Anal, Inc.

6) Featuring a Special Team Orientation

I understood the term "orientation" to mean that we would be sitting down to talk that morning. But - if talking was all we needed to do - we could have done that in her office, or the cafeteria. We didn't need the hungry silence of a windowless basement room with sallow fluorescent lights, a conference table seating 10, and a blackboard across one wall.

And the door being locked reinforced the idea that we were going to do more than just talk.

She unbent a little once we were by ourselves. A little. Not much.

"I have this room for the hour. So there's no real hurry."

Everything else was left unexplained, but - as she started unloading the big purse - I started to understand that no verbal explanation would be needed: since she brought to light a clinical-looking tube of something just labeled "KY" (at the time I had no idea what that was) - a latex raincoat, still in its envelope - and a recent issue of Penthouse magazine.

The latex, and the magazine, she handed to me - without really looking at me.

But I could feel suppressed excitement as well. She had been thinking about this. She was looking forward to it. She just didn't want to admit it.

She was so wired up that, momentarily, she found it hard to speak.

"My church doesn't allow me...me...to...to...um...put my mouth...."

Her voice trailed off.

"Are you talking about oral stimulation?"

"Right. Right. My religion doesn't permit...allow...."

"I understand."

"And I can't...I can't...touch you...um...touch you with my hands...."

"That's what the magazine is for?"

She looked very relieved.

"Right."

Now she seemed to gain a little confidence, because she was giving me instructions.

"So, if you could get ready, while I...um...get ready."

"Will this be vaginal sex?"

She looked startled, and baffled, at the same time.

"Vaginal?"

"Sex in the usual way. Through your vagina. Through your front door?"

"Right...right. Ah, no. That's the one for babies. This will be...um...um...."

"The one in the back."

"Right. For medical reasons. And I brought a tube of...um...um...."

"Lubricant?"

"Right. I handle that myself."

"Really? I know how it's done."

"No...no. Don't...um...worry about that."

"OK."

More restrictions followed: so I noticed a little more confidence.

"As far as the touching...um...you can place your hands on my hips, if you want to. But nowhere else, please. Nowhere else on my body."

"OK."

"And please don't speak. I don't allow strong language, even though some people fall into that when they're...um...um...um...."

"Having anal intercourse?"

She reacted as though I had slapped her.

"This isn't that. This is something I do for my personal health. Something to keep the passage clear. To keep me regular. So I don't, you know, get backed up or anything."

"Speaking of regular...."

She nodded, understanding right away.

"Everything was routine this morning. There won't be any surprises for you."

"Good to know."

Making a perceptible effort to meet me halfway, Miriam tried to smile through her obvious excitement and anxiety.

"Ruth says that you have a nice big one. And that you're very considerate. So you won't get all wild...or anything."

"I do my best."

"My opening's...um...pretty easy. You shouldn't have any trouble getting in."

"Would like me to finish inside you? Or pull out?"

"Inside is fine, with the latex on."

"And deep?"

Now she had a gleam in her eye, and the stuttering had almost disappeared.

"As deep as you can. That's the best way to go about it."

The conference room was right next to the downstairs men's room, so we could hear a toilet flush next door. And that seemed to sum up the logistics of the situation, except for one more thing.

"On the floor?"

"No. I'll be leaning over the table. Please go to the other end of the room, and let me know when you're ready. And don't look at me while I'm undressing. It's disrespectful."

"No problem."

It happily turned out that the issue of Penthouse she had brought featured a pictoral spread of 2 buxom hitchhikers paying for a ride by giving a driver the fuck of his life. I have real affection for porn with a backstory, so - while zippers were being unzipped and fasteners were being unfastenened at the other end of the room - I had a high, hard one in just a few minutes.

I had no idea who might be passing in the hallway, outside, so I kept my voice at a conversational tone - while not making any attempt to look at her.

"Ready when you are."

She responded, even more softly.

"The latex on?"

"Ready to go."

"OK. Let's get started."

I turned around to find a fair-sized pile of fabric, neatly folded, on the conference table - with her flesh-colored pantyhose piled on top. She was leaning forward: her elbows pressed against the conference table, and her head down. Staring at nothing. She was unwilling to look at me, or even acknowledge that I was in the same room.

I had originally thought that I might bring the magazine with me to the table (just in case), but the tableau - in that dim downstairs light, so much like a scene from an old stag film - had my cock straining against the latex before I even started work.

From the waist up, she was still the All-American middle manager (blouse still buttoned up to the neck) - but she was naked from the waist down: her generous ass widened a little as her sturdy legs formed an inverted "V" shape. Her bare feet - with their childishly red toenails - gripping the indoor-outdoor carpet.

