Candy Loving at the airport.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Candy Loving, Miss January 1979,demonstrates her knowledge of aerodynamics. (an experiment in literary mash-up)

His office was tucked in a far corner of the Playboy Mansion and his job was to keep the books. Often when he worked late the parties would already be going and he’d have to cross through the raucousness. Tonight he had worked very late and the room was packed with revelers; he could hear them and he knew there was food and he had a lot of work and a snack would be helpful.

He plowed through the crowd of the party; trying to get upstairs into the offices, with every intention of letting himself settle onto a chair and getting back to work, he looked straight ahead avoiding eye contact or even a peek at any of the lovely ladies all around the living room. He was prevented from doing this by a toe.

The toe caught him in the upper-thigh region, quite hard, so that he jolted to a stop. In other circumstances, the presence of a toe in this area might well be erotic, even sexual, and indeed, it was a very sexual toe. It was pale, and round; of perfect size – if one were so inclined – to slip into one’s mouth and suck. It was smooth and buffed, with the nail polished in a bright, glossy red, except for a slender strip of tiny black fishnet that had been set into the polish at the tip. It was a toe, which knew the world, which had done the wicked, secret things other toes only fantasize about.

The toe was accompanied by four others in a bright patent-leather mule. The whole segment was then attached to a muscular but quite slender calf. Around the ankle was an item that briefly arrested his attention: a stylish women’s watch threaded on a narrow gold chain. It was pricey but not exorbitant, with a single glinting crystal set at the top and a face displaying the ubiquitous bunny logo that even appeared on the spreadsheets he sent to lawyers and bankers. He doubted that the designer of the watch ever intended it to be worn around the leg, but was reasonably certain that, whoever the designer was, he or she would approve mightily of the effect. He also considered, briefly, that this woman either did not need to know the time or was able and willing to read the watch where it was, which implied a supple and frankly sexual movement of her body.

Above the calf was a strong but not offensive knee, and an upper leg that vanished almost immediately into a black pencil skirt. He concluded this was technically a knee-length item, but the act of sitting had raised it to a more intriguing status. The leg had, as was customary, a mirror image on the other side, making a total of two, the matched pair belonging to a bold-eyed woman resting in languidly on a couch. She spoke.


She smiled up at him; then, when he did not smile back, she scowled, and repeated the instruction.


He hesitated once more; his Adam’s apple bobbled slightly as if trying to draw some words, any words, from deep down in his throat but with no success.

Candy smiled suddenly. It was like a New England summer; a rare, rich blessing, warm on the skin.

Please. Sit, please.

She said this impishly. Her eyes traveled the length of his body and she grinned rather wickedly.

He, not really knowing why, perched himself on the edge of an arm of the couch, and wobbled. The woman in front of him gave an encouraging smile.

She looked vaguely familiar but he did not usually find himself at the parties so he wasn't sure. Maybe she worked at the Mansion too. He asked.

Do…do you work here too?

You might say that. I have an association with the company. An interesting one. Right now though I’m here to offer hospitality to our guests.  I have, for example, more coffee on this table here. Imagine that, a coffee table with coffee on it. And sandwiches. Would you like a sandwich?

It was a perfectly innocent question. It must have been the faint sound of her stocking as she removed her toe from his thigh and put her feet neatly together which made the word ‘sandwich’ sound so wicked. He had never found it so before. He tried it -the word, not the object- now, in his mouth, silently moving his lips.

Sandwich. No. Nothing sexy about that. He tried again. Saaan-d-witt-Cha. Yes, that was more like it. He gave it a couple more goes moving the muscles soundlessly as if imitating some kind of fish.
Her expression as his mouth worked was one of bemusement.

Yes, a sandwich. In this case, avocado and bacon between two slices of granary bread. I can also arrange for other….sandwiches.

She smiled at him. He said the first thing that popped into his head.

Anything goes.

He watched the words spiral out of his mouth and settle someplace between his lips and her ear.

She smiled wryly and considered for a moment an appropriate response.

Yes, it often does, with sandwiches. I, however, hold very clear beliefs on this subject. I do not believe in allowing tomato to soak into the bread, for example. Tomato, in a sandwich, should be applied last of all ingredients and sealed between pieces of lettuce or salami, to prevent…

Here she pursed her lips before continuing.


