Chapter 6
The Day of the Vacuum was a Wednesday.
Larry was in Thailand, having departed the previous Monday. Gert was at home, and bored and undecided about what to do with her day. She had set the alarm last night for an early wake-up, the idea in her mind that maybe she'd leave the kitchen light on for Gil. When the alarm rang, she thought about Gil briefly, grimaced, depressed the button to silence and slept until ten. Rising then, she slipped into a long green velour robe and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she fed the coffee-maker and while it blipped and bubbled she paced the living room.
A day ahead. A Wednesday. What to do with it? If she belonged to a ladies' Wednesday afternoon bridge and cookies club, there wouldn't be the problem. But, thank the Lord, she didn't belong to any such thing. She shivered at the thought.
The day outside was gray. Inside she felt gray. The coffee-all blipped and bubbled and boiling hot-even tasted gray. She thought again of Gil. He was gray. But there was that young, strapping Rudolph. But while not all that gray himself, there was the gray fact that he worked at the little store just on weekends. And this was a Wednesday. A gray Wednesday. The kind of day that Well, the kind of day that she imagined people committed suicide on, by wrist-slashing or something. Except she'd read somewhere that most suicides occurred on bright sunny days when all the world was bright. Supposedly it had to do with the individual's not being able to face up to all that external brightness or something. It never made much sense to Gert. By heaven, if she ever committed suicide it would be on a gray day. Probably a Wednesday.
Gil, no. Rudolph, no. Then why not somebody else? Surely she could Surely, but what was the point? The point had been clear, of course. To gain experience, to master variations, to learn. But what, really, had her two excursions to other men's groins won her, experience-wise, that she hadn't contributed herself? Answer: nothing. But, just as surely, she couldn't just walk up to a man and ask him point blank, "Say there, are you any good in the sack? I mean, are you different? Can you offer a new direction?" Or could she?
And even if she could, what was the point? Not once in the weeks since her "new" experiences did Larry give her the opportunity to play her new role. Well, maybe he had. After all, he hadn't insisted they spent their every waking moment fucking this style or that style or any style for that matter. She just hadn't had the-what?
Desire? Inclination? No. Guts is what she hadn't had.
"A cream bath?" she could hear him say. "Where in hell did you ever get a thought-like God no, Gert, not with that little runty sawed-off....
Or:
"Cock sandwich? Sure, it sounds fine-but just how and where and who...."
Larry, after all, had a pretty vulnerable ego. No, maybe if there was some way she could make him think a new idea was really his . ... But then that would defeat her whole original purpose, the real reason why Real reason? She thought about that. Had she been conning herself all along about her real motivations? Larry had called her a chandra something or other-translation: hot-twat broad. She couldn't deny it, and couldn't deny that her original involvement with extra-marital cock possibly had quite a bit to do with the fact that the marital cock was out of town for such long stretches. Nor could she deny another, more simple truth:
She liked fucking.
A fact. A fact realized and now accepted. The coffee suddenly tasted less gray. Outside her window the day still was the same, but she knew that outside the door there was Outside the door there was a metallic clank. A moment's reflection and Gert had the sound identified. Thejnailbox! And where there is a mailbox clanking, there is a mailman!
She was to the door in a shot.
At its opening, the mailman turned. He had been halfway down the walk, but he turned. "Yes, ma'am?" he said.
He was bone thin and some two hundred years past retirement age. She imagined his knees creaked louder than his voice.
"Er, nice day, isn't it?" Gert said with a smile.
He looked up at the sky. "Kind of gray, if you ask me," he said. And with a shrug he was gone.
She emptied the mailbox and went back inside.
Three bills and a mechanics magazine Larry subscribed to.
When the doorbell rang she jumped a startled six inches-well, three inches maybe. Her hand approached the latch with hesitation. Lord, could that mailman have gotten the insane idea that....
"Hi there," he said.
He being of good height, average build, of swarthy complexion, of slicked-down jet-black hair, of conservative suit with a bright orange tie. He was definitely not the mailman. He was " ... your territory's vacuum cleaner service man."
