erupted over himself with Lisa grinding him that way. Sometimes Tom wished he had asked Lisa to leave, just so he would have close up photos of her ass.

"What do they have out there?" Tom asked his mother.

"It looks like a coffee table," Amanda said. "Maybe you'll be having tea service by the pool today."

Tom almost choked when she said that.

*

Barefoot in swim trunks and a t-shirt, Tom wandered out back. Sure enough, there was a table, the long glass table from the guest house, on the walkway around the kidney shaped pool. No sign of any of the girls though. Tom was wondering just what the hell they were up to when hands reached around his back and covered his eyes.

"Guess who?"

"From that accent, I'm guessing Sandra."

"Tom, you are so perceptive," Sandra drawled. "Do you trust me, Tom?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Then take off your shirt and wrap it around your eyes."

Without complaint, Tom did as asked. When he had the shirt tied around his head, he lowered his arms. Someone took hold of his hands, maybe two people. His unseen escorts guided him forward.

"You OK, Tom?" Sandra asked.

"Yes."

"Just a bit more," said a second voice, unmistakably Jyotsana's. "Now turn around one hundred and eighty degrees."

Tom turned halfway around.

"Sit back, Tom," Sandra said.

The ladies supported him as he bent his knees and brought his butt to the floor. Surprisingly, his butt met soft padding rather than concrete.

"Lie back," Jyotsana told him.

Tom reclined, and found the padding stretched out behind him. It must have been the cushion from a poolside chaise longue.

"Scoot up," said another voice. Desiree's, maybe.

Tom squirmed along his back so that his legs rested on the padding as well.

"Put your arms out to the side, Tom." That was Gina. Tom swung his arms out, and felt the rough hard surface of concrete against his skin.

"No," Gina corrected him. "Further. Above your shoulders."

"OK," Tom said. He put his arms out, rotating them so that his palms faced up. The next sensation was a clanging sound of metal around his head, followed quickly by cold steel around his wrists and two clicking sounds. Instinctively, Tom tried to move his arms and found them held fast to a weight behind his head.

Adrenaline rushed through Tom's blood stream. He had trusted them, and now he regretted it. Supine, blindfolded, and now bound, he was helpless. Since he opened his home to women he did not know, Tom feared a moment like this, a coup d'etat. Now it seemed his fears might come true.

"What's going on?" Tom asked. His voice was calmer than he expected, but it sounded muffled through the shirt in front of his face.

"Relax, Tom," Gina said. "One more second."

There was another clang, but more muted than the first one. Then Tom felt hands in his hair. Someone lifted his head and untied his blindfold. The shirt was off, and Tom blinked as his eyes adjusted to the flood of light. He was looking straight up into the blue sky, but there was something in his near field of vision.

Metal stretched out over his chest, and over his arms as well. A glass plate rested on top of the metal arches. Tom realized he was under the table. He rolled his head around and saw high heels all around him. The shoes were mostly transparent, or in neutral taupe, what the girls usually wore around the pool to gain the benefit of heels with the illusion of bare feet.

He tilted his head back to see their legs. They seemed to rise up like skyscrapers. He was a kid wandering through Manhattan for the first time, only the wonder of glass and steel was replaced by the sight of supple skin over tone muscle.

Adrenaline made his heart pump faster, but nervousness gave way to exhilaration. His trust was not misplaced. He brought his chin to his chest, and saw Jyotsana and Sandra walking away from him. They looked like photonegatives of one another. Dark hair hung between Jyotsana's brown shoulders, blond hair fell on Sandra's pale skin. Blue straps with white polka dots ran over her shoulders and dove down to the crack of her ass to form a bright blue against her fair skin. Jyotsana wore the same suit, in the same kind of orange that she had on the day before, with black polka dots.

Tom looked up again at the towers of smooth, curvy flesh around him. They all wore the same kinds of suits. Tom knew they were called suspender thongs, or torpedoes. Imagine a thong that went over the shoulders rather than the hips. Tension kept the material pulled away from the concave curvature of the back. The same tension kept the front straps tight against the nipples, the furthest points sticking way from the chest. There was no support for the breasts, though, so the girls' tits simply lay flat against their skin. From below, they looked like ripe fruit resting against the tall tree whose trunks moved around Tom's head.

"Oh, this is going to be good," Tom said aloud.

Jyotsana and Sandra returned with a radio, belting out the Cars. Tom got "Just What I Needed" and looked up to see Gina getting on top of the table. She wore a black suspender thong with rather wide straps that covered a good portion of her tits. A pattern of red and yellow flames decorated the straps, and licked at out at her flesh all the way up to her breasts. Sequins decorated the hearts of the flames, and red points of light dazzled as Gina turned.

Unlike the V backs that Sandra and Jyotsana wore, Gina's suit had a single rope in the back that ran straight down along her back, a plumb line that ended between the cheeks of her ass. The sun reflected off the gentle sheen of her suntan lotion, and accentuated the curves of her thighs and ass.

