Chapter 5

Wanda stood up, and once again Bill's hopes began to rise. They soared when she reached behind her and began undoing the fastening of her green dress.

"Not quite as it was in your fantasy," she said, "but it's essential that you keep your hands in contact with the F-meter."

He had developed a positive hatred for that machine and the smooth metal cylinders, so different in texture from the soft flesh he lusted to grope. Just the mention of its name could produce a twinge in his brain like an incipient headache.

"What's going to happen now?" he asked suspiciously.

"We've tested your reaction to a sexual fantasy," she said, "and I must say you scored pretty well. But now we have to try you out with a little bit of reality. It's fortunate that the object of your fantasy is right here-me, I mean."

Bill struggled not to let his hopes get too high, but he couldn't resist asking: "How much reality do I get to try out? Are we...?"

"One thing at a time, Bill. I really hate to keep repressing you like this, but it's essential for the test."

"Damn it, you're not repressing me, you're torturing me!" he exploded, throwing the hateful metal cylinders to the floor. "There wouldn't have been anything to repress if you hadn't gotten me into this state with all your sexy talk and your bedroom eyes and your hints of more to come. I'm not some kind of sex-maniac who goes around with a hard-on all the time. I don't go chasing after every pretty girl I see. I've never even been unfaithful to my wife. Not until today, anyway. I've had enough of this crazy test. Either quit teasing me and come across, or else take your goddamned F-meter and shove it!"

Bill had risen to his feet and was shouting at her across the desk. He trembled with barely controlled rage and lust. Just as he had realized himself capable of rape a few minutes ago, he now knew that he was capable of murder. The knowledge scared him enough to take some of the edge off his anger.

Wanda took it all in stride, cool as an affectionate but strong-willed mother facing a child's tantrum. She caught him off balance when she spoke: "What do you mean, you haven't been un faithful until today? You don't consider this test an act of infidelity, do you?"

"Well, I ... that is...."

She leaned forward on the desk, seeing her advantage. Her green eyes held a twinkle that might have been malicious. "Are you really so scrupulous that you think you're committing adultery simply by talking about sex with another woman, or getting one up for her?"

"Yes!" Bill said, his voice sounding louder and more forceful than he'd intended.

"Bullshit," Wanda said evenly. "You've been playing around with Julia, haven't you? Admit it."

He knew that he was a poor liar. The moment of hesitation that it took him to reflect on this made the lie sound even less convincing than it might have: "Of course not I"

"Now sit down like a good pussycat, and stop trying to lie to me," she said.

Bill sat. He was too pleased and flustered at having been called a pussycat by the imcomparable Wanda Fleurette to resist her orders. But he winced inwardly at his treachery to Julia Palmer, who'd asked him not to talk about their session of sixty-nine.

"Julia's a rat," she stated with no special acrimony. "She figured you wouldn't be able to become aroused for the test, after she'd finished with you. That's why I ask her to try to control herself during the preliminary interview. But she just didn't realize what kind of a stud she was dealing with. It's a good thing I found out, Bill.

This really sends your test score right through the ceiling-or it will, if you stop acting foolishly and finish what we started."

He tried to resign himself to the knowledge that he was incapable of resisting her flattery. But he scowled, avoiding her eyes, and he made no move to pick up the fallen components of the F-meter.

"Come on, Bill," she urged. "Please. I want you to succeed, honestly. I know that's not the sort of admission that a detached and objective therapist should make, but I'm really pulling for you. I'm looking forward to when you can cast aside your repressions and become one of us."

He couldn't restrain a wry smile at her description of herself: she was about as detached and objective as a leech. But her tone of voice and her eyes promised pleasures only hinted at by her words, and it was impossible to try to hide the way he felt when his cock was sticking up before her as stiff and hard as a poker.

"Oh, hell," he said lamely, bending forward to pick up the handles of her gadgetry once more.

"Wonderful," she said. "Did you enjoy Julia?"

"She was pretty good," he admitted, not wanting to displease this vision by over-praising another.

