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Message-ID: <40247asstr$1041646227@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} The Gift of the Maytag 3/4 (wife MMF MF oral ice)  
Date: Fri,  3 Jan 2003 21:10:27 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"I don't know," said Maytag. "That just seemed awfully sudden." 

"Your partner is usually more reserved?" asked Cynthia. 

Maytag had to admit that was not necessarily so. But the sudden
change in her attitude was highly unusual. She was normally more
stubborn than that. She had decided that she did not want to be
in Duluth for this case, and normally she would keep that
attitude no matter what they encountered. 

"Maybe she honestly fell for the guy," Cynthia offered, "I've
seen it happen before." 

"When you met him here before?" 

"Yes. He's not exactly my girlfriend's type, but she was eating
out of his hand before the night was out, and they left together.
He's like catnip or something: once these women get a whiff they
just want to cling to him for a while." 

"Catnip?" repeated Maytag. "Like they were drugged?" 

Cynthia was taken aback, and then asked, "You don't think that
little balding man is actually drugging these women? With what?" 

"I don't know," said Maytag, "But it's a thought. He was a
chemical engineer for pharmaceutical companies. Maybe he found a
drug that acted like an aphrodisiac." 

"That would be worth millions," countered Cynthia, "This guy was
a company man, not some mad scientist. He would patent it and
live off the royalties. What motivation would he have to do
otherwise?" 

"I think that motivation is back with him at his townhouse right
now," said Maytag. 

* * * 

Heather kicked off her boots in the foyer, threw her jacket over
an armchair, and flopped down on the sofa. Ron closed the door
behind him, removed his coat and approached the young woman
nestled in his living room. 

"So glad you could join me," he said. 

"So nice of you to invite me," Heather responded. 

Ron knelt on the oriental rug next to the sofa, and leaned over
Stanton to kiss her. Her embrace was eager. Their lips met and
pushed each other apart. Heather's lips were cold still, and Ron
moved his mouth over them as he would ice cream. 

Only this treat did not melt on his mouth to a fleeting ribbon of
sweetness. Instead it warmed and grew fuller, and the sensation
of the kiss amplified and fed back to him tenfold. 

He pulled away to look into her sapphire eyes. The clarity of the
color was remarkable. He sought to find her reaction there. Each
woman reacted differently and the cataloging, the details of the
seduction was as much a part of the thrill for Ron as the actual
sex. 

Her reaction, it seemed, was one of pure arousal and the need for
release. She brought him forward for another kiss, then breathed
hot into his ear and declared, "I want you to eat me." 

* * * 

"Could it have been something she ate?" suggested Cynthia. 

"Possibly. But her dishes were always in sight of someone. I
doubt he could have slipped something to her without one of us
seeing it. Just too risky. Maybe someone on the wait staff?" 

"Maybe, but that would take some communication from Gustafson,
and I didn't see him signal anyone. Besides, you couldn't keep a
secret that long, and I don't think Ron has that kind of
resources." 

"Yes," agreed Maytag, "If he's using these women to help him pay
for his nights at the Blackjack tables, it's unlikely that he can
pay off an entire cooking staff." 

"Maybe he doesn't have to," said Cynthia, "Maybe he just has some
key people involved, like John River, say." 

"I don't know. Conspiracies are just too hard to contain. Someone
always talks." 

"All right," said Cynthia. She enjoyed her new role as an FBI
investigator, even if she thought that image of Ron Gustafson as
criminal mastermind was a little far fetched. "Let's assume he
worked alone. How could he deliver a drug without help?" 

"There are only so many ways to deliver a drug. We ruled out oral
methods." Maytag thought for a few seconds and then said "He
could have done it topically." 

"I don't understand," replied Cynthia. 

"By contact with the skin. The drug could be absorbed that way. I
doubt it, though. He could get an excuse to touch her hand, say,
but she would certainly notice any solution." 

"How else could he do it?" 

"Oral delivery is out, so is topical. Maybe an airborne agent,"
mused Maytag. Then his eyes opened wide and he exclaimed, "That's
it!" 

* * * 

"That's it!" Stanton called out, "Don't stop!" 

Not that Ron could if he wanted to. Heather clenched his head
firmly with her thighs and kept his face in place. His body
twisted uncomfortably as he knelt on the floor and licked
Heather's pussy. Her hands gripped at the remaining hairs on his
head and pushed his nose into the dark curls above her slit. 

Ron's hands ran over her smooth full buttocks. He paused to take
hold and slide her ass off to the side of the couch so that he
might straighten his own upper body. Then he returned to to
circling his hands over her haunches and enjoying the delightful
mix of soft tissue and muscle. 