There it was again. A perfectly ordinary word, but she’d done something to it. A shiver passed down his spine. Leakage.

It ought to have been a disgusting expression, but actually, as it passed her front teeth, which were briefly exposed as she enunciated the second syllable, it became a vibrant, enticing notion. This was beads of honey emerging languorously from a moist and warm source. He shut his eyes for a second to stop himself from staring at her mouth. Red lips. Pale, sharp teeth. The tip of her tongue. A slight drawl, the remnants of her Oklahoma life. What a woman. He groaned without realizing it, only hearing the finality and blushing with embarrassment as he tried to reel it back into his mouth.

Candy kept that wry, almost doubtful expression on her face.

Having a good time?

What, oh, yes. Thank you.

Isn’t it lovely?

Lovely, oh, yes, lovely, yes.

I mean the party.

The party, yes. Yes, it is.  Lovely.

Should we be introduced?


She waited but no introduction was forthcoming so she started.

I’m Candy Loving

How do you do, I’m Morris Heflin, Accounting Department.

Yes, I know. Do you mind if I move closer?

Oh no, please do.

Thank you.

It’s really beautiful isn’t it?

His eyes rested on Candy Loving’s cleavage, then skittered away when she favored him with a broad, challenging grin.

What are you staring at?

Wha…well I…I didn’t…

Don’t you like my blouse?

Oh yes, very much…I wa…wasn’t staring.

It’s a present. A gift from a friend.

Oh really?

I like it too. I’ve been told I have pretty…shoulders. You think so?

Yes. Yes I do.

Do you like that it’s see-through?

See, see, see-through?

Yes, see-through. You can see through the blouse can’t you?  I hope you can. I wore it so you could see that I have very nice…well, it looks nice don’t you think?

Yes. Yes I do.

When I said I wore so you could see…what I have. I meant you specific. Not you like in I wanted anybody to see I have…what you see.


I hope you notice that I've opted to wear it without a...bra.


A bra would be tacky.


Spoil the...effect.


I don’t mind that you’re staring.

I…I’m sorry.

Silly, I said I don’t mind.


Do you think I have pretty…shoulders?


And anything else?


Do you think anything else on me is pretty

I…well…it’s just that…

Oh, I’m not trying to be vain or anything but you have been staring for a long time. What do you see that’s so pretty?


My face? Is my face pretty? Oh but there are so many pretty faces here. There’s movies stars all around. Look, there’s Rachel Ward. She’s lovely isn’t she? And Tanya Roberts? And Isabelle Adjani. And playmates too. Monique St. Pierre? Do you know Monique? She’s over there…so pretty. Yet you stare at me. Why.

It’s just…

My breasts? Do you think their pretty?


Don’t you like them; men always seem to be fascinated by my large breasts.


Oh, I don’t mind, at least I don’t mind YOU being fascinated. Are you fascinated? I want you to be.


You can touch them if you like. Mmm, that’s nice, maybe later you can kiss them.


Did you come alone?


Do you want to touch my breasts again? You keep looking at them. Yes, just like that. Mmmm. I like the way you stroke through the fabric.


What were we talking about. No don’t stop. I like it. Oh yes, I came alone too. Mnnn that’s nice, not too rough though, OK? I had several invitations but I turned them down.


Why did I turn them down? I was hoping you’d be here and I wanted to meet you.


Um hum, I’d seen you at the office and you always looked so stern and serious. I guess I wanted to see what you were really like.

Well, I’m flattered.

You should be. Most of the time all the men chase after me. First time I ever did something like this. Could you get me one of those drinks?

Oh I’m sorry. Here you are.

Thanks. Don’t you drink?

Not just now.

Would…you…like…to take me home?

Woo…Why…Yes, I would.

Should we go now?

All right.

Aren’t you going to help me up?

I’m sorry.

Why Mr. Heflin, how strong you are.

You are so delicate and beautiful…like a flower.

Why thank you kind sir.

You smell like sunshine.

Gee, that sweet.

I have to….

Ohhhh. Mr. Heflin.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help…

That’s OK. I liked it.

You did?

