index


Message-ID: <51943asstr$1126559404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} An Inspiring Guest {Varkel} (MF Mf MFM Mm anal oral) [3/3]
Lines: 1301
Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2005 17:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

An Inspiring Guest
a Story by Varkel


Part 3 of 3

*Emily awaited them, standing with arms akimbo.  "I can't believe what 
I've seen here tonight."

Rhoda snapped.  "Don't you start!"

"What did you see?" asked Craig.

"Daughter home in bed while her mother is on the beach fucking two men 
at once, even if one of them is her husband."

Rhoda huffed but when she spoke her voice was mild.  "Sandra's in bed?"

"Alone, too.  I checked.  God knows where Tom is.  I guess Cheryl's got
him somewhere on the beach."

Craig asked, "When did you get here?"

"While you and Jack were banging her.  My god, I couldn't believe my 
eyes when Rhoda showed her face!  Why'd you pull the blanket over you?"

Rhoda's chin rose.  "So Jack wouldn't know I was fucking another man."

Even in the dim light Emily's eyes widened perceptibly.  "You said 
'fucking!'"

Rhoda shrugged.  "Is that ever what I've been doing!"

"You mean Jack didn't know it was you?"

"I don't think he did, the way he talked."

"No kidding!  That's ... just incredible.  Did you really take Craig in
your rectum?"

"Yes."

"Didn't it hurt?"

"No."

"Rhoda ...  My god, I can't believe this is _you_!"

The elder sister sighed.  "The truth is I can't either."

"Oh, no?  You wouldn't do it again?"

"The devil I wouldn't!"  She took a breath.  "Jack thinks I'm still Mrs.
Pure.  Do you plan to tell him different?"

Emily stared a moment.  "Are you sure you don't want him to know?"

"I haven't decided, but I'd like to be the one who tells him."

"All right, Rhoda.  I won't say anything except to back you up."

"Thank you, honey."

The two sisters embraced briefly.  Rhoda stooped for the two halves of 
her swimsuit and pulled them over her body.

She said, "I'd better get back to the cottage before Jack calls Missing
Persons.  Will you bring the blanket and towels?"

"Yes of course."

Craig said, "Take a dip so your suit will be wet."

"On my way back.  Good night all.  And Craig ..."  She smiled through 
her sigh.  "I'm so glad Cheryl brought you."

"So am I.  You're a remarkable girl, Rhoda."

She bowed her head, turned and plodded up the beach.

The watching sister murmured dryly, "Prim and proper Rhoda!  Mrs. Pure,
indeed!"

Craig was grinning.  "Who left us the blanket."

She grunted.  "Like a command to fuck!"

"Certainly a suggestion."

Emily shrugged.  "It's so like her to egg me on.  When we were little 
and stole Granny's pie, she made me help her eat it."

"Do I remind you of Granny's pie?"

"Maybe your cock."  She chuckled.  "I saw it when it was hard."

"Did you!  Were you hiding that close?"

"I meant this morning when I went to wake Cheryl.  I was afraid to get 
close tonight until Rhoda showed her face.  Is it really ten inches?"

"Nine.  Where _did_ you hide?"

"Behind that little stand of sea oats up there."

"You must have good eyes."

"You mean for an old woman with ten years on you?" 

"Old woman, indeed!  Is that why you wear a one-piece swimsuit?"

"Tom made ugly stretch marks on my belly."

"They're a mother's badges of honor, like military campaign ribbons.  
Show me."

"What for?  Do you think you can get it up again?"

"_You_ can."

"By sucking on it?"

"That's one way."  He strode to her side, hands slipping behind her.  
"How does a one-piece suit work?  Looks like you have to step into it."

"You shimmy into it.  Getting it off is a little easier."  She stripped
the garment down her body and stepped out of it.  "See?  These awful 
marks almost _glow_!"

As he had done earlier with Rhoda, he caught Emily under back and knees,
lifted her off her feet and laid her gently on the blanket.  He 
contemplated her body for a moment and took a breath.  "I do love a 
woman with some flesh."  He dropped to his knees between her legs and 
bent forward.

She said, "Before you drive me out of my mind, I meant to ask you: where
is Cheryl?  Should we expect her along too?"

He paused, his breath stirring her pubic hair.  "I presume Tom is absent
also."

"Yes.  I haven't seen him since supper.  Oh, you mean ..."

"Most likely.  Cheryl thinks he's cute."

"You do know she's 31!"

"Of course."

"Now she's _really_ robbing the cradle -- and her own nephew!"

He chuckled.  "You thought that's what she was doing with me, didn't 
you?"

"Well ..."

"Youth has certain advantages.  Cheryl thought it was time Tom got laid
-- her family duty, don't you know."

Emily snorted.  "Cheryl thought, 'Here's another cock!'  But I guess I'm
glad for Tom."

His head dropped upon her.  She gasped involuntarily.  The thrilling 
tongue caused her thighs to twitch.  His arms slipped under them and 
draped her legs over his shoulders, after which his hands slid over her
stretch marks, caressed her navel and squeezed her breasts, firmer and 
almost large as Rhoda's.  Soon her legs closed on his ears and her torso
writhed on the blanket as he attacked the clitoris directly.

Her hands gripped his short hair and pushed his head away.  "Oh, god," 
she cried, "I can't stand it!"

When he backed away, her head popped up to stare over her belly.  "Did 
it get hard?"

