EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Tom, are you having any problems with the program?” Rory asked.
“No, none, bossman. Everything's going great. Why?”
“There have been some mainframe hits here in Alameda. Tucker in Operations reported multiple installation validation failures over the last two days. If you're not doing it, we have to wonder who is.”
“We've been running fine on a local ethernet only; we're not even plugged into a Freer box. No outside ports, except to the mother ship in Alameda, anywhere in the system.”
“How about if you check your net logs and see if there have been any … Jeez, I don't know … illegal connections? What's your personnel status?”
“There are five of us. We let one guy go; he wasn't a fit and he knew it as well as the rest of us did. He didn't leave pissed off or anything – that I know of. The rest of us are working away at the inventory. We're going to finish on time, I'm ninety-nine point nine percent sure. I'll check the logs and get back to you. Uh, Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you still playing lacrosse?”
“Every night. The gang is even getting bigger. We had two scrimmages going at once last week.”
“I miss it.”
Rory laughed. “You must not be getting laid enough. Darren said you're swimming in cute guys there. Anything wrong?”
“No. Just a little homesick, I guess.”
Phil woke seriously hunger this time. Alex was sitting on the floor practicing fingering patterns on his mandolin. He had a book of music in front of him.
“Does the Russian Embassy has a refrigerator we could raid?”
“Of course. The Embassy has everything we could possibly need if we were besieged, for example, or trapped by some natural disaster, or limited in our movements ...”
“Alex, what's the short answer?”
“The short answer is no. There is a canteen, but ...”
“We don't have any zlotys.”
“Kopeks, you mean. Zlotys are Polish.”
“We going to my place. Bring your mandolin and music. What is it anyway?”
“They're Austrian and Bavarian folk songs. Dimitri wants me to learn them.”
They dressed and left the room. A man stopped Alexander in the hall and spoke briefly and sternly.
“That was Dimitri,” Alex whispered as they left the compound.
“You look upset. What did he say?”
“He said if you break my heart he will find you and kill you. I don't think he would really do that, but he can be very strict.”
A quick trip to the Giant provided the makings for a late morning breakfast. As they finished eating Phil laughed and licked his lips. “Do it again.” A brief kiss later, Phil continued, “Bacon-flavored kisses are the best. I'll clean up and you sing me an Austrian folk song.”
Alex had a clean, pleasant baritone and sang something in German that had a catchy tune and rhythm. It also seemed to have a dozen verses. Phil was finished with the dishes before Alex was finished with the song. He picked up his guitar and looked at the music. Alex pointed to the start of another verse. Phil played a rhythm bass style accompaniment to the sparkling tones of the mandolin and tried to follow the words.
“That would have sounded better on the guitar Ace smashed, instead of this one,” Phil said. “We weren't bad, though.”
Alex flipped some pages and held the book open. “Try this one, Phil. It's easy.”
It was easy; so was the next song. They sang several songs together.
“My German basically ...”
“... sucks,” Alex supplied. “Dein Deutsch ist verstunken. But I think we sounded pretty good. Maybe Dimitri won't kill you after all.”
“About this Dimitri business, Alex.”
“He's afraid I am falling in love with you. That would not be good for my career. I told him he has nothing to worry about.”
“You did?” Phil sounded disappointed.
“I don't know how long I'll be in Washington; I don't know where I'll go next; I don't care about getting hurt, but we don't seem to have many possibilities in front of us, do we?”
Phil looked into Alex's eyes. “I think you still have a little bacon grease right here.” Licking off the non-existent grease led quickly to Phil's bed but not to having sex. A few kisses later Phil got practical. “Alright, as long as you're not going to fall in love with me today, I need to see about getting myself a job. I can't have this strange guy I fuck now and then buying me breakfast all the time.”
“I'm just a strange guy you fuck now and then?”
“If falling in love isn't practical for you, why would it be for me? I mean … even if you are the best fuck of my life.”
“I'm going into the city, Edmund.” Alistair sounded resolute with much more confidence than he actually felt about facing the stresses of London.
“Alistair, it's Thursday; you wouldn't get any work done with just Friday left in the week. It would be a long trip for nothing. Wait until Sunday. I can go with you for a day or two.”