Heather relaxed her grip, confident that the man lapping away at
her cunt was not planning to leave. When he continued to lick
her, Heather lifted one leg onto the arm of the sofa, and opened
herself to the probings of his tongue. 

Ron cooperated by diving his smooth pink tongue inside, licking
the walls as he brought his tongue back out and slid it over her
enlarged clitoris as a final flourish. He bounced off that button
and dove in again and again, with twists and flurries accenting
each plunge. Ron relished Heather's groaning reactions to what he
considered to be his signature moves. 

* * * 

"His signature piece," Maytag said excitedly, "He's drugging
these women with his clove cigarettes!" 

"What?" Cynthia exclaimed. "He gets those at a tobacco shop. It's
not as if he's rolling them himself. Besides, I breathed that in,
and so did you, how come we aren't affected?" 

"Maybe something to do with body chemistry," Maytag offered.
Actually, he had not wanted to mention it, but he was feeling
attracted to her. Of course, he felt that way before the meal and
Gustafson's clove cigarettes, so he found it difficult to pin
down the source of his arousal. 

Nevertheless, it was clear that Cynthia did not display the
wanton libido that Stanton had earlier. Cynthia had not made a
show of licking ice cubes and passing them to him after she
rubbed them on her face. 

As the waiter returned with the check, Maytag had his second
flash of insight. "Ice," he said. 

"I'm sorry, sir, would you like some ice," asked the waiter. 

"No," answered Maytag as he took out his badge, "But I'd like to
see the ice machine if I could." 

"Of course," said the startled waiter, "please follow me." 

* * * 

Following his tongue, Ron brought one hand from under Heather's
ass, and pushed a finger inside her. His face was wet with her
juices, and his dry hand slid quickly along the underside of his
chin and into her warm cunt. Ron continued to lick at her, but
now his tongue felt his knuckle as well as the stiff outcrop of
her clit. 

Heather ran a hand along her side, and squeezed at her own
breast. She then reached down and pulled Ron's free hand away
from her ass and lead it to her tit. He took the hint and rubbed
and massaged the tender flesh. 

His ambidextrous coordination rushed Heather to her climax. The
sensation of his finger twirling and sliding inside her, combined
with the generous pressure on her clitoris and nipple pushed her
towards orgasm. 

Ron sensed Heather's arousal build. The sugar walls tightened
against his finger, and her hips flexed to push her pussy towards
his face. Her breathing changed pace as she struggled to reach
the top of her climb. 

As best he could, Ron licked at her folds and stimulated her
clitoris. When Heather erupted in orgasm, Ron tried to continue
but she squeezed her legs so hard that she pushed his head away
in the process, like a greased marble squirting out of a tight
grip. 

"Oh, Ron," Heather sighed. 

Ron took a deep breath, and wiped at his slippery chin with the
back of his hand. "That was nice," he said. 

"It was more than nice," Heather replied. She stood from the
sofa. "Now let's see what I can do for you. Where can I get some
ice?" 

* * * 

"This is the ice machine right here, sir," announced the waiter. 

"Thank you," Maytag replied. "You can go. If we need anything
we'll call for someone." 

Cynthia watched the waiter take the stairs, then turned to see
Maytag examining the machine. "What are you looking for? What
does ice have to do with this?" 

"I'm not sure," he said. "This is just a guess." Maytag took a
small flashlight from his pocket. A small circle of light
appeared on the wall, then turned to an oval as Maytag pointed
the beam down behind the ice machine. "But a good guess," he
added. 

"How's that?" Cynthia asked. 

"Ron Gustafson's townhouse is right next to this casino, right?" 

"Yah, you betcha. He's in here so often I think he should build a
doorway for himself." 

"I think he already has," Maytag said. "Only it's just big enough
for a water pipe." 

Maytag started to head upstairs. 

"Wait!" Cynthia called. "I'm coming with." 

Cynthia caught up with Maytag at the top of the stairs. He used
his hands and body, turning them at right angles to remember
which direction the pipe left, or entered, the basement. They
reached the exit and stepped outside, crunching the snow beneath
their feet. Maytag performed a similar set of contortions. 

"Which way to Gustafson's house?" Maytag asked with his right
hand pointing out from his side. 

"That way," Cynthia indicated. Her hand lined up with Maytag's. 

"Let's find the back door," Maytag said. 

The back door of Ron Gustafson's townhouse opened in to a pantry,
and the pantry had an open doorway to the kitchen, and a closed
door that led to the basement. Gerald Maytag and his newly
appointed investigative assistant, Cynthia, crept across the
pantry and discovered the stairs behind the closed door. 

A loose floor board in the fourth step yawned with a loud
creaking sound as they walked over it. A box of empty jars on the
floor failed to move out of Cynthia's way, and clinked in agony
as her foot struck it solidly in the side. The lightswitch eluded
detection by Maytag and his pocket flashlight. But the basement
did not betray the intruders' position, and when Maytag did find
the switch, the secrets of the entire house were laid bare for
the pair to see. 