"That's the second way to guarantee it."  He fell upon her, keeping his
weight above her with one hand while the other worked his straining 
member into the wet cavity.  As they began the ageless rhythm, her arms
encircled his back and pulled her breasts up against his chest.  Though
she gave every other sign of pleasure and continuing climax, she 
produced little more than panting breath and whimpers.

When her agitation subsided, he withdrew and rolled onto his side, 
rising on an elbow and gouging a hollow in the sand for it through the 
blanket.  His free hand caressed the nearer breast.

"Is that what you came down the beach for?"

She sniffed.  "Put that way it sounds so ... slutty.  But I guess it's 
the truth."  Her hand encircled his wet member.  "I like this thing, but
I don't know what all the shouting is about."

"My theory is it's the same as big tits."

"I was going to say, I like my husband's equipment even more."  She 
sighed.  "Now I'm as guilty as Rhoda."

"Half as guilty, maybe."

"How did you arrange to share her with _Jack_, of all people?"

"What arrange?  He came stumbling on us right after we fucked.  I felt 
sure he'd never believe his wife's head was under that blanket."  Craig
laughed softly.  "To tell you the truth, the idea of sharing her with 
him incognito tickled my scrotum."

"It _is_ ironical, isn't it?  You'd think he'd recognize her body after
all those years!"

"I think it was Benjamin Franklin who remarked on the similarity of 
pussies."

"Her hips, her breasts!  She's slimmer than I am, for example."

"I think we mostly see what we want to see."

"I'll have to ask her what she thought of it."

"If she says anything other than 'I loved it,' she'll be kidding you."

After a pause she said, "I'm afraid to try you up my ass."

"That's entirely your choice, my dear."

"But I would like to suck you.  You didn't come, right?"

"I'm not hurting."

"I've heard of that: chastity can make the testicles ache."

He laughed.  "I can't believe any man ever left his dick alone long 
enough to notice."

"Well, _yours_ certainly has not been left alone!"

"No.  It's fortunate to be surrounded by loving women."

"_Can_ you come now?"

"Is it so important?"

"The first time I tasted semen I liked it, even as a teenager.  Partly 
it was knowing about those millions of potential babies in my mouth, 
going down my throat.  Silly, eh?  But when I read about sperm and eggs
in biology, I seduced the first boy I met.  He was tickled to death of 
course.  I'm almost as bad as Rhoda.  I fell in love with him as soon as
I tasted his juice.  We Campbell girls decide quickly."

"That's interesting.  Did you marry him?"

"No, but he took my cherry and kept me tasting all during high school, 
saved me from being like Cheryl.  Which I'm not too sure was a favor.  I
went to college and found me two more gushers before I met Clement."

"'Gushers?'"  He laughed.

"That's how it feels in your mouth when the guy's been doing without a 
while.  When Clement gets home, he'll strangle me to death.  Did you 
ever suck a cock, Craig?"

He laughed again.  "You remind me of the old joke about owning 
Volkswagens and eating pussy.  Its punch line was that you love them to
death but you're not proud of doing it.  Even less so of sucking dicks."

"Really?  You mean I should be ashamed?"

"No, no, not a _woman_.  A dick anywhere in a woman is proper."

"'Proper?'  Not many would call one in her mouth _proper_."

"You're right.  _Super_ is more accurate."

She giggled and rolled forward, sweeping her legs out to the side.  
Briefly her mouth encircled the flagging member before she turned her 
face to his.  "I want you to come.  Tell me what to do to help."

With a slurp she took it again.  He settled onto his back.  His nearer 
hand crept around her buttocks and poked two fingers into the vagina, 
wet but unseminalized.  The other hand squeezed a breast.

He looked up at the multitude of stars and the sliver of moon, feeling 
her soft, wet body and his member rhythmically parting flesh at the back
of her throat -- very deep in her throat.  He raised his head.  Enough 
moonlight reflected from his pale belly to fill in some of the shadow 
under her face.  His eyes popped.  Somehow she was taking most of his 
shaft on her downthrusts -- at least seven inches, maybe more.  She 
breathed on the upstrokes, nostrils flaring.

"Good god, Emily, how can you do that?"

She strained lower, lips working to enclose another inch.

"You wanted to know what'll make me come.  Well, you've figured it out!
My balls are starting to boil.  God, Emily!  My dick must be on the way
to your stomach!"

At the first dribble she withdrew to the glans and sucked gently as he 
gave up the slight production since his offering to Rhoda.  He groaned,
hips thrusting upward.  Her tongue in the eye increased his pleasure.  
When she released him at last, her lips betrayed only a smug grin.

"Emily, how in the hell --"  He froze.

"How what?"

Abruptly he sat up and sighed explosively.  "Now _we_ have visitors."

"Huh?"  She spun around and drew back involuntarily.  "T-Tom!"

The tall lad stared over them at the ocean.  "Hello, Mom."

Sandra stood beside him just off the blanket.  Her lip curled toward 
Craig.  "I thought you meant to fuck _my_ mother."

Craig got to his feet.  "This is embarrassing."  He took Tom's arm.  
"Let's walk down the beach."

Sandra pushed close between them.  After a few steps her mischievous 
hand caught Craig's lingering erection.  "You just came!  In Aunt 
Emily's mouth too!"

"I'm surprised you could tell in this light."