"My territory? I didn't know I had one."
He laughed a salesman's laugh, a three-syllable laugh; "Ah-ha-ha!" Accent second syllable. In the event she'd missed it the first time, he repeated it:
"Ah-ha-ha! I should have said your area. It's really my territory. Your area is my territory."
"That's nicely put," she replied with a cool smile. She wondered whether he really could make it so. He was, after all, a salesman. And a salesman enters a lot of houses, sees a lot of women, has no doubt a variety of experiences.
Besides, she liked fucking, she reminded herself. But he hadn't asked her yet. Not that when it came right down to basics the asking was all that important. But it would be nice for a change. She did not miss, however, the way his eyes, weasel-like, roamed over the front of her robe.
"All right," she said, still coolly, "now that we have our geography straight, might we pass on to why it is you rang my bell?"
"I'm a vacuum cleaner service man," he said.
"You mean vacuum cleaner salesman," she countered.
A pained expression came over his face-as if she'd farted or something.
"Salesman? Ah-ha-ha! Why, my good little woman, that's not true at all. I'm simply here to look over your current cleaner and to offer my services, if required."
Oh, they're required all right, Gert thought. If you perform as well as you can "ah-ha-ha". But he was still talking.
"Right you are, my good little woman. But first allow me to get my instruments. They're in the car."
He turned and jogged lightly to a Ford station wagon parked at the curb. Down went the back panel, out came two long cardboard boxes, each with convenient handles, up went the panel, and up the walk sped Super Serviceman.
As he set the two boxes down in the living room, Gert asked. "You're expecting to have to do major surgery?"
"Ah-ha-ha! But you'd be surprised how many things can be wrong with a machine like yours. Now, may we see the old thing?" he asked jovially.
She did not miss the slightly less than jovial tone he placed on the word old, however. Especially since her cleaner was less than two years out of its showcase. But this was his game and she'd let him play it. For a while.
She produced the cleaner from the closet.
"Ah-ha-ha! A competitor's product!" he laughed, getting on his knees to inspect it. "Good machine-rather recent model, too, I see. Of course science has come a long way in the interim, but-ahhh!"
He had opened the outer casing of the cleaner.
Gert sat on the floor, the machine between them. "Something wrong?"
"Well...." He looked at her with a serious expression. Like a doctor who had just checked over your X ray.
"I can take it," she said bravely.
He seemed to consider whether or not she really could. Gravely he said, "There are a few tests I should make." He stood, awkwardly lifting her heavy cleaner from the floor. Heavy? But it wasn't heavy. She'd just carried it from the closet. In which case, why was his shoulder sagging so low? Did ha-ha-Happy Boy have a double hernia or something?
"There?" he said, exhaling from the effort as he clumsily set down the bulky machine by an electrical outlet. As he laboriously unwound the cord from its containing prongs, Gert shook her head violently. Bulky? It was a trim model-it even said so on the front of the thing. And why was he having such a problem unwinding that cord? That was a specific convenience feature of the model.
The cord plugged in, he rose, took two steps and tripped upon a corner of the cleaner. Catching his balance, he grinned.
"Sorry about that. These old machines always seem to have some hunk of metal dangerously hanging out to entrap the unwary."
Gert nodded unsurely as he plugged in the hose extension to the base of the cleaner and placed the rug-cleaning attachment onto the other end. "Now," he said, and with a groping search he found the correct button and the machine sprang to humming life.
"Sounds all right to me," Gert commented.
"What's that?" he shouted. "Can't hear you!" He gestured at the cleaner. "This model was one of their real noisy ones. Or it could be a worn bushing."
"There's no need to shout," Gert said.
"How's that?" He bobbed his head. "You could be right. Out. The bushing's probably worn out. But the real test is...."
He applied the suction end of the carpet cleaner to an area in front of the couch somehow catching the toe of his show again and flailing the air for support. Balance was again restored and after two or three swipes of the rug area, he clicked off the motor.