The glow of lubricant on the skin around her double keyhole confirmed that she was ready.

"Should I begin with my finger?"

She was talking to the table when she answered, in a voice hoarse with excitement.

"Do what you want. Just hurry. Hurry and finish. Hurry up, and fuck me in the ass. Do it now. Don't make me wait any longer."

As promised, she was very loose, and I graduated from finger to member quickly: entering the furnace of her rectum as she audibly groaned.

"Oh...Jesus. Sweet Jesus."

A little gasp of breath accompanied each thrust. But it wasn't until I got more ornate that I got a more serious reaction.

Just for the hell of it, I came all the way out - the tip just touching her skin - and then pushed all the way back in, up to the hilt. Not rapid fire - like a machine. But more in the rhythm of rowing.

There was a quick chirp of appreciation from up front, so I stayed with that wholesale stroke: going all the way out, the muscle trying to close, and then sliding all the way back in: toward the emptiness and heat.

As this went on, the emotional distance between us started to close. But still, just a little.

What I could hear from back there was a dense kind of scratching: like the claws of mice as they traveled over the ceiling tiles above us. Loud enough to draw my attention. But not loud enough to make out the words. She might have been saying "Please...please...please...please" over and over. Or she might have been reciting her grocery list for later, so she could remember to get everything at the market.

I didn't ask what she was saying. And she never told me. So I never knew.

My cock was aching, and - as I headed into the home stretch - the shabby appearance of the room - windowless, damp, and claustrophobic - fell away, and - when the gate behind my scrotum opened and the muscles started to strain - I penetrated her body as far as I could, and filled the latex with everything I had, while I held her hips to keep myself on target.

Although she tilted her head back to acknowledge the depth I had reached - with a kind of choking sound - she said nothing at the climax. And, after a second or two, she lowered her head again.

I had gotten completely out of breath, without even noticing it. So I waited that out. Then I secured the edge of the latex, so it would come out at the same time as my cock.

I was relieved to see that everything came out clean. Miriam was right. There was nothing to worry about.

Or maybe there was something to worry about.

Moving off to one side, changing my angle of view, I could see moisture collecting on top of the conference table - with even more tears being added to the shiny circle as Miriam was openly, but silently, sobbing.

Like most men, the sight of a woman crying empties me out - making me feel like a child - and so I was confused about what to do next. It seemed important to keep my voice down, though.

"Are you OK?"

The dark helmet of hair moved up and down as she nodded.

"Are you sure? Are you sure I didn't hurt you somehow?"

The same motion again. But now she had enough of a voice to give me instructions.

"There's a plastic sandwich bag in my purse...."

I thought: Sandwiches? Again? Ruth had sandwiches, too.

But - when I saw that the transparent envelope was empty - it occurred to me what Miriam wanted to do with it.

"You want me to put the latex in here?"

She nodded.

"I'll take it with me, and throw it out of the car on my way home."

"The men's room is just next door. I could just take it off and flush it."

"No! No. No one can see anything. Just do as I say. And there's a damp washcloth in another bag if you need to clean up. But first, come here for a minute."

I delayed my clean-up, since that request sounded urgent. Once I was standing next to her, she motioned me even closer, so she could speak in a very low voice. (More of a breath, than a voice).

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"It's not...um...um...easy...with a stranger."

"It was nice. You're an incredible woman."

"Please don't say things like that. It's not right."

"And I can't ask why you were crying?"

"It's none of your business."

I was wrong to put it in the past tense. Two more big tears made their way to the tabletop as she said that.
Nobody cries without a reason. But her reason was none of my business.

"Are you cleaned up?"

"More or less."

"Then please turn your back while you're getting dressed."

"I can get dressed in a hurry, and leave you alone, if you like."

"No. No. I...um...need someone to guard the door. We can't take anything for granted. We can't step outside until we are perfectly presentable. Just as if we'd had a meeting."

I went to the other side of the room, and pulled myself together, while the soundtrack of zippers, buttons, and stockings went on behind me.

"Do you want the magazine back?"

"No. Do what you want with it. Just make sure it's well hidden if you keep it here in the building."

"Will we need it again, though? That's really what I'm asking."

"No. This was just a one time thing, to help my digestive system. Thank you for your help. And thank you for respecting my privacy. You probably could have looked, if you had wanted to, but I know that you didn't."

When she signalled that I could turn around, I found her perfectly put together - not a hair out of place.
She refused to look at me, though - or meet my eyes.

"You can go now. Everything's secure."

END OF CHAPTER SIX