"Ha!  I rubbed off the last drop."

"Are you sure?" asked Tom.  His hand twitched toward the older man but 
subsided.

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied.  "I'm learning how you guys do it.  You 
like to sort of shove hard and hold still while you're coming."

"Sandra, who've you been fucking?" Tom demanded.

"Who do you think?  You in a minute, I hope."

"That's the idea," said Craig.  "Why don't you two go on down the beach
and enjoy yourselves?"

"Won't you join us?" Sandra asked.

"Three's a crowd."

"I'd like a crowd tonight, Craig."

"That's kinky!" Tom exclaimed.

"Don't be a turnoff, Tom.  You and Craig can alternate."

"Tom's not ready for that, Sandra," Craig said.  "He's very new at this
game."

"I'm not turning it off," Tom said defensively.  "If she wants to, let's
do it."

"It's an inviting suggestion, but I have someone waiting for me."

When Craig turned to leave them, Sandra announced, "We'll be on the spit
if you change your mind."

"The spit?"

Tom explained, "Just a little further along.  A sandbar that sticks 
straight out at low tide.  You can tell where it is from here by the 
lack of breakers."

Craig made his way back, judging the location of his tryst with Emily by
the stand of sea oats that had concealed her.

"Emily, where are you?" he called, but received no answer.

He knew he was in the right place, especially when his foot kicked a 
garment that proved to be his swim trunks when shaken free of sand.  
Emily had obviously departed with blanket and towels.  He muttered 
aloud, "Maybe I wouldn't want to face my son either."  He searched, 
found his shirt and hurried towards the spit, dressing as he walked.

He found the youngsters kneeling in each other's arms, naked and kissing
with abandon.

"There you are," he said, standing above them.

"Oh, goody!" Sandra exclaimed.  "We were just about to begin."

"Did you notice your clothes are about to float away?  The tide's coming
in."

Hurriedly they rounded up their three garments.  Tom caught the girl's 
hand and pulled her higher on the spit.  "Okay," she said, "so long as 
we stay on the wet sand."

"Wet sand is cold," Tom objected.

"But doesn't get in your pussy."

Tom grunted but looked around.  "We can't stay long.  The seabreeze has
about died."

Craig chuckled.  "You think you'll generate that much heat?"

"The bugs'll find us," explained Sandra.

"Especially the damned mosquitoes," Tom added.  "And I've washed off my
Buzz-Off."

Sandra sniffed.  "_I_ didn't think to spray."  Her eyes rolled around 
meaningfully to Craig.  "I will later."

"Good point about the breeze.  Let's hump!"  Craig threw his clothing 
down with theirs and joined in the circle of arms.  "You should suck on
Tom first, Sandra, if you want him to last once he's inside you."

"I'll last!" Tom objected stoutly.

"I sucked him a little already," said Sandra with a smirk.  "And I 
didn't gag."  Her teeth flashed in a wide grin.  "You do it, Craig.  I 
bet you've been with guys before."

"That's true, Sandra; everyone likes what I've got.  But not in a long 
time."

"I'll bet you've even fucked animals," she challenged.

"Well, yes, a sheep when I was twelve, visiting my uncle's farm."

"What was that like?" asked Tom.

"She was in heat.  It felt good but made an awful mess."

"Yuck!" Sandra declared.

"Wow!" Tom exclaimed in a different tone.  Suddenly his voice changed.
"I don't want to do any fag stuff!"

"You won't have to do anything but lie still, Tom," Sandra said.  "Let 
him suck you.  I want to watch.  Then you can fuck me."

"Let's get this party started, Tom," Craig said.  "I'll blow you then we
can fuck Sandra silly."

Tom made a grumpy sound but sagged back on his elbows.  Craig knelt 
between the lad's legs and lowered his head to the awaiting organ, 
flaccid from negotiation.

"I haven't done this in over ten years, Tom, but like riding a bicycle 
you never forget how."

Sandra watched closely as Craig slurped the soft three-incher entirely 
into his mouth.  It rose quickly.

"You're better than Aunt Cheryl!" the young man exclaimed.

"I want to do it!" Sandra demanded suddenly.

Craig moved aside to make room for the girl.  She fell upon her target 
voraciously.

"You're biting!" Tom protested.

"Suck the knob like a lollipop," Craig suggested.

In another minute Tom fell back, his hands rising to clasp Sandra's 
head.  "Oh, god!" he cried, straining upward.

Sandra fell back, a white streak painting her from chin to forhead.  She
coughed and spat repeatedly onto the sand.  Tom finished himself by 
hand.  Craig feared the girl might vomit.

"He gagged me!" she exclaimed.

"Did you take too much again?" the older man asked.

"Again?" muttered Tom.

Craig caught her hips, pushed her down upon the wet sand and ducked 
between her legs.  Apparently she soon forgot her bronchial distress.  
When her screech proclaimed the crisis, he climbed atop her and began to
thrust vigorously.  Her legs enwrapped his.

For most of the next hour the two young men took turns upon her, causing
her to cry out repeatedly, eventually to reach a level of continual 
moans.

After a while, waiting his next turn, Tom began slapping his ankles and
scratching his buttocks.  When Craig again backed away from the 
whimpering girl, Tom caught his arm.  "Check your ass."

"My what?  Yeah, I know.  The mosquitoes have eaten it up."

"We better get indoors."