You always kiss young ladies you just met?

No, I….I thought….I never have before….

Never been with a young lady like me before.

No no I haven’t.

Kiss me again.

Would you like to go now?

Will you make love with me?


This is nice.

You’re beautiful.

Thank you. Just for saying nice things like that I’ll let you kiss my breasts now.

Cradling her breast in his hand, he licked the nipple and pebbled areola. The sheer fabric over her flesh magnified the intensity of his ministrations. Her nipple responded, growing harder beneath his tongue. He laved the peak before closing his lips around it to suckle.

Candy tunneled her hands into his hair and clutched his head.

Her breathless voice urged him to suckle harder.

Mmmmm, that’s nice, right through the fabric. Oh people, oooommm, you naughty boy, oooo, people are staring. Ooo you are so hungry! Mmmm, you bad, bad man.

He slid one hand to her buttock and squeezed. Round and firm, just in a dream. Everything about Candy’s body pleased him. He could hardly wait to see all of it.

Mr. Heflin!

The gentle tugging of his hair made him release her nipple. He looked into her eyes.

You have to stop.

Stop? She couldn’t be serious.

Lift your head now, no, stop. Look at my blouse, it’s wet! Oh don’t pout. You look like Droopy the Dog. I like it. I mean I like that you made my blouse wet with your mouth, not that you look like Droopy. I like your…mouth. I like you.

I’ve never known anyone like you.

I’m sure you haven’t. You know, since the first time I saw you I wanted you to have me.


Give me a kiss….Mmmmm, I like the way you kiss. Tell me something, do you want to make me…I mean, make love to me?


Oh I don’t mean love and romance and all that. I mean do you want to take me to bed and do things to me…with me. Don’t you want my body? I want yours.


Honestly, I’d love to just open up your pants and suck on your dick right now. In fact, hold still. Shhh, I’m just going to unzip your fly. Mnnnn, nice and big. Do you like this? And that's with just my fingers; imagine. What your cock will feel like once we're really drilling.  Ohhh, it’s big. I don’t know if I can take this big thing inside me. You will be gentle with me, won’t you?


Why Morris. I think you’re going to come already!


Wait. I want you to kiss me when you come. Here…Mmmm, that’s so nice, ohhhh, there’s more? It’s OK, just let it out on my hand…

Your skirt….

It will wash out. I wish I could swallow it. When you take me to bed I’m going to let you come in my mouth and everywhere. Do you want to do that?

Oh my, I don’t…I can’t, well…we…

It's all right. I want you to know that you can have anything you want.

It was all right. He looked at her smile and knew everything was going to be fine.  He felt suddenly very content. He crossed his arms to give himself an aura of strength.

Candy pursued her lips. She gently uncrossed his arms. She began to lead him away from the party. She held both his hands and she walked backwards as if counting on him to guide her.

You can stay with me. If you’d like. You shouldn’t have to be by yourself in some office. I’ve got plenty of space and there’s a nice bed and lots of hot water. And a rubber duck you can borrow.

Rubber duck had somehow become the most erotic expression in the English language. He stared at her. He looked at her mouth and wondered whether she would say it again. She didn’t.

You really have a rubber duck?

Actually I have two rubber ducks, but one of them is no longer seaworthy and is, as you might say, retired. I like ducks.

He saw a flash of her tongue on the D.

I like ducks. She could not possibly have meant that to sound the way it did. Did it sound that way? Or was that only him? He found himself wishing he could be a duck, see the things that duck has seen, though of course he would then be unable to do anything about them. Candy smiled at him encouragingly.

Candy’s next remark seemed to be addressed to herself.

See? He looks less like a frightened mouse just thinking about it.

This ought to have dampened Morris’ sense of acceptance, but somehow it didn’t. Being called a frightened mouse by Miss January 1979, Candy Loving, was better than being called handsome by anyone else – or so it seemed to him at the moment. A shower or – amazing idea – a bubble bath might just be the beginning of life. He wondered whether he really was meant to have sex with this woman; maybe it was all a dream.  He concluded that he thought too much. He wondered how many times in a day he thought that, and then stopped himself, because Miss January was looking at him as if she could hear every word.

She spoke in a husky voice, redolent with sex.