"Whew! That's better," he said.
"Cleaner, you mean?" Gert asked.
"Sound, my good little woman, I'm talking about sound," he said confidentially. "Some of these motors sound like a 747 tearing down the runway. But now, let's see how well we did, cleaning-wise."
Gert inspected the carpet. "Looks fine to me."
"Sure it does," he agreed. "But your cleaner didn't get out the hidden dirt."
"Hidden dirt," she repeated.
His head bobbed. "Here, let me show you." He went to one of the long cartons he'd brought in from the car. In a flash it was open and out came Out came, naturally, a brand new vacuum cleaner.
"This is the latest thing in home cleaning, believe me. It has what we like to call Solar Magnetic Suction, patent pending. Now, I'm going to run this machine over the area I just cleaned with, your old model and you watch."
She watched.
She watched how, for example, he handled the new machine. There was no tripping, no straining, no awkwardness of any kind now. It was as if he were doing a minuet with a perfectly responsive robot partner. In a flash, it seemed, all was plugged in and ready to go. It was rather fascinating.
On went the machine.
"Loud, isn't it?" she asked him. It seemed, in fact, of about the same level of hum as her present machine.
He raised his eyebrows. "Loud?" he questioned. "My good little lady, this model features the Solar Whisper. We like to think of it as a sound very much like the soft kiss of sunshine on a crisp green leaf of a sturdy oak in the forest."
"Patent pending?"
"Trademarked," he acknowledged, and danced the hose into proper position. "Now, I'm going to run over the exact same spot you just saw me doand you watch!"
Again Gert watched. She watched him make three, just three, passes over the spot-"Note the extra-long hose, certainly a convenience, right?" She watched him gracefully rest the tube against the couch. She watched him toe-touch the proper button which transformed the Solar Whisper to quiet stillness. She watched him remove the front of the cleaner and pull out a plastic bag-"Made of materials used to send our brave men to the moon," he commented off-handedly-and watched him empty a pile of dirt onto her clean floor.
"Ah-ha-ha! You see that, little lady? Hidden dirt that is costing you a fortune in carpet-wear. Now I estimate-" his eyes looked toward the ceiling. "I estimate that to repair your old heavy worn-out piece of equipment it'll cost you no less than fifty-five dollars, probably around sixty-five. For average efficiency that's what you'll pay. I don't like saying it, but that machine of yours was never too good even when brand-new. No Solar Magnetic Suction, like this one here. And this one here sells normally for-well, never mind what it normally sells for. Seeing as how the company has empowered me to make a few sales at loss-for sales promotion purposes-this machine, this one you see right before you, with its features of Solar Magnetic Suction and Solar Whisper will come to only-"
"I don't want your fucking machine," Gert said.
"Huh?"
"You heard me. I wasn't speaking over any 747 or even your Solar Whisper kissing off its crisp green leaf. I don't want your fucking machine."
"We've got some attachments you might be interested in-here, let me show you." And his hands were into the second carton. "Normally-I say normally, good little lady-these cost extra, but in this particular case-"
"In this particular case, I'm horny as hell. How's that for a convenient feature?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He backed off two steps, but no more. His legs were flush against the couch to the rear, and flush against Gert to the front. Her hand moved deftly and she had his zipper down before he could say Solar Whisper.
Hand on goalpost, she laughed comfortably. "I'd like very much to get screwed right now. Especially by some one with an ... extra-long hose. Not to dismiss your patent-pending Super Solar Suction."
Her hand sampled his hose-and extra-long it was! Goody! But was he getting the idea? The fingers of her other hand were playing with the hair at the nap of his neck and her cheek was pressed hard against his. She was trying to figure out a gimmick. She already knew that he was going to be her next conquest. The hardening hose left no doubt about that.
"Look here," he began, but she cut him off.