"I agree.  Help me get her on her feet."

In the still air the mosquitoes tasted the exhaled breath and gathered 
in increasing swarms.  First shaking the girl to dispell her 
enthrallment, Craig pulled up her bikini bottom while Tom latched the 
top around her.  Shortly they were running up the beach, creating their
own insect-free breeze.

Just before entering the cottage, whose first floor windows were lit, 
Craig whispered to her, "Do you still want to meet on the beach at three
A.M.?"

"Oh, definitely!"

"Well, make sure you spray yourself well before you go out.  Are you 
badly bitten?"

"A few bites on my arms and legs."

"Glad it's not worse.  My ass cheeks are like pincushions."

She giggled.  "Balm for that is in the bathroom: the green bottle.  Slip
in there with me and I'll rub it on you."

"That's the best offer I've had tonight!"


* * *


Supervisor Clark, a tall and heavy man in a dark blue business suit and
red necktie, peered through the storm door on the balcony landing and 
whispered into his palm radio, "Main room is empty."

Agent Pandillar, standing beside him, equally tall and heavy but black 
and wearing a blue necktie, muttered, "They left a light on."

Clark's vinyl-gloved hand tried the knob and opened the door an inch.  
It creaked.  He said redundantly, "Unlocked."

"Hell, let's catch them asleep," suggested Pandillar.

Clark shook his head.  "We don't know for a fact Dutton is in there.  
Stand out of the light."  Into his radio he whispered, "Here we go."

Pandillar pressed against the dark wall.  The quarter moon was very low
in the west, casting no light on this side of the big cottage, but 
enough interior light reflected off the supervisor to discern the 
agent's white shirt and blue tie.

Clark withdrew his ID folder from an inside coat pocket and a pistol 
from his waist holster.  Using the pistol butt he knocked loudly and 
repeatedly on the storm door frame, hammering a pattern of overlapping 
dents into the flimsy metal.  The unbelievable noise rang throughout the
building.

In her dark third floor bedroom Sandra's eyes popped open.  A light came
on in another room and spilled into hers from the hallway.  She fumbled
on her nightstand, turned on its lamp and found her wristwatch.

"Oh god, it's three twenty!" she whispered through tight lips.  "But 
that couldn't be Craig; he wouldn't wake up the whole place."

Rising from the bed she flung a robe around her nakedness and dashed 
into the hall in time to collide with a similarly berobed Emily.  "What
is it?"

"Somebody downstairs," the woman retorted, twisting free and proceeding
to the internal staircase.  "They're going to beat the door down, the 
idiots!"

Rhoda in a nightgown came along the hall.  "Is it some kind of alarm?"

Emily hesitated.  "God knows.  I think Jack should answer it."

Cheryl appeared nude at her door.  "What's the matter?"

"Or Craig," Emily added.  "Get him up, Cheryl."

"He's not in bed."

"He isn't?  Rhoda, get Jack now."

Rhoda ducked back into her room.

Eyes wide, Cheryl asked, "Has something happened to Craig?"

"We don't know what it's about," Emily retorted crossly, "but if we 
don't answer soon they're going to smash the door."

Jack stumbled out into the hall, wearing pajamas and slippers, hair 
bushy above his ears.  "What's going on?"

"You can hear what's going on," said Rhoda, pushing him from behind.  
"Get down there and answer the door."

"Oh.  All right, quit shoving!"

Emily said, "Sandra, will you wake up Tom?"

Jack pushed past the women to the stairwell.  They followed him down, 
trailed by Sandra and Tom in his swim trunks, Cheryl last after throwing
on her robe.  Jack crossed the main room to the balcony storm door, 
through whose bouncing glass a suited man was visibly holding up a card
of some kind.

Jack shoved the door wide.  Clark held it open with his elbow.

"Do you know time it is?" Jack demanded.

"I'll ask the questions," the man declared.  "I'm Supervisor Clark of 
the FBI's Wilmington office."  He peered over Jack's shoulder at the lad
and the women trooping into the room and added gruffly, "Pass the word 
for Francis J. Dutton to step forward."

"Who's she?" asked Jack.

"He: Francis with an I."

Jack showed his teeth.  "God damn it!  Typical government foul-up.  
You're raiding the wrong place.  There's no one here by that name."

The others arrayed themselves behind Jack.  Clark studied them 
carefully.  "Who else is in this cottage?"

"You're looking at them."

"Is that so.  May I come in?"

Demonstrating that his question was a mere formality, Clark strode 
through the door.  His broad chest actually thumped Jack, pushing the 
latter back involuntarily.  The black face of Agent Pandillar appeared 
behind Clark.

"I didn't say yes," Jack protested.

Ignoring the protest, Clark slipped sideways to study the room.  He 
gestured with his pistol and Pandillar moved to the ascending staircase,
peered up it and shook his head at the supervisor, whose pistol now 
pointed at the floor.

"Who owns the green Toyota?"

When no one answered immediately, Clark demanded further, "Which one of
you is Cheryl Campbell Fenner?"

Cheryl's chin rose.  "She's not here."

"Just a minute ..." began Jack.

Clark muttered, "Black hair, green eyes, heart-shaped face ..."  His 
voice strengthened.  "The hell she isn't!  Is Dutton asleep upstairs?  
If he's hoping to jump off the balcony and run for it, I've got this 
place surrounded.  If he has any sense he'll surrender right now."