My car’s parked at the back.

Good, then.

Candy drove a very well-loved and stylish old Mustang, from the time before cars were made with the intention of conveying fuel efficiency, back when cars were gorgeously curvaceous. The car itself was fire-engine red, with chrome trim. The brown seats were extremely soft and smelt of beeswax. She turned the key and the engine puttputted into life, then growled a little, like a sleepy cat smelling tuna. The seat belt was an actual old-fashioned racing harness, and Morris struggled to get into it, the more so because part of him was absolutely determined to watch Miss January as she twisted her upper body lithely around and about, then reached back with both hands to catch the clips and fasten them across her breast. Muscles moved under her skin, and for a moment he could actually taste her scent in his mouth. He blinked hard.

She smiled. She spoke of the car as if it were another lover.

This car won a road race in Malibu in 1966. Of course, I wasn’t driving. I was in fourth grade.

He nodded. He was tongue tied so she made conversation.

Have you smelled the leather?

He nodded again. The car smelled richly of old leather, cracked and polished and in one or two places stitched. It was like a bar in an old country club so exclusive that nobody could afford to join.

Sometimes I just put my nose into it and breathe in. Mm-mm. Lovely!  I’ve been balled on every one of these seats. It’s nice to be balled on leather. Would you like to ball me on these leather seats? Better yet, make love-- doesn't that phrase sound nice? Make love? We'll make love on the leather seats, but later. I have something else in mind first and we’re on a schedule.

Her eyes were very bright. She loved her senses, loved the world. He found that … admirable, and a bit daunting. He was a mouse, he decided. He was a mouse caught by a glossy cat; he was a coward hiding, in the company of a woman who adored the promise of night wrapping around them like rich satin sheets.

Seeing that his harness was fastened, Candy put her foot on the pedal.

The car moved as if smacked on the ass, and his head bounced slightly against the seat back. There actually was a head restraint, which must have been a later modification, although not much later, because it seemed to be made of clay. She snorted slightly, sexily, then looked guilty, and changed gear, which nearly did it to him again. For a machine this age, Candy’s car had some fierce gusto.

The house was, in some way, very much the same. It was elegant and a bit ramshackle and surprisingly large, tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac in a working class part of the city. A tall chain link fence rose up beyond the empty field behind the house and Morris realized they were close to the airport, in fact out beyond the fence were some of the lesser used airport runways, the cargo routes. They were remarkably close he thought and, as he thought that, a plane so close to the ground that he could almost have touched it roared overhead. The car shook; even the house seemed to shake as if pulled into the jet stream.

Candy held tight to the steering wheel as if feeding on the energy as the plane shook the car. She murmured more to herself than Morris.

The planes are a bit loud, but they serve their purpose.

You just sleep through?

She smiled again, and this time it started at the very middle of her mouth and spread like ripples in a pool all the way to the corners and across her face, until she had dimples on both cheeks and a glint in her eye which was unmistakably mischievous.

Something like that, yes. If you want to know, I’ll tell you later.

Later, as in, when it’s dark and secret and we know each other better.

She opened the door and beckoned him inside.

Forgive the mess. I don’t stay here as much as I like. Playboy has me in that apartment in town. But you know all about that because you write the checks don’t you. Well, this place is more for…pleasure.

Morris’ Adam’s apple began to bobble again.

Why don’t you take a bath; wash away the tension from all that…accounting.

He shrugged. OK, a bath, he thought.

The bathroom was bitterly cold and very pink. Cracked powder-puff pink tiles lined the walls and the pink wooden window frame was molting flakes of paint. The floor was silvered wood, warped by years of wet feet and splashes, at some time or other carpeted and now bare once more. Morris Heflin lounged in the chipped pink ceramic tub and let the hum of the single bulb and the coils of steam rising from any limb he allowed to surface from the water lull him into a trance.

He dozed, and for once there were no accounting sheets and tax codes and numbers clamoring for his attention. A drop of very hot water scalded the top of his foot, and he barely flinched. The foam was slowly dissipating into a silver marbling on the surface of the water, and he could see the action of plate tectonics playing out on the meniscus. He waved his hand an inch below the surface, pictures tiny marsupials suddenly separated from the rest developing into sapient kangaroos, then – when their wildly rotating island rejoined the world – finding themselves at war with angry evolved lizards from beneath the great mountain of Knee.