"Fuck," Tom mumbled. His prick twitched in his trunks. It struggled to stretch out and swell, tangled against the liner. Tom wanted to free it, but he could do nothing with wrists bound to the table above him.

Gina stepped off the transparent stage; Desiree and Noriko took her place. Desiree wore a red and white striped torpedo suit. Its straps were so thin that they simply rode along the inside of her black licorice nipples. Noriko's was wider and a bright yellow. Her small breasts did little to pull the suit away from her body, and the fluorescent straps clung to her skin all the way up her torso. It was as if someone took a highlighter to the front of her body and painted strips from her arms down to her twat.

"Nice," Tom remarked. The head of his cock swelled. It snapped free of the tangled liner and nudged up against the waist band of the swim trunks.

Lawanna and Caitlin took the stage next, in zebra stripes and snakeskin patterns respectively. The edges of Lawanna's zebra print suit were actually pink, and the contrast against her ebony skin made Tom think of how her bare pussy lips might look.

Meanwhile, Caitlin brought her head down to around her knees. Red hair tumbled down against the glass, and Tom thought he smelled her shampoo. The auburn hair looked even brighter against the mottled gray snakeskin pattern. She flipped the hair over one side of her head, and now the snakeskin print lent her green eyes a reptilian quality. Caitlin blew Tom a kiss, and his cock tried to leap out of his shorts to catch it.

Caitlin and Lawanna had the most athletic builds of the bunch, but all of the girls had nice thighs and firm round asses. Staring up through the glass at the cavalcade of cooze, Tom was so happy that he invested in that pair of Stairmaster exercise machines.

Jyotsana and Sandra took their turns on the table now. The Cars wanted to "Let The Good Times Roll", and Tom's mouth was growing dry. Tom felt tugging around his waist. Noriko and Gina knelt on either side of him, dark hair falling on his thighs. They worked his pants down and exposed his stiff rod. Gina swept her hair over the length of his erection and smiled at him. The side of her breast peeked out behind the red flames and black strap.

The brunettes stood and moved away. Tom was left lying naked in the hot sun, arms bound above his head, women dancing atop a platform inches from his face.

Tom looked down at his manhood, emerging from his curly pubic hair, resting straight and hard against his abs. It pushed itself into the air yearning for attention.

"Looking good, Tom," Caitlin said. She straddled his waist and stood over him. Tom noticed that her heels matched her suit, but they were probably genuine rattlesnake skin. Straps from the heels circled her ankles like bracelets. "How about a little oil with that sausage?"

The auburn haired hardbody popped the lid off a bottle of baby oil and upended it over his crotch. Ric Ocasek sang about his best friend's girl, strippers applauded, and oil dripped onto Tom's swollen cock from three feet above.

"Ahhh!" Tom exclaimed as the warm oil spread over his prick and dribbled down onto his balls and into the crack of his ass. His hands felt heavy against the cuffs and his wrists ached.

Above him, the strutting women turned to actions calculated to push him over the edge. Noriko in her day-glo yellow suit crawled across the table on all fours. Desiree followed with the same technique. Gina and Sandra climbed on top, and began to crouch and squat, holding deep knee bends so that their crotches and asses hovered a foot from his face.

Caitlin and Noriko performed the same trick, but pulled their suits aside to give Tom an eyeful of bald pussy. Caitlin had a small tattoo of a shamrock next to the tuft of red hair above her pink seam. The cavalcade of cooze became a polychromatic parade of pussy.

The head of Tom's cock blazed an angry shade of red. Sweat poured from his forehead and trickled under his arms. The poor boy was almost ready to pop on his own.

Caitlin and Noriko got off the table. Jyotsana and Lawanna took their place. The dark girls met each other in an embrace. Dark black fingers slid along the orange fabric in the crotch of Jyotsana's suit. Brown fingers covered with gold rings found their way along Lawanna's zebra printed suit. The fingers swirled, and pressed, and hiked the fabric up so that Tom could see the cleft of their pussy lips. "Shake it Up," the Cars urged.

"Ugh," Tom grunted. He ground his teeth. He wanted release.

Jyotsana and Lawanna turned so they were back to back. They bent their knees and hovered their pudenda above Tom's face. Tom heard two clicks and felt his hands fall to the concrete. He was free! Tom reached down and took hold of his engorged cock. His fist spread the oil around to its other side. He shook it up, all right.

Above him, the girls pulled the material of their thongs aside. Tom stared up at their lips. Jyotsana pulled her cinnamon stick lips apart, and Tom saw a gold ring that went through her clitoris. Simultaneously, Lawanna parted her dark lips and flashed her pussy, glistening with wetness, and a far brighter shade of pink than the trim on her zebra patterned suit. Then the girls dipped a finger each inside those delicate holes.

"Oh, fuck!" Tom cried as he came. The first spurt shot out like cannon fire. It cleared Tom's chest and landed on the glass table with a splash. The rest dribbled out in a thick pool near his navel. Tom shuddered.

He looked out beyond the table, and saw the girls surrounding him, smiling. They were happy for him, they really were. Maybe he should take some time to talk to them. What was he waiting for? What was going to come along? They certainly knew what he liked.