"There's no Dutton here," said Jack.  "Never has been."

"Who're you?" asked Clark.

Jack took a deep breath.  "Talking to you people is unfair as hell."

"What do you mean?"

"You can tell us any lie you want, but lying to _you_ is a federal 
offense.  Folks, I think the best thing for us is to clam right up."

Clark's lip curled.  "The law requires you to cooperate with the FBI."

Jack shook his head.  "We don't have to answer your questions.  
Remember, we 'have the right to remain silent.'"

"_If_ I arrest you.  You're not under arrest.  Yet.  Let's start with 
your names.  I ask again, who are you, sir?"

Jack clamped his lips.

Clark waited only briefly.  "There it is: lack of cooperation.  I could
arrest you all for harboring a fugitive."  He gestured to the agent.  
"Go ahead and check upstairs."

Pandillar darted up the staircase, pistol thrust before him.  His steps
resounded in the upstairs hall.

Clark said into his radio.  "Batson, Pandillar will let you in the 
upstairs door if it's locked.  I believe Dutton is still in the house."
His gaze glowered upon Jack.  "If we find him here, I'll definitely 
charge you with concealing and harboring a federal fugitive."

They waited while more footsteps sounded above.  Clark sneered at Jack.
"I've already run the car registrations.  You fit the description of 
Jack Raymond Camden.  Where's Clement Fellis Williamson?"

Jack and the others returned his gaze stolidly.  Clark's sneer turned 
upon Cheryl.  "And you're Cheryl Campbell Fenner.  We have witnesses 
that put you in the Hightower Restaurant in Benson with Dutton last 
night.  They even noticed your auto tag.  Fortunately for us, you were 
arrested here last year in a raid on the _Pirates Club_ and gave this 
address.  Other witnesses saw you with him at the shopping strip this 
morning."

Chin still high, she declared, "I don't know anybody named Dutton."

"Cheryl!" warned Jack.

To Jack the supervisor snarled, "I'm also gonna charge you for 
interfering with an investigation if you keep on.  What name did he give
you, Ms. Fenner?"

Cheryl turned away, strode to the table and sat down.  As if her move 
were a signal, the five others and Jack also took seats.  They all 
stared at the supervisor defiantly.

His palm radio squawked.  "Go ahead," he said into it.

"Upstairs is clean," said a male voice.

"Batson, wait on the balcony.  Pandillar, go get the sniffer."  His gaze
settled upon the table occupants.  "I see you have one more chair."

The supervisor sat in it, hitched it close to the table and leaned 
forward on his elbows.  "Listen, people, this is serious business.  The
courts have ruled it's unlawful not to supply us with your legal name 
and identification.  I'm gonna give you each one more chance.  You, sir:
who are you?"

Jack sighed.  "You've already got it: Jack Raymond Camden."

After his example Tom and the women stated theirs, ending with Sandra.

Clark asked her, "How old are you, Miss Camden?"

"Fifteen," she answered.

"Thank you."  His gaze swept over them all.  "For your information 
William Hawthorne Dutton, also known as Bill Dutton, is described as age
28, five foot ten, 160 pounds, blond hair and said to have 'piercing 
blue eyes.'  I presume all of you have seen him.  Do you deny it?"

When they were silent, Clark continued, "Well, that's a little better.
Where did you last see him, Ms. Fenner?"

Cheryl clamped her lips hard enough to wrinkle.

Footsteps clumped on the stairs, descending.  The black agent appeared,
holding a box with a metered face.  "Sir, there's no civilian upstairs 
now, but the beds retain strong heat from six bodies and weak heat from
one more."

"'Weak heat.'  Is it a double bed?"

"Yes, sir."

"How weak?"

"He's been out of it less than half an hour.  Must've seen us coming."

"Go see if you can find any name tags on luggage near that bed."

"Already did: Cheryl Fenner."

"God damn it!" cried Jack.  "You're searching the place?  Where's your 
warrant?"

Clark sniffed.  "I only need a warrant if I mean to admit the evidence 
in court.  Look here, folks -- especially you, Ms. Fenner.  It's Dutton
I want.  I'm not after any of you people.  Our main witness in Benson 
had a strong interest in keeping her eye on Dutton, and it's clear from
her story that your meeting with him was purely by chance.  If you 
cooperate I won't charge you with anything."

"So you say _now_," sneered Jack.

"What's your problem, bud?  I didn't say I wouldn't charge _you_."

"Who is this Dutton?" asked Cheryl.

"A real lady killer.  You found him charming, I'm sure, and brought him
along to show your family.  I'll bet he charmed all of you -- the 
ladies, at least, and I'm reasonably certain he didn't tell you anything
like the truth about himself.  Did he even admit he was a teacher?"

Cheryl's eyes had enlarged.  She nodded.

"Just a minute," said Jack.  "How do we know you're not trying to entrap
us?"

"I have federal and Virginia warrants for Dutton's arrest."

"On what charge?"

"Several.  How about kidnapping, a Mann violation and 27 counts of 
statutory rape?"

"A _man_ violation?" asked Emily.  "Does that mean he's queer?"

"Not so far as we know.  I refer to the Mann Act, which makes it a 
federal crime to transport a female across state lines for immoral 
purposes."

"Kidnapping?" mused Jack.