Alistair was not just willing but quietly delighted to follow Edmund's logic. “I could work Saturday, too; but I suppose your way does make more sense. Still, if I don't show my face at the Museum soon, they'll forget me. I can hear the snarky comments. “Poor Alistair; the old thing's near death, I'm afraid.' In another few days they'll be planning a small memorial service.” Edmund consoled him and suggested another trip to his school.
The alarming thing was Alistair felt nothing from Edmund's consoling kiss. Not a hint of passion. Comfort, concern, and love were there, but the old heat seemed gone. Is it gone forever, Alistair wondered. I don't ache for sex and how long has it been? I certainly don't feel very appealing. I just miss it – something I used to need. And what about Edmund? He's younger, barely forty, and still a catch, I'd say. He's always had those handsome legs – so sexy. Alistair smiled at the memory of the hundred absurd plots he had used over their years together to get Edmund into short pants in the middle of winter. Edmund must be feeling the lack of attention. And here I sit - looking at these awful prints.”
“The prints are ghastly,” he said to someone who seemed to be in charge of something pointing to a pair of murky pastoral scenes.
“Mmm. I suppose; but they are what we have.”
“What if I could arrange a loan? Some better and original things. Perhaps a rotating selection?” Alistair presented his card, showing his British Museum connection.
“It's not my area at all. Let me call Miss Cromarty.”
“Mr. Dragon?” the young man questioned.
“Mr. Booth! Good to see you again. How goes the drawing?”
“Could I show you?”
“Miss Cromarty is eager to discuss your suggestion, Mr. Dragon,” the clerk interrupted. “Could you meet her in a half hour? She's on the second floor. Let me write down the room number.”
Alistair thanked the clerk and replied to Alfred Booth, “I seem to have thirty minutes on my hands. I'd like to see what you've done.”
Alfred took Alistair to his room in the residence hall. The first thing that struck Alistair was the sketch he had made of Alfred, now framed and hanging on the wall over a one of a pair of desks. Alfred pulled a sketch pad from a drawer and opened it to a view of the Yare.
“I did it from the top of the building and tried to put focus in the scene.”
“Yes, very different, very dramatic.” Alistair appaised the scene carefully. “I like the way the river's bend seems to conceal. You make me watch, eager, expecting something to come round the bend.” He continued looking at the details of the work.
“I looked you up, Mr. Dragon.” Alfred paused. “Internet. I want to say I greatly appreciate your advice.”
“And I want to say I greatly appreciate your drawing. Would you give me one?” Alfred ripped his latest drawing out of the pad and handed it instantly to Alistair.
“Thank you. You must sign it, Mr. Booth. So people will know whose is the wonderful work I have hanging on my wall. I'll put it in my office. You can with complete honesty tell people you have something hanging in the British Museum,” Alistair joked.
“Would you sign my sketch, too? With your dragon cypher?”
“Er, the cypher is for a certain kind of drawing, Mr. Booth; but I'll gladly sign my name.”
“”Oh, I guess my drawing isn't one of your special ones.”
Alistair looked up. “You know about those?”
“Mr. Dragon, you're becoming famous for them. I was hoping … but your special ones are of special people.”
“Mr. Booth, you are certainly worthy of a special drawing; but I was unprepared. I didn't have the proper pens with me the other day. Besides my friend Edmund says the students here are forbidden subjects.”
“Just drawing me wouldn't mean you ...”
“Appearances, Mr. Booth. I wouldn't be worried for myself, but you and my friend Edmund must be considered. I couldn't allow any talk to harm either of you.”
“I'd be willing; I'd be honored, just to let you know. I'll be finished with school in June.”
“And what will happen in June?”
“I have the promise of a junior tax clerk's position here in Norwich.”
“One day in June, then, if you would visit Edmund and me and draw the sea, I will draw you. Is that fair?”
“More than fair … Yes … I'd be so pleased … “
“Call me. Here's the number.”
“Shelly, the program doesn't run. It errors out while loading saying something is missing.”
“I swear, Tin Doll. Do I have to … Whooo!”
“What's wrong?” Tindall listened at the bathroom door. “Shelly? Are you all right?”
“Wow. I'll have to try that again! It was like somebody stomped on my douche bag.”
“The program, Shelly. It's missing something.”
“Tin Doll … Do you think you might like to try a dildo?”
“What? You want me to use a dildo on you?”
“Mmmnnn no. More like me using one on you.”
“No, I don't think so. Could you download the software again? Maybe some part didn't copy the first time.”