Tom looked back up at the table and saw that Jyotsana had dragged her finger through the small puddle of his semen. She pulled away her hand and Tom made out the figure. The outside curve formed a heart, and inside was a capital letter T.

FIVE

Amanda went to the foyer to greet the visitors that the maid had met at the door. They dressed formally, the man in a dark suit with a gun-metal gray shirt and a silk necktie of the same hue, the woman in a navy blue pinstriped pantsuit, simple sling back shoes over white hose, with her brunette hair pinned atop head.

"Good afternoon," She said extending her hand. "I'm Amanda Wingate."

"Special Agent Maytag," he said, producing his bona fides as he took her hand.

"Special Agent Stanton," the woman said, repeating the same gesture.

"Elena said people from the FBI were here, but I thought she misunderstood. Is there something wrong?"

"We're not certain of that, Miss Wingate," Maytag said.

"Is there a good spot for us to sit and talk?" Stanton asked.

"Of course," Amanda said, her instincts for hospitality taking control. "Come inside to the kitchen and have some of my fresh squeezed lemonade."

Maytag and Stanton were not sure they were in the right place, but their intelligence pointed to this house. They followed Amanda in to the kitchen. They sat down at her invitation but turned down the lemonade.

"Are you quite sure?" she asked. "I make it myself."

"No, thank you," Maytag said.

Stanton almost kicked him under the table. "Actually I'd love to try some," Stanton said.

Amanda served the lemonade in a highball glass. Stanton complimented her on it.

"Thank you," Amanda said. She was impressed with this one: pretty girl, lovely blue eyes; well mannered; and no wedding ring on her finger. Being an FBI agent was not exactly feminine work, but it was far more respectable than the women Tom fraternized with now. "Fresh juice and pure water from the Ozarks makes all the difference."

"Miss Wingate," Maytag began.

"It's Mrs. Wingate. My husband is dead some years now, but I'm still happy to carry his name. This family has as long and distinguished a family as my own Blue Mountain roots."

"Of course," Maytag said. "Now, Mrs. Wingate, if I might ask who else lives--"

"Agent Stanton," Amanda said, "if you don't mind my asking a personal question: it strikes me as odd that a cultured, mannered woman such as yourself works for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Is there a history of civil service in your family?"

Maytag was unhappy to be interrupted, but he was damn surprised to hear Stanton labeled "cultured" and "mannered". If that were true, this woman must be exposed to some folks rather rough around the edges. Maybe they were at the right place. Besides that, he wanted to know how Stanton would respond.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wingate," Stanton responded. "There is a tradition of police work in my family. What about your family? Do you live here alone since your husband's unfortunate passing?"

Maytag had to admit that this sounded well mannered. Plus, she had asked the question Maytag wanted answered from the start.

"My son, Tom, lives here still. My daughter Laura has just finished her MBA and is working for the company her father founded. She keeps a condominium in the city."

"Congratulations," Stanton said. "I'm sure you're very proud of her."

"Oh, yes, I certainly am."

Maytag cut to the chase. "So it's only you and your son in the house?"

"Well, there is some domestic help, I guess" Amanda said.

Maytag detected evasiveness and pounced. "How many exactly, Mrs. Wingate?"

"Oh, two or three. Others come and go as needed."

"Anyone else?" Maytag asked.

"Just a routine question, Mrs. Wingate," Stanton added.

"Well, Tom does have some...associates staying with us in the guest home."

This was starting to gel into place, Maytag thought. This had to be the house.

"Would these happen to be female friends of Tom, Mrs. Wingate?" Stanton pressed.

The look on her face told the agents what they needed to know. Amanda did not equivocate. "Oh, I knew these harlots would get Tom in some sort of trouble. If they've committed some kind of crime, I want you to know that Tom is an innocent party. A wronged party!"

"We agree, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag said. "He has been wronged. So have these women, your opinion notwithstanding."

"Oh, I don't mean to be prejudicial," Amanda recovered her manners. "It's just that Tom may let his judgment falter sometimes when it comes to his acquaintances. Yes. So you were saying they've been wronged?"

"Ma'am, we have evidence that your son and his friends have been under illegal surveillance," Maytag said.

"Illegal surveillance?" Amanda repeated quizzically. "I don't understand."

Stanton put it plainly. "Someone has videotaped their activities and distributed the recordings."

"Someone is watching my son? And telling other people?" Amanda was horrified. Did the DAR know what was going on under her roof?

"It seems that way," Stanton said.

"With your permission, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag stood. "I'd like to search the grounds."

*

If there was remaining doubt that this was the right place, it vanished when Maytag entered the backyard. The pool and surrounding area looked just like what he and Stanton had seen before. All he had to do now was find the devices.

The cameras were easy. By examining photos, some FBI intelligence cartographers had put together approximate maps of the yard and where cameras should be. Maytag found all three quickly. The tricky part remained: find the transmitter that would provide the final link to the perpetrators.