"You look here. And if you go aha-ha-ha again or call me a good little lady again, I'll jerk this dong of yours clear out of its socket, you got that?" He nodded, she went on:
"I'm not stupid. I can tell a con job when I see one. I note, for example that you didn't show me an empty bag before you used wonder cleaner over there. I also have fairly good ears, and in addition I can tell when a man is trying to be particularly clumsy at one moment and graceful the next."
Hard cock and all, he looked genuinely abashed. "I wasn't convincing?"
She smiled. "I know what my own vacuum cleaner feels and sounds and cleans like. Give me brains enough for that. But your minuet was lovely."
"Quadrille," he corrected. "It's a quadrille. We had to practice it, to real music, lousy stuff."
"Anyway, you did it quite professionally."
"Uh-but no sale here, right?"
"Right. Which is not to say that your technique is wrong. It's just not tailored to someone like myself."
He tried to shrug, then looked down at her grasping hand and failed to carry it off. "It-er-works. Most of the time. You'd be surprised-"
"I've thought of a better technique," she said an oozing quality added to her voice. "And maybe it's you who'd be surprised. I'll show you, that is, if you're not in any specific hurry."
"Hurry? Er-not espec-"
But her tongue flickered around his ear and she blew soft warm breaths in and over it. Whispering, she said, "Then you should talk more about your blower. Do you have a good blower?"
He hadn't gotten all the message yet. His hands slipped around to her rear and he was inching the floor-length robe up her legs. Letting go of his cock, she wound both arms around his neck and leaned into him, compliant, soft, yielding. His hands were on the bare flesh of her buttocks. She could feel the goose bumps rising there.
And she could feel his stiff long maleness rising, too. It felt fat-not just long, but fat, too. No Gil in that respect but broad-at least for the man's general build. She reviewed some of the elements of his sales pitch.
The nozzle of the Solar Magnetic Suction hose was sort of fat, too-she wondered how he would like being sucked off-or suctioned off-by his own solar magnetic product. She intended to find out. She pulled him to the center of the room where the carpet was free from any furniture. When they reached her objective she broke from his grasp.
He looked at her stupidly, but she paid him no mind as she bent down and began searching through the carton of attachments. As she straightened, empty-handed but fully knowledgeable, she flicked the switch at the base of the canister with her bare toe. And she pulled open her robe. She let him get a good look.
She raised the "deluxe length" hose and pressed it into him, siphoning his trousers the way one would use the instrument to clean draperies.
"Some super suction," she said deprecatingly. "Hasn't taken a thing off yet."
Removing the tube from him, she again rifled through the case, inspecting the various brushes, hoses and tubes laying in the fitted compartments. "What does this one do?" She held up a wide nozzle. "Super suck," he replied, giving her an uncertain flash of his gaudy smile.
She pulled the cleaner's hose toward her and fitted on the wide nozzle. Experimentally she then fitted the nozzle over her right breast. It sucked.
She moved the nozzle back and forth across it. It was like a huge mouth pulling at her. She could just imagine what it might do to him.
But already he was getting ideas-probably not very similar to hers though, she thought as she lifted her head to look at him. He was unbuckling the belt around his trousers. When the trousers dropped, she was at him with the tube. He was wearing boxer shorts and she made a mental bet with herself on the odds of whether she could suck out his cock from the loose opening of the shorts.
Super suck? We'll just see.
But as he leaned down to pull his trousers over his now unshod feet, her intended target disappeared, so instead she directed the nozzle toward his buttocks. It drew in the fabric with a whoosh! With a cry of glee she lowered the hose until his shorts were around his knees.
She laughed again with the pure delight of a child. What a weapon this thing was! Weapon? Why not? Asking and answering herself thusly, she decided that the tube made a fine club and used it at the back of his shorts-entwined knees.
This time the shoosh! came from him as he tumbled over backward and onto the carpet. "Hey!" he complained.
"What's that?" she shouted. "Can't hear you. Your Solar Whisper is acting up!"
The last five words she shouted directly into his ear as she lowered herself down atop him. He winced, but whether it was a reaction to that or to her hard grasp of his cock she couldn't tell. No matter. He was all hers now.