Shelly emerged from the bathroom in a flimsy bathrobe. “It's so bright in here.” She turned off the lamps by the bed and one other, leaving just one dim lamp burning. She stood between the lamp and Tindall. The light made her hair shine and highlighted the soft folds of the bathrobe. “Sweetie, you're still dressed. Let me help you.”
Tindall was putty in her hands, putty of a rapidly hardening kind. The sound of tearing came in his eagerness to get his pants off and he lost a button from his shirt. His erection stood stiffly out of his boxers. Shelly reached in and caressed his balls. “Ooow, aren't you a big boy today.” Her robe fell open and she pressed her breasts against him. He groaned. He tolerated the brief pain as his penis bend in a way it didn't want to go while getting rid of the boxers. “Just lie back, baby. Let me do the work,” Shelly said.
He felt the pleasure of her blowjob suffuse his body. He relaxed and spread his legs. It felt like his whole groin was heating up. Her teasing tugs on his balls were pushing him or maybe pulling him closer and closer to orgasm. It was out of his control. Just lie back and let it happen. “Shelly, mmm … So good ...” Her finger was on his asshole, pressing. The long finger nail wasn't good at all. “No baby, go back to my balls … That's right … What! … Wait! … NO!”
Shelly lay across him using her weight to pin Tindall to the bed with the dildo implanted. “Take it easy. You'll get used to it. It'll feel good in a minute. Here, let me ...”
At first Tindall felt his cock slide into her. Then he realized it wasn't into her, exactly; it was between her legs. “Shelly ...” Tindall cried out in a combination of frustration and dildo-induced pain.
“Easy, Sweetie. Relax. I'll let you in in a minute. You don't want to cum too soon, right?” Tindall was taking deep breaths and trying to relax without much success. “See, you're staying hard. It's feeling better, isn't it?”
“No, it isn't. It feels like ...”
“Come on, you're not still flailing around. Take it easy. Feel it. Here, let me help.” She turned about and sat on his stomach. The hem of her robe which she was still wearing covered his face. With one hand she stroked his cock and with the other she gently played with the dildo not pushing it in, just moving it from side to side a bit. “My girl friend Gretchen, who's fucking that old guy in the History Department, said it takes a little getting used to, but you'll love it.” She applied a slight pressure to the dildo and it penetrated farther. “There … Good … At least your ass isn't tight. Gretchen said it's a bitch getting into some young guys.”
Tindall shook his head from side to side, getting hem of the robe out of his mouth. “Shelly, could you take the robe off?”
“Sure, Sweetie. I thought you liked a bit of clothing.” She shrugged off the robe and stroked his cock with a firmer grip, sliding up and down smoothly. He was getting slick from his own leaking juices. “See, you're as wet as I am. You're liking this.” She moved the dildo more, aiming the inner end upward. “Gretchen said it's important to get you to cum with the dildo inside. There you go. Your balls are getting tight. Whee!” She laughed as Tindall exploded.
He lay panting, too wiped out to move. Shelly reversed her position and straddled his hips. She leaned forward and let her nipples drag lightly across his chest. Her clit pressed against the remaining semi-hardness of Tindall's cock. She moved in a gentle motion, rubbing her body against his until she came with a shuddering convulsion. “Ooow! Sweet! Yes. Mmm. Wasn't that nice.”
“I have to admit ...” Tindall had no more to say on the subject. There was some discomfort when he pulled the dildo out of his ass but it was brief. Shelly was back in the bathroom and Tindall wondered what to do with the smelly reminder of his rape. He wrapped it in Shelly's robe. “We'll let you deal with it,” he said to the bathroom door.
Tom waited until he got to his apartment to call Rory. He needed privacy.
“Rory, the operating logs recorded several file dumps. I could trace all but one of them to inventory summaries and located all the summary discs in the office. They checked out and contained nothing but inventory data. One other disc was created; it was a system dump. It was done from a machine that nobody uses regularly but everybody uses a little. It was running under my login, but I often open the machine in the morning and leave it running all day. I didn't do the system dump, bossman.”
“Ok, I'll get back to you. Meanwhile, don't open that machine yourself. And log it off, if you see it sitting idle. Did you take some time off?”
“I'm off now.”
“It's six o'clock in DC. Of course, you're off now. Tom, we don't need you ...”