Seeing his face for a moment in the steam he gave himself some advice.

You need a serious change in your life.

Very wise.

Candy replied from the doorway. He jumped a bit, managed to keep the water mostly in the bath. She was dressed in a clinging silk rope and nothing else. She smiled encouragingly, then went on.

How do you feel?

Fine. Great, actually. Just … talking to myself. I do that, sometimes. Talk to myself. Oh, groovy. I also have a collection of midgets' noses and I eat kittens. Oh, by the way, would you like to have dinner sometime?

But Candy was nodding.

Yes. I do it, too. Do you find it’s helpful?


And sometimes just as infuriating as talking to your relatives.

God, yes.

He grinned. He was extremely nude, but even this was insufficient to alarm him. The bubbles would do as a fig leaf, and he was in perfectly acceptable shape. She was a grown-up. If she was happy, so is he.

Good bath?

Miss January walked lightly into the room. He watched her wonderful, worldly toes work their way across the wood, and he idly traced the name ‘Candy’ on the bottom of the bath. Candy Candy Candy. Sweet Candy. Delectable Candy. Candy.

I brought you a towel in case you were getting wrinkly.

And she had, a giant bath-sheet in dignified brown. And it was very warm.

Morris expected her to put it down and walk out again, but she didn’t. Instead, she faced away from him and extended her arms so that the towel spread behind her like a superhero’s cape. John Wayne did this for someone, he was pretty sure, probably Katharine Hepburn, to spare her blushes. He got out of the bath, noticing with pleasure that from his vantage point he could see the V of her robe reflected in the mirror, and that – as with the business of putting on the safety harness in the car – this awkward position showed off her arms and shoulders beautifully, and just a whisper of her marvelous chest. He leaned forward to take the towel, wondering what she could see in turn in the mirror. When she turned around, though, her eyes were screwed tight shut. He could have reached down and kiss her. She was easily close enough.

He didn’t. She opened her eyes and looks at him for a moment.

Come with me.

Taking his hand, she led him, not to the bedroom with its comfy bed, where he had carefully laid out his clothes, but through the door to the back, and up a fire escape to the roof.

On the roof was a small hut, carefully built like a miniature of the house but with a retractable skylight as an added feature.

This is my bedroom.

She said those words as though she were saying :I want you to fuck me to the stars.

Miss January’s bedroom was a boudoir if any room could qualify for that word. The carpet was deep and wine-red. There was a small television and a nightstand piled high with books, a small Victorian railway clock, and against one wall, the most remarkable double bed Morris had ever seen.

It had an iron frame and a thick, iron bedhead, and it appeared to rest on  vast metal springs or prongs driven deep into the floor-- heavy engineering in the bedroom. Something deep down in him grabbed onto it, devoured the sight. Wonderful.

Candy poked him sharply in the flank.

Sit, I want to talk to you eye to eye and I don’t want to stand on a chair.

He sat on the cantilevered bed. It’s quite high. She nudged at his knees until she could stand in between them, and yes, they were on a level. This appeared to please her.

You, Morris Heflin, are the sort of man to give a girl trouble. I see it in your eyes. And do you know what sort of trouble?

I’m not—

Exactly that sort of trouble. Stubbornness. Constant backchat.

She rested a finger on his nose. She sighed before she continued.

Hush. Pay attention.

He nodded: yes, ma’am.

I will now explain my plan. You may then speak, but only to improve the detail. The broad outline is not subject to negotiation. Are you ready? Good … I intend to have sex with you. I believe it will be excellent sex. Your obedience on one particular issue of timing will be required to make it unforgettable sex. I will explain that issue as we go. At the moment, I wish to hear your inevitable objection to the general sex part of this plan.

I … you’re very … you don’t think we should know each other better?

Ah. Yes, I’m familiar with that question. Tell me, you feel we might do better to wait until we know each other so that we can determine whether we do, in fact, want to have sex?

Er … yes.

And if we don’t, then we won’t?


And if we do, we will?