Wanda snorted, dismissing this little deception. "She's probably the best you've ever had," she said. "She's reached the Perfect stage of adjustment."

"How long did it take her?"

"Not long at all. She was already practicing what I preached, more or less, when I met her. It was just a question of providing her with a philosophical basis for her natural instincts," Wanda said, and Bill got the impression that she would have preferred converting more difficult subjects. She confirmed this by brightening visibly when she added: "Her daughter was another matter entirely. She was actually a virgin when I met her, even though she was fifteen years old, but I succeeded in bringing her around completely. She's almost at the Perfect level herself."

Bill found something disquieting about this sketchy tale of two generations embracing what seemed to be a fanatical sex-cult. Stripped of the jargon, considered from a legal point of view, what Wanda had just admitted was the corruption of the morals of a minor-with the aid and comfort of the girl's mother.

"Kathi's problem-she's Julia's daughter-was that she wanted to fuck her uncle, but she had a terrible hang-up about it. Once I made her see how silly she was being, she was well on her way to mental health," Wanda continued.

"You got her interested in boys her own age?"

"No, of course not. I got her to fuck her uncle."

"Good God!" Bill exclaimed, but Wanda, apparently distracted by some unpleasant thought, seemed not to note his horrified reaction.

"Her uncle was Julia's brother, and-oh, but I'm sure you're not interested in hearing stories about people you don't even know. We have a lot of work still to do. Where were we?"

Bill was on the point of saying that he was glad he didn't know them, either, but Wanda's question distracted him from all other considerations. He was quick to supply the answer: "You were just about to take your dress off."

"Oh, yes. Of course. I hope I haven't distracted you with my reminiscences-" here she paused to look at the dials on the control panel of the F-meter-"no, I see that I haven't. You're a very single-minded man, Bill."

He forgot his reservations about her sordid story of incest as he basked once more in her approval. She smiled down at him as she finished undoing the zipper at the back of her gown and peeled down the flimsy straps that covered her golden breasts.

Bill's first acquaintance with female breasts had come through the pages of the glossy jerk off magazines that he'd studied on the rack of a neighborhood luncheonette each month before opting for his usual purchase, a copy of Astounding Science Fiction. Those pictures had led him to lust, he had come regretfully to acknowledge, for a fruit that had never ripened on earth: Playboy was the true purveyor of science fiction. Experience with women had taught him that, unfortunately, they just weren't built that way. Experience in photography had shown him how posing and lighting and subsequent retouching could create the illusion that they were. He had managed to make his adjustment to a world where women were not built like goddesses.

In the context of those lowered aspirations, Amy was delightfully constructed, anything a man could wish for in the tit department; Ms. ; Palmer's tits were somewhat bigger, of course, I and they were remarkable for having retained their youthful shape and firmness, but the only real difference here was a matter of quantity rather than quality. Ms. Palmer and Amy were both first-rate representatives of pectoral pulchritude in the world that he had come to accept as the real one.

But now, as Wanda lowered the translucent coverings from her breasts, he was introduced to another world entirely, one in which the heroic masturbation fantasies of adolescence were made flesh and dwelt among us. He could have compared them to peaches, in the delicate shading of tones from golden tan to rose to darker red, but that would have given only a hint of their coloration, without suggesting their size or texture. Grapefruit might have been an adequate gauge of their size, but it would have done an injustice to their shape, suggesting a symmetrical roundness that had nothing to do with the more complex symmetry of these incredible curves. As to their texture-he thought of silk, he thought of rubber, he thought of plastic, but all these had inorganic overtones that jangled inharmoniously with the warm, living, female reality before him. He had to confess that he was a photographer, a visually oriented person whose eye could see with aching clarity but who could not find words to describe what he saw. But words and vision were equally inadequate in this situation: what he wanted to do was touch ... kiss ... fondle ... feel.

"Bill!" Wanda cried sharply, and it was only when she did that he realized he had risen purposefully to his feet and was stalking her around the table with the intention of fulfilling his desires.