The transmitter might run off battery power, but that was improbable considering that the suspects were hundreds of miles away, and that their operation had been running for many continuous hours. More likely, they had connected it to electric lines and concealed their work. Maytag thought the guest house would be the right place to look.

The guest house for the Wingate estate would be larger than an average home in most places in America. Maytag moved around to the back of the two story brick structure, looking up for antennae or anything like power cables. Hedges impeded his progress. Maytag ducked through the branches, careful not to rip his suit, and made his way through the vegetation.

When he left the hedges, he found himself staring at a series of clotheslines, stretched taut between two sets of poles and crossbeams. Hanging from the lines were bright ribbons of some kind. Maytag took a step closer.

"Oh, my," Maytag gulped. He realized that they weren't ribbons at all. Those thin strips of color were clothes: thongs, bikini tops, baby doll tank tops. Mostly thongs. Maytag even thought he recognized one, a reversible piece, leopard print on one side, gold lame on the other. He pictured the women that wore these clothes and it quickened his breathing. "This is the place, all right," he murmured to himself.

Maytag snapped out of staring at the skimpy clothes on the lines, and looked up at the building. There was still no sign of the transmitter, but there was a ladder.

"Why not?" he thought. Maytag extended it and climbed to the roof. There, plain as day, was a pole sticking out of a chimney stack. Later, the lab boys would tell Maytag what it was exactly. At that moment, Maytag only cared to find out how it was powered, then to come back with an evidence team and bag it.

Maytag made his way back down and found a back door to the guest house. It led to a kitchen, littered with cereal bowls and coffee mugs and notes exhorting the virtue of cleaning what one used in rather colorful terms. Maytag ignored that and looked for the center of the house, where the hearth might be.

The kitchen gave way to a small hall with doors to the basement and the pantry. The hall led to a living room, dominated by bookshelves, upholstered furniture and a long glass-top table. To his right, he saw the fireplace. Just as Maytag bent to examine the fireplace, he heard a scream behind him.

Following the shriek came a nervous "Who the hell are you?"

"It's OK," Maytag said, facing the Asian girl in the coveralls. He pulled his badge. "My name is Gerald Maytag. I'm with the FBI."

"FBI?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yes," Maytag said. "No one is in danger, and if all goes well, I'll be out of here in no time. Do you know if this fireplace works?"

"What?" she was still confused. "Uh, yes. Well, no. I mean, it just lights up, y'know? Electric lights. It's not real."

"I see," Maytag said. He turned back to the fireplace and stuck his head and shoulders inside. Sure enough, the sidewalls were smooth and clean. He found the power line for the log lights, and then he found a second line that snaked up through the chimney. "Beautiful!" Maytag said.

"I certainly am," a second voice said. "Now, who the hell are you?"

Maytag looked up to see a black girl next to the Asian. "Sorry. I'm Agent Maytag, FBI."

"I saw his badge, Lawanna," the Asian girl said. "I think it's the truth."

"OK, Noriko," Lawanna said. "But what the hell is he doing here?"

The room started to fill with women who had heard Noriko scream. Maytag recognized the redhead in the track suit and the Indian girl in the red sari. This was definitely the right place. "Sorry, ladies. Small misunderstanding, I guess I should have knocked." Then two more women stumbled in, one white girl, one black, both wrapped in terry cloth towels.

"What's going on?" the white one asked. "Desiree and I heard screaming."

"It's all right, Gina," Lawanna said. "We just have an FBI guy in our living room."

"Technically, it's not our living room," Noriko said.

"Which reminds me," Gina said, looking at Maytag. "Does Tom know you're here?"

"Tom? No," Maytag said. "But Mrs. Wingate gave me permission to look around."

Another woman found her way into the room, this one a blonde in a bathrobe. "Excuse me ladies, but what in the name of--oh, my," she said, as she caught sight of Maytag in his suit and tie. "We have a visitor."

"Yeah, Sandra," Gina said. "He was on his way out. He's an FBI agent, and he's here on Mrs. Wingate's authority." Gina emphasized Maytag's authority to be there.

"FBI?" Sandra drawled. "Well, he must be such a strong, upright individual."

"Yes," Maytag said. "And now I have what I came here for. So if you ladies will excuse me."

"Oh, but you just got here," Gina said, taking a step to him.

Sandra joined her. "Gina is so right. We don't often receive gentlemen callers. Isn't that so, girls?"

"No gentlemen callers at all," the Indian girl said.

Seven sets of eyes stared at Maytag. There was a look in those eyes, a devious look. Almost hungry. Maytag knew he was in trouble, he just didn't know what their game was yet. His back was to the fireplace, and the women spread out around him in a solid arch.

"Just what's this about, officer?" Lawanna asked.

"I'm not a police officer," Maytag said. "I'm a Special Agent. And you're in no trouble at all. I'm just here because someone's been watching you."

"We're all here because someone has been watching us," the redhead said, to which everyone laughed. "The problem is we're getting tired of just being watched."

"Now that we have a gentlemen caller," Gina said, "Maybe we can take care of that." The brunette dropped her towel. The black girl who wore a towel did the same.