Swooping downward, she mouthed his swollen prick. His juices were already beginning to flow. Her tongue spread the stickiness down the length and around his organ until it was well-lubricated. Then moving her mouth downward to his scrotum and tonguing it lightly, she swiftly directed his cock into the extended nozzle of the vacuum tube.
The whoosh of the machine and his came together, as she began working the tube up and down the long length of his cock with the same motions she would have used with a hand or mouth-long, lingering concentration on the base and fast, furious flickerings up to the tip, molding the flexible plastic tube form to meet the smaller shape within it.
His groans and writhing told her it was good. She continued sucking the tip with the nozzle, remembering her own delight with the hard pull of the thing on her breasts. It was an odd tingling pulling biting grasping feeling. A feeling of having your insides drawn out-warmly, forcefully, but very pleasantly.
Knowing she could never get that amount of pressure using her own mouth she nonetheless tried to use it to create a super-suction on his balls. Sliding them from side to side in her mouth, her tongue forming a cradle as she drew in her breath in huge gulping intakes, she attempted to match with her breathing the push-pull of her hand-nozzle motion.
Time. She wondered about that. She knew how a simple jerk off or suck off was progressing by the feel of the cock in hand or mouth. But here it was a matter of guesswork. Or was it? Could she tell from his balls? After all, that was where the stuff came from-there ought to be some kind of internal reaction there.
There was. Slowly they seemed to-contract, that was it, get smaller, fold in upon themselves. It was a sort of shriveling effect-the scrotum-sac was tight and the balls themselves were tight, and the mass was-gathering itself for the explosion, like a constant steady inhalation that when reaching the limits of endurance would end in a blasting eruption.
Regardless, it was worth investigating.
She increased the tempo of her mouth-gorging, machine-sucking and finger-molding. Raising an eye over the heaving tautness of his stomach she saw his head was thrown back, rolling from side to side, eyes closed. His fists were clenching and unclenching, matching her rhythm, reaching out into the air for something to grab on to, finding the canister of the vacuum which he pulled to his chest. Using the constriction within her mouth for a gauge, she steadily increased her pressures and speeds. Then she felt it and saw it all at once. His balls tightened with rock-hardness, his arms strained around the canister he hugged, and then a wild, spasmodic jerk of his hips and a groan from his mouth told her. He had come. Hard and mightily, he had come. And pulling from him, she saw the last of the creamy foam still erupting from his bright-red cock.
The machine was off, silent. He lay quietly, in the same position, with her beside him, her face to his.
"Nice," he said. "And different."
"Mmmm. I like different things."
"You want to work for the company? I'd bet you could sell quite a few cleaners with that technique."
"I don't want to work at all. I like my men to work."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's your turn." She kissed his lips lightly. "Meaning I think it's rather foolish for me to be showing you what your own equipment can do. Meaning I'm not at all satisfied. Meaning it's your turn."
"Meaning you want to get fucked," he concluded.
"Not just fucked. I want to get fucked by you as only you can fuck me, like nobody else can fuck me. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I understand. But you're a real weirdo, you know that?"
She licked the tip of his nose. "Funny. You weren't complaining a few minutes ago. Now, you play weirdo for a change-if you have the imagination."
The last phrase came out .taunting, as she'd planned. He reacted with a red flush of the face.
She'd attacked his manhood, his virility. Strange, it wasn't by the usual putdown. Not "Hey, you've got the smallest prick I've ever seen," or "I don't think you could come twice if you had six balls under that pud of yours." No, she'd attacked his imagination. And he had flushed, and he would do his damnedest. But screw his ego. All Gert cared about was that his damnedest was going to be good enough.
With the confident smile, he rolled over to the sample case, pulling out two brushes and another nozzle. He looked at each of them carefully and decided on one, a long narrow brush, the two others plopping back into the case. Rising to his knees, he pulled the canister toward him. He grinned at Gert, then unscrewed the hose from one side of the machine and into another hole on the other. At the business end of the hose he took off the super-suck attachment and replaced it with the narrow brush.