"I'll admit the kidnapping charge probably won't stick.  The girl swears
she forced herself on him.  But the rest are solid.  He was assistant 
housemaster at a girl's school in Arlington.  With the mistress's 
connivance he had sexual relations with underage females, 27 who accuse
him.  Eight of them are pregnant with fetal DNA derived from him.  The 
Mann Act victim was the headmistress's 18 year-old daughter.  She's the
one who gave him up in Benson."

Jack sniffed.  "If you're telling the truth."

Clark studied Cheryl.  "Where did he go when he left your bed, Ms. 
Fenner?"

The youngest sister sighed heavily and shook her head.  "I don't know."

"But he _was_ in it?"

"Not when I went to sleep."

"Will you at least admit that you brought him here to the beach?"

"Wait a minute!" Jack interjected.  "_One_ Mann violation!  That's the 
only federal rap you've got on him?"

"Also of course interstate flight to avoid arrest."

"That's pretty thin, officer.  How many agents are with you, five or 
six, to catch a one-time Mann violator?  What does the FBI really want 
him for?"

Clark studied him and sat back, hands on his knees, having clearly 
reached a decision.  "Homeland Security wants him."

Jack goggled.  "As a _terrorist_?"

"He taught his girls to make bombs.  One of them blew up a mailbox -- 
which by the way is another federal offense."

"Schoolgirls making bombs?"  Jack laughed slightly.  "Using 
ammonium-iodide, perhaps?"

Clark blinked.  "So!  You're in cahoots with him, are you?"

Jack sneered.  "Along with a million others.  Half the kids in the 
country know what happens when you dissolve iodine crystals in 
concentrated ammonia."

"What happens?" asked Tom.

"It explodes when it dries," said Sandra.

"You see?" said Jack, spreading his hands.

Clark looked from one to the other.  "All right, if that's the way you 
want it.  One last question for you all: where is Dutton now and what 
name is he using?"

Rhoda sniffed.  "That's _two_ questions."

"Do you know the answers?" Clark demanded.

She raised her chin silently.

He added, "If you did know you wouldn't tell me, right?"

"Don't answer that!" Jack said quickly when Rhoda opened her mouth.

Clark said ominously, "That's close to the last straw."

"She's my wife."

Clark laughed sourly.  "Listen to your husband.  If you'd said, 'Yes,' I
would've arrested you."  He shook his head and raised his radio.  "All 
units, withdraw to the cars, Code Orange."

"What does Code Orange mean?" asked Emily.

Clark pushed back his chair and stood up.  "It means you people are 
judged hostile and uncooperative."

Jack stood also.  "I trust 'all units' includes you."

Clark's answer was, "I'll be back."

He turned away, pushed open the storm door and disappeared into the 
night.  Several footsteps sounded upstairs and on the balcony.  The 
building quivered as heavy men descended the outside staircase.

Cheryl caught Jack's arm.  "But, but ... where _is_ Crai--"

His hand covered her mouth.  He shook his head and said, "Let's all just
sit here a minute."

Emily leaned close and whispered, "You think we're bugged?"

He caught her shoulder.  His other hand pointed down, around and up 
under the table where the supervisor had been sitting.  He mouthed, "I 
saw him take it from his pocket."

Her eyes widened then flashed in anger.  She said aloud, "I know: let's
all go outside."

"Yeah," agreed Jack, "but we ought to put on some clothes first."

Solemnly they trooped up the staircase.


* * *


Jack in Bermuda shorts and T-shirt, not bothering to shave, waited for 
the women with Tom in the upstairs hall.

The lad said, "Was that really the FBI?"

"Most likely."

"Didn't you look at that guy's ID?"

"IDs are easily faked.  I go by mannerisms.  Nobody else could be half 
so arrogantly dominating as those people."

Tom's face showed fascination.  "Have they bothered you before."

Jack smiled slightly.  "When I was about your age, they arrested me at a
protest demonstration against the CIA."

"Really!"  The lad's eyes widened in admiration.

"I threw a tear-gas cannister back and hit one of them in the head.  Or
at least that's what they meant to charge me with."

"Wow!"

Jack waved a hand.  "Water long over the dam."  He raised his voice.  
"Except I'll admit I don't like the bastards."

Rhoda appeared in blouse and slacks, followed almost immediately by the
other women similarly dressed.

"Come on," said Jack at the storm door.  They trooped out on the balcony
and followed him to one end of it.  He leaned over the rail and peered 
around the house, shielding his eyes from the inside light spilling 
through a window.  "Two cars," he muttered.  "No, three.  Come on, let's
go to the north end out of their sight."

After satisfying their curiosity the others joined him at the opposite 
end of the balcony.  Though the darkness was nearly complete, he could 
make out their pale faces.  He looked around, considering the sound of 
the thudding surf, and said quietly, "If we keep our voices down, I 
think we'll be all right."

"How're they going to hear us out here?" Emily demanded.

"Huh!  I'll bet 'Code Orange' was the signal to implant bugs on the 
second floor too.  But I listened to their footsteps.  Nobody came to 
this end of the balcony.  Just keep your voices down so their other 
pickups don't catch us."

"Jack, what are we doing anyway?  That's the _FBI_ we're not cooperating
with!"

"I know it.  One thing at the time.  Does anyone know where Craig went?"

For a moment no one answered.  At last Sandra muttered, her eyes 
downcast, "I was supposed to meet him up the beach at three o'clock.  I
overslept."