No deception in that, Maytag thought. Or if it was, it qualified as a rather gay deception. At least he could see those two weren't armed.

"What's the matter, Agent Maytag," Noriko asked, slipping out of her coveralls. "Cat got your tongue?"

The blonde opened her robe and let it fall to the floor. A sari came away. Zippers made sounds like leering whistles as they were pulled down. It was becoming clearer to Maytag that none of them were armed.

Maytag found himself face to face with the blonde, Sandra. "It has been so long since we had a gentleman caller," she said in her Alabama accent, tracing a finger from Maytag's temple down to his chin. Then she planted a full wet kiss on his lips.

Arms and hands took hold of him from all directions. They led him to the couch, and at times he thought his feet actually lost contact with the ground. They pinned him to the couch and covered him with kisses, even as they peeled off his clothes. Maytag felt like a diminutive Gulliver in the land of lascivious Lilliputians.

Maytag's mind reeled. He smelled soap, and perfume, and shampoo. He tasted peppermint kisses and salty nipples, It was all a blur. He groped a tit with each hand, and they did not match.

What was unmistakable was the sucking on his cock. It was relentless. He looked off to the side and thought he saw one of the black girls kneeling next to him on the floor. It could have been her, but he couldn't tell. Soon, his field of view was dominated by a dark thatch of pubic hair and a bare set of pussy lips. He looked up and saw the brunette, Gina.

"Dinner is served, G-man," she said, taking him by the head and stuffing her crotch in his face. The cowgirl strapped herself in and rode his chin saddle with a hand in the air.

The sucking sensation left his prick, to be replaced by tight hot muscles that could only be a cunt. The woman riding him did it with such an intensity that she hurt his balls with every down stroke. He would have cried out, but Gina's pussy pressed firmly against his mouth.

Maytag fought for air and relief. He tried to move one hand to lift Gina away from him, but soon found it snared in a sopping wet hole. He could not tell if it was someone's mouth or not. He wiggled a finger around and felt no teeth, but his ears were treated to a warm round of encouraging comments for his trouble.

The cunt gripping his cock stopped slapping up and down and trembled as the owner found release. That triggered Gina, who squeezed her thighs on Maytag's face. He might have popped off as well if he wasn't in so much pain.

"Good, he's still hard," he heard someone say, just before he felt another warm pussy, a looser love tunnel this time, slide over his rod.

Gina dismounted from his head, and gave him a kiss for his trouble. "Thanks so much, dear. Now get back to work!" She no sooner said that than another woman lowered herself onto his mouth. This one faced the opposite way, and treated Maytag to a view of her trim little ass. He guessed it was Noriko, the Asian girl. At one point she looked back and proved him right.

The two riding Maytag were a much gentler than the previous duo. He started to get into the flow of the fucking. He reached up to feel Noriko's small breasts. He also felt someone sucking his toes. Hands ran through his short hair.

Whoever was riding his cock was using a free hand to jill herself off. Maytag could feel her fingers through the small span of flesh that separated his cock from her pearl. He felt the fingers speed up, then slow down. She grew erratic, and he knew she was about to go off. Noriko was coming already. He squeezed a nipple with one hand, and used the other to pry apart her ass cheeks so he could delve his tongue inside further. Then the girl on his cock went off, filling the air with a stream of obscenities. That pushed Maytag over, too, and he spurted up inside her with delight.

"I think he just came," someone said.

"Shit!"

"Don't worry," a southern accent said. "Our gentleman caller isn't going anywhere."

"I can get him hard again," Lawanna said.

He didn't go anywhere, and Lawanna most definitely did get him hard again. She practically sucked his balls back into his body cavity. When he was stiff again, Lawanna called Sandra over to "have a go at it, girl."

The blonde mounted him, and rode him with the same abandon that the first girl had. His loins bore the brunt of the rough treatment, as Sandra cried out "I do love a gentlemen caller!" The girl seemed capable of an unending line of multiple orgasms. She was loud through every one of them.

"Damn!" Gina said. "Maybe we should add a 'no Sandra wails' to the list of rules."

"Maybe we should make her suck his dick to shut her up,"

"How about that, Maytag? Want to stuff her face with your big fat cock?"

That triggered another orgasm for Maytag. The ladies did not relent, however. True to their words, the girls made Sandra suck him off again. True to her form, she was the first to mount him again.

Throughout Sandra's wild ride, Maytag was treated to a line of pussy eating that included fine curls, kinky black hairs, a tangle of red hair, a shamrock tattoo, and a pierced clitoris.

By the time it was all over, he had cum three times, his jaw ached, and his nuts were sore. At least he knew where the damn transmitter was. Now if only he could walk back to the main house.

SIX

Stanton continued the interview, learning as much from Amanda Wingate as she could. The woman did not necessarily know much about the women staying at the house, but she knew the dates when they arrived, which was helpful.

Alone with the pretty FBI agent, Amanda saw an opportunity. "I think you should probably speak with Tom about this. He'll know what to do about this."