He stood. "You think I got a good blow job. Well, I did, but wait till you feel this."
And then the cleaner was on and the hose came at her outstretched body. A jet blast of air billowed her hair out behind her head. He worked the air pressure down over her body, bringing the nozzle inches from her skin. The soft but stiff-bristled brush grazed her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, feeling like nipping, biting teeth backed up by a giant mouth blowing hot blasts of air on and over her body.
The blast bathed her feet, having tauntingly by passed her lower stomach and cunt area. He now sat down on the floor by her hips, lifting her legs into the air and sitting them on his thighs.
His cock was erect and she was again amazed at its length. A hose if there ever was one, and now it rubbed the crack of her buttocks as his free hand stroked the backs of her thighs. The hose-the real one-was beside her, the air-jet directed over her midriff. He leaned over and wetly kissed her stomach. The warm air dried her skin swiftly and she broke out in goose bumps from the pleasurable sensation. As his lips worked down toward her cunt he redirected the hose to follow his path.
His tongue explored the folds of her labia and she was trembling with the excitement of what she thought was about to come. But the shock of the first penetration of his hot wet tongue deep inside her still surprised her. The air-jet was still blowing warm, sensuous waves of pleasure over her upper thighs, his long hot prick toying at her rear, as she moved to maneuver the tool closer to her hole he drew her toward him, his tongue probing deeper into her. Then it was gone and she was sitting on that creamy prick. He worked her up and down on that long spear-shaft, closing his thighs, pulling her down onto him, his now bulbous balls pressing into her quivering butt flesh, her clitoris pressing into and rubbing against his stomach. And then The still-spurting air hose brushed lightly over her inner thighs, closer and closer to her cunt, tickling tingling titillating-a thousand flecks, a thou sand small bugs creeping crawling over her body, aimlessly at first but then in a slow methodical manner around and around her clitoris, in endless eternal circles that familiarized her with the at first, strange sensation-stimulus of the itchy-teasy touch of the prickling brush that backed it up. And then he shoved it into her. The twirling blasting spinyness deep into her, the jet forcing against her walls, scraping the walls with this hot force. And now-since when? she wondered briefly-his cock was pulsing inside her rectum and in response she tried to move up and down on that, but when she did the air-jet moved deeper into her, pushing the walls of her insides to new, unnatural and ungodly dimensions.
The hose was snaked over her clitoris and now he-it-was winding its velvet-like texture across the flat of her panting stomach and under and around her breasts. She held the warmness to her, relishing the texture, the heat, and he-he was cock-ass screwing her, brush-cunt fucking her, and at the same time blowing the top of her head off. He whirled and turned the gyrating airbrush and yanked it out and ground it in with harshly twisting screwing, Lord yes, SCREWING-her trunk squirming, legs kicking, head rolling, fingers clawing, her insides blowing apart into fragmented bits, bits pinching pounding pummeling her interior from crotch to cranium, biting bustling bristling snakes and spiders crashing creeping climbing into her over her through her. And now bigger hunks of her, huge pieces of her clashing cymballing in her ears and clanging with sound and light and the mass reassembling reforming in odd unknown unexperienced symbolic shapes which then again reformed into one huge and recognizable God, it was that medical symbol thing, that staff with serpents wound around it like a screw-yes yes SCREW!-and the things puffing up like pricks' heads and, Lord, when that thing blew and when those serpent fangs bit into her like she knew they were going to going to going to SSSSSSCITWAMMMMPPPHHH! and now receding, disappearing, shriveling, unable to take the light of the bright glow that was within her from stem to stern, moving completely out of her as she felt the tube end and real cock end slide-slip from her interior gates and the warm flow of the air how playing over her settling-down exterior as he grinned down upon her watching his spent cock drip its last drops onto the carpet, thinking oh well what the hell, we've at least got the proper equipment handy to clean it'up....