"Just touch ... a little ... I can't...." Something about the incoherent single-mindedness of his lust must have touched something in her that more rational appeals had failed to warm. "If you promise to go with the test, Bill," she said, nodding.

Perhaps she had planned to add some qualifier to that offer, but he didn't wait for it. He closed the remaining distance between them and was groping her tits before he had time even to think about it. His hard prick rubbed her bare belly as his lips sought hers, and she seemed to invite the touch of his cock-head, undulating herself against it and moaning with pleasure at the contact.

The feel of her beautiful boobs beneath his hands was maddening. Good as they were to look at, they were far better to feel. The metaphors that had come to his mind now seemed ludicrous. Silk was as sandpaper, rubber was as mush, grapefruit were as grapes, compared to the swells of delicious flesh that filled his hands.

Her kiss was dizzying, a tongue-tangling orgy that seemed on the verge of sucking out his soul, but he couldn't keep his mouth away from her tits for another instant. Kissing as he went, caressing the long column of her throat with his lips, he lowered his face to her breasts. Her nipples were already hard and erect, but they hardened like diamonds at the touch of his tongue. He lavished his licks on first one and then the other, switching back and forth indecisively as he tried to determine if one was tastier or more desirable in any way than the other, but he had to conclude that they were equally matched in their appeal to his concupiscent osculations.

Now that his mouth was fully occupied, his hands found other work. They slipped down under the low-cut back of her dress to knead the fleshy globes of her ass. They were more than mere handfuls, an opulent abundance of womanly buttocks, but they were as hard and muscular as any trimly conditioned girl's. She clenched and unclenched her ass, letting him feel a writhing strength like serpents beneath silk, tormenting him with the promise of what her fucking would be like.

His fingers probed down lower and lower into the deep cleft between the cheeks of her ass, down and under. He tried hard to verify her assertion that she shaved her cunt, but she refused to let him get that far. He had no doubt that she finally would, though, because already the tips of his fingers were damp with a slick seepage of oozing pussy-juice. She had apparently been just as thoroughly aroused by their lubricious conversation as he had.

She whispered urgently in his ear: "I have to take a reading, Bill."

"Huh?"

"It's absolutely essential. I don't think you can possibly get any more worked up than you are now, and I've got to know the maximum figure."

"What are you ... crazy?" he gasped, so shocked by her concern with matters of routine at a time like this that he actually let her go. He knew that she was every bit as excited as he was, that she wanted to fuck as much as he did, and still she was able to think about her snake-oil racket and its gadgetry.

"Pick up the electrodes, Bill. Please!"

Dazed and demoralized, denied ecstasy that had seemed to be in his grasp, he could only obey. He sank back into his chair while the bare-breasted Wanda made a flurry of hasty notations on his chart.

"A nut," he muttered to himself. "The most beautiful woman in the world, with nothing at all but sex on her mind, and she turns out to be a nut."

"Bill," Wanda said, her tone gently chiding. "Do you think I enjoy doing things this way?"

"Yes! I think you do, I think you're a fucking sadist. No, I take that back. You're a sadist who doesn't fuck. That's how you torture people. And I don't know why the hell I'm letting you do this to me. I didn't think there was such a thing as a terminal case of lover's nuts, but I believe that's what you've given me. Is it okay with you if I jerk off?"

"No, it isn't okay," she said firmly. "Playing with yourself-denying another person the joy of sexual contact-that's the worst thing you can do.

When you come, Bill, I'm going to make you come."

His heart leaped. That was the closest thing to a firm promise he'd heard yet. He wondered if she planned to blow him, or if his aching prick would cool itself in the quicksilver slipperiness of her hairless slit. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, as if that motion could in any way moderate the burning of the thousand hot wires that seemed to skewer his cock and balls.

She had stood up again. She was in the process of peeling her seductive green gown downward, baring her hips, the tops of her thighs, the. ... She paused, a pretty frown creasing her brow.