I find your logic extremely strange. I want to have sex with you now. You – I’m reasonably certain of this, and I can …

Her finger traced down the towel.

…Yes, I can, in fact, say it with some confidence owing to certain evidence now in my possession – you want to have sex with me. Yes?


So if we follow my plan and discover tomorrow that we do not like each other, we will still have had exceptional sex. On the other hand, with your plan, we will have rejected sex when we want it in favor of no sex now and no sex later. Alternatively, we will have missed an opportunity for sex when we could have had it if we later decide we do, in fact, want to have sex.

That’s true, but—

Your plan is a very bad plan. What is more, you know it is a very bad plan, in the first place because you want me very much and you know that I know this, and in the second because I want you very much and you now know that, too, and in the third because you do not in fact believe that we should not have sex right now, you simply believe that some people believe that you ought to believe it and although they are not here you do not wish to offend them. I say they can find their own damn entertainment.

She kissed him, firmly, on the mouth. He did not resist, so she did it again, and made a happy little squeak when he grabbed her head and returned the kiss, then wrapped one arm around her back and half lifted her against him.

Suddenly she cried out and pushed herself away from him.

Back! Stop! We now come … hmm, mm-mmm … stop it! We now come to the issue of timing of which I spoke. Ah! Mmm. Oh, God, you awful man. You have roving hands. Mm-mmm-mmh.’

She gave a lewd, throaty chuckle.

Stop! Now. The timing is to be my department. So. Up on the bed.

Candy’s bathrobe was now in a state of considerable dishevelment, and Morris’ towel was mostly around his left thigh. She paused for a moment and pressed a button on the bed. The skylight split in two and retracted to reveal the open night above them. Morris barely noticed. He scooted up the bed to the position she indicated, then pulled her firmly to him. The bathrobe remained where it was, so that by the time she was in his arms he could feel every bit of her. She wriggled deliciously and drew back for a moment.

Ah! Ah ah ah! Do as you’re told! (Typical man.) There. Now … Oh, it’s like that, is it? Very well, Mr. Heflin. I can fight dirty too.

He was too late to trap her or foil her intention. Her head vanished beneath the towel. He reached for her, and her left hand slapped his away. Stop it. Busy now.

And indeed, she was.

His cock. She wanted to taste it, curl her tongue around the tip. She longed to take its length and width inside her mouth and tease its head with her tongue. Then when it was wet, she wanted it deep inside her pussy.

His cock glistened with a drop of white seed. She licked it off, then curled her tongue against her upper lip. He made a noise That, she knew, as definitely a groan. She took the head of his penis between her lips. She traced its outline, then sucked more of its length into her mouth.

Morris held her head steady, then began thrusting his hips.

She moaned.

He moved, and she followed in this private, erotic dance.

Miss Loving, I'm warning you. If you want to be fucked...

She turned her head slightly so she could look at him, but she didn't stop her motions.

He repeated his frantic plea.

If you don’t want me come, you'd better stop what you're doing.

Power was going to her head. That she could make this man ready to ejaculate so quickly was heady business.

Mount me.

Now there was an invitation. She didn't even need it engraved. Reluctantly, she took her mouth off him.

Come here.

When she was on her knees, leaning back, just inches from him, he began kissing and sucking those magnificent breasts.

She straddled him across his pelvis. Morris's cock was thick and erect. Her pussy was wet and willing. Handy how well that worked out. Reaching behind her, she guided him toward her wet hole.

She gasped.

The reality of him being inside her was so much more incredible than the fantasy had been.

He cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples lightly until they pebbled. A sharp stab of desire went to her crotch. Desire? Well, more like white hot horniness.
Using her knees to brace herself, she began to slide up and down.

He grabbed her around the waist.

Apparently, he didn't do well with the woman-in-charge way of doing things. Not that she minded. She liked a man who knew what he wanted, and, even better, how to please her.

Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back. She was enjoying his thrusts, the depth he achieved. He filled her. They fucked for a long delicious time.

Despite the cool night air, her skin heated. She kept twisting her head left and right but he noticed she would hold her gaze on the clock.

He sputtered out a question.

What was it you said you wanted from me?

He was holding her steady, looking into her eyes as he fucked her.

She took one more look at the clock. Her eyes grew bright; she grinned at him.