* * * 

Ron laid back, but not bare, on the sofa. Heather slid along top
of him and began to unbutton his shirt. After her fingers passed
each pip, her face brushed against his uncovered chest. Her lips
touched the pale smooth skin, and the ice cube in her mouth slid
against him like a frozen tongue. The cold sensation flayed at
his nerves, and his attention focused on trail she made that
seemed to draw the life and heat right out of his chest. 

"Oh, I'm glad I don't have a heart condition," Ron said. 

Heather giggled but did not lose her place. She continued down to
his navel. There, her icy kisses met the trampoline response of
his abdomen, and Ron alternated between laughing and biting his
lower lip. 

Her hands reached for his belt buckle. Quick wristwork and a long
yank removed the belt. The zipper required more delicate
attention, and received it. Heather's fingers felt the
unmistakable outline of a hard cock inside his trousers. 

Heather wanted to make a comment, but she couldn't speak through
the half melted ice cube in her mouth. She purred instead. 

* * * 

"My god, he's a mad scientist," Cynthia said. 

Cynthia was lost staring at the uneven phalanx of glass beakers
and flasks scattered arranged on the workbench. Maytag focused
his search on the bookshelf. Texts on pharmacology and organic
chemistry lined the shelves, but a set of notebooks with
handwritten dates on the spine drew his attention. 

"Mad or not, he's certainly a scientist," Maytag replied. "I
think I found his journals." 

Cynthia looked over his shoulder. Extensive notes filled the
pages, peppered with charts, tables, and notation for chemical
compounds and reactions. 

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Cynthia asked. 

"Not in these books," Maytag answered. "But we'll get back to
that. I came down here to find that water pipe." 

"What water pipe?" 

"The one that feeds the ice machine in the casino. The one
Gustafson is using to deliver his chemistry experiment to his
concubines." 

"He's tampering with the ice?" 

"What better way to do it?" Maytag responded. "You'd need inside
help to fiddle with the food, or be damn lucky to do it yourself
and not get caught. You wouldn't want to do the whole water
supply because you would lose too much of your magic potion in
things like washing dishes and flushing toilets. But the ice
machine is used almost entirely for human consumption, and the
best part is that Gustafson can tell at a glance who's sipping
his secret formula." 

"Uff dah!" Cynthia exclaimed. "But he'd still need to get inside
to make his connection." 

"Yes," Maytag admitted, "But only once. And John River from the
Silver Dollar told me that Gustafson did some consulting work for
them. Consulting on their water supply." 

Maytag scanned the walls of the cellar. He was looking for copper
tubing and any place it might leave the house. Instead he found a
bigger prize. 

* * * 

Heather's tight grip and skilled wrist left Ron's cock bigger
than she found it. She grabbed a fresh ice cube with her free
hand and popped it into her mouth. Then it was Ron's turn. 

The warm flat surface of her tongue replaced the cold rolling
marble of ice, and his cock felt curiously as if its parts were
freezing and then melting again. The mix of hot and cold sent a
shock through Ron's body that made his toes curl, his balls
tingle, and his eyes roll back in his head. It was only the
beginning of the blowjob but the sensation was like that of a
surging orgasm. 

"Hh-huh", he stammered. 

The tender flesh of his cock adjusted to the iced coffee confines
of Heather's mouth. Heather stopped swirling and began sucking
him off. She flicked her tongue, and the ice cube, against the
head of his prick each time it receded from her mouth. 

"That's so freaking cold," Ron said. "But good." He cleared some
of the silky hair from Heather's face, and held her by the back
of the neck as she continued to suck at his cock. 

Heather wanted to take all of his shaft in her mouth, but the ice
cube was in the way. She spit it out into her hand and took Ron's
meat back between her lips, pushing forward until her nose met
his curls. Ron let out a low moan. 

"Oh, yeah, take it all--" 

His speech was cut short when Heather nestled his balls against
the fridgid piece of ice in her palm. While she worked her mouth
back and forth over his tumescence, she slid the ice underneath
his scrotum and back towards his ass. 

Ron bucked his hips to escape the penetrating cold but succeeded
only in fucking Heather's face. She encouraged that with her
hands. Heather kept her head still and let him stroke in and out
of her lips like a machine. 

* * * 

Maytag missed the machine at first because it had the shape of a
hot water tank. But hot water tanks don't have hinged covers, and
when Maytag opened the door that moved almost half the shell, he
knew he found the source. Pipes ran everywhere, columns filled
with beads held clear liquids, and a small motor sat idle. 

"What is it?" Cynthia asked. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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