“I'm fine, Rory. Don't worry about me.” Tom lay the phone on his kitchen counter and wondered what to do for dinner. Looking around the kitchen didn't turn up anything potentially mouthwatering. He wondered if the carpet layers wanted to go out.
He answered the knock on his door with a broad grin thinking the footsteps up the stairs sounded like Al's. “Lucky. Hi. Come in.”
“I've been sitting in dust looking at Apartment C for two hours and I'm hungry. If I order a couple of pizza's, would you want to join me? Where's a good place to order from?”
“I know a great place in Alameda, but the delivery time would suck. Here …? I don't know. Gantry said she has spent a couple years looking for a good pizza in Washington.”
“Ok, we'll let this thing earn it's keep.” Lucky pulled out a cool-looking personal assistant in a leather case. He punched up a restaurant app and asked Tom, “What kind do you like?” A few more punches and he closed out the call. “Forty-five to an hour wait. Want to go look at the art some more?”
They spent thirty-five minutes in the bathroom looking at the variety of bathing scenes depicted. “What is that style called?” Tom asked, pointing.
“The dotty part? Pointillism. That section resembles Seurat's Bathers at Asnieres. I bet that's what you're thinking of.”
“I don't know what I was thinking of. It just looked familiar.”
“This part ...” Lucky put his arm around Tom to guide his view. “... is like those boys Eakins did, but the subjects here look older and sexier.” Lucky felt Tom's warmth and an intimacy that was more than he intended. He moved away and instantly regretted it, missing the intimacy.
“The pizzas should be here about now,” Lucky said, feeling a dryness in his mouth.
They returned to Tom's apartment and waited. The predicted delivery time of an hour stretched beyond an hour and a half. Two beers apiece only made them hungrier, but the conversation never lagged. Lucky explained more and more of the Apartment C art and Tom was fascinated by the immediacy of the lesson's application and by Lucky's skill in explanation. It was closer to two hours when the pizza's finally arrived and everything stopped while they ate a few slices.
After taking the edge of their hunger, they ate more leisurely and resumed the discussion. Tom looked at his watch and, breaking the flow of the conversation, he said, “It's after nine and you've had four beers. You want to stay here tonight?”
“Tom, are you having any problems with the program?” Rory asked.
“No, none, bossman. Everything's going great. Why?”
“There have been some mainframe hits here in Alameda. Tucker in Operations reported multiple installation validation failures over the last two days. If you're not doing it, we have to wonder who is.”
“We've been running fine on a local ethernet only; we're not even plugged into a Freer box. No outside ports, except to the mother ship in Alameda, anywhere in the system.”
“How about if you check your net logs and see if there have been any … Jeez, I don't know … illegal connections? What's your personnel status?”
“There are five of us. We let one guy go; he wasn't a fit and he knew it as well as the rest of us did. He didn't leave pissed off or anything – that I know of. The rest of us are working away at the inventory. We're going to finish on time, I'm ninety-nine point nine percent sure. I'll check the logs and get back to you. Uh, Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you still playing lacrosse?”
“Every night. The gang is even getting bigger. We had two scrimmages going at once last week.”
“I miss it.”
Rory laughed. “You must not be getting laid enough. Darren said you're swimming in cute guys there. Anything wrong?”
“No. Just a little homesick, I guess.”
Phil woke seriously hunger this time. Alex was sitting on the floor practicing fingering patterns on his mandolin. He had a book of music in front of him.
“Does the Russian Embassy has a refrigerator we could raid?”
“Of course. The Embassy has everything we could possibly need if we were besieged, for example, or trapped by some natural disaster, or limited in our movements ...”
“Alex, what's the short answer?”
“The short answer is no. There is a canteen, but ...”
“We don't have any zlotys.”
“Kopeks, you mean. Zlotys are Polish.”
“We going to my place. Bring your mandolin and music. What is it anyway?”
“They're Austrian and Bavarian folk songs. Dimitri wants me to learn them.”
They dressed and left the room. A man stopped Alexander in the hall and spoke briefly and sternly.
“That was Dimitri,” Alex whispered as they left the compound.
“You look upset. What did he say?”
“He said if you break my heart he will find you and kill you. I don't think he would really do that, but he can be very strict.”
A quick trip to the Giant provided the makings for a late morning breakfast. As they finished eating Phil laughed and licked his lips. “Do it again.” A brief kiss later, Phil continued, “Bacon-flavored kisses are the best. I'll clean up and you sing me an Austrian folk song.”