"Fine idea," Stanton said. "Is he around?"

"Yes, I'll go fetch him right now. May I ask your Christian name, Agent Stanton? I do like to announce people properly."

"It's Heather," Stanton said.

"Lovely," Amanda said as she took leave. The woman went in a mad scramble through the house to find Tom. She would not let him lose this opportunity. She could not find him, but she found Elena, which was almost as good. The maid did not know much English, but she knew the house, and she knew where Tom was most of the time. As per her report, Amanda found him throwing darts.

"Tom!"

"Yes, Mother," Tom said.

"There's a lovely girl named Heather Stanton upstairs to see you."

"Oh?" The only girls that came to see Tom were one looking to make a place in the guest house. His mother never went out of her way to tell him when a girl like that arrived. This had to be something else. "On what business?"

"It has to do with the women in the guest house," Amanda answered.

The intrigue grew. Mother had not used any pejorative to describe them. "You mean the ass menagerie?" Tom asked.

"Now, Tom. Let's not start this again. Now please go speak with Miss Stanton. Don't keep her waiting."

Something was definitely afoot. Tom's mother was constantly trying to set him up with the daughter or niece of someone in the DAR. Maybe she had decided the best way to get him to play along was with deception. "I see," Tom said. "Sure, I'll go speak with her."

Amanda followed him halfway to the kitchen, admonishing him as they went. "Now, Tom, be respectful. Offer her lemonade. Listen to what she has to say, handle the business side of things, but keep eye contact. Don't hesitate to use that Wingate charm."

Pathetic, Tom thought. She was invoking the same Wingate charm that aided his father's adultery. All to latch him to some failed debutante. He'd show her charm and respect, all right. "Enough, Mother! Let me be! I'll take care of this." With that, Tom entered the kitchen.

"Heather Stanton?" he asked, offering his hand. "I'm Tom Wingate."

"Nice to meet you," Stanton said as she took his hand.

I'll bet, Tom thought. Mother was right, though, she was pretty. He had a thing for blue eyes. More refined in her pinstripes than the strippers in their swimsuits, too. They were Frederick's of Hollywood girls, this one was Ann Taylor. "Mother said you were here to talk to me about the guest house?"

"Yes. As I was telling your mother--"

"Save it." Tom interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?" Stanton asked.

"Let me guess, you're here to help me with the girls because I'm being violated in some way."

"That's right," Stanton said.

"And you know all about the girls in the ass menagerie and what they do."

"I wouldn't use that word, but I guess I am familiar with what happens here, yes."

"So you must think I'm some sort of perverted sex offender. A depraved and incorrigible bastard. And you're here to help me by curing me of this womanizing."

Stanton folded her hands and rested them on the table. "I don't know what your mother told you I was here for, but you have the wrong idea. This is purely for your benefit. I have no problem with what goes on here."

"Prove it." Tom said.

"Prove it how?" Stanton asked.

"Show me your ass," Tom said. He pointed in the direction of the guest house. "They all do."

"Tom, I'm here for your benefit, but I do need your cooperation."

"Then let's get down to business," Tom said. "Turn around and show me your ass, and then I'll be happy to cooperate."

"You're serious," Stanton said. It was with a slight laugh, though, not shock or apprehension.

"You're in the 'Show Me' state, dear Heather. So show me!"

"Full cooperation?" Stanton asked.

"Absolutely," Tom said.

"You're on," Stanton said. She stood up and kicked the chair away from her. Even before the brunette turned around, Tom knew he was in for a treat. He was a devoted ass man, and he believed he could read from the curve of a woman's face and the outline of her shape. Heather's face had the softness in the cheeks that Tom took as an indication of soft cheeks elsewhere as well. When she stood, though, he saw the ratio of waist to hips, and how the hips reached a maximum width high on her thighs. His mouth watered.

Stanton turned around, and Tom's expectations rose yet again. The pants fit snugly in the seat, and the shape was as round and cleft as any ripe plum. Dark clothes usually muted curves, but those thin pinstripes betrayed the wonderful convex shape of her ass.

Moreover, there was not a panty line in sight. That got Tom's blood flowing. True, he was surrounded all day long by women in thongs, but they wore them almost as a uniform. It was better, when it was less obvious, when women wore them precisely to hide panty lines, to deceive. And all the better when Tom saw through that illusion.

"Ready, there, Tom?" Stanton asked.

Normally Tom would retreat to introverted voyeur, and reply with a "Yes" or no words at all. But he saw through this whole illusion, too. He would get his honey, and still avoid the trap. "I'm ready for it," Tom boldly declared. "Now let's see that ass."

Tom watched as Heather's hand went to the side of her pants. She slid her index finger along a seam and lifted a tiny zipper handle with her fingernail. Slowly, with pinky finger extended, she pulled the zipper down. Seeing that flap of cloth peel from her hip was like opening a prize envelope and looking for the glimpse of a winner's notice. When Tom saw that the white waistband traversed laterally to the small of her back, but did not delve along her hip, he knew he was a winner.