"My god, Sandra, you're only 15!"

"He ... he's so sweet, Dad."  Her face had darkened.

"_Sweet_!  Well, apparently you've got a lot of company.  But how in the
hell did my little girl get involved?"

Rhoda said resolutely, "He _is_ sweet, Jack."

"Oh yeah?  Just how do _you_ know?"

"Oh, I'd think you'd agree.  After all, you handled his sweetest part."

"Wh-_what_?  Good god!"  Jack sagged back against a corner post.  He 
snapped his gaping mouth closed before asking reluctantly, "You mean ...
that was _you_?"

"And you -- doing your best job in five years."

"You let two men ...  I can't believe this!"

"Why not?  You were there."

But Cheryl's thoughts were fixed elsewhere.  "Sandra, if he was waiting
for you, he must've seen the FBI."

"Or heard them banging," the girl agreed.

Cheryl leaned over the rail and stared at the adjacent dune.  "I wonder
..."

Jack left off contemplating his wife's smirk.  "Sandra dear, go get my 
binoculars, please."

While they waited he said dryly, "My wife and daughter.  And Cheryl.  
You too, Emily?"

The woman drew breath.  "I could pretend I don't know what you mean, but
I do.  Okay, I admit it: I sampled his big cock like the rest."  She 
sniffed toward Rhoda.  "His _sweetest_ part!"

"It is," declared the eldest sister.

Jack sighed.  "He fucked every female in my house!"

Sandra was returning to the group as he spoke.  She said, "And Tom."

"What?" demanded Emily.  The lad turned away.

"Craig sucked Tom up so he could do me after Aunt Cheryl wore him out."

"Give me those binoculars," Jack ordered brusquely.

They were powerful 10x50s with excellent light-gathering power.  He 
gazed through them along the tops of the nearby dunes and froze with a 
chuckle.  "Ah, yes!  He came back, spied the raiders and decided to wait
a while."

"You can see him?" demanded Cheryl.

"Well, either him or a blond FBI spotter."

"Let _me_ see!"

"It's him, Cheryl."  Jack's confidence was absolute.

"How can we help him?"

"_Help_ him?  Indeed that's the trick.  Cheryl, go downstairs and get a
couple of garbage bags.  Gather up his stuff and wrap it in the bags.  
Make the combination as waterproof as you can."

"He's got a bag ... like a soft suitcase."

"A flight bag.  Put all his stuff in it and wrap it in the garbage 
bags."

She went back inside.

Rhoda mused, "Waterproof?  Jack, he can't just swim to France!"

"He might swim across the sound.  I don't care _how_ he gets away as 
long as he does."

Emily said, "I don't understand you, Jack.  You heard that cop.  If we 
don't turn Craig in, won't we be guilty of something or other?"

"Can you imagine what he's going to tell them if we _do_ turn him in?"

"Oh.  But at least --"

"I think it's worth the risk.  He's no dummy.  He might actually get 
away.  Sandra, you slip downstairs, start the dishwasher and wipe off 
the table and the doorknobs with a wet rag then a dry one.  Also the 
arms of the chair he was sitting in after supper.  Rhoda, go wipe down 
the sinks and shower doors in the bathrooms.  And Cheryl's doorknob.  
Good thing this place doesn't use shower _curtains_."

She asked, "What's all that good for?"

"I hope it gets rid of his fingerprints.  So do a thorough job, both of
you."

A few minutes later the three women returned.  Jack took the large black
parcel, closed by a knot in the outer bag, and sat it on the floor in 
the darkest spot.  He went to the far end of the balcony and peered at 
length into the night with his binoculars.  Returning to the others he 
looked again at the near dunes.

"Is he still there?" asked Cheryl.

"Yeah."

"What about the FBI?"

"They're still here.  And they have a spotter in the dunes on that side
of the house, though not on this side.  If they'd thought to look over 
here Craig likely would already be under arrest.  Cheryl, take these 
binoculars and study the guy perched on the closest dune."

She focused the instrument.  "He's blond ...  Raise your head, damn it!"

"You can't see his face?"

"No, it's like he's resting his head on --  Ah, there!  Oh, yes, it's 
Craig!"

"He's looking at us right now?"

"Yes."

Jack bent, took up the bulky package and threw it strongly out over the
balcony rail.  It landed to the side of the cottage, just clear of the 
building's moonlight shadow, and became a darker lump on the faint gray
sand.

Cheryl crowed, "He saw that -- almost stood up!  But dropped back.  He's
looking off towards the road."

"He knows they're there.  Good!  All right, everybody, let's go slip 
into our swimsuits.  It's almost four in the morning, a great time to 
take a dip!"

Rhoda sniffed.  "At least we won't have to sweat a sunburn."

When they returned to the cottage a half hour later, the package was 
gone.  So was the blond head from the near dune.


* * *


Knowledge of the listening devices suppressed most conversation in the 
cottage until two days later, when Rhoda answered a knock on the storm 
door.  She took one look through the glass and shouted for Jack.

Supervisor Clark pulled the door opened and walked inside, followed by 
another man in a suit.  Wide eyed, Rhoda in shorts and halter stepped 
back, leaning on the refrigerator.

"Good morning," said Clark.  "It's Ms. Camden, right?"

Jack's bare feet thumped at the bottom of the stairs.  "What do you guys
want now?"