"Oh, damn."

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"If I keep the promise I just made, then we won't be able to finish the test today. At least, I don't think we will. Wouldn't you like to fuck Julia? She's really quite good."

"No, damn it! I want you. What the hell is all this about?"

"How about Kathi, her daughter? She's very pretty, and-"

All the unpleasant words that Bill had ever heard collided in his throat at once, producing a sort of strangled scream. He felt as if the top of his head were about to blow off.

Wanda looked at her dials with alarm. "Calm down! Please. All right, all right, but it means you'll have to come back and finish the test later."

"Why?" Bill asked, surprised at how reasonable he was able to sound.

"The last part of the test consists of actually fucking someone."

"So what's the problem? Give me the last part of the test. Hurry!"

"I couldn't very well read the dials if you were fucking me, could I?"

"How the hell should I know? Why can't Julia read them, or her daughter?"

Wanda smiled indulgently. "Interpreting the F-meter is more of an art than a science. What you suggest would be like-oh, like having two cooks work on the same omelet. It might work, but it probably wouldn't."

"I want you," Bill persisted.

Wanda sighed. "You've got great promise, Bill, but I can see that you're going to have to work awfully hard. Exclusivity-wanting one person more than another-is at the source of most of our sexual maladjustments."

"Bullshit. Some people are more desirable than others. You, for instance."

Wanda's voluptuous mouth seemed to harden into less than voluptuous lines when she heard one of her tenets described as bullshit; but perhaps the fact that he had wrapped his dissent in a compliment softened its impact, because her tone was mild when she said: "That's because you haven't even begun the process of your adjustment yet. Everybody is desirable, because what we desire is contact with another soul, and all souls are beautiful."

"You can't screw souls," grumbled Bill, who would have denied the existence of the soul if he hadn't thought that such a denial would be too silly to bother with.

Wanda smiled smugly, indicating that argument was beneath her dignity too. She ended further discussion by letting her dress drop to the floor.

She smiled, confident, unashamed, then stretched, letting it all ripple. He gaped. It was more than a visual experience, more than the sight of a naked woman. It was a dislocation of the whole atmosphere, a jarring shift from the mild air-conditioning of a quasi-office to the torrid steam of jungle heat. The air he breathed had become a musky fog of lust. He could have struggled through an analysis of the impact she had on him. There was, to start with, the perfect proportion of her body, its ideal coloration-but others had that, or at least approximated it. Then there was her obvious youth, with its traditional connotation of innocence; and the contrast between that and her delightfully dirty mind, between her rosy-gold skin and the serpent-green eyes that had been old before Egypt. But no amount of analysis could account fully for the impact of her nudity. He felt feverish; he trembled ; the pressure in his cock and balls built up to an unbelievable, alarming degree.

He had told her that no part of the female body appealed to him more than another, that it was the totality that counted. Nevertheless he found his eyes consistently drawn to the bare delta between her rounded thighs, where paler flesh shaded to the pink of a prim little slit. It was more than merely youthful. It was the cunt of a scarcely developed girl. It seemed an astounding contradiction of her words. Could she be a psychotic virgin who raved about things she'd never even done?

She slid her hands down her body in a slow and sensuous gesture. He noticed for the first time that her fingernails were long, and that they were painted silver. Inevitably her fingertips slid to her hairless cunt and caressed it. A brief glance told him that the expression on her face looked dazed, that her lips were slack and moist.

Her fingertips depressed her cunt-lips slightly, parting them like the petals of a flower that showed a darker red inside. Her clitoris now protruded like the tip of a saucy little tongue. She moved around the desk, padding close to him on her bare feet until she stood over him.

"Kiss it," she whispered. "Kiss my pussy."

He leaned forward. He felt sweat from his face dripping to his thighs. He couldn't resist her request. But it had been no request, it had been a command. He no longer seemed to have a will of his own. He made no motion to drop the electrodes and hold her, simply because he knew that she didn't want him to. He raised his face as she spread her legs a little wider.