Stanton hooked a thumb at the base of the flap, and pushed a hand into the other side of the pants, too. She pushed down the pants and dipped her shoulders forward to stick out her ass. Letting the pants drop away to reveal her backside, Stanton took hold of the chair in front of her. Let him eat cake, she thought to herself as she wiggled her butt.

In front of Tom swayed a lovely fair skinned rump, cleaved by a white satin thong. The pinstripe pants collected around Heather's knees, so Tom could see the lacy tops of her white thigh high stockings. Maybe there was a little bit of Frederick's in the Ann Taylor girl, after all.

"Happy now, Tom?" Stanton asked, still looking the other way.

"One second," Tom said. He pulled out a chair and took a seat facing the brunette's tukus. He wanted to see how far she would go along with this. "Bend over more," he suggested.

Unbelievably, she obliged, and bent herself at a right angle. "What are you dong back there, Tom?" Stanton asked. "Drinkin' lemonade and enjoyin' the show?"

Tom was actually thinking about ducking a hand in his pants, when the woman stood straight and turned to face him. She had kicked away the pants entirely, and now stood wearing her white heels, white stockings, white satin panties, and the white pinstriped navy jacket that covered her torso to her waist and the hid the waist band of her panties. From his position, Tom could see trace signs of black stubble near the bikini line of the panties. Looking between her thighs, he made out the bottom curve of one cheek of her ass, jutting out from the top of her thigh. A throbbing hard on pushed out at his pants. He leaned forward slightly to hide his erection.

Stanton studied his face. He looked like a kid in a candy store, and his boyish face only reinforced the image. She put her fingers under his chin and raised his eyes from her panties to her face. "Tom, I'm not one of the girls out by the pool. This isn't some video."

"I know that," he said.

"I don't mind putting on a bit of a show," Stanton said. "But I like a little more audience participation."

"Oh," Tom mumbled.

"We can start slow," Stanton said, straddling him on the chair. "With a simple little kiss." She still held his chin in her hands so he had no real chance to escape. Moving in for a kiss, she saw Tom close his eyes. His lips met her soft kiss with a timid response.

"There," Stanton said, moving her mouth along his cheek to whisper in his ear. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She moved her lips back to his. Pressing her mouth onto his, she made a small O of her lips. The O grew larger, and soon she had pried his lips open. Stanton pushed her tongue between his lips. Tom met her eagerly, and sucked back on her rigid little muscle.

"Mmm," Stanton moaned. He seemed to be warming to the idea of physical contact quite nicely. They kissed deep and wet now. She felt his hands rest gently on the back of her knees. If one thing was for certain here, it was that Tom wanted those hands someplace else. Stanton moved her hands off his shoulders and reached behind her.

Stanton broke off the kiss, and took hold of Tom's hands. She slid them up her thigh, so Tom could feel the lacy tops of her stockings and then the smooth skin of her thighs. "Go ahead, Tom," she encouraged him. She let his hands go, and brought hers back to his shoulders.

Tom brought his hands up to Stanton's ass. His fingers fanned out over her cheeks, and when he had a generous hand full of tush he gave it a serious squeeze.

"Do you like?" Stanton asked.

"Yes," Tom answered. "You have a great ass."

"Thanks," Stanton said, sliding a hand down his chest to his pants. "It's nice hearing that from an expert."

Stanton planted another kiss on Tom's lips. Her hand dangled in his lap, and quickly found his stiff dick. Stanton pushed her tongue deep in Tom's mouth and squeezed his cock through his pants.

"Let's see if that thing works for other people," Stanton said. She slid off the chair and feel to her knees in front of Tom. With practiced dexterity, she released Tom's cock from his pants and fell on it with her mouth. She played him like a woodwind, but all the noises came out of Tom's mouth.

Tom moved an arm to try to grab her bottom, but only reached the small of her back. Stanton knew what he was about though. Having coated his length with her spit, she came up for air.

"Looking for something, Tom?" Stanton asked. She stood up and shook off her shoes. She lifted her right foot across her body, and rested it on the seat outside Tom's right thigh. Next she put her hands on Tom's shoulders to hold her weight, and lifted herself onto the chair. Stanton rotated on the ball of her right foot and placed her left foot nest to Tom's other leg. Now she stood on the chair with her ass in Tom's face.

Before Tom had time to admire her derriere or even notice the backstitching on her stockings, Stanton was doubled over and sucking his dick again. Tom was caught breathless for a second, but he took the hint and buried his face in her twat soon enough. Stanton was relieved. She thought the Wingate boy might have been a virgin, and that move might have killed a virgin.

With his hands, Tom lavished attention on Stanton's behind as he worked his tongue inside her folds. He even slipped it in her ass a bit and let his fingers slide inside her quim.

For her part, Stanton kept a slow pace on his dick. She wasn't done with him yet, and didn't want him popping off in her mouth. When Tom's licking started to push her close to orgasm, she dismounted from the precarious perch atop the seat. Still facing away from Tom, she lowered herself onto his rigid pole.