"And a good morning to you too," Clark responded.  "It seems we left 
some government property here, not that it's any surprise to you."  He 
walked to the table, felt under it and removed something.  Rhoda caught
a glimpse of it on its way to his pocket.  It resembled a lump of 
chewing gum.

"Anyone asleep upstairs?" asked Clark.

"No," Jack answered.

Clark tilted his head toward the stairs.  "Go get them."

The second agent slipped around Jack.  His heavy shoes pounded up the 
staircase and across the upstairs floor.

"What's happened?" asked Jack.

Clark grimaced.  "What do you think?"

"You caught Crai-- ah, Dutton?"

"'Cray.'  Is that the name he gave you?"

Jack ducked his head, walked around Clark and took a seat at the table.  
Rhoda joined him.

Clark studied them.  "I'm sure you have a camera."

"What of it?"

"Take any recent pictures?"

"Of Dutton?  Aha, you have _not_ caught him!"

Clark cocked his head.  "Why should that please you, Camden?  Haven't 
you grown up enough to get over that arrest for rioting?  That was 30 
years ago."

Jack sniffed.  "Get over it?  Who ever gets over being arrested?"

"Did you find us a bit high-handed the other night?"

"At 3:30 in the morning?  You know it."

"Well, we got off on the wrong foot with you and I apologize for that.
For your information, at ten o'clock the same morning a woman picked up
Dutton from a diner in that shopping center down the read.  This time we
didn't get the license tag.  We need a picture of him, Camden."

"You said he was a schoolteacher?  Surely the school had a picture!"

"The headmistress is under indictment and non-cooperative.  Apparently 
she destroyed the school's picture."

Jack shook his head.  "How can anyone go through life nowadays without 
getting a picture in the records?  What about his driver's license?"

"If he had one it wasn't under the name Dutton.  What kind of camera do
you have, Camden?"

"Digital."

"May I see it?"

Jack sighed.  "Officer, I'll admit we had a guest who fits Dutton's 
description.  But he was here hardly 24 hours.  During that time we took
no pictures, none at all, of _any_ subject."

"He arrived late Sunday?"

"And left sometime Monday night.  We aren't certain when."

"Did he take his flight bag?"

"He took everything he brought with him.  Is he really charged with 
twenty-some counts of statutory rape?"

"By the state of Virginia.  Did he speak of any plans to scare people?
Did he seem critical of the United States government?"

Jack shook his head.  "I was fishing all morning after he arrived and 
only spoke to him at lunch and supper.  In fact he said very little on 
any subject."

"What about you, Ms. Camden?  What did you hear him say?"

"Nothing political.  He was a very likeable companion."

Clark nodded and said dryly, "All the women agree with you there."

The other agent thumped downstairs.  He nodded at Clark, who looked from
Jack to Rhoda and said, "We thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Camden.  Your 
cooperation was late but apparently no harm was done."  He and the agent
departed via the storm door.

The man and woman sat silently until they heard doors slam and an 
automobile start up.

Rhoda asked, "Can we speak freely now?"

Jack spread his hands.  "They might've left one somewhere, but so what?
Speak!"

Her eyes narrowed.  "What do you want to talk about?"

"Huh!  The same subject you do, I expect."

"Craig's affect on our marriage?"

He drew a breath.  "And your take is?"

"You enjoyed sharing a woman.  You really enjoyed it!"

"Yeah.  And you really enjoyed _being_ shared."

"The question is if you'd known it was I, would you've still enjoyed 
it?"

"Of course not.  When I got there, he'd already been fucking you.  
Probably I would've tried to fight him."

She thought about that.  "So in our minds we both were unfaithful.  What
do you want to do about it?"

He stared at her.  Suddenly he stood.  "Let's go upstairs."

"You mean ..."

"Don't argue."  His hand on her elbow urged her to rise.  "Come on."

Following her on the stairs, his hand slipped under her shorts.  "Ooo!"
she murmured when a finger found the lump in her center.

They faced each other beside their bed.  His hands went to his shirt 
buttons.  Her halter went over her head.  He paused long enough for his
hands to encircle the dangling breasts.  "Lovely flesh!"

"They sag."

"And that doesn't detract one iota from their femaleness!"

"Why, Jack!  Did you take notes from Craig?"

"I'll admit to some inspiration."  In a moment they were naked.  "Like 
this."  He caught her under back and legs, lifted her off her feet, laid
her gently on the bed and parted her legs.  His face sank between them.

"Oh, god, Jack, I _love_ this!"

"So I noticed."

When she screamed in her first climax, he crawled on top and took her 
vigorously.  His member seemed larger than ever before.  She soon lost 
awareness of all but the ecstasy that suffused her entire person.  When
at last he rolled off her, she simply lay gasping for breath.  Her hand
found his organ, beginning to soften but as wet as her cool vulva.  "Oh,
Jack!"

Gasping more fiercely than she, he managed to demand half humorously, 
"Any complaints?"

"Oh, no, Jack!"

But a question welled up.  She bit her lip.  Though only Jack could 
answer, she could never ask.  Since she became a woman, men's arms 
behind back and knees had lifted her off her feet exactly twice, the 
first time several minutes before Craig had saved her reputation with a
blanket over her face.

Just where had Jack found his inspiration for it?


END

Contacts:
   Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com
   Kellis: kellis@dhp.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+