Do you know how close we are? No, keep fucking!


One minute and thirty seconds!

Morris was drilling frantically; Candy’s delicious breasts danced before his face. She was laughing wildly and then she screamed.

Morris Heflin was perfect. It came from his hips, she was fairly sure. His hips took him where he wanted to go and she most wished him to be. He thrust into her most secret spots and his hips swiveled with a dancer’s grace and boxer’s power. He was lithe and strong, but it was not his arms and shoulders which embrace her so lustfully, but his thighs and hips. He moved through her like the shuttle on a loom, trailing threads of human extinction, her extinction. Candy wondered, honestly, whether she could survive the cruel assault of his cock.

She moved her own hips as he skewered her sex again and again. And even the weight of her writhing body added to his momentum and his rhythm.

Candy watched Morris Heflin fuck her and knew she could not beat him or even survive him unless God provided a miracle. She went forward anyway. Her vision narrowed to Morris Heflin and him alone, and he saw her, and – to her fury – he thrust in with more passion.

He stared at her, ruthlessly lascivious. And then he fell forward into her arms and she could him struggling to control the onslaught of his climax.

Morris Heflin smiled, and Candy could feel his satisfaction. She could hear him in her head.

She realized that she was lost. She raised her hands into the most brazen worship of the stars and sky above her, and she got ready to die.

To her surprise, Morris Heflin raised his hand to stroke her cheek. He looked almost human. And then, a moment later, she saw the pleasure in his eyes at her resignation. Not empathy. The sating of an appetite. She gasped out a peculiar prayer: T—minus ten seconds and counting.

He fucked harder. She felt desperate and fragile. He smiled again. I am killing you piece by piece, Miss January.

Salvation came, all undreamed of. With a sharp crack and a noise like a cornet call, the lights on the runway were flashing and out beyond the fence charged a huge, angry grey object decked in ornate metal plates. It fixed eyes on her writhing body, and placed itself stoutly in the path to her and her lover. Then it raised up its head, and the cornet call sounded again: a shrill, high note, amazingly loud and penetrating. In the near distance, something gave answer: a deep hallooing hunter’s horn, or a tuneless brass band with a tuba the size of a house.

Candy knew the grey object for what it was and she surrendered to it. Her body exploded inwards, and through the breach came massive, muscular shapes in a mighty rush, bringing a scent of sweat and sex and spice, and Morris Heflin hurtled backwards away from her, his cock blasting load after load deep into her moist depths. She stared, then gave vent to a delighted yawp of victory.

The greatest cavalry force ever raised up from one end of the great universe to the other, from the tallest mountains to the wide blue ocean, stood ready to give answer to her need: in the vanguard, the force of Morris’ cock thrusting into her and combating the gravitational pull of the grey thing above blotting out the stars, his cock plowing into her, filling her with volley after volley of his seed and sending them deep into soul. Behind each titan load were other shapes even bigger, smashing walls and doors and charging onward, trumpeting unleashed fury. All are urged on by the armored shape of Candy’s newest guardian, high over head.

Ten seconds later, the 12:14 FedEx plane went directly over Candy’s house at one hundred twenty miles per hour. The vibrations from the plane’s passage shuddered through the house and the air and into the springs which held up Candy’s bed. Candy, lying on her back, grabbed hold of Morris in desperation and spoke.


She screamed with delight; she screamed to drown out even the roar of the plane.

I’m coming

The announcement was quite redundant, and the two of them, pummeled by the energy of hundreds of tons of evil metal and liquid fuel passing directly over them and convulsing them against one another, did indeed experience unforgettable sex. The sweet tightness of her wrapped around him, the pressure over his throbbing cock, under the roaring power and energy of the plane exploded in the kind of climax that makes molecules do dangerous things. He came with the same lift that lifted the plane into the air and she came as though she were the engines exploding into the night. Their bodies swirled in a cacophony of physics and every atom of them was drawn into the jet’s power, burned in its engines and thrown by deadly gravity back onto the bed.