Neither one of them lasted very long. Stanton was close before she even stepped down from the chair. Just spreading herself over that stiff organ pushed her closer to coming. When Tom took the initiative and grabbed her by the waist to slide her up and down on his prick, she let him run with it. Soon enough, Stanton was jilling off in his lap, and Tom was shooting his load inside her smooth, hot walls.

SEVEN

"That was good," Stanton said.

"That was terrific," Tom replied.

Stanton stood and toweled herself off. From where he sat, Tom admired her legs in those white stockings. The backstitching held his attention.

"So why don't you do that with the other women here?" Stanton asked. She came back and slipped her pants back on.

Why not, indeed, Tom thought. Maybe he would have to change his ways after this. A thought struck him. "How do you know so much about what happens here?"

"I've seen you, Tom," Stanton said. "I've seen everything."

"Yes, but I don't understand how. And earlier you said this wasn't one of my videos. What did you mean by that?"

Stanton's face sank. He seemed like a nice guy with a happy little fetish, and now she was going to hurt him. "You're being watched, Tom."

"What are you talking about?" Tom demanded.

"I'm with the FBI. Special Agent Heather Stanton. I figure your mother neglected to mention that, or else you wouldn't have waltzed in and demanded I show you my ass."

"Oh, no," Tom said. He envisioned all manners of punitive measures for his action. Panic clouded his face.

"Don't mention it. I had fun." Stanton smiled. Then the smile melted away. "But this not all fun and games. I'm here because of an investigation into a couple good old boys selling sexually explicit material. They offered videos and Web site subscriptions to what they called 'Bikini Mansion'.

"The reason we investigated these guys is that they claimed they had secret cameras at the bikini mansion. Normally that's just a sales pitch, and you can tell because the angles are always too good. People play up to the cameras, that sort of thing.

"This stuff was different, though. It looked like actual surveillance footage. So we traced the site owners and asked them about it. They said they had an arrangement with someone. When we pressed them for details, they balked. The only legal tool we had at our disposal was to ask for the model release forms required under US Code title 18, section 2257. They had documents, but we suspected they were forgeries.

"So we went back to FBI headquarters and tried to reconstruct the home in the photos. FBI map makers did a nice job and we started comparing the estimated lot size to average lots in various spots. We also tried to correlate weather in the photos with time stamps on the video and pinpoint location."

"Seems like a lot of work," Tom said.

"My partner has a thing for being thorough," Stanton replied. "He's probably going over every square inch of your operation right now. Anyway, the weather studies turned out best. That pinpointed the St. Louis area. The affluence of the home pointed to Clayton. We started talking to the Clayton police and they mentioned a past incident of women in bikinis on some strange sort of bicycle."

"Tricycle," Tom mumbled.

"Right," Stanton said. "Which led us to this neighborhood. Nice place, by the way."

"Thanks," Tom said. He was surprised at his own calm.

Stanton crossed her arms in front of her. "They're spying on you, Tom. I hate to be the one to tell you that, but I can offer you help. We can prosecute these guys."

She did know everything. Lots of people did. Oddly enough, he was not embarrassed, but curious. "How much did they show?" Tom asked.

Stanton looked at him. "They showed it all, Tom."

"I see," he said.

"You were popular, if that makes you feel any better."

"Really?"

Stanton nodded in the affirmative. "On the web site, they used to make a big announcement of your afternoon sessions. 'It's That Time Again' they would say."

"That time again," Tom repeated. "That starts with a T."

"Beg pardon?" Stanton asked.

"Nothing," Tom said. He was lost in thought. Here, all this time, he had been engaging not in a secret ritual, but in a public act. What he thought was his own private diversion was someone else's enterprise.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

Tom sighed. "What do we do now?"

"We shut them down," Stanton said. "We prosecute."

"Tom!" A voice called through the house. Tom's mother's voice rang clearly in the kitchen. "Tom!"

He ignored his mother and kept his attention back to Stanton. His mother had wanted him to speak with her and he did. Without using restraints or compulsion, she had gotten intimate with him. All he had to do was embrace what he wanted.

Now, she had exposed his entire private obsession as public. Could it be the same way with that? If he embraced it, what would change, really?

"Tom!" his mother called.

Still, Tom ignored her. Epiphanies were distracting like that. "What about the cameras and the Web sites?" he asked.

"We'll shut it down. You can enjoy yourself in private again."

"Oh, there you are!" Amanda said.

Tom ignored her. "What if I wanted to run the business myself?"

"What business?" Amanda asked.

"Hurting for money, Tom?" Stanton asked with a look around the house.

"No. Purpose."

"Tom," Amanda interrupted, "Whatever are you two talking about?"

Agent Maytag stumbled into the kitchen. He practically collapsed in the chair. His suit was a mess and he appeared exhausted.

"Maytag, are you OK?" Stanton asked. "You look beat!"

"I found the transmitter," Maytag said.

Amanda looked bewildered. "Transmitter? Business? What's going on here?"

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag said. "I could use some of that lemonade now."

End