Alex had a clean, pleasant baritone and sang something in German that had a catchy tune and rhythm. It also seemed to have a dozen verses. Phil was finished with the dishes before Alex was finished with the song. He picked up his guitar and looked at the music. Alex pointed to the start of another verse. Phil played a rhythm bass style accompaniment to the sparkling tones of the mandolin and tried to follow the words.
“That would have sounded better on the guitar Ace smashed, instead of this one,” Phil said. “We weren't bad, though.”
Alex flipped some pages and held the book open. “Try this one, Phil. It's easy.”
It was easy; so was the next song. They sang several songs together.
“My German basically ...”
“... sucks,” Alex supplied. “Dein Deutsch ist verstunken. But I think we sounded pretty good. Maybe Dimitri won't kill you after all.”
“About this Dimitri business, Alex.”
“He's afraid I am falling in love with you. That would not be good for my career. I told him he has nothing to worry about.”
“You did?” Phil sounded disappointed.
“I don't know how long I'll be in Washington; I don't know where I'll go next; I don't care about getting hurt, but we don't seem to have many possibilities in front of us, do we?”
Phil looked into Alex's eyes. “I think you still have a little bacon grease right here.” Licking off the non-existent grease led quickly to Phil's bed but not to having sex. A few kisses later Phil got practical. “Alright, as long as you're not going to fall in love with me today, I need to see about getting myself a job. I can't have this strange guy I fuck now and then buying me breakfast all the time.”
“I'm just a strange guy you fuck now and then?”
“If falling in love isn't practical for you, why would it be for me? I mean … even if you are the best fuck of my life.”
“I'm going into the city, Edmund.” Alistair sounded resolute with much more confidence than he actually felt about facing the stresses of London.
“Alistair, it's Thursday; you wouldn't get any work done with just Friday left in the week. It would be a long trip for nothing. Wait until Sunday. I can go with you for a day or two.”
Alistair was not just willing but quietly delighted to follow Edmund's logic. “I could work Saturday, too; but I suppose your way does make more sense. Still, if I don't show my face at the Museum soon, they'll forget me. I can hear the snarky comments. “Poor Alistair; the old thing's near death, I'm afraid.' In another few days they'll be planning a small memorial service.” Edmund consoled him and suggested another trip to his school.
The alarming thing was Alistair felt nothing from Edmund's consoling kiss. Not a hint of passion. Comfort, concern, and love were there, but the old heat seemed gone. Is it gone forever, Alistair wondered. I don't ache for sex and how long has it been? I certainly don't feel very appealing. I just miss it – something I used to need. And what about Edmund? He's younger, barely forty, and still a catch, I'd say. He's always had those handsome legs – so sexy. Alistair smiled at the memory of the hundred absurd plots he had used over their years together to get Edmund into short pants in the middle of winter. Edmund must be feeling the lack of attention. And here I sit - looking at these awful prints.”
“The prints are ghastly,” he said to someone who seemed to be in charge of something pointing to a pair of murky pastoral scenes.
“Mmm. I suppose; but they are what we have.”
“What if I could arrange a loan? Some better and original things. Perhaps a rotating selection?” Alistair presented his card, showing his British Museum connection.
“It's not my area at all. Let me call Miss Cromarty.”
“Mr. Dragon?” the young man questioned.
“Mr. Booth! Good to see you again. How goes the drawing?”
“Could I show you?”
“Miss Cromarty is eager to discuss your suggestion, Mr. Dragon,” the clerk interrupted. “Could you meet her in a half hour? She's on the second floor. Let me write down the room number.”
Alistair thanked the clerk and replied to Alfred Booth, “I seem to have thirty minutes on my hands. I'd like to see what you've done.”
Alfred took Alistair to his room in the residence hall. The first thing that struck Alistair was the sketch he had made of Alfred, now framed and hanging on the wall over a one of a pair of desks. Alfred pulled a sketch pad from a drawer and opened it to a view of the Yare.
“I did it from the top of the building and tried to put focus in the scene.”
“Yes, very different, very dramatic.” Alistair appaised the scene carefully. “I like the way the river's bend seems to conceal. You make me watch, eager, expecting something to come round the bend.” He continued looking at the details of the work.
“I looked you up, Mr. Dragon.” Alfred paused. “Internet. I want to say I greatly appreciate your advice.”
“And I want to say I greatly appreciate your drawing. Would you give me one?” Alfred ripped his latest drawing out of the pad and handed it instantly to Alistair.
“Thank you. You must sign it, Mr. Booth. So people will know whose is the wonderful work I have hanging on my wall. I'll put it in my office. You can with complete honesty tell people you have something hanging in the British Museum,” Alistair joked.
“Would you sign my sketch, too? With your dragon cypher?”
“Er, the cypher is for a certain kind of drawing, Mr. Booth; but I'll gladly sign my name.”
“”Oh, I guess my drawing isn't one of your special ones.”
Alistair looked up. “You know about those?”
“Mr. Dragon, you're becoming famous for them. I was hoping … but your special ones are of special people.”
“Mr. Booth, you are certainly worthy of a special drawing; but I was unprepared. I didn't have the proper pens with me the other day. Besides my friend Edmund says the students here are forbidden subjects.”
“Just drawing me wouldn't mean you ...”
“Appearances, Mr. Booth. I wouldn't be worried for myself, but you and my friend Edmund must be considered. I couldn't allow any talk to harm either of you.”
“I'd be willing; I'd be honored, just to let you know. I'll be finished with school in June.”
“And what will happen in June?”
“I have the promise of a junior tax clerk's position here in Norwich.”
“One day in June, then, if you would visit Edmund and me and draw the sea, I will draw you. Is that fair?”
“More than fair … Yes … I'd be so pleased … “
“Call me. Here's the number.”
“Shelly, the program doesn't run. It errors out while loading saying something is missing.”
“I swear, Tin Doll. Do I have to … Whooo!”
“What's wrong?” Tindall listened at the bathroom door. “Shelly? Are you all right?”
“Wow. I'll have to try that again! It was like somebody stomped on my douche bag.”
“The program, Shelly. It's missing something.”
“Tin Doll … Do you think you might like to try a dildo?”
“What? You want me to use a dildo on you?”
“Mmmnnn no. More like me using one on you.”
“No, I don't think so. Could you download the software again? Maybe some part didn't copy the first time.”
Shelly emerged from the bathroom in a flimsy bathrobe. “It's so bright in here.” She turned off the lamps by the bed and one other, leaving just one dim lamp burning. She stood between the lamp and Tindall. The light made her hair shine and highlighted the soft folds of the bathrobe. “Sweetie, you're still dressed. Let me help you.”
Tindall was putty in her hands, putty of a rapidly hardening kind. The sound of tearing came in his eagerness to get his pants off and he lost a button from his shirt. His erection stood stiffly out of his boxers. Shelly reached in and caressed his balls. “Ooow, aren't you a big boy today.” Her robe fell open and she pressed her breasts against him. He groaned. He tolerated the brief pain as his penis bend in a way it didn't want to go while getting rid of the boxers. “Just lie back, baby. Let me do the work,” Shelly said.
He felt the pleasure of her blowjob suffuse his body. He relaxed and spread his legs. It felt like his whole groin was heating up. Her teasing tugs on his balls were pushing him or maybe pulling him closer and closer to orgasm. It was out of his control. Just lie back and let it happen. “Shelly, mmm … So good ...” Her finger was on his asshole, pressing. The long finger nail wasn't good at all. “No baby, go back to my balls … That's right … What! … Wait! … NO!”
Shelly lay across him using her weight to pin Tindall to the bed with the dildo implanted. “Take it easy. You'll get used to it. It'll feel good in a minute. Here, let me ...”
At first Tindall felt his cock slide into her. Then he realized it wasn't into her, exactly; it was between her legs. “Shelly ...” Tindall cried out in a combination of frustration and dildo-induced pain.
“Easy, Sweetie. Relax. I'll let you in in a minute. You don't want to cum too soon, right?” Tindall was taking deep breaths and trying to relax without much success. “See, you're staying hard. It's feeling better, isn't it?”
“No, it isn't. It feels like ...”
“Come on, you're not still flailing around. Take it easy. Feel it. Here, let me help.” She turned about and sat on his stomach. The hem of her robe which she was still wearing covered his face. With one hand she stroked his cock and with the other she gently played with the dildo not pushing it in, just moving it from side to side a bit. “My girl friend Gretchen, who's fucking that old guy in the History Department, said it takes a little getting used to, but you'll love it.” She applied a slight pressure to the dildo and it penetrated farther. “There … Good … At least your ass isn't tight. Gretchen said it's a bitch getting into some young guys.”
Tindall shook his head from side to side, getting hem of the robe out of his mouth. “Shelly, could you take the robe off?”
“Sure, Sweetie. I thought you liked a bit of clothing.” She shrugged off the robe and stroked his cock with a firmer grip, sliding up and down smoothly. He was getting slick from his own leaking juices. “See, you're as wet as I am. You're liking this.” She moved the dildo more, aiming the inner end upward. “Gretchen said it's important to get you to cum with the dildo inside. There you go. Your balls are getting tight. Whee!” She laughed as Tindall exploded.
He lay panting, too wiped out to move. Shelly reversed her position and straddled his hips. She leaned forward and let her nipples drag lightly across his chest. Her clit pressed against the remaining semi-hardness of Tindall's cock. She moved in a gentle motion, rubbing her body against his until she came with a shuddering convulsion. “Ooow! Sweet! Yes. Mmm. Wasn't that nice.”
“I have to admit ...” Tindall had no more to say on the subject. There was some discomfort when he pulled the dildo out of his ass but it was brief. Shelly was back in the bathroom and Tindall wondered what to do with the smelly reminder of his rape. He wrapped it in Shelly's robe. “We'll let you deal with it,” he said to the bathroom door.
Tom waited until he got to his apartment to call Rory. He needed privacy.
“Rory, the operating logs recorded several file dumps. I could trace all but one of them to inventory summaries and located all the summary discs in the office. They checked out and contained nothing but inventory data. One other disc was created; it was a system dump. It was done from a machine that nobody uses regularly but everybody uses a little. It was running under my login, but I often open the machine in the morning and leave it running all day. I didn't do the system dump, bossman.”
“Ok, I'll get back to you. Meanwhile, don't open that machine yourself. And log it off, if you see it sitting idle. Did you take some time off?”
“I'm off now.”
“It's six o'clock in DC. Of course, you're off now. Tom, we don't need you ...”
“I'm fine, Rory. Don't worry about me.” Tom lay the phone on his kitchen counter and wondered what to do for dinner. Looking around the kitchen didn't turn up anything potentially mouthwatering. He wondered if the carpet layers wanted to go out.
He answered the knock on his door with a broad grin thinking the footsteps up the stairs sounded like Al's. “Lucky. Hi. Come in.”
“I've been sitting in dust looking at Apartment C for two hours and I'm hungry. If I order a couple of pizza's, would you want to join me? Where's a good place to order from?”
“I know a great place in Alameda, but the delivery time would suck. Here …? I don't know. Gantry said she has spent a couple years looking for a good pizza in Washington.”
“Ok, we'll let this thing earn it's keep.” Lucky pulled out a cool-looking personal assistant in a leather case. He punched up a restaurant app and asked Tom, “What kind do you like?” A few more punches and he closed out the call. “Forty-five to an hour wait. Want to go look at the art some more?”
They spent thirty-five minutes in the bathroom looking at the variety of bathing scenes depicted. “What is that style called?” Tom asked, pointing.
“The dotty part? Pointillism. That section resembles Seurat's Bathers at Asnieres. I bet that's what you're thinking of.”
“I don't know what I was thinking of. It just looked familiar.”
“This part ...” Lucky put his arm around Tom to guide his view. “... is like those boys Eakins did, but the subjects here look older and sexier.” Lucky felt Tom's warmth and an intimacy that was more than he intended. He moved away and instantly regretted it, missing the intimacy.
“The pizzas should be here about now,” Lucky said, feeling a dryness in his mouth.
They returned to Tom's apartment and waited. The predicted delivery time of an hour stretched beyond an hour and a half. Two beers apiece only made them hungrier, but the conversation never lagged. Lucky explained more and more of the Apartment C art and Tom was fascinated by the immediacy of the lesson's application and by Lucky's skill in explanation. It was closer to two hours when the pizza's finally arrived and everything stopped while they ate a few slices.
After taking the edge of their hunger, they ate more leisurely and resumed the discussion. Tom looked at his watch and, breaking the flow of the conversation, he said, “It's after nine and you've had four beers. You want to stay here tonight?”
](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