He pressed his lips to her slick, rigid clitoris. She gasped. She trembled all over. He heard her sobbing for breath as he extended his tongue and slipped it up and down against her hyper-sensitized love-button. Her fingers held his hair tightly, painfully, and she made rhythmic little moans deep in her throat.

Probing lower with his tongue, he found that her appearance of virginity had been deceptive. She was wide open to receive him, a canyon with fluttering walls that suddenly crushed inward with explosive force and seized his extended tongue. Her hips wiggled for a long, rhythmic moment as she rubbed her clitoris against his face and he thrust his tongue in and out of her juicy hole.

"I'm getting off," she gasped, "now!"

She subsided, drawing her breath in long, shuddering groans. He wanted to lick her cunt some more, but she drew back from him and walked behind the desk, running stiff fingers through her hair. He wasn't surprised when she sat down again on her side of the desk and made another notation on her chart.

"That was very good," she said.

"I'm glad you liked it."

She smiled. "So did you."

He started to say something. Whether he was going to argue with her comment or renew his pleas that she do something about his agonizing erection he didn't know, because at that moment all thought was swept from his mind by a touch at once shocking and delightful: the touch of bare, soft skin on his naked prick.

It was unbearably pleasant, but also totally unaccountable. She was seated across the table on which the F-meter sat. She smiled at him. He looked down and saw that she had extended her lithe legs and was caressing his bare cock with her toes. He didn't know how he should react. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt that this gesture was somehow demeaning, that all of her sadistic cockteasing had culminated at last in a final act of contempt for him. But that insight was merely an intellectual bubble bouncing on top of a deep, surging sea of lust. No matter why she was doing it, he loved it.

Like everything else about her, her feet were beautiful. The instep was delicately arched, the toes were little pearls, the wrinkled soles were soft and pink. She pressed his burning prick between both feet and slowly began peeling his agonizingly tight skin up and down.

"No!" he gasped. "I can't ... you-you're going to make me come!"

"I promised I would," she purred.

"Damn you! God-damn-you!" he choked, boiling with frustrated rage even while he squirmed in the grip of impending ecstasy.

"Don't fight it," she urged. "Just relax and enjoy it. Come!"

Perhaps, somewhere in the world, there was a man with enough pride to resist this contemptuous touch; perhaps there was a man with enough will-power to pull his prick away from the rubbing of her soft feet, the tickles of her little toes; but neither man was Bill Wilson. He ceased to resist. He invited her touch. He pushed his prick against it. She massaged him more quickly, more deftly, more firmly.

It didn't take long. His cock was on a hair-trigger after a long afternoon of frustration. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned with delight as the pressurized load of come in his balls at last erupted, hurling itself forward along the electrified path of his prick.

"Eek!" Wanda squealed.

Bill opened his eyes in time to see the startled look on Wanda's face. He saw that the first gout of creamy jism had hurled itself so far that it had struck her on the belly and was trickling creamily down to her pussy. The long-range fire kept up, with strand after ropy strand of semen spattering against her belly and thighs, even scoring direct hits on her otherwise inaccessible cunt.

Once her initial shock wore off, she was able to giggle about it. She kept rubbing his spurting prick with her toes, milking it for all it was worth, while the pressure in the pump gradually decreased. Soon he was shooting only as far as her dimpled knees, then her shins, and finally the last drops only oozed out to coat her toes with slime.

Bill left the offices of Life Adjustment Sciences, Inc., in a daze that was compounded of exhaustion and euphoria. He didn't remember collecting his clothes, but he was wearing them, nor did he even recall whether he'd seen Julia Palmer again. He was holding a card with the date of his next appointment, one week from now, and already that week's wait stretched like a grim and cheerless desert. He was, he realized, hooked; but he felt no urge to resist it.

It was only when he had walked a block and was waiting for a light to change on Lexington Avenue that something occurred to him that made him laugh aloud. No one seemed to notice.

"Soles," he muttered. "You can't screw soles."