And then came a moment of perfect quiet. Candy couldn’t understand how, at first, and then she realized that a charge has gone off right on top of her pretty head, and the pulse of pressure had burst her psyche and was shrieking silently. The pain was so wonderful that she could only feel it in slivers, little bright fragments which punctuated everything. In between times the world was gold and cobalt blue as if she was in the dark and her agony was the only illumination. Everything happened in pieces.

She saw the cock welling up, up, up, far too fast.

Morris gripped her tight. The flood door swung shut, sealing them in. The ecstasy rushed up, so hot Candy could actually feel it over the pain. But she couldn’t move. She had nothing left.

Throughout her body, she could feel delightful things happening all around. Her body was wallowing, rebounding off one blast after another, reeling like a drunkard in a bar brawl. Another blast kicked her sideways, and she could not right herself. She began to come again. Candy could feel it in the hairs on the back of her neck. Her body was going down, down in an erotic spiral, not sinking but plummeting.

Soon, the ecstasy would melt her brain and then the game would be over.

Morris pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, bit down hard, then grasped Candy’s arm and dragged her up on top of him.

She was still sinking into the black ocean of ecstasy. Crush-depth was coming She was falling, falling fast. And then, something changed. Something strange, but – Candy could tell this by the man’s pleased expression – something expected, and good. He kissed her breasts gently Candy spiraled with bliss and he shot one more load into her. And then it went white. Frozen in place.

Candy shuddered, as if throwing off a great weight, rolled and rattled some more.

Down deep – too deep – Candy did not implode. She hung in the dark. After a moment, the cock stopped blasting. Candy stared at the ecstatic face in front of her.

She spoke with a husky rasp in her voice.

I think I’m dead.

Then she exploded in one more tornado of ecstasy.

Initially, Candy explained a few moments later when she could speak again, it was just a matter of opportunity. She rented the house for some cousins who were in town for an extended visit while she was living at the Mansion. She quickly realized the house’s potential and had her own bed brought in. She experimented until she found the perfect vehicle. The iron-framed bed at first rested on bare wooden boards, and the five-fifty-one flight to Detroit sent strong, enjoyable vibrations through the whole house. Her internal erotic clock began to set its alarm for five fifty-one a.m., and she woke, ecstatic and bleary-eyed, every day at five fifty-three. (Cargo planes are more regular than commuter planes. If a few people arrive half an hour late at work, it’s a normal day, but governments and business executives get irritable if a cargo of deliveries goes afoul for twenty minutes.)

Candy moved her bed up to the roof. The air conducted the vibrations more strongly there. She bought a stiffer mattress. Eventually, she drove stout iron springs into the floor, and welded the bed frame directly to these to cut out the intermediary  Now she could lie in the embrace of the shuddering bed. She knew, not being stupid, that this was unusual behavior, but she simply did not care. As time went by, she knew more and more about the network, the planes, the engines, and the men who flew them. By degrees and in her own mind, Miss January became the bride of the iron springs.

By time she finished her explanation Morris was at full strength and she pulled him on top her. Her demand was firm because she knew the schedule.


Indeed, twenty-five minutes thereafter, a huge jet thundered overhead, and Morris actually growled like an animal, something he had absolutely never done before in his life.

Candy was making kitten noises into the air as if humming to the stars.


After glancing at the digital clock Miss January murmured into his neck, and stretched her shoulders, then looked up at him through tousled hair.

Morris, my sweet, for the next thirty three…

She paused to check the clock again.

…Thirty-one minutes we need to be doing sixty nine. You do know what sixty nine is, don’t you you delicious man?
Candy did not wait for a reply she draped her voluptuous body over him and slowly and lovingly drew his cock into her mouth. She guided her honey sweet snatch over his face and soon both tongues were working in erotic harmony.

Precisely thirty-one minutes later Cargo Flight Sixty Nine to Houston came down low, low enough to give the pilots a peek at Miss January’s magnificent ass as she gushed gloriously into Morris’ mouth.



Submitted: August 30, 2014

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What a sweet Air-carried-delivered experience for a very lucky man...

Sat, August 30th, 2014 9:27pm


Thank you for the kind words. Frankly, in inexplicable to me that some stories get a thousand hits and some a hundred. Stories are apparently shared and pinned, yet few if any likes. I'm not complaining but it is odd.

Sat, August 30th, 2014 7